Child of a Hidden Sea (12 page)

The kid ran off. Verena said: “The servants will deliver your baggage to Gale's apartment.”

“Thanks.” Sophie had spotted a red froglike creature about as big as her thumbnail, waddling across the base of a marble fountain. It had an elongated tail that tapered to a curling, hairlike wisp. Crouching close, she pulled out her video camera and zoomed in. The amphibian froze in place. “Bram! I'm positive this is a new species.”

“Holy crap,” Bram said.

“I know, right?” she said. “Everywhere you look, there's something new. So what do you think? Past Earth or—”

He pulled her upright, turned her so she was facing uphill. “You need to stop and smell the terrain.
That
is an active volcano.”

The mountain rumbled, as if it were pleased to have been noticed. It had the perfect cone shape of a volcano picture drawn by a child—the sloping sides, the cut-off point of its tip.
Like Vesuvius,
Sophie thought. Could it be Vesuvius? A flag of smoke stretched from its caldera, marking the direction of the wind.

“Cool!” She took a 360-degree shot, starting with the volcano, catching the city.

Verena said: “It's perfectly safe, Bram.”

“Active,” he repeated. “Volcano.”

“The Erinthians sank a massive intention into the top of the mountain—Muerdia flows slow and steady.”

“Intention—that's another term for magical spell?”

“Yeah. It blew a few centuries ago and wiped out half the city, so—”

“If you're trying to reassure me, Verena, you're doing a lousy job.”

Sophie had panned down from the volcano to the palace. The heaviness of its stone walls gave it a solid look, and the doors were big and heavy, too. Overall, though, the structure didn't look as though its primary purpose was military. There were no turrets and parapets, no slits for boiling oil or archers. It rose five stories high, with large windows on the upper levels and abundant flower gardens at its base. The windows on the upper three levels opened onto large balconies, and royal blue silk was wound into their railings, adding a band of color to the otherwise sober-looking structure.

Lemon and lime trees planted in a keyhole formation around the palace formed a promenade that led to a gate downhill from the palace itself. Guards stood watch at the gate; about a hundred feet below them, an outdoor market was at full boil, vendors and customers gesturing and shouting as they argued, presumably over prices for fish, vegetables, and whatever else they were trading.

Sophie finished her circle, coming back to the wall and the red and black amphibian there. “Are the frogs toxic, Verena?”

“Why don't you eat it and find out?”

She met her half sister's gaze, holding it until Verena blinked.

“Sorry,” she said. “Come on. There are about a zillion of the things on the path to Gale's, if you want to catch one.”

Sophie looked at Bram, who shrugged, as if to say:
What else are we gonna do?

They followed Verena around the side of the palazzo, passing more servants, all of them dressed, to Sophie's eye, like extras from a Renaissance costume drama—the women in long skirts, the men in balloon pants, hose, and puffy-sleeved coats. A uniformed guard let them out through a gatehouse on the side wall. It led to a secluded path walled on either side by lava gateposts and tall glass lanterns. The posts were covered in a creeping vine, not unlike ivy, with unlobed chordate leaves and bell-shaped orange flowers. A stream ran alongside the path, and more of the red amphibians rested on damp ground cover near the water.

Sophie plucked one flower and a sprig of the vine and packed them in a plastic sandwich bag before hurrying to catch up.

Bram was still getting his geology geek on: “How do you tame a volcano, Verena?”

“You can go up to the caldera to see the inscription if you want,” she told him. “It's safe, and the path's—”

“I'm not leaving my sister.”

Sophie threw an arm around him. “Isn't this cool? Aren't you glad you came?”

He elbowed her. “It's not enough to go looking for a few biological relatives, you mad overachiever? You have to find a whole birth planet.”

“I'm the mad overachiever. Who's got two and a half advanced degrees?”

“Who'd have one herself if she didn't keep chickening out on defending her thesis?”

