Temple of the Traveler: Empress of Dreams (42 page)

“Yes!” said Pinetto, fist in the air. “We should take the mini-catapult out of the hold and put it on the deck of the big ship, too. It could come in handy.”

Ignoring the outburst, she continued. “In exchange for a rowboat and supplies, he gave me a map to a small treasure stash on the nearby island of Tremador. It should cover our docking fees, ownership transfer fees, and other bribes.”

“He gave you all that?” Hindaloo said with wonder.

“I’m very persuasive,” she said in a sultry voice. “Anyway, he knew nothing about the fabled island of Ashter. As for other pirates, he said only about five ships work the Babliosian waters this season. With the war, a lot of independents have gone to work for the warlords.”

“Who are they?” asked Tashi.

“The old rebels left over from the great war between Archanos and Osos. They each have a couple decent islands and ships to guard them.”

“How many cutters the size of your ship or bigger would you say there are?” Pinetto asked the pirate.

“You’ll have to repeat that question, I’m a trifle
deaf
in that ear,” the Black Cloud shouted angrily. In the presence of an Imperial, he wouldn’t calm down or cooperate further. Pinetto left to experiment with the giant slingshot, checking the maximum weight and range of the device. Even without him, the dealing was soon at an end.

“The alchemist will know more, I’m sure. I’ll take care of him next,” said Sarajah, dragging the bag into the wheelhouse. While she questioned the captive, the men transferred supplies to the larger
Nothing Sacred
.

At first there was high-pitched shouting in the language of the outer islands. The heated discussion calmed after the first few beats. After two hours, the seeress came out with a short alchemist who wore a frightening bamboo demon mask with boar tusks. Sarajah told the waiting men, “The mighty alchemist Oomajib will be working for us from now on, as my apprentice. Oomajib’s father was the original Black Cloud, who invented the formula for the material. The treasure stash offered to us rightfully belongs to Oomajib, not the new captain, who assumed the dead one’s reputation. We can still have the treasure, but the pirate captain will need to make a new deal for the rowboat.”

The pirate said, “I’ll trade you the pirate name. It’s well-known and makes the victims cooperate.”

Oomajib chattered another objection. Sarajah translated, “And an oath to leave these waters. His real name is Padrok.”

The pirate growled, “Aye.”

Once the pirate was underway, Tashi whispered, “How do you know we can trust the runt alchemist?”

“That ‘runt’ is a fifteen-year-old child whom you almost suffocated,” Sarajah said, glaring at him.

“
He
stabbed
me
.”

Pinetto said, “We don’t have enough seamen to pilot both crafts.”

Hindaloo had anticipated this turn of events. “That’s why we brought the bearers. Send the fisherman back with the natives and the other injured.”

“No. We’ll all head back toward the Crooked Isle now, even if we have to tow the
Mallard
. I want to get Oomajib to safety. The treasure is on the way.”

“He almost blew us all up!” Tashi ranted.

“I have spoken,” Sarajah said, turning her back on the crew and returning to the wheelhouse with the alchemist. Tashi’s jaw clenched, holding back complaints. He went with the others to help ready the
Nothing Sacred
to sail.

“Can we ask him questions?” Pinetto requested.

She closed the door, preventing the wizard from pursuing the alchemist. “Ask me, and I will inquire if necessary.”

Pinetto narrowed his eyes. “How do I know you’re not possessed again?”

She shrugged. “Test me, then, but do it here. I must protect the alchemist.”

“I want a drop of blood from our new guest. I’ve already checked the prisoners.”

She sighed. “Make it fast.” Sarajah said something in rapid-fire islander and the masked alchemist held out an arm.

Pinetto took the hand and smiled reassuringly. “I won’t hurt you.” He pricked the alchemist’s thumb with a clean pin, then sealed the wound with a second, heated pin. When the pin sizzled, the high-pitched voice reminded him of something.

Sarajah saw his face change as the deductions trickled through his brain. “Don’t say a word,” she ordered.

He looked at the alchemist more closely. Casually, he said, “The school needs a new scholarship position. I’ll mention it to the men as my idea. I even have someone in mind, a child of one of the local men who died protecting us.”

