“I’d love to talk to him,” Meroe says.
“You like figuring things out, don’t you.”
She nods. “My father always told me I shouldn’t be so interested in everything. It wasn’t … seemly, for a princess. But I suppose I can’t help it.” She rings the bell, and waves her wounded hand back and forth. “There was a eunuch at our court who studied the stars. I used to sneak in and play with his telescope.”
“What’s a telescope?” The word is Imperial, but I’ve never heard it before.
“It’s … you know what a spyglass is? For looking at ships?”
I nod cautiously. I’ve seen those on the docks.
“A telescope is like that, but stronger. You use it to look at the stars, or the moon.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “Curiosity?”
Which is, of course, a very aristo way of looking at things. Why not stare at the sky when you don’t have to work for your dinner?
The next bay over is empty, so we change directions, and come alongside another wrecked vessel. This one is dangling nose down, with only the chains at its aft end still holding it in place. It shifts back and forth, very gently, producing faint metal-on-metal creaks.
Meroe rings her bell. “I feel like I’m calling the castle to dinner,” she says.
“You’re calling someone to dinner.” I look over my shoulder and make sure Ahdron and Berun are not too far behind us. They’re hanging back, but still in sight. “Hopefully it’ll hear us soon.”
The hanging ship creaks again. Then I become aware of another sound, a rapid drumming. It comes up through my feet as a vibration in the deck, making my teeth buzz. Meroe tenses.
“I think you can get rid of the bell.” I look around again, but I can’t see any sort of monster. The sound comes from every direction at once. “Where in the Rot is it?”
“I think…” Meroe hesitates, closing her eyes, then takes a step away from the closest gap. “Underneath!”
The hammerhead crawls up over the side of the gap. Chunks of rusty decking break and fall away under its weight, but it keeps coming. It’s big, as tall as the blueshell but considerably more compact, with a long, oval body split into many narrow segments of gray chitin. Each side of it is lined with legs, hundreds of stubby little things that keep it only a few inches off the ground. They move with eerie, mechanical coordination, ripples of motion running down each flank. At the front of the creature, its body flattens out into a broad head, protruding out to either side and shaped vaguely like a hammer. A huge mouth splits the head almost in two, and as it yawns wide I can see row after row of needle-like teeth, short but viciously sharp.
The legs, Ahdron had said. Meroe is already backing away from it, and I fade to one side, ready to attack its flank if it stays focused on her. All of a sudden, though, I don’t like this plan. Meroe is all alone, and if something goes wrong—
“Berun!” Meroe shouts. “Now!”
Berun, at Ahdron’s side, swallows hard and concentrates. For a moment, pale blue light flickers around the hammerhead, which is still moving toward Meroe at a leisurely pace. The Tartak force makes it pause for a moment, but no more than that.
“I can’t,” Berun says. “I can’t hold it!”
“Try again.” Meroe’s voice is remarkably steady. “I trust you.”
Oh, rot. Rot rot rot.
Pale blue light gathers one more time, but Berun doesn’t seem to know how to apply his force to the enormous creature. Bands of light press against the massive head, trying to hold the thing in place, but he’s just not strong enough. Given the size of the thing, it’s like trying to stop a runaway cart full of rocks. It pushes through with ease, moving faster now, right at Meroe.
I should have rotting known this wasn’t going to work.
I run at the hammerhead, igniting my blades and shouting at the top of my lungs. The noise at least distracts it, and it slows, wide snout turning in my direction. It doesn’t change course fast enough, though, and I still catch it in the side, one blade held out in front of me like a lance. The green energy sinks into the hammerhead’s flesh, actinic crackles of magic spidering out along its hide, until my knuckles brush against its skin. Clear, sticky blood wells, coating my fingers.
I’m just about at the middle of the creature, and down around my knees its hundreds of legs are pumping away like pistons. I pull my blade free with another spurt of watery fluid and slash low, hoping to salvage Ahdron’s plan. But the legs are chitinous and hard, much tougher than the rubbery skin of the creature, and my Melos blade scrapes and sparks across them without inflicting much damage.
The hammerhead lurches sideways, and I have to jump backward to avoid being slammed aside. I definitely have its attention now, and its segmented body curves in my direction, blunt head straining blindly toward me. The mouth gapes wide enough for me to see two black tongues twisting around each other like wrestling snakes.
Rotting wonderful.
Fire blooms in the darkness, a bolt that whips across the deck and slams into the hammerhead’s side. It barely seems to notice. Another blast impacts near its head, shattering into globs of liquid flame that burn briefly on its thick hide before guttering out. It’s coming faster now, legs churning, and I back away.
“Isoka!” Meroe shouts.
“Keep it moving!” says Ahdron, hurling another gout of flame.
You’re not rotting helping, I want to say, but I can’t spare the breath. Picking away at something this size is like trying to kill an ox with a slingshot. The heart or the brain, Ahdron had said. I try to picture the location of both, based on his crude drawings. The heart, back in the center of the body, is buried too deep in the rubbery flesh to get at without carving the thing apart. The brain should be just behind the bulbous hammer-shaped head. So maybe …
Oh, Blessed’s rotting balls. This is going to hurt.
I spare a glance over my shoulder, making sure the ground behind me is clear, and settle into a defensive crouch. The thing is coming at me like a loaded wagon barreling downhill, and a traitorous part of my brain insists that it’s not too late to run away. But I need this—if I’m going to climb Soliton’s hierarchy, get out from under the Butcher and into a position where I might be able to get something done, I need to take risks.
This is definitely a risk.
A moment before it reaches me, I jump, hoping to get clear of its jaws. At the same time, I stab down with both my blades, aiming at the back of the snout, trying to punch through enough rubbery flesh to reach the brain.
It nearly works. I get my blade in, sizzling Melos power slashing through flesh, but the brain must be farther back than I thought. The creature never slows. And my standing jump isn’t quite high enough, because one long black tongue licks out and wraps around my ankle, yanking me down. My blades come free in a spray of clear blood, and for a moment I’m falling. I jam one blade in, right above the creature’s jaws, and twist it so it holds me in place. That keeps the tongue from pulling me in entirely, so its bite closes on my calf, rather than my waist.
Melos armor flares wildly around my leg, green energy forming a nearly solid shell that crackles and spits as it tries to keep the monster’s teeth from my flesh. But this isn’t like deflecting a sword cut or a brief blast of fire. It’s more like trying to hold up a building, and I give a full-throated scream as the magical energy flowing under my skin builds to an unbearable heat. Wisps of smoke rise from my leg where arcs of green lightning strobe across it.
I let the armor fail. I’m not sure it’s even a conscious decision, but I have no choice. In another few seconds, Melos power would sear my leg into ash and blackened bone. The hammerhead’s straining jaws close, and a new, exquisite agony blooms as needle teeth tear into my flesh. There’s a nauseating crack as the bone breaks, and blood bubbles through the monster’s clenched teeth.
Definitely not the best plan I’ve ever been a part of.
The hammerhead is still moving fast, turning back toward the others. I’m hanging on the front of its head, supported by my mangled leg and the blade driven into its nose. If I let go, then I’ll fall down and be crushed under the thing’s onrushing bulk. If I hang on, I’ll pass out from loss of blood. My vision is already going gray at the edges. So what now, Isoka?
Die, most likely.
I’m not eager to die. And more than that. If I die, I fail. If I die, Kuon Naga will do whatever he wants to Tori and everything I’ve worked for will be for nothing. If I die now, I never meant anything to anyone.
The rot with that. I’m not going to let that rotsucker win. Not like this.
I twist my head and spot Meroe and Berun. My voice is a strangled yell, twisted by pain.