The torchlight pauses, then shifts. Someone has heard me.
So that’s all right, then. I lay Meroe down, as gently as I can, and fall over. I’m unconscious before I hit the ground.
13
This business of waking up in strange rooms with no memory of how I got there is getting really old.
The unfamiliar ceiling this time is metal, the rust-flaked fabric of Soliton. I’m lying on a proper sleeping mat, with a heavy, tasseled blanket pulled up to my neck. The room is small, lit by oil lamps, with the usual eclectic decor. It’s certainly a step up from the half-flooded cell Pack Nine called home, or even Sister Cadua’s.
There’s a table and two chairs on the other side of the room. Zarun is sitting there, a book open in front of him. He looks at me as I move my head, and smiles.
I sit up abruptly. The blanket falls to my waist, and I realize belatedly that I’m naked underneath. One of Zarun’s eyebrow quirks, very slightly, but I refuse to frantically cover myself for his benefit. If he wants to stare at my chest so badly, let him. Blessed knows there’s little enough to stare at.
“Isoka,” he says. “How do you feel?”
“Better than last time,” I mutter. My limbs ache, but with the deep pangs of exhaustion, not the stabbing pain of injury. “Where am I?”
“Back in the Upper Stations, in the guest quarters of my clade. It was some of my people who found you.”
“Where’s Meroe? Is she all right?”
“At Sister Cadua’s.” Zarun cocked his head. “I’m told that she had quite a severe fever, but Sister Cadua expects her to recover with treatment. She hasn’t woken up yet.”
A little tension goes out of my shoulders. I have no idea what position I’m in here—as usual—but at least the nightmare march wasn’t all for nothing. I hike the blanket up enough to cover myself and let out a long breath.
“You’re the talk of the ship,” Zarun says. “Again. This is becoming a habit.”
“It’s not something I’m aiming for,” I say. “I’m just trying not to die.”
“I imagine.” He smiles. “Like it or not, I’m afraid, this time your fame will be considerable. Other people have fought blueshells and won. No one has ever fallen into the Deeps and survived.”
“Lucky me.”
“They’re calling you ‘Deepwalker.’ It has a certain ring to it.”
I roll my eyes. “What are you doing here, Zarun? Just waiting for me to wake up in hopes of getting an eyeful?”
His smile widens. “I’m afraid that’s only a side benefit. I wanted to speak to you before anyone else had the chance.”
“Speak, then. Because I have to piss something fierce.” Not a lie. Someone must have given me water while I was sleeping.
“As you wish. I would very much like to hear the story of your survival, but that can wait.” He sits up a little, and his smile disappears. “The Butcher, predictably, is pressing for me to return you to her … care. As we discussed before your little adventure, I would not be averse to having you in my service. So, if you’re willing, I am prepared to exert my influence on your behalf. It helps that you are already here, in my custody. In spite of her protestations, I can find something that will persuade the Butcher to drop her demands.” He spreads his hands. “Just say the word.”
“And what exactly would I do, in your service?”
“Given your talents, I imagine I’d put you in a hunting pack. Considering how well you’ve handled yourself so far, I’m excited to see what you could accomplish with a proper team. And, of course, you’d have better accommodations and freedom of the market, like any of my other crew.”
I wouldn’t be a prisoner, in other words. Definitely a step up. Which is the goal—keep moving upward until I get to the top—but there are a few complications.
“Can I think about it?”
He shrugs. “If you wish, but not forever. I can only stall negotiations for so long.”
“Just give me a few minutes.” I glance at the door, which here is a real door instead of a curtain. “Alone, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” He picks up his book and gets to his feet.
“And I’d like my clothes.”
He wrinkles his nose. “I’m afraid what you were wearing was … not in a fit state. I’ve taken the liberty of having new clothes made ready.” He waves to a silver-inlaid wooden trunk in the corner of the room. “If there’s anything you need, please ask.”
“Fine.” I don’t like taking gifts from Zarun, but it can’t be helped. Between my blood and the crabs’, my old outfit had gotten a bit foul.
“And…” He hesitates, still looking at me. “I’m not sure if you had the chance to look in a mirror, on your adventure, but…”
This confuses me for a moment, until I remember the marks. I touch my face, where I know the blue lines criss-cross my skin, though it feels no different under my finger.
“I’m aware,” I tell him.
“They suit you, I think.” He grins. “I look forward to hearing the story of exactly how you acquired them.”
I stare at him pointedly until he leaves. Once the door is closed, I kick off the blanket and get to my feet, stretching and wincing as my muscles pop. My skin is clean, which brings up the unpleasant image of someone washing me while I was unconscious. I thrust that thought aside and kick open the chest to find a set of trousers, a tooled leather vest, and underclothes, along with my old boots, now washed and brushed. The vest has a low scooped neckline and is a little more decorative than I like, but it’s a hell of a lot better than nothing.
There’s a silver ewer of water on the table, and a chamber pot underneath it. After making use of first the one and then the other, I’m feeling considerably more comfortable, and ready to think a little harder about Zarun’s offer. I knock at the door, and it’s opened by a young Imperial boy in a similar outfit. He bows and directs me through a larger room, where several mismatched chairs are set in a half circle. Zarun sits in one, and Thora and Jack share another, the slight Jack sitting half on Thora’s lap. Two more chairs are occupied by people I don’t know. Flunkies of Zarun’s, I assume.
“Welcome,” he says, waving a hand but making no offer to find me a place to sit. “You look much improved, I must say. Your resilience is remarkable.”
“I’ve often been compared to a cockroach,” I deadpan.
“A very pretty cockroach,” Jack says dreamily. “I like the blue. It’s a good look for you, Deepwalker. Ow,” she adds, as Thora knuckles her on the head in warning. “Just stating a fact.”
“Have you considered my offer?” Zarun says.
“What about the rest of Pack Nine?” I don’t want to give away that it’s mostly Meroe I’m concerned about, though I suspect Zarun can guess.
“Ahdron is Pack Nine’s leader, and he’s still pledged to the Butcher,” Zarun says. “So they stay with her.”
Is it my imagination, or is there a hint of expectation there? “What if he wasn’t leader?”
Zarun shrugs, his expression all false innocence. “If Pack Nine were to get a new leader, through a formal challenge, then in theory that leader would be free to choose an allegiance or stay independent. In practice, independence is … difficult.”
“Why’s that?”
“’Cause if you don’t have anyone backing you up,” Jack says, “there’s nothing to stop the Butcher from sending a pack round to break your legs if you don’t swear service.”
“Fine.” I lock eyes with Zarun. “And if I were to swear allegiance to you?”
“Then I suppose I would be obligated to exert my influence on behalf of my new pack,” Zarun says. His eyes twinkle.
I grit my teeth for a moment. I would rather not be in debt to Zarun, but it looks like on Soliton, like on the streets of Kahnzoka, trying to live without a patron is futile. Zarun is currently the best candidate in a field of one. At least pack leaders have some status, so I’ll be better off than if I simply joined his clade. And Meroe and the others will be safe.
I can always betray him later.
* * *
Pack Nine, they tell me, has been moved to quarters on the Middle Deck. Thora escorts me outside to provide directions. Zarun’s clade lives in one of the nine square towers that define the limits of the Upper Stations, according to Thora generally considered the most desirable real estate on the ship.
Once we go outside, smaller buildings are packed in tight, edged by the same street market I saw the last time I was here. The ceiling is high above, and I can see a cloudy night sky through the rusted-out gaps.
“So why is this the place to live?” I ask her, as she leads me through the crowd. “This ship is so big every person here could build a palace with room to spare.”