“Jerky jerk,” she said, but she felt her face heating.
Thanks for telling little sis I'm an intellectual lightweight
.

Change the subject. “So, Verena, does courier mean what it sounds like? You do deliveries between here and home?”

“Yes and no. There are a few Stormers in the know about Earth, and a few who actually live there, mostly in San Francisco—”

“Why San Francisco?” Bram asked.

“It's easiest to get through there,” she said. “Gale does carry messages, from their families and such. She gives the letters to Mom; Mom sends them out. There's also a couple spellscribes who make sure Stormwrack remains undiscovered.”

“Because…?”

“The Convene—that's the government—believes that establishing contact would hurt both societies.”

“Gale brings the mail back and forth? That's her job?”

Verena nodded. “It's a minor government post.”

Sophie frowned. “I thought she was way more important.”

“She is. The courier badge gives her freedom to travel and nose around. She spends most of her time here, doing favors for the government. Meddling in politics.”

“Like a spy?” Bram said.

Sophie thought of the attack in San Francisco, the one that had brought her here. “So there's lots of people who would have had a reason to attack her?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Does she know who stabbed her?”

“If she does, she hasn't said.”

The walled path wound downhill, taking them maybe three hundred meters from the palazzo before forking deep into a residential district. There was nobody else on it; it had the feel of a private walkway. Verena led them through a vine-draped gate, through the back courtyard of a four-story building that looked like an apartment block, and past two guards with swords. A barefoot servant scrambled to open the door, leading the way, huffing, up three stuffy flights of stairs, to a landing with two more guards.

“This is Gale's place.” Verena raised her hand, but before she could knock, the door swung wide.

Hello, Mister Tasty!
Close up, Captain Parrish's good looks remained Bollywood-perfect. He looked to be about thirty, with coloring that, at home, she'd have said made him South Asian—Indian, perhaps, or Bangladeshi. His skin glowed like hand-polished walnut, and his black, lamb's-wool curls all but begged to have someone's fingers plunged into them. And his mouth—Jane Austen probably would have called those lips “full” or “generous.” Sophie, on the other hand, would have gone with “edible.” Everything about that mouth suggested sweet, ripe fruit.

She shot a sidelong glance at her brother and was gratified to see that he looked a little stunned.

Poor guy—people must stare at him all the time. I wonder if someone did this for him … or to him? With magic?

“Hi,” she managed. It came out a little breathy.

Parrish cleared his throat, looking inexplicably stricken. “Verena, Gale has been asking for you.”

“How is she?”

“Improving.” He stood aside to let them in. “Who are your friends?”

“Sophie Hansa, Bramwell Hansa, this is Captain Garland Parrish of the sailing vessel
Nightjar
,” Verena said. “Give me the pouch.”

Sophie blinked … this last had been to her. “Open or closed?”

“Closed,” Verena said, scandalized.

She handed it over and her half sister stomped off, vanishing down the hall.

Bram drifted past them, across the polished floor of dark rock and out to a balcony at the far end of the wide parlor. There was a guard out there, a uniformed shape visible through gauzy orange curtains, but Bram was oblivious to him. He gazed out at the mountains, groping in his pack for his laser range finder. He wore the sort of absorbed expression that meant he'd be tuning out everyone around him for hours, possibly days. His lips moved ever so slightly—math was happening.

Leaving Sophie, for all intents and purposes, alone with Captain Gorgeous.

“Um … don't mind Bram,” she said.

“No, of course,” Parrish said. His voice was a resonant baritone. He was examining her closely. “You are Gale's niece?”

“Not if she has anything to say about it.” She spied a shelf of books—books!

“I thought you'd been sent home.”

“Verena fetched us back.” She pulled down one of the books, trying to avoid thinking about his gaze, heavy as the weight of a hand, on her back.
Silly,
she told herself.
There's a whole world to explore here; you can ogle pretty men back home.
“Did Gale tell you how we met?”

“An attack in … your home city.”

