Black Bottle (57 page)

I’m proud of that, by the way. I’m proud that we’re doctors, psychiatrists, holomorphs for rent.

[redacted]

Sorry, I don’t give readings or sell talismans. I can point you toward some colleagues that will work out elaborate star charts. I don’t do that either. My approach is more direct, which I assume is why you came to me.

[redacted]

Yeah. Those questions aren’t really up my street.

[redacted]

I’ll try.

[redacted]

That’s right. You’re pretty well versed for a girl such as yourself.

[redacted]

Yes. You’re going to eat my heart with that silver spoon. Where were we?

[redacted]

Right. They call her the Sslia. It’s like uh … deliverer.
The
Deliverer.

[redacted]

Well that’s because it
is
a murky legend. You know this entity is not gender specific. Sslia is like—

[redacted]

Right. Exactly. There would be a lot of interest in making sure you get the right person for the job. (laughs) Assuming it was real.

Anyway, I simply don’t know much about the subject. The only reason I know anything at all is because—you guessed it—shuwt tinctures.

[redacted]

No. I don’t believe that. Keep in mind none of this is science.

[redacted]

I don’t know if Pplarians have ever used shuwt tinctures. That’s way off track.

[redacted]

Okay. Fine. The short of it, right? Is that some entity, the Sslia, uses these tinctures to travel around in time—sort of. It’s part of some big apocalyptic bullshit scenario. So, in the end, supposedly, this Sslia uses the tincture to escape this epic black cosmic meltdown of the world or universe or whatever. He or she disappears and leaves everyone else in the lurch. That’s it. That’s all I know.

[redacted]

(laughs) You’re funny. No, I mean, no one knows, right? This legend is old as dirt. I have no idea whether there’s some grand purpose. I’ve certainly never heard of one. The Sslia just … does crazy stuff, and then disappears.

[redacted]

Well I think there are some drawings. Old engravings or whatever. But you know they always show the Sslia hooded and gender-neutral. The actual entity of the Sslia is described as having wings. Wings of light. And the power to destroy the world, of course, which is symbolized as a sword. That’s what this whole myth is about. The Sslia shows up, prepares the planet for the end of time—maybe that’s your grand purpose—then it opens up the floodgates of destruction and disappears instantly on a drug-induced journey into forever after.

[redacted]

Yeah, it is nice. Why can’t all recreational drugs have legends like this to bolster sales?

[redacted]

Right. These notes you’ve brought. You said they’re from your grandfather’s war chest? My opinion is that you should stop reading them.

[redacted]

Sure I can translate Veyden. I’m green, aren’t I?

[redacted]

This one here? Gnor-ak Gnak Zith’yn Auth-ich Aubelle Aubiel Gnak Naen’Uln Thu-ru Ryth-ich El.

[redacted]

Yeah. I know that.

[redacted]

No.

[redacted]

Maybe you’re thinking I’m an olive with its core cut out? Half-Veyden born and raised in Pandragor … long way from the jungles? So how can I be so sure of the deeper cultural significance?

[redacted]

Sure, but, I’m sorry, your translation is just wrong.

Look, I’ll do it word for word, exactly. Darkness-in Light Exist (with a plural subject marker there) Many-of One Terrible Light White Moon’Gold Culminate-will Age-of Sadness. It’s a bit esoteric but the translation isn’t hard. Just that Naen bit.

[redacted]

Right, “white moon gold” is a bit ambiguous. That’s because Naen’Uln is a religious word. It could be purely descriptive—a thing that’s whitish-gold like the big moon—or it could be a proper noun. If I were to translate it for you into Trade I’d probably write it something like: In the darkness there are many lights, of which one Terrible Light, white-gold like the moon, will culminate an age of sadness.

[redacted]

Hey, if you want to think it means something different, use your translation instead. You won’t upset me.

I just don’t think you should focus on this. It’s bad energy. It’s easy to read fear into that little Jingsade-sounding whatzit that some Veyden probably copied from a carved block.

[redacted]

(laughs)

[redacted]

Well, I’m laughing because here you are, sitting in my den of iniquity, asking me about shuwt tinctures but treating me like your priest.

