Page 78 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

That’s not what captures my attention, though. Something is moving inside the metal, tiny points of soft gray light slowly churning in an endless spiral. They’re barely visible in the glow of the lanterns, but I’m certain it’s the same light I’ve seen in Soliton’s support pillars, the light that seemed to gather around the angel and shape itself into Hagan.

Is she wearing a piece of the ship? But there’s scrap metal everywhere and I’ve never seen anything similar.

“Isoka, dear. You’re welcome to keep staring, but after a certain point I usually charge a fee.”

“Sorry.” I blink and look away, and find myself locking eyes with the Scholar, who is watching me intently. Shiara smiles, this time with a nasty edge, and slips off into the crowd.

Zarun touches my arm. “Did I miss something?”

“Just … the wine. Or whatever it is. It’s been a while since I had any.”

“I think that means you need a bit more,” he says.

“Not just yet.” I look around for Meroe, surreptiously pulling myself free of Zarun’s grip. “Do you—”

“Do you think I could have a moment?” It’s the Scholar, stepping forward, his cane rapping sharply on the deck.

“I suppose,” Zarun mutters. “I will have another glass of wine, at least.”

He turns back toward the table, leaving me at the fringe of the crowd with the Scholar. We look at each other in silence for a few moments, until I start to feel awkward.

“You wanted to talk to me,” I prompt.

“I did,” he says.

“If you want the story of what happened in the Deeps, this probably isn’t the best time.”

“It’s not,” he agrees. “I’ll have it later.” He pauses again, holding up a hand just as I open my mouth to speak. “I’m considering,” he says, “the best approach.”

“The best approach to what?” He’s starting to remind me of Jack, although a bit less excitable.

“You talked to Karakoa.”

“I did.”

“And you asked him about when he joined the Council.” Apparently he’d been listening. “What did he say?”

“That he helped found it, fifteen years ago.” I frown at him. “You must know this, right?”

“Did he tell you,” the Scholar goes on, ignoring me, “what Soliton was like fifteen years ago?”

“No. Other than that someone named Jarli was in charge.” I was starting to see Zarun’s point.

“One woman, ruling in the name of the Captain. Ruling over a single clade of perhaps … a hundred people?” He shrugs. “I arrived not long after, you see. Though it was years before I was admitted to the Council.”

“All right. So what?”

“At the time we had barely begun to secure a single tower in the Upper Stations. Now we have nine, and they’re nearly full.”

I recall the ride up in the cage, the endless darkness. “There’s plenty of room.”

“Not the point,” he snaps.

“Please get to the point.”

“One hundred people then,” he says. “How many now, do you know?”

“I don’t—”