Chapter Fifteen

  The Journey on the Sphinx

  A slender, bald, obsequious man in voluminous white pantaloons and no shirt at all met them in the inn's common room the following morning. He was Chuma's associate, and his duty, he said, was to make sure they were appropriately outfitted and provisioned for their journey. They spent the morning among market stalls, where Chuma's wealth bought them linen and cotton clothes in the loose-flowing, cool native style, and where Alaeron had to be torn away from a few stalls selling rare artifacts and even the occasional newly unearthed scroll, some still sealed in their copper tubes and unseen by human eyes in centuries. He couldn't afford those anyway, but he spent a few coins on alchemical supplies and some insect and animal parts he thought might make ingredients for the extract of flight he'd been mulling over. Finally they were led to a dock abutting the broad, shimmering canal.

  "That's a boat?" Skiver said. "Looks like a lord's country house!"

  Alaeron wouldn't have gone quite that far, but Chuma the Scorpion's pleasure barge was the most opulent floating vessel he'd ever seen, that much was certain: constructed of fine wood, fittings polished to a high gleam, embellished with ornaments of gold (or at least golden paint). There were two huge, blue, long-lashed eyes drawn on the prow. Chuma's shirtless servant was, it turned out, also the barge's captain, and he led them aboard and pointed out the amenities with obvious pride, including three private staterooms, each small but well-appointed. Skiver and Jaya both agreed Alaeron should have the one with a foldout desk.

  "This boat has stairs," Skiver said. "I've never even lived in a house with stairs." He scampered up the narrow staircase to the upper observation deck, while Jaya and Alaeron stowed their bags and then met at the prow, where four cushioned chairs were fastened to the deck. A red, tasseled awning provided shade from the sun. They sank down in their seats, Jaya groaning with pleasure, and looked at the afternoon sun glittering on the water. Without any noise, commotion, or noticeable signal, the barge began to float smoothly down the canal, toward the River Sphinx.

  "Let's never leave here," Jaya said, leaning back and closing her eyes. "Let's just commandeer the ship and float up and down the river forever."

  "It's a tempting thought," Alaeron said.

  "Why does pleasure have to be so fleeting, but discomfort is ever in abundance?" she said. "You'd think the gods would have arranged it otherwise."

  "I doubt the gods worry much about our comfort. But we should enjoy it while it lasts. Before we get to the, ah, Screaming Jungle." Might as well practice craftiness. You never knew who might be listening.

  She opened one eye, looked at him, and smiled. "Now you're learning." More loudly, she said, "Ah, the Mwangi Expanse. How I've missed it. Nothing makes you feel more alive than the constant terror of death. Though sinking into these cushions is a close second."

  They floated along the canals for a long time, gradually leaving the spires and minarets of the city behind, to be replaced by green fields on all sides. "It's more lush than I'd expected," Jaya said.

  "I imagine it's a ribbon of green following the river valley," Alaeron said. "And beyond that, desert. Wasteland. Ruins filled with poisonous vapors and unquiet spirits and cursed treasures." He sighed. "I wish I could explore it all. Can you imagine the secrets hidden out there?"

  Skiver came along then, carrying a jug of wine and a few goblets. "No beer at all on this thing. Apparently the Scorpion doesn't drink proper alcohol, only stocks the boat with squeezings from grapes and other things. The stuff in this bottle here is made of honey. Can you believe it? To make spirits from something that oozes out of bugs? But a man can only stand so much water, and I daresay I've drunk worse."

  He sat down and propped his feet on the rail. "Now we're traveling in style. Captain says the journey will take a while, more than a week, anyway, maybe closer to two. We're picking up some passenger at An, the City of Triangles—I guess Chuma couldn't resist the chance to make a little money, since he was sending his boat on down the river anyway." Skiver filled a glass, sniffed the contents, made a face, and passed it to Alaeron, who handed it over to Jaya before accepting a glass of his own. "Triangles!" Skiver said. "Where I'm from, we make cities out of sensible shapes. Squares, rectangles, like that. Foreigners. Who can make sense of them?"

  "We're the foreigners here," Jaya said. "They don't have funny accents here—you do."

