“Meroe?” I interrupt.
“There are two options here.” She stands up, with a smooth smile on her face. “First, the Council can agree with us, and we’ll present a united front. Or, second, once we’re done here Isoka and I go outside and start telling everyone the truth. The Captain is a lie, the ship is headed for the Rot, and the only way to safety is reaching the Garden.”
“What makes you think they’ll believe you?” Shiara says.
“They’ll believe the Deepwalker,” Meroe says. “Who was caught in the Captain’s tower. Who killed a dredwurm. Who fought the Butcher and won.”
There’s a long moment of silence. I can see the three of them working it out, and coming to the same conclusion. They look at one another.
“Or,” Zarun says slowly, “we can make sure you don’t walk out of here.”
“Don’t be stupid,” the Scholar says.
“It’s not stupid,” Shiara says. “She’s threatening the Council.”
“I have made a few friends,” Meroe says. “They’re expecting me. If I don’t show up, there’s a letter they’re supposed to open.”
“Let me guess,” Shiara says. “It says that the evil Council has imprisoned or murdered you.”
“Something like that,” Meroe says. “When news gets around that the Council has turned on the Deepwalker, after she won her freedom by challenge…”
“Enough,” Karakoa says. “We will not be murdering a wounded young woman with no justification but our fears. I am not so lost to honor as that.”
“Then what?” Shiara says.
“If telling the rest of the crew the truth frightens us so,” Karakoa says, “then we should face the possibility that she is in the right.”
“You’re taking her side?” Shiara says.
“Meaning what?” Zarun says. “Go along with this plan? Pack up everyone and hope this Garden is real?”
“We can barely defend the walls,” Shiara says. “How are we supposed to make it past the Center?”
“Actually, I’ve thought a bit about that,” Meroe says. She takes out a sheaf of Soliton’s speckled, scraped-down paper, covered in pencil sketches. “Let me show you something.…”
The arguments go on far longer than I would have liked. Far longer than I have stamina for, in truth. I excuse myself and limp back to my bed while Meroe is still debating with the Council, though it’s clear she has the upper hand. The Scholar accompanies me, leaning heavily on his cane.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says. “For all our sakes.”
“So do I,” I mutter.
* * *
When I wake up, Meroe is in charge.
It seems like a few moments between the time I close my eyes and the time I open them, but by the sunlight streaming in through gaps in the deck it’s been at least ten hours. One of Sister Cadua’s young assistants arrives to help me clean up and change my bandages, but my efforts to get any news out of her are thwarted by the fact that she’s clearly in awe, bobbing her head and averting her eyes like I was the Blessed Emperor. Once she’s done, I put on a robe and walk outside—carefully—to find out for myself.
I have to interrogate a half-dozen hurrying crew until one of them will tell me where Meroe is. People are running back and forth on all kinds of errands, carrying bundles outside or bringing back information. It doesn’t look like we’ve been entirely overrun by crabs, which is a cheering thought. Those who recognize me step out of my way as I limp past, murmuring, “Deepwalker,” with a reverence I find seriously uncomfortable.
Outside the First Tower, the market has been cleared away, replaced with a bustling camp. At the center is a pile of waterskins, bottles, small kegs, anything that will hold a significant amount of liquid, which is growing by the minute as crew run to arrive with more. There’s cloth, too, in a bewildering variety of colors and shapes, curtains and carpets and clothing of all kinds. Well-armed crew are standing around in groups, and a few small dead crabs are in evidence.
I find Meroe simply by following the crowd. She’s standing at a table in front of the piles, with the Scholar on one side and Shiara on the other. Spread in front of them is a mess of paper, covered in hasty lists and sketches. A dense ring of people, most of whom I recognize as pack leaders, surrounds the table. I grimace, not relishing the prospect of forcing my way through, but as soon as one of them notices me they step out of the way.
“Deepwalker,” says a huge iceling, wearing crab-shell armor and a sword nearly as big as the Butcher’s.
“Deepwalker,” an older woman echoes, her blue-tinted hair flopping over as she inclines her head.
I blink. What in the Rot am I supposed to say?
Fortunately, Meroe sees me. She says something to the Scholar, then hurries over, taking my arm in hers and helping me away from the crowd. Behind us, the chaos of shuffling paper and shouted orders goes on.
“Isoka!” Meroe says. “How do you feel?”
“In quite a lot of pain, to be honest.” I put one hand to where the bandages bulk under my robe. “But I can walk without bleeding, at least. What’s going on?”
“Well, you talked the Council into trying for the Garden.” Meroe waves her hand vaguely. “We’ve just been working out the details.”
“It looks like you’re tearing the town apart.”
“There were some fights over that at first. Karakoa threatened to cut one of the scavengers in half if he didn’t get out of the way, and that clarified things.” Meroe looks at the piles. “My biggest concern is water. Everyone’s going to have to carry some. At least food shouldn’t be an issue. There’s going to be plenty of crab.”
I half-smile, thinking this is a joke, then decide it isn’t. “They’re still coming?”
She nods. “Zarun and Karakoa are out at the defenses now. We’ve had to pull people off the walls to give them some rest, so we’re stretched pretty thin.”
I shake my head. “Is all of this part of a princess’ training, too?”
Meroe looks surprised. “Of course. A princess of Nimar must be prepared to lead an army in the field, if necessary.” She looks a little embarrassed. “I admit it’s mostly reading and theory on my part. But while I was talking to the Council, it turns out I’m the only one who’s read Anjustius or Gero’s Campaigns, so the others agreed that I should … organize things.”
They agreed, just like that. I find myself grinning at Meroe. “You’re…”
“What?” She looks at me, then down at the deck. “I’m sorry I couldn’t consult you, but there wasn’t time—”
“Please.” I grip her hand. “It’s fine. What in the Rot do I know about putting together an … an army? You’re better off without me.”
“We’re not, believe me.” Meroe squeezes my hand back. “In fact, now that you’re awake, do you feel up to a short walk?”
“Where to?”
“Crossroads. That’s where people are resting. I think it would be good for morale if they could see you.”
“Good for morale? Why?”
“You’re the Deepwalker, Isoka.” Meroe lowers her voice. “Most of these people have never left the Stern. Even the hunting packs and scavengers don’t go into the Deeps, or beyond the Center. You’re living proof that it can be done. And you went against the Council because you knew this was coming, and fought the Butcher to convince them—”
“That’s not true! I didn’t know anything, except what the Scholar had already told them. And I fought the Butcher—”
“I know that,” Meroe says quietly. “So does the Council. But the rumors have gotten … overheated. At this point, it’s probably best to just let them believe what they need to.”
Rot. Bad enough that I had to get perforated fighting that monster. Now they’re trying to make me into some kind of saint for it? I shake my head.
“This isn’t going to work, Meroe. I’m not … what they want me to be. You know. I’m a girl who likes to hurt people, and I’m pretty good at it. That’s all. Not a … a leader, or a savior.”
Meroe leans closer, putting her head beside mine, her lips to my ear. My skin pebbles to goose bumps at her touch.
“How do you think I feel?” she says. I can hear the panic in her voice, deeply buried but still there, like lava bubbling underground. “Because I read a few books, they’re treating me like some great general! I am making this up as I go along, and every second I expect someone to stand up and say, ‘Hey, Meroe, you don’t have any rotting idea what you’re doing, do you?’ And then I realize that the reason no one does is because none of them know any better, and I can’t decide which is more terrifying. They ask me to decide things and I do the best I can and people are dying on the walls.”
I slip my arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. I can feel her shaking.