“Thank you,” Sarajah said, smiling. “I’ll let you in to talk later.”

When Pinetto climbed the rope ladder over to pilot the larger ship, Tashi was on deck. “What’s her deal with that alchemist?”

The wizard held a finger to his lips. “Oomajib must be protected. Don’t cross her on this or you could lose her.”

They sailed to the treasure beach in the dark, passing the pirate’s rowboat. They anchored off the Babliosian shore for the night. While Tashi and the healthy Imperials bumbled around the shore, counting paces, Pinetto knocked on the wheelhouse door of the
Mallard
. Sarajah had hung expensive carpets over the windows to block out the lamp light and muffle sound.

After peeking, she let the wizard in. “Whisper,” Sarajah insisted, standing guard outside while the two discussed magic.

He smiled, and handed a hairbrush and hand mirror to the masked alchemist. “I found these in your father’s chest in the captain’s cabin. I removed them before anyone else could see.”

The girl removed her fearsome mask and accepted her possessions. “Thank you. For an Imperial, you seem most kind.” Her hair was short, bowl-cut like a boy’s. Her ‘rs’ rolled like the harbormaster’s had, and the way she spoke Imperial was melodic. “How did you know?”

“You were clean, from head to toe. While you spoke with Sarajah, you washed up. A boy wouldn’t have cared. The pitch of your scream, the way you didn’t want to be touched, and Sarajah’s instant liking for you all pointed the way. Don’t worry: I’m going to be a father myself. I wouldn’t want a bunch of sailors knowing my daughter was sleeping in the next room either. Is Oomajib your real name?”

“Just Ooma,” she said. “The -jib makes me a boy.”

“Are you really an alchemist?”

She nodded. “I was my father’s assistant. He taught me all his recipes.”

“How do you make the Black Cloud?”

“You lower a mixture of one-part squid ink and three-parts dried locust shells into the chasm for three beats at precisely midnight. An amber bucket the size of your head will yield half that much magic powder,” the girl explained. “You need the amber because anything else melts away. Glass deforms and even steel rusts in the fountain of eternity.”

“Does midnight versus noon really make a difference in the mixture?”

“Not normally, although I do have one recipe that’s best on midsummer night. Our crack in the ground erupts regularly, every three hours. Each fountain is different. Every alchemist works with a spirit creature because, after the surge, the ropes are usually obliterated by the spray. The spirit pulls the resulting product out of the oven. Since my spirit creature dislikes sunlight, I can chose midnight or very early in the morning. The color of the dust is more gray the closer you get to dawn.”

“It still obscures the vision, right?”

“The lighter packets don’t erupt as well, and black is our signature.”

“Signature. Hah. Image is important to a pirate, I guess. Do all the fountains erupt so regularly?”

“No, ours is small and old. Father said the stronger, hotter ones are less predictable. Those alchemists have all sorts of tables and devices to sense the buildup. Some holes steam a little before the big eruption.”

“I found a script in your father’s chest. Did you use it when taking hostages, too?” he joked.

She nodded. “Father said that people appreciate a good show; it’s part of what they pay for. Once ransomed or put ashore, they can tell their friends and relatives the juicy bits and dine free for years. Father studied all the best playwrights.”

He burst out laughing. “Is there a recipe you’ve agreed to teach Sarajah?”

“She wanted a helmet of Sacred Amber because it is impervious to ghosts. I told her such a piece is far too large. Earrings and a nose pin like mine should do just as well.”

“Hmph. Maybe. I was hoping to plate our ship in amber to make it ghost-proof without wards.”

The girl scoffed. “Such a thing would take thousands of years.”

“Do you have ghosts around here?”

“Little ones. They travel in clouds. Don’t breathe them in because they make a person behave oddly. You don’t find them often in cities, but they love swamps.”

“Interesting, can you tell me more?”

“No, I avoid the foul airs. Some alchemists cook with them, but I prefer to be safe. Despite my profession, I am a white alchemist. I experiment every time I visit the secret cave of my ancestors and keep notes. Such a journal is an alchemist’s most prized possession. Sarajah has promised me my father’s book from the trove. She can have the trinkets and spell components.”

“What would a dark alchemist do?”

