Greatshadow (16 page)

Most of the caves hold nothing but bird nests; indeed, the sky above was full of feathered creatures in every hue of the rainbow, from tiny finches no larger than my thumb to albatrosses with wingspans longer than my bar tab. The pirate cave was right at sea level; the tides here can rise and fall twenty feet, and when the tide is low the opening of the cave is a long, narrow slash amid jagged stones, just wide enough to sail a good-sized schooner through. Within lies an underground lagoon nearly a mile across, ringed by a pebble beach polished smooth by the waves. It was a safe, sheltered haven, assuming the captain was skilled enough to thread the needle.

Fortunately, Infidel, Aurora, and Relic were in a small rowboat that could navigate the gap with ease, even with the rising tide. Infidel manned both oars, and her iron muscles were more than a match for the swirling currents. She aimed the boat for the gap and rowed confidently over the waves, shooting into the cavern swiftly enough to leave a wake. Gulls cried as they dove at the churned up water.

The last time I’d been here, the room had been full of torches and lanterns. Now, the shore was lined with bright glorystones, rare gems purported to be fragments of the sun itself. Glorystones were far more expensive than diamonds, and there were more in this cave than I could count. Reflected on the dark water of the lagoon, they looked like stars. We’d definitely arrived at a camp outfitted by a king.

As my eyes searched the shadows beyond the shore, I was surprised at how empty the cave looked. When we’d come here to fight pirates, the noise in this place had been deafening, as the voices of a hundred rowdy men echoed through the chamber. The air had been foul with the smoke of fires fueled by dried guano, not to mention the stink left from using the lagoon as a toilet. Today, the air was clean and cool; everything was quiet. Off in the distance I spotted a few modest canvas tents, shelter enough for a dozen men perhaps, if they were friendly.

The only boat was a single-mast skiff that I recognized as belonging to the Black Swan. No-Face was standing near the boat, his arms crossed, his feet planted wide, looking ready to smite anyone who came too close. Reeker was in the boat, stretched out on the folded sail, snoozing, using a backpack as a pillow. Menagerie sat beneath a glorystone lantern, reading a book. The faded letters on the leather-bound tome could barely be made out:
The Vanished Kingdom
, by Judicious Merchant. My grandfather had published his discoveries years before I was born. With it, I had retraced his steps on the island, or at least attempted to. Sadly, I found most of his directions convoluted and his cartography rather cryptic. Some of the most interesting places he claimed to have explored I’ve never found. I can’t say if he embellished his adventures, or was simply rotten at drawing maps.

Menagerie had beaten us here even though he’d remained behind the other Goons to assist Infidel with her disguise. He’d requested an eye-popping sum of money for his services as an artist; in what he claimed was pure coincidence, it was equal to the value of the dragon skull once my bar debt was paid. Infidel hadn’t haggled. Menagerie had sent the other Goons on their way, promising he’d catch up to them. What might take No-Face a full day to row Menagerie could cover in mere hours as an eagle. As for whether the tattooed man’s artistry had produced a passable disguise, I wasn’t the best judge. I’d spent enough time staring at Infidel’s face to know its subtle lines no matter what color it was dyed. And I still didn’t understand how any amount of coloring and cleavage was going to hide her identity from Father Ver.

Aurora jumped from the boat and helped pull it up onto the stony beach. Relic hobbled out, placing a hand on his back as if it pained him to have sat so many hours. I could hear his bones popping as he craned his neck from side to side.

As Infidel stepped out of the boat, No-Face rattled the chain around his arm, waking Reeker. Menagerie set down his book, and shouted, “Halt!”

“It’s okay, guys, they’re with me,” said Aurora.

Menagerie marched within inches of her and stared up into her tusked face. He shouted, “It is not okay! This is a secure area. What the hell are you doing bringing unauthorized personnel? What’s wrong with you?”

Aurora thrust her finger into Menagerie’s chest. “Back off. I have every right to be here, and these two are my guests. If you have a problem—”

Before she could finish her sentence, a voice beyond the Goons shouted, “Yes, we have a problem!”

