Читать книгу Spellbreaker: Book 3 of the Spellwright Trilogy - Blake Charlton - Страница 13

Nicodemus thought he was still drowning in the river when he found himself hanging upside down on his stolen barge. Water dripped into his eyes, blurred his vision, plastered his long hair to his face. A soft green light shone behind him.

Inversion filled Nicodemus’s head with pressure while strange texts blunted his thoughts, preventing him from spellwrighting. It seemed the neodemon had cast several censoring spells around his mind—several because Nicodemus’s cacography was slowly dispelling the texts in direct contact with him. If he focused on misspelling, he could accelerate their deconstruction. But for the moment, it served his purposes to appear harmless.

“You are censored and bound by the feet,” announced a calm female voice. “I wouldn’t attempt to free your body or mind unless you’d like to be formally introduced to excruciating pain.”

“Thank you, but we’re old acquaintances,” Nicodemus croaked while spitting the hair away from his mouth. “No need for formalities.” He held his arms up, trying to push down on the deck and release the pain in his ankles. But the boards were nearly half a foot out of reach.

“That you are a spellwright is obvious,” the calm voice said. “An adept at disspells, nonetheless. What I cannot surmise is in what languages you spellwright. Enlighten me on that subject.”

Nicodemus coughed a few more times and gathered his wits. He had to lie as little as possible; it would keep his story straight and make things smoother if the deity converted. “I studied with the kobold skinmages of the Pinnacle Mountains. Touching my skin could be dangerous.”

“I have never heard of skinmages. Are there many of you in the South?”

“Not many who are human. I may be the only one.” At last Nicodemus cleared the water and hair from his face and discovered a swaying view of the ship’s deck, its gunnel, the jungled riverbanks of the Matrunda sliding past. Apparently the River Thief had believed his Papa to the Rescue routine and was fleeing downriver with a new captive.

Gradually Nicodemus’s eyes adjusted to the dim green glow shining behind him. Three sailors stood by the gunnel. Their lungi were tied high to keep the garment above the knees. Two had fresh wounds on their bare chests and were looking aft for pursuing ships. The third glared down at what appeared to be a four-foot metallic cocoon that had grown metallic tentacles and jammed them into the ribbing of the boat’s hull.

Nicodemus recognized this as the endgame of Sir Claude’s Wounded Bird routine. As the spells animating his armor wound down, the crouching knight had edited his metallolinguistic armor into a defensive conformation that insinuated itself into the boat’s structure; this to prevent the sailors from tipping him into the river. Presently, an eye slit opened in his helmet to allow Sir Claude to watch Nicodemus attempt a conversion.

“So,” the unseen female speaker behind Nicodemus said, “what forces put the world’s only human skinmage and a Lornish knight in the company of an Ixonian river merchant smuggling opium?”

Nicodemus turned his head to try to see his interrogator but succeeded only in getting more wet hair in his eyes. “Could I know whom I am addressing?”

“This is not that kind of conversation.”

“What kind is it?”

“The kind where you tell me what I want to know or I find out how hard it is to fit a knife blade into your spine.”

“I’ve never been good at those.”

“I’ll start with your lower back so you get plenty of practice before you die. So, tell me why you and the metal man ended up in the same opium running outfit.”

“Ambition, greed, maybe a dash of desperation.”

“Go on.”

“My past was a bloody one; I had to leave the South. Once I made it to Chandralu, an old associate matched me with smugglers hiring spellwrights willing to protect a new opium buying expedition. Sir Iron Ass over there had similar reasons for leaving Lorn.”

While Nicodemus was speaking, the green light shining behind him brightened. “So,” his interrogator asked, “some Southern thugs want in on the Matrunda opium run?”

“That would be a safe assumption,” Nicodemus replied. “And would it also be safe to assume that I am talking to the River Thief’s avatar? Perhaps his high priestess?”