She shuddered. “They distill the suffering in human bones to a substance called agon and trade it to demons for favors.”

“How do you know which people suffered before you melt their bones?”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “She was right about you. They’re
dark
alchemists. They make sure the person suffered enough to fill every corner of their marrow and then kill them.”

“How can you tell the difference between the two before they chain you in the dungeon?”

She snickered. “Their products. Pure products make a pure sound that keeps the spirit clouds away.”

“The wind chimes in the captain’s cabin,” Pinetto guessed. She nodded. “They’re beautiful.”

“I made them as part of my apprenticeship, the five core substances.”

“What do dark artifacts do?”

“They generally attract spirits. Sometimes evil priests use dark drums to summon swarms to do their bidding. There are gray spells useful to anyone, though. For example, one type of snake venom mixed with flour and dragged through the fountain for eight heartbeats will make a powerful clotting agent very useful for treating sword wounds. If you take onions and let them rot till they turn transparent and mix in moss, you can make a pad that dissolves on the tongue and cures fevers. It still tastes like rotten onions and moss, though. Ble-ach.”

“How does killing and stealing jibe with the whole white image?”

“We only kill and steal from foreign devils like you.”

“Thanks,” Pinetto said. “If you’re so friendly, why do the warlords have small navies?”

“By custom, property is only owned on dry land. That which rides on the sea is free to all,” she said with a shrug.

“How many warlords are there?”

“About ten.”

“So to get the number of ships we need, we’d have to take over half the ocean?”

“What?” the girl asked.

“Nothing. Have you heard of Ashter Island?”

“No, but my father’s book has a lot about other islands where he’s gone for ingredients. Maybe there’s something there.”

Pinetto scratched his bedraggled sideburns, thinking. “Just in case we don’t find the island we want right away, could you cook us up some of those remedy powders?”

“Already in the chest—worth more than the gold,” she replied. “But don’t touch the pouch with the lizard drawing on it.”

Their recruiting mission along the coast of Bablios didn’t go as well as expected. They garnered a dozen able sailors, but few were willing to fight hand-to-hand. Only a demonstration of the rubber-band launcher on the deck stirred mainland men to volunteer. Pinetto spent a great deal of time, and every melon and coconut they had, “training” the new crew.

Reluctantly, the core team agreed to let Hindaloo hire more island natives from the local taverns when they returned to the Crooked Isle.

While the others were gone on shore, Murali, the hunter, asked Pinetto, “What did you want that special net for?”

“Don’t say anything about this on the Crooked Isle, but I’m trying to catch a special monkey.”

“What’s so special about him?”

“I’d rather not say too much, in case I’m wrong,” Pinetto hedged.

“Come now, if I’m going to teach you to cast it properly, you must tell me more than that.”

“He’s about knee high, white ruff around his face, way too smart to be a plain monkey, and just might be able to turn invisible.”

“Ah. Then you need a monkey trap.”

“What?”

“You distract him with food or something interesting while you drop the net on him. You should also let me help.”

“I don’t know. He might not talk with you around.”

Murali raised an eyebrow.

Pinetto sighed. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. Don’t ask me any more about it or tell anyone else.”

“I can only guarantee my silence if I’m hunting. If I go to the tavern with the others, I will drink, and my tongue will loosen.”

“Deal.”

****

Sarajah called Bagierog’s name ahead of time so that he and Nesu were waiting on the docks when the
Mallard
arrived at the marina. They boarded covertly while the two ships were still slowly moving. She handed the alchemist off to the panther. “Hide Ooma until I call you. Let
no one
see either of you.”

“I am no babysitter. This counts as a service,” grumbled the Dawn creature.

“Sure. I only have one left,” agreed Sarajah, knowing he would serve the school indefinitely for free. “Now, before the inspector catches us.”

The masked alchemist climbed on his back and muttered a compliment in islander. Bagierog paused briefly to preen before leaping off the deck onto the roof of a passing warehouse.

Nesu, pretending he’d been onboard the whole time, bartered with the inspector again. The letter of marque helped reduce the fees for the new ship, but costs were still significant. Sarajah muttered, “I don’t know whether there’s enough metal in the Outer Sea to pay for over forty cutters.”