  "Oh, sure, everything's relative," Skiver said. "I know it. I'm always saying that. I've said it to more guards and judges than I can count—one man's crime is another man's necessity, ain't it?" He sighed contentedly. "I'm happy to be a foreigner, if this is how they treat visitors. Give me the easy life, that's all I want."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  A day into the journey, Skiver was so bored he was teaching Alaeron to knife-fight, even though Alaeron wasn't a particularly keen student. "You're not terrible," Skiver said, dancing lightly on the deck in his bare feet. "You've got decent instincts, and you're pretty quick, and you've got nimble fingers."

  "I do handle acid for a living," Alaeron pointed out. "A certain amount of dexterity is—"

  "But you're as subtle as a brick to the head," Skiver went on. "I can see every move you make coming ten minutes before you get around to doing it. It's best if the man you're fighting never sees where the blade is coming from. Now, ideally that's achieved by sticking the knife in his kidney while his back is turned, but if you've got no choice but to face him in a fair fight, at least try not to be totally obvious." He danced forward, his blade flashing out as his hands moved faster than Alaeron's eyes could follow, forcing the alchemist to stumble backward in retreat. "Now, if you're fighting someone who knows what they're doing, and who means to kill you, they're going to stab. Slashing is fine for making pretty scars, and if you just want to send a drunk idiot on his way without having to get rid of his body afterward, sure, slash away. But mostly in serious knife fights, it'll be a stab." He jabbed forward, three sharp thrusts in quick succession.

  Alaeron wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "All right. What do I do about that?"

  "Be where the blade is not," Skiver said. "Stepping aside is better than stepping back. Faster, and puts you in a better position to take control. Watch, come at me."

  Alaeron had already learned there was no point in holding back: he wasn't going to give Skiver so much as a scratch, not at his current level of incompetence. He lunged, and Skiver slid to the side, stepping closer to Alaeron, and grabbed the alchemist's wrist lightly. "Here's the bit where I break your wrist," Skiver said, letting go and stepping back. "Be aware of the line of attack, and stay out of the way. Watch the man. Watch his feet, and his hips, and the way he shifts his weight. You can usually tell what a man's going to do, even if he's not as bloody obvious as you. The body gives it away." Skiver sheathed his knife and held out his hand for Alaeron's. "That's enough for today."

  "Let me know if you'd like to learn archery!" Jaya called from her chair, where she'd watched the lesson with amusement.

  "Oh, lovely." Alaeron sat down beside her, muscles aching from too much dancing away from Skiver's leisurely demonstration strikes. The thief had moved at half speed, mostly, so Alaeron could follow his movements and try to mimic them, but it was still enough exertion to push Alaeron's endurance to its limits. "Something else I can be terrible at. You know, I don't try to teach the two of you how to mix mutagenic potions."

  "Nor have we asked," Jaya said.

  "Don't think I haven't noticed," Alaeron said.

  "Do you blame us? It takes some effort to kill yourself accidentally with a bow and arrow. And while it's a bit easier with a knife, it still takes a colossal mistake. But alchemists ..."

  "You lot blow yourselves up five times before breakfast, don't you?" Skiver said. "And even if you don't blow yourselves into little bits, well, I knew an alchemist once who only had three fingers on his left hand, and that was the one he called his good hand. Nah, I'll stick with stabbing people for a living. Much safer."

  They sat and watched the banks of the river slide by for a while. The pleasure barge was clearly not built for speed. They were regularly passed by other craft, especially small, single-sailed ones that shot by like a runner racing past a man standing still. On one of those boats, they would have been forced to sleep on deck again, though they wouldn't have needed as many nights to reach their destination. Alaeron couldn't decide if their relatively sluggish pace was a blessing or a curse. How eager was he to hike into the mountains that separated Osirion from the Mwangi Expanse? The idea of seeing the ruins of Kho still seemed almost like a dream to him, but its reality was growing ever closer.

  Unless they were killed by hyenafolk and other monsters in the foothills, of course. Always a possibility.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  A couple of days later—days spent talking, or staring at the lotus blossoms floating on the water, or watching the farmers work on the cultivated banks of the River Sphinx—they drew into sight of An, the City of Triangles.