The woman laughed, a light sound with a note of private amusement. This bothered Nicodemus though he could not tell why. “What would make you assume that?” the woman asked.

“Forgive a foreigner’s ignorance. I’ve heard nothing about what the River Thief’s requisites might be; however, when you heard there might be more traffic on the Matrunda opium run, the light behind me grew brighter. If one of the River Thief’s requisites is theft, then increased smuggling on the Matrunda would offer more chances to fulfill that requisite and make the neodemon more powerful. That might produce a more luminous aura around his avatar.”

Two of the sailors looked at Nicodemus, their expressions cold. The unseen woman spoke again. “An impressive bit of deduction, skinmage. You have dealt with neodemons before?”

“The situation I left in the South was complicated. It left me with certain skills that the River Thief might find useful.”

“You want to join us? Why should the River Thief trust a mercenary who betrays his former employer?”

“I contracted to protect the ships with my life. I was the only one in the camp who discovered your caper and the only one who risked his life to stop you. In your hands, I’m as good as a dead man. Therefore, my contract is complete.”

“An honorable mercenary? I’m sure the world is just crawling with those.”

“‘Honorable’ exceeds my expectations. I was hoping for something as humble as ‘not worth killing just now.’”

“If we were to consider your offer, what could you tell us of these Southerners muscling in on the Matrunda run?”

“I can tell you that this expedition had a peculiar buyer in mind for the opium.”

“Oh?”

Nicodemus thought fast to concoct a lie that might reveal more about the River Thief’s requisites. He chose one his wife was fond of telling to deities of theft. “Perhaps you’ve heard of Lorn’s stringent laws limiting spellwrighting. Recently, their metallic overgod has forbidden clerical physicians from casting any text upon the mind of any Lornish man, woman, or child. In Skydoc there is an infirmary for children. Some of their patients are in continuous pain. Lorn won’t allow the physicians to stock the necessary medicines and now they can’t cast spells to relieve their pain. So, the physicians hired a group of … thugs, as you say … to smuggle enough opium into Skydoc to relieve the children’s suffering.”

As Nicodemus spoke, the green light behind him dimmed. Noting this, Nicodemus laughed out loud. He knew exactly what kind of neodemon the River Thief was.

“That was exceptionally clever,” the woman said coldly. “So much so, I might have to test this knife on your spine after all.”

“I have an unusually compact spine. Stabbing me might waste a good knife.”

“Fortunately I have several to hand.”

Nicodemus’s heart began to race. “I have skills you can use. No one knows divinity like I do. Consider how quickly I gleaned your River Thief’s requisites. Clearly he is a water god, and a subtle one, or he never would have been able to sneak our boats out one by one. Clearly he is a god of thieves, or your aura would not have brightened at the prospect of larceny. But the River Thief’s mandate cannot be theft alone or learning that you had just stolen medicine for children would not have weakened your aura. The River Thief’s requisites are for equitable theft—steal from the powerful and give to the poor, that sort of thing. That type of neodemon, it’s a rare kind of god. I could help him flourish.”

Again Nicodemus’s interviewer produced laughter that rang with a peculiar note of amusement. “I can’t decide if you are the most dangerous captive we’ve ever abducted or if you’re just shockingly full of bullshit.”

“Those are not mutually exclusive possibilities.”

“Or maybe you’re simply God-of-god’s damned insane.”

“I admit that story about the children was, technically, bullshit. But it is proof of my skills. I could render my knowledge to the River Thief. I could help him steal on a greater order of magnitude. I could help him steal from other deities.” The green light flickered.

“And how could the River Thief achieve such amazing feats of equitable theft?”

“Government.”

The unseen woman and the three sailors all burst into hearty laughter.

So began the last phase of the infiltration game. Things would be more dangerous now that Nicodemus had to tell the truth. “It sounds like a joke, but trust me I am not here to amuse. No force has greater potential for deprivation of property than a government, and if the River Thief’s requisite is for equitable theft, then he could help ensure that they get it right, for once.”