Further up the rocky slope, a ghostly white figure strode swiftly toward us. This was Ivory Blade; I recognized him from his occasional visits to the
Black Swan
, though I’d never actually met him. Blade was the king’s top spy, though I wondered how good a spy he could have been since everyone knew it. On the other hand, Blade is a six-foot-three albino. He doesn’t exactly blend into the shadows. Hiding in plain sight might be the best strategy available. He was certainly an eye-catching figure, dressed in stark white leather armor. This was the famed Immaculate Attire, crafted for Alabaster Brightmoon, the Warrior Queen, nearly three centuries earlier. Since the armor fit him like a full body glove, I can only assume that Alabaster Brightmoon was rather tall for a woman, or else some enchantment allowed the armor to adapt to the form of its wearer. The leather truly did look immaculate, without a single scrape or scuff.

The fact that Blade’s armor was unmarred might have been evidence that his reputation as a master swordsman was deserved. I’ve heard he can draw his sword, kill a man, wipe the blade and return it to his scabbard more swiftly than the eye can follow. He certainly possessed an air of confidence as he marched up to Aurora.

“I’m reporting for duty,” Aurora said, addressing Ivory Blade over the heads of the Goons. “The Black Swan has provided the appropriate contracts.”

“For you,” Blade growled. “Who are these two?” His pink eyes narrowed as he stared at Relic and Infidel. “Or perhaps I should ask, what are these two?”

Relic bowed. He spoke in a raspy, trembling voice, “Long ago, I was called Urthric. Alas, the men for whom that name had meaning have long since passed away. Today, I am known only as Relic.”

“Relic showed up after the attack on Commonground,” said Aurora. “I wouldn’t ordinarily risk the safety of a mission with a last-second recruit, especially one I can’t vouch for. Still, I think his story is worth listening to. Hear him out; if you don’t think he’ll be useful, I’ll personally snap his neck.”

Blade sneered as he looked down at Relic. “What can this decrepit fool possibly have to offer us?”

I found it interesting that Blade’s attention was so fixed on Relic. Infidel was standing only inches behind the ragged man, not moving or making a sound, but she was hardly invisible. Given her garb, I expected at least a little gawking.

“I may be decrepit,” said Relic, “but I’m no fool. I’m the most important person you can hire for this mission.”

Blade smirked. “Truly?”

As Blade spoke, a woman stepped out from behind him; only, it wasn’t so much a woman as the absence of a woman. It was a bubble of air the shape of a naked female wielding a sword in each hand. No one else reacted as she silently tiptoed around the Goons, pausing to study Aurora, then moving to study Infidel up close. She placed her face only inches from Infidel’s eyes. Infidel didn’t even blink; the woman was apparently invisible to all but my ghostly gaze.

Relic said, “My tale is difficult to believe, yet I know you have a Truthspeaker among you. Bring me to him, so he may judge the veracity of my words.”

“Why don’t you try your story on me first?” said Blade.

Relic nodded. “Very well. I am the sole survivor of the Vanished Kingdom. When I was young, a great nation had tamed this island. From shore to shore the land supported vibrant cities. Our harbors sheltered armadas of trade ships that brought treasures from the far reaches of the world. Truly, it was a golden age.”

Blade smirked. “I’ll give you credit for imagination. But, assuming you are thirty centuries old, how does this make you an asset for our mission?”

“This quest has been set in motion by the discovery of a map. I am the author of this document. I was an engineer for the king during the construction of what is now referred to as the Shattered Palace.”

Blade studied the ragged figure before him with a more critical eye. Even I was taking another look at Relic. Was he telling the truth?

“How is it that you have survived all these years?” Blade asked.

“Modern men are not the only ones to have gods,” said Relic. “The gods in those days were far more active in the affairs of this world. They would travel the kingdoms, disguised as men, granting favors to those who were kind, curses to those who were cruel. The god I met gave me eternal life; alas, he was not so kind as to grant me eternal youth.”

Blade rubbed his chin, contemplating Relic’s words. The invisible woman now stood beside Relic, staring at his burlap-covered face. Blade gave the slightest nod and the woman raised her hands to grab the cloth, no doubt to pull it away.