  "Huh," Skiver said, munching an apple and squinting over the railing on the ship's highest deck. "I expected more of those pointy tomb things."

  "The city is named for the jagged mountains visible in the distance." Jaya pointed them out. "Though also for the pyramids in the south. This was a city to house the slaves who built those pyramids, once."

  Alaeron squinted toward the peaks on the horizon. "Isn't the tomb of Kamaria the Brazen here? The mad king who worshiped the Rough Beast?"

  Jaya nodded. "So I understand."

  Alaeron grunted. "Plundered mightily already, I'm sure. Still, there are often hidden rooms in tombs, and I wonder what I might find there, given enough time ..."

  "Oh, well, maybe we'll stop by on our way back from the Mwangi Expanse." Skiver's voice dripped sarcasm like a snake's fang drips venom. "If we haven't had enough of crawling around ruins and having relics from the past try to kill us."

  "A man knows where he stands, exploring a tomb," Alaeron said wistfully. "Undead, curses, traps. Those are things you can prepare for. In the ruins of a city that fell from the sky? There's no telling what we'll find."

  "You aren't reassuring me," Jaya said. "You're supposed to be the expert in these matters."

  Alaeron shrugged. "I should be able to tell a valuable artifact from a bit of broken pottery, anyway."

  The barge slowed to a crawl as it approached a dock behind what was either a small government building or a large private residence, all in white stone. A man sat on the dock on a huge brown traveling pack, tendrils of smoke rising up from a pipe in his hand.

  Skiver squinted. "Is that ...?"

  "I think it is," Jaya said. "How incredible!"

  Ernst, the wizard who'd saved them from the hellspawn in Absalom, stood up from his pack as the crew jumped from the barge to the dock and began tying up. He waved.

  "My friends!" the wizard boomed. "Come down so I can greet you properly! Jaya! Skiver! And ...ah ...forgive me, I've forgotten your name, sir, but it's a pleasure to see you as well!"

  "Oh, well," Alaeron said, voice flat. "A happy reunion."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Keepers of Secrets

  And then a hetkoshu, a great black crocodile, took a bite out of the boat!" Ernst waved his arms around. "Just a single chomp!" He mimicked the jaws of a crocodile with his hands, snapping at Jaya's face, making her lean back and laugh. "Oh, well, yes, hilarious, but not when you're on the boat! I was sleeping, and woke up to a lot of screaming, and the deck tilting, and everything sliding down, and a beast the size of a—well, the size of great black crocodile, frankly, which is a terrible size for anything to be." Ernst shook his head.

  They were all seated around a table in back of the great house, one of Chuma's many residences, beneath a white canvas pavilion. The travelers were sharing a meal while the barge was resupplied. Once they passed the cities of Tephu and Wati, chances to take on more food (and wine) would dwindle, and the crew was stocking up in preparation.

  "So that's how I came to be stranded in An," Ernst said. "Boatless and bereft. Fortunately I have a gift for making friends, and I soon heard there might be a place for me on a barge heading all the way up the river, for the right price. And here I am! I had no idea I'd run into you lot, though."

  "How did you escape the crocodile?" Skiver demanded. "You stopped the story at the best part, right before the bloodshed!"

  Ernst waved his hand in a gesture of casual dismissal. "Oh, well, once I was awake, I had a spell or two at hand, to encourage the beast to seek an easier meal elsewhere, and to get us all ashore without becoming a meal for his brothers. My boots did get wet though, terribly. Took ages to dry. I was squelching with every step."

  "And what brings you to Osirion?" Alaeron said, trying to keep his tone conversational. Skiver and Jaya were both gazing at Ernst with rapt affection, which annoyed him—didn't they find the wizard's appearance here at all suspicious?

  Ernst beamed. "Opportunity brings me to Osirion! The Ruby Prince, in his wisdom—and, I suppose, his avarice—has thrown open his great nation to exploration. I go in search of scrolls, my friends, and spellbooks, and anything else the great wizard-kings of old might have left behind."

  Alaeron leaned forward. "All right, but—why do you want to go all the way up the river? There's not much there, as I understand it. The Slave Trenches of Hakotep, I suppose, but there are unlikely to be spellbooks there. And beyond them to the north it's just ...desolation. Shouldn't you be more interested in the Pyramid of Doom, or the Sphinx Head, or the Ruins of Tumen?"