The sailors had stopped laughing but were now looking at Nicodemus with expectant grins, as if anticipating a punch line to a joke.

Nicodemus frowned at them. “Say the River Thief has requisites more specific than simple theft. If he must perpetrate extortion or embezzlement, he could become a god of the treasury and steal all the money nobles hide from tax collectors. Or perhaps the River Thief has a requisite for burglary or fraud, then it’s espionage for him. Your god could be stealing from Empress Vivian rather than from dingy river merchants. Think, and think hard, about everything the River Thief could do for his worshipers if he could dip into the imperial wealth or if he commanded a fraction of all the taxes in Ixos or the taxes in all three league kingdoms. I’m offering a chance for your god to shape the league’s destiny.”

The sailors had stopped smiling. One had gone back to playing aft lookout. The other two sailors were again staring at Nicodemus’s unseen interrogator. “You suggest that the River Thief should be enslaved in one of the regency’s pet divinity complexes?”

Nicodemus had known this question was coming. Usually it was asked just before a neodemon either converted or tried to expose Nicodemus’s internal organs to air. “Why would I suggest such a small prize?” he asked. “Joining an existing complex is for the neodemons who need the Sacred Regent’s protection. But it’s the other way around for the River Thief; the Sacred Regent needs protection from him. With the right go-between—namely me—you could name your terms. Or forget the regency entirely, we could go directly to the Council of Starfall and give your god a jurisdiction greater than this kingdom’s.”

Someone from the bow called out and one of the sailors hurried away. But what did his interrogator think? She would be the key to the River Thief. A moment passed in which only the creaking of boards and the lapping of water sounded. Then, at last, the interrogator said, “You must have a very high opinion of yourself, that you think you could achieve such a feat.”

“I have managed to get one or two things done in my youth. I could catch the right ears for you.”

“Skinmage,” his interrogator asked, her voice growing tense, “I begin to fear that you have not been completely forthcoming regarding who you are. That or you are a consummate lunatic. To whom am I speaking?”

“This is not that kind of conversation.”

“Are you fond of trying to reverse situations in which you are bound and censored with a knife point to your kidneys?”

Something cold and sharp press up against Nicodemus’s left flank. “I try not to make a habit out of it,” he replied with as much composure as he could muster. “But, truly, I can help the River Thief gain power beyond any previous. Even more importantly, I can offer him protection.”

The woman snorted. “No, I’m afraid that won’t work. The River Thief has no need to fear the Trimuril or Leandra Weal.” Her voice grew louder. “They have never found us, and they never will.”

Nicodemus waited a moment before speaking softly. “Your crew is listening, so perhaps you would let me whisper something to you.”

Nicodemus felt pressure on his sides and then heard his interrogator speaking close behind his head. “You have exactly one breath to convince me that I shouldn’t cut you into pieces small enough for the river fish to swallow.”

“It’s too late,” Nicodemus whispered. “You’ve swallowed poison bait.”

She was silent for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“Think about what I just offered so loudly. Who could make such an offer?”

“No one.”

“No one except Nicodemus Weal,” he said before belatedly adding, “Or his wife. If you do convert, don’t tell Francesca I forgot that part.”

“You’re mad as a monkey in heat.”

“You are the River Thief’s avatar, yes?” he asked.

Rather than answer him, she said, “You can’t be the Halcyon; we’ve had reports that Nicodemus Weal went after a brigand goddess to the east of Chandralu nearly thirty days ago. There’s been no word that he came back.”

“Where do you get such information?” Nicodemus asked. “Tell me and I could make things even easier for you.”

His interrogator said nothing.

“Do you have an informant among my daughter’s officers? Is one of them in your purse? Is that how you have been avoiding Leandra?”

“Lies,” the woman said faintly.

Nicodemus continued. “I needed you and your men to hear what I had to say. It was my only chance of saving the River Thief. Unless he converts, you and your crew will die. Then I will find your god and deconstruct him into stray punctuation. You are his avatar, yes? You need to let me speak to him.”