“I think you all call it Erstwhile. Hey, is that the term for the whole world? All of Earth, I mean, or just San Francisco?”

He seemed to be considering his response. “Kir Hansa…”

“Sophie, please.”

“The fact that Erstwhile exists—that it isn't a myth, or a remote island in the East—is a government secret.”

“Seriously? Classified info? And me with no security clearance.”

He didn't return her smile. “You'll have to be circumspect.”

“Why? You're in the know, obviously, and Verena grew up there—”

He put up a hand, and—as if on cue—a teenaged girl came into the room, carrying a tray of anise-scented cookies and four black glasses filled with steaming fluid.

“Discretion is important,” he said, looking from the servant to the guard on the balcony.

Sophie opened the book. It was typeset in curlicued Roman lettering—another argument that this was Earth, in some sense. The words were Fleetspeak.

Oh, this was interesting! It turned out the spell that had taught her the language had made her fluent, but not precisely literate: She had to sound out each word, like a first grader, before it made sense: “Blossoms Majesta of Redcap Island are daughters and sisters of the reigning king; they run the government, and one should never visit the island without first finding out which princess is currently in charge of foreign affairs.” Diplomatic protocol. Boring.

Parrish coughed, probably hoping for some kind of acknowledgment that he'd told her to be secretive.

She closed the book. “I'm no good at fibbing, Captain.”

“Discretion is a skill you would need, were you to remain here.”

He's so sure I'm going. Why are the cute ones always so arrogant?
“Okay, then. Have you been to … our home city?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Once or twice. Kir, what are you doing?”

“Call me Sophie.” She had opened a second book, a massive tome full of diagrams of family trees, and shut it just as fast. “I have until Verena disinherits me, right? I'm picking up what I can.”

The next book was called
Writs of Exception,
and read like law. Small print, and dry, wordy statutes.

“So, Captain, you've been you-know-where? Have you met my mother?”

“Of course.”

It wasn't the answer she'd expected. “Wow. You know Beatrice? What's she like when she's not freaking out?”

“Freaking … I couldn't say.”

Arrogant, maybe, but he is adorable when he's rattled.

“Kir—”

“Sophie.”

“If you explained what it is you're seeking among Gale's books…”

“Answers. Anything useful,” she said, and he stiffened, cooling so fast she might as well have slapped him.

Damn! What've I said now?

“Inheritance law?” Parrish said, voice thin.

“What? No! If Gale and Verena can't sort out the heir thing by themselves, what possible chance would there be that I could help? I was hoping more for a field guide. Plants and insects?”

The faint hint of a smile formed. It was a nice smile … she nearly dropped the book. “You're
curious.
”

That's right
, she remembered,
these people seem to think curiosity is a disease or something.
But Parrish didn't look offended. She said: “What about some geology? The continents on this—”

Parrish's eyes flicked to the guard on the balcony.

Right, the big secret.
“I'm interested how the land masses formed.”

“Mythology?” Now he looked baffled.

“Hang on…” She'd just absorbed what he had said. “Inheritance law? You think I'm looking up how to hang onto all this?” She waved an arm, indicating the apartment.

“Gale is a wealthy and important woman.”

She laughed. “Unless she owns a natural history museum, I'm not that interested.”

“No? Not in her fortune? Her position among the Nine Families of Verdanii? Unlimited right of passage to your home city, and a Fleet Courier badge?”

“I didn't set out to have the damned pouch imprint on me,” she said. “It's a purse, not a gosling. Nobody in their right mind would expect—and, really, why does it do that anyway?”

He frowned, apparently processing.

“Okay. Sure, I'm human. If someone handed me a billion dollars on a silver platter, I'd take it. Anyone would. But this isn't real. It's not mine. What do you think I am?”

“Who were the men who attacked Gale?” Parrish said. “How is it you were present just when she needed aid?”

“You're the one who's her friend. How is it you weren't present?” she snapped, and that hit him—she could see it. “Are you saying I set her up?”