Relic said, “It would be unwise for your companion to touch me.”

The woman halted. Blade looked impressed. “You can see the Whisper?”

Relic nodded. “I’ve learned many arcane arts during the endless parade of centuries.”

“So you know a little magic,” said Blade. The Whisper’s hands still lingered only inches from the hood. She looked to Blade for further cues. “I still don’t see why we shouldn’t just pull your mask off to see what you truly are.”

“An understandable desire,” said Relic. “Alas, long ago, I contracted a disease that causes flesh to wither and rot. It cannot kill me due to my curse, but it has disfigured me horribly. I’m not contagious as long as my scabs are closed. Much of my garb is adhered to my skin. Tearing it free could expose others to the illness.”

“I see,” said Blade, as the Whisper backed away. “That certainly makes the thought of sharing a camp with you appealing.”

“I’m a difficult companion. But my knowledge outweighs the risks. Currently you have a map. With me, you shall have a living atlas.”

Blade finally turned his gaze toward Infidel, who stood quietly on the shore. “And who... or what... is that?”

Menagerie grinned ever so slightly at Blade’s confusion. Infidel couldn’t be tattooed; no needle could penetrate her skin. Still, Menagerie knew a thing or two about pygmy dyes. From scalp to toe, Infidel’s skin was now a pale silver-blue, looking more like metal than flesh. Her limbs were concealed beneath skin-tight leather armor, though her torso was mostly bare save for the shiny steel bra. Her face was also naked, though bold black dyes created the illusion of a mask around her eyes. Menagerie had assured Relic the pigments would last for weeks without streaking or smearing.

“This is my War Doll,” said Relic. “As an educated man, you may know that the engineers of the Vanished Kingdom have no peers in today’s world. We crafted clockwork animals that mimicked life in every way, only with skeletons of steel instead of fragile bone, muscles of wire instead of meat, and veins pumping oil instead of water.”

Infidel stared silently at Blade. The greatest flaw of her disguise was that to play the role of a machine, she would need to remain mute, and keep her face passive. A quiet, unexpressive Infidel was impossible for me to imagine.

Relic continued: “The men of my time were as blood-thirsty as the people of today. We constructed machines in the likeness of men to fight as gladiators in our arenas.”

Blade furrowed his brow. “I would hardly call this the likeness of a man.”

“We were lustful as well as blood-thirsty,” said Relic. “It pleased the king to watch women in mortal combat. The War Doll, and others like her, were far more resilient than a true woman. Her performances could entertain the king for hours on end.”

Blade looked skeptical. But he wasn’t the one who gave voice to doubt. Instead, it was Menagerie who said, “I’m not buying it. This is obviously just a painted woman. You can see her breathing!”

Relic placed his hand on the small of Infidel’s back and pushed her forward. “The engines within the War Doll produce heat. She inhales and exhales air to maintain an optimal operating temperature. When she’s active, she will appear to sweat; this is partially for cooling and partially aesthetics. She’s been designed to mimic life in the finest detail.”

“This is the biggest load of garbage I’ve ever heard,” said Menagerie.

“You have the power to ensure our veracity,” said Relic, ignoring Menagerie and addressing Blade. “Bring us to the Truthspeaker.”

“We don’t need to waste his time,” said Menagerie. He reached over to Ivory Blade and drew the dagger the albino carried on his belt. Before anyone could blink, Menagerie threw the blade with a grunt. The tip struck Infidel directly at the base of her throat, in what should have been a killing blow. The dagger bounced off, landing on the pebbles before her. She continued to stare impassively, not displaying the slightest discomfort.

Relic clapped his hands. “Demonstrate your strength.”

Infidel leaned over and picked up the blade. She thrust the edge into her mouth, clamping down on it with her pearly teeth, then biting through the steel before dropping the dagger. She spit out a half-moon fragment of metal. It clattered on the pebbles beside the damaged blade.

Menagerie stared, slack-jawed.

“What is your opinion now?” asked Relic.