His interrogator sniffed and muttered “him” under her breath. Suddenly Nicodemus recognized in her voice a peculiar kind of annoyance. Nicodemus’s gut clenched. “Oh … bloody burning hell!”

“What?”

“I’ve been a complete … ass.”

“Just when I begin to believe I should take you seriously, you say something completely insane.”

“I just realized why you are not taking me seriously.”

“Because you keep saying completely insane things?”

“Because the reports I received in Chandralu described the River Thief as a water god, and I believed them.”

The interrogator was silent.

“You are not an avatar?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The River Thief isn’t a water god. She’s a water goddess. You are the River Thief.”

There was a short pause. “At least you are not the stupidest man I have ever met. But I can’t say that’s much of a compliment.”

“Goddess, please forgive me. You are clearly a subtle deity, one that would be a great boon to the league. But if you remain a neodemon, I have no choice but to bring you down.”

“Try to bring me down.”

“I wouldn’t let you capture me if I couldn’t ensure my safety. What’s more you’re not a fighting deity; you’ve gotten by all these years by concealment.”

She didn’t reply.

“And you’re brave,” Nicodemus added. “When confronted with their possible death, most deities bluster. It’s one of the downsides of immortality, I think.”

“Downsides, mortal? I am the one who has you upside down and censored.”

“Do you think that will help you survive?”

A long pause. “Not if you’re telling me the truth, Nicodemus Weal.”

“I am. Now, help me to save you. What are your requisites? How can I help you thrive in the league?”

The goddess’s voice sounded slightly sad. “There can be no place for me in the league, or anywhere where humans rule.”

Nicodemus snorted. “Don’t be dramatic. Any deity can live within the league, especially here on Ixos.” He paused. “Though I suppose any deity incarnated on this continent could live free. But you are a neodemon, not a demon.”

There was no reply.

“Goddess, you do not seriously mean to tell me that you crossed the great ocean, that you’re a demon of the Ancient Continent?”

Still no reply.

“You’re bluffing,” Nicodemus insisted, though he felt a twinge of fear. “You can’t expect me to believe that after waiting thirty years for the Disjunction, the dread god Los would send over a single steal-from-the-rich-to-do-good demoness.”

“No one believes the Disjunction is coming. Not even your daughter.”

“What?”

“Listen to me, I am in fact a divinity complex of three goddesses—one of them quite old. My requisites are complicated. What you are offering, equitable theft without being bound by the Sacred Regent, could you accommodate the requisites for all three of us?”

“Unless there is a truly outrageous requisite, human pain or sacrifice or something like that.”

“No, no. Nothing barbaric.”

“Then I can bring you into the league’s pantheon.”

“Then … we shall talk.” Something moved behind Nicodemus. “Raise your hands. I’ll cut you down.”

Nicodemus obeyed and felt something jerk at his legs. He fell a half foot before landing on his hands and rolling easily up to a crouch. Being right-side up after so long was strange. The blood flowed out of his head and he felt as if he could think more clearly.

Grateful, he turned to regard the River Thief and discovered a lithe female figure, wrapped in a white cloth that floated around all six of her graceful arms—one pair of arms from each of the goddesses that had fused to form her complex. The sight made him think of a different river goddess, one he had known long ago.

In each of her six hands, the River Thief held a different kind of knife: a narrow dirk, a throwing dagger, a wavering kris, and so forth. Around her silhouette glowed an aura of blue-green light. Nicodemus was about to bow to the neodemon he hoped to convert, but then he saw her face and he froze.

For the second time that night, Nicodemus could not make sense of what he was seeing. The neodemon’s face … it filled his mind with confusion and fear. A single, absurd question pressed itself into his every thought with undeniable urgency. Before he realized what he was doing, Nicodemus asked, “Goddess, why do you have my daughter’s face?”