[redacted]

No. What I do is offer counsel on the use of an extremely expensive, extremely dangerous and extremely illegal recreational drug. Why? Because I
do
feel some moral obligation to help really rich people not kill themselves while they’re getting high. It’s that simple. What other brand of drug dealer hires a stenographer? I do it so that my clients feel at ease, to provide them with a level of comfort. This isn’t a dirty brothel with syringes scattered all over the floor. This is an office, with comfortable chairs, a window and water in glass bottles.

You get to take these notes home and use them as a reference and a guide for your own shuwt experiences. That’s all this is. I am
not
your priest.

[redacted]

Oh, good. For a minute there I thought everything was unraveling.

[redacted]

No. Yes, it is an incredible sum.

[redacted]

Yes, let’s do both, thank your father.

[redacted]

No, I understand, you’re right. For what you’re paying you’re entitled to talk about whatever you want. But like I said, I don’t want you to get all crazy-religious on this stuff. It’s just a drug. I don’t want you to wind up dead. That’s why I’m being practical … trying to turn you off from all this Sslia-legend-shit.

[redacted]

Uh, sure. Nenuln
is
a nice-sounding phrase.

[redacted]

You could use Sslia, you could use Nenuln. Whatever you like better. No one in the north is going to know what they mean anyway.

[redacted]

No names please. Will you strike that? Thanks.

Anyway, back to the tinctures. This is your second time with them so it’s going to be less painful. It gets easier every time.

[redacted]

Is it a dangerous underworld drug? Yes. With repeated use, will it eventually cook your brain from the inside out? Yes. You signed the waiver.

But is it also a sublime concoction capable of drawing on humanity’s collective past and personalizing it for you in a way that provides inspiration, insight and possibly even epiphany?

Maybe, yes. I think I’m offering that service.

Others are going to tell you that shuwt tinctures reveal hidden dimensions and enlighten you as to the actual nature of the universe. I don’t say that. I suggest a conservative approach to the aftermath of a shuwt journey. Remember the ratio: ninety-nine percent meditation, one percent action.

[redacted]

Right. Let’s finish up with a legal recap, shall we? First offense will get you …

[redacted]

Iycestoke is far worse. I don’t know what they do in Bablemum but once the treaty takes effect I’m sure they’ll follow the same laws as Pandragor.

[redacted]

I agree. It’s just arbitrary legislation as far as I’m concerned. But they can’t legislate my culture out of existence. Veydens have been doing this spirit guide thing for centuries.

[redacted]

Yes, but see, that’s precisely why I don’t offer those services. You shouldn’t take tincture without a guide. But this whole movement of getting a dream shaman? I mean, that crap about the answers being inside of you is just a convenient way to sell things to people that don’t have any friends.

[redacted]

Because we’re talking about transcendence. And I’m of the opinion that you cannot transcend without permission. Without help.

That’s the one part of the Sslia legend that I can buy into. I don’t believe the notion that shuwt tinctures offer some kind of passage to divinity, but I do like the idea that, in the end, the Sslia doesn’t really seem to succeed. The Sslia just disappears. Why? In my opinion it’s symbolic of taking something to the extreme. It’s symbolic of obsession, of elitist rhetoric, of going down the wrong road on your own. That’s what happens. You fucking disappear.

[redacted]

Good. Right.

[redacted]

Yes. Use them but not more than once every other day and no more than twice in a week. Three doses in a ten-day period will probably set your brain on fire. So go two in a week and then stop. And I mean stop.

Cold.

I’ve never seen anyone take a third-day dose and not end up tied to a bed for the rest of their lives, assuming they survive.

[redacted]

Yep. I’ll get you a copy of the session. No problem. Two-week rest intervals.

[redacted]

Yep.

[redacted]

Yep.

[redacted]

All right. Take care. I’ll see you in three.

CHAPTER

45

The papers were smudged. Their margins were also badly crumpled as if they had been carried around for a long time, pressed inside a small book with their edges hanging out. They were at least a year old based on the political reference.

The questions pertaining to how Sena had gotten access to these personal papers and why she had placed them here made Caliph uneasy. A soft knock on the door brought a further lump to his throat. “Come in?”