  Ernst tapped the side of his nose. "That desolation you mention. The Footprints of Rovagug, they call it here. Nothing but desert wastes. Well, and a volcano or two, and hot springs for the nobles. Except." He smiled. "I have it on good authority that there is a forgotten school of magic buried in those sands, between those volcanic landmarks known as Klarwa Fountain and Asulek's Mouth. I uncovered some old texts no one at my school had even looked at in centuries, judging by the dust. Unlike those other worthy locales you mentioned, this buried school isn't famous. That means I won't have to contend with a dozen other explorers. I'll have it all to myself. A school for magic. Schools have libraries. Oh, I can't wait." He rubbed his hands together gleefully.

  "I wish we could go with you," Jaya said wistfully, and glanced at Skiver. "Do you suppose ...?"

  He shook his head. "Our patron has other preferences."

  "Then where are you three bound, if I might inquire?" Ernst asked.

  "The Mwangi Expanse," Alaeron said quickly, not entirely trusting his fellows to remember the cover story. "A certain ruin in the Screaming Jungle. More than that ...we should not say. Our patron is paying for our discretion, you see."

  "Mmm." Ernst stroked his beard. "I won't press, fear not. I have often dreamed of seeing the golden streets of Osibu there, or braving the notorious ruins of Liclac, or scaling the canted towers of the Blighted Gardens."

  It was apparent Ernst knew more about the Screaming Jungle than Alaeron did. He'd half assumed Skiver had just made up the name, but apparently not. "Perhaps we'll meet again when all our journeys are done," he said, "and tell you if we saw any of those places."

  Ernst nodded. "But let us not speak of the parting of ways! We have a journey of many days and nights together! Happy times, my friends, happy times!"

  Happy for some, Alaeron thought, watching Jaya and Skiver grin at their new companion.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  The barge paused frequently in the next two days, as if reluctant to leave the comforts of civilization, making long stops at An's sister cities: Tephu in the papyrus marsh, and Wati, a city once abandoned to the dead amid a plague of madness, now increasingly given over to the living. Past Wati, they left the River Sphinx and moved into the River Crook, where there wasn't much in the way of cities apart from the great garrison at Ipeq, and precious little along the riverbanks to divert the eye, just the fields of the floodplain sliding by slowly on both sides.

  Ernst settled into life on the pleasure barge like he'd been born to it. He and Skiver sparred with knives on deck, and drank wine by the barrelful (Skiver refused to admit he'd developed a taste for the stuff, but he hadn't even asked for beer when they'd stopped to resupply), and played cards and dice for no stakes but honor. Ernst and Jaya loosed arrows into the river, in competition to see who could shoot farther, and were often found leaning together, laughing, Jaya touching the bearded wizard more often in the course of half an hour than she'd touched Alaeron in their entire journey.

  For his part, Alaeron's trip was an exercise in frustration. He occasionally unwrapped his artifacts and looked at them, but he didn't dare to touch them lest he activate one accidentally and reveal their whereabouts to Kormak; a pleasure barge was no place to make a stand against the Kellid. He'd started dreaming about the artifacts, and in one dream, he'd slipped the egg inside the red ring, and the two had fused into a new whole, but he couldn't even try that in reality.

  He attempted to busy himself with his alchemical studies instead, but while his field kit was sufficient to create extracts and mutagens he'd already mastered, he wasn't well equipped to do more intense researches into new techniques, and the mystery of bestowing the power of flight upon himself eluded him. On one of the occasions while Jaya and Ernst were lounging together, he complained about his difficulties to Skiver. "If I had harpy feathers, or a bit of dragon's blood, or even a thousand crushed fireflies, I might make some progress, but as it stands—"

  "Ernst can fly," Skiver said. "Heard him telling Jaya about it. He's got a spell, you know, said he'd take her flying sometime." Skiver rolled his eyes. "That's romantic, is it? Getting dragged through the air while someone holds on under your armpits? But it sure worked a trick on her, she melted like a bit of candle at the idea. Ernst has quite the line of bullshit on him."

  "I don't trust him," Alaeron said, scowling.