Page 97 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

The sound he makes is barely human, and it gets worse as the Ghul energy Meroe has unleashed churns inside his body. Parts of him start to grow, muscles bloating, skin coming apart like rotted lace. His fingers are melting where they touch the deck, becoming pseudopods that stretch outward like the blind roots of a plant. One of his eyes is wide and terrified, while the other is changing, pupil splitting over and over until there are a hundred black dots in a sea of white.

“No,” Meroe is saying, over and over. “No, no no no no no no—”

She’s screaming to match Berun. Maybe I am, too. I drag her away, back from this bloated, spreading monstrosity she’d created, a mound of bulbous flesh that gets bigger by the second, with Berun’s terrified face still visible in the center of it. I see his ribs, grown into barbed spikes, tear their way out, then dissolve into white goo. There’s nothing left but flesh, a spherical ball of flesh, growing outward fast enough that for a moment I’m afraid it will engulf us, engulf the whole ship, the world—

Then it explodes, painting the walls with blood.

20

“I’m afraid,” Arin says, “that the master is occupied.”

“This is important.”

“He can’t be disturbed.”

“Tell me,” I snarl. “Would it disturb him to have to clean bits of his bed warmer off his front step?”

It’s a nasty thing to say to a girl who doesn’t deserve it, but I’m not in a forgiving mood. Arin—she really is nearly identical to Erin, apart from the way she braids her hair—keeps a stoic expression, but she can’t hide the flush in her cheeks. It must be hard, being an iceling and having your skin show the slightest blush.

I have to give her credit. The fear is obvious in her eyes, but she manages not to flinch. After a moment, she turns away, closing the door behind her. I start a mental count. I’ll give it a hundred before I start tearing the place apart.

The door opens again before I get to fifty. The Scholar is waiting, cane in hand, adjusting his spectacles as though the sight of me is a surprise.

“Deepwalker,” he says. “You’ve returned. Come in.”

He steps aside, and I stalk past. I pull the dredwurm’s eye out of my pocket. The surrounding flesh crumbled like the rest of the creature, but the jewel-like eye remained intact, still shimmering with a faint red glow. I slam the thing on the nearest table and turn to the Scholar.

“I got your rotting trinket.”

“I see that.” He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t seem pleased. And you gave poor Arin a fright.”

“Arin can go to the Rot. Which is where we’re all going, if I believe you. You knew what the dredwurms really are, didn’t you? That’s why you wanted this thing, for your rotting experiments.”

“I suspected, yes,” he says, calmly. “I haven’t had a specimen to study, for obvious reasons.”

“We thought it was a crab, not a rotting angel!” I take a deep breath. “Berun, one of my pack, is dead. Some of the others are … hurt.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” He shrugs. “But I hardly see how you can be angry with me. Crab or angel, you knew the dredwurm was dangerous, and you and your pack chose to take the risk.”

“Because you wanted a trophy!”

“It’s not just a trophy, as you know.” He reaches out for the eye, and I pull it away. “It may be the salvation of everyone on this ship.”

“You’re going to take me to the Captain,” I say.

“That was our agreement.”

“And I’m going to get him to turn this ship around.” Even if I have to put a blade to his throat. Anger flares inside me, as hot as powerburn.

“As to that, I make no guarantees. But it’s possible you will have greater success than I have.” He starts across the floor of the tower, cane tap-tapping. “Meet me at midnight, where we held the Council audience. I will guide you from there.”

“Why not now?”

“Mundane reasons,” he says. “I will have to adjust the rotation of the guards, to ensure you will not be found.”

“Fine.” I stuff the eye back into my pocket. “I hope the Captain stays up late.”

The Upper Stations are still buzzing with packs trading information about the dredwurm. I wonder if Zarun has woken up yet, and if he’s realized what happened. The mushroom I dosed him with should only have left him groggy, which would be easy enough to write off to wine and a busy night.