Page 80 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

The Scholar steps forward with a click of his cane. “Our last stop was in Kahnzoka. We haven’t gotten any fresh meat since then, and Soliton has been staying mostly out of sight of land. Our speed has increased, too.” He gestures to his left. “Somewhere off that way is Cape Wall.”

I hear Meroe’s breath catch, and I lean close to her. “What does that mean?”

“Cape Wall is halfway down the Southern Kingdoms,” she says. “Well south of Nimar. We’re more than a thousand miles from Kahnzoka.”

A thousand miles. I can’t even visualize that distance. The Sixteenth Ward is a bit more than a mile from end to end, long and skinny as it crams against the waterfront. I try to picture a thousand of them, laid one after the other. It’s easy to forget that Soliton moves at all when I’m belowdecks; now I feel the wind on the back of my neck, and shiver.

A stray thought, infuriating but true: no wonder Kuon Naga wants this ship. Big enough to carry an army, faster than anything with sails, impervious to the unreliable wind and the waves. No arrow or siege engine could do more than scratch its metal hull. Forget some border squabble with Jyashtan. Control Soliton and you could rule the world.

People in the crowd have started shouting back, a confusing jumble of accents and languages. The gist is clear enough, though.

“What’s going on?”

“Why has the Captain changed course?”

“Where is he taking us?”

The Butcher steps forward, her voice a roar. “Shut up and listen!”

The crowd quiets again. Karakoa says, “Believe me, we heard your concerns, and we share them. Naturally, we petitioned the Captain.”

Now the hush is so quiet I can hear the whistle of the breeze, like when the priests intone the sacred names of the Blessed One.

“Of course,” Karakoa says, into the silence, “the Captain’s reasons are his own, and we do not question them. But he assures us that the disruption will be short-lived. Our regular stops will resume soon.”

“In other words,” the Butcher says, “try not to panic like a flock of rotting chickens! There’ll be more fresh meat and more sacrifices to scavenge soon enough. Just keep your heads down and keep hunting.”

Mutters from the pack leaders. They don’t sound happy.

“Speaking of hunting,” Zarun says, ignoring the glance of pure loathing the Butcher directs at him. “I imagine you’ve heard that Pack Twelve lost two men looking for blueshells six levels down from the Drips. One of my packs went looking for the bodies, and found what was left of them.” He pauses. “It wasn’t a blueshell that got them. It was a dredwurm.”

The name means nothing to me, and Meroe looks confused, too. But there’s a sigh from the crowd, a sort of collective intake of breath that indicates it’s very significant indeed.

“It cannot be allowed to run loose, and that means a Grand Hunt,” Zarun says. “The Council hereby makes this offer: whatever pack brings us the eye of the dredwurm can claim any boon within our power to grant, in addition to the usual bounty of scrip.” He beams at us. “I expect quick results, my friends.”

With that announcement, the party seemed to be over. There was a brief crush as the assembled pack leaders looted what was left of the food and drink, and then a general movement in the direction of the stairs. I stick by Meroe’s side and wait as they disperse. Eventually, Jack appears, looking a bit sweatier and more disheveled than before, and gives us a grave bow.

“I trust that you enjoyed yourselves?” she says. “These audiences are the closest thing Soliton has to a social scene, not counting Shiara’s occasional debauches.”

“It was … interesting.” I glance at Meroe, who nods agreement. “Jack, what’s a dredwurm?”

“Ah, yes.” Jack’s eyes light up. “A truly legendary beastie, the king of crabs, risen from the Deeps. Or so we’re told.” She shrugs. “Each one looks different, but they’re all strong enough to break through the decking and tunnel wherever they like. They’re impossible to keep out with walls and guards, so the only option is to destroy them whenever they show their fangs.”

“And the eye?” Meroe says.

“That’s what makes it a dredwurm. Every one of the monsters has a single crystal eye, and the Council is bound to collect them for the Captain. Hence the bounty. Whoever takes the beast can name her price.” She grins. “Zarun will try for it, you can be certain. If you ask nicely, he’ll let you take part and we’ll all split the reward.”

Meroe and I exchange looks, and I can tell our thoughts are running on similar lines. If the Captain himself wants these eyes—

“But that’s for later,” Jack says. “Back to the cage, friends! Time to leave the angels to their silence and descend back to the world of mortals.” She winks at me, looking a little tipsy, even for Jack. “Thora will be waiting.”

17

I sit opposite Aifin, with a writing slate and some crumbly, chalk-like stuff on the table between us. He watches me with bright, intelligent eyes. I’ve never looked at him up close before; while his skin is as dark as a southerner’s, his features are more Jyashtani.

“His progress has been amazing,” Meroe says. She’s standing at my shoulder, holding her cane but not putting any weight on it. She’s still cautious of her leg, though Sister Cadua says it should nearly be back to full strength. “I’ve tutored him a little bit, but once he got the basics he started going through every book he could get his hands on. Go ahead, ask him something.”

It’s hard to imagine this is the boy we used to call the Moron, when he’s so obviously keenly alert. I clear my throat, then feel stupid for doing so and pick up the chalk instead. Carefully, I write out: “My name is Isoka,” in simple block letters.