The door slid open and much to his relief the familiar face of Dr. Baufent leaned in. What he didn’t like was that she looked nervous, and not a little afraid.

“What’s wrong? Where are we?”

“Bablemum.” She didn’t elaborate but inflected it as if to lay blame on him.

“How did we get here?”

Baufent looked at the papers in his hand. “Found those, I see?”

“Yeah.”

The physician withdrew her head as if toward a sound from outside the room. Her hand came up, finger raised while she listened. All Caliph could hear were the dripping branches, the frogs and leaves and buzzing static of the city. A weird night bird also called from just outside the window.

“Yes. He’s awake,” Baufent called out to whoever had spoken. Her voice launched the unseen bird from its perch. Its wings sounded large and leathery and Caliph caught a glimpse of its head—an anvil-shaped aberration—as it flew away. “He’ll be out in a moment.”

She stuck her head back inside. “You’ll be out in a moment?”

Caliph considered exercising his authority. Part of him wanted to bark at her, demand a full account of what was going on, whether Sig had been found—even though he knew that answer, didn’t he? Instead he nodded and let her go.

He tossed the papers back on the small table and slumped into a chair by the window. He closed his eyes and Sig’s face was there, teeth chewing at that ridiculous patch of hair. Caliph let out a silent, volcanic wheeze, hot and angry and cathartic. He allowed himself a few seconds of grief.

It wasn’t enough.

Sig deserved more than stifled sobs. He deserved life.

Another knock at the door.

Caliph lashed out. “What!”

Baufent’s voice was firm on the other side. “I forgot to tell you not to turn on any lights,” she said. “It’ll draw attention.” Then her footsteps scraped away.

Caliph stood up, furious.

He inhaled the lukewarm humidity deeply, then wiped his eyes. There was a set of clothes laid out for him. He dressed violently, thrusting arms and legs through holes. He took his anger out on the seams.

Fly buttoned, boots buckled, he marched toward the door, eager to confront the unknown.

A lit octagonal hatch ten feet down the hall guided him toward the only possible destination. Tremulous people-shaped shadows spilled out into the hall. He barged in, then drew up, forced to reassess.

Taelin lay practically atop a tattooed man Caliph had never seen. It was an exaggeration, but she was perched on the same divan, leaning parallel with him into the cushions, one of her legs draped over his mighty thigh. His arm was around her waist.

Dr. Baufent stood by a lamp whose maroon globes bloodied the room. She did not look happy.

There were other big men, like the one groping the priestess. Heavily tattooed greenish skins and coarse red braids erupted from them, unable to be contained by rich clothing. Cuff links, and black sleeves and silk ties strained but failed to tame the crew of wicked gentlemen. They glared at Caliph.

Their leader was obscured, barely discernable among the powerful angles of the room. He was huge and broad, a trapezoid flowing, hacked from bolts of luxurious cloth. Easily twice Caliph’s size, he looked down with fiery black eyes and said, “High King Howl. A pleasure to meet you.”

“I’d like an introduction,” said Caliph. It was a flat command leveled at Baufent.

She spluttered. She was not trained as an aide or a servant and must have found his order discomfiting. “Th-this is—”

“I am Ku’h,” said the huge man. He had a thick southern accent but his Trade was just fine. “We are glad you are feeling better. I am…” he seemed to lose his way for a moment “in charge … of the Great City of Bablemum.”

“In charge?” Caliph couldn’t hide his skepticism.

“The lord mayor is dead,” said Ku’h. “Only some of us are left.”

“Dead how?”

“The disease.”

“We know the Sslia brought you here,” said Ku’h.

The word surprised Caliph. He recognized it from more than Taelin’s drug counseling transcripts. It had also been in the journals Sena had given him.

“Sena came aboard while you were comatose,” Baufent said quietly, as if passing Caliph the facts which Ku’h had molested. “But she didn’t speak to us.”

“Sena spoke to me,” Taelin interjected happily.

Caliph didn’t look at Taelin. He kept his attention fixed on Baufent. The doctor rolled her eyes at Taelin’s comment. Then she continued. “Sena set the ship’s course before she left. We stopped here, last night.”

“The Sslia,” said Ku’h calmly.