Skiver nodded. "Well, of course not. Why would you? What with Chuma hiring him to spy on us and all."

  "What?"

  "Oh, I haven't heard that from Ernst's mouth, of course." Skiver poured another cup of honey wine. "But not much else makes sense. I believe the wizard came here to Osirion to plunder tombs and whatnot, sure, but what are the chances a man we'd met before—a man who'd helped us, a man we liked—would end up on Chuma's barge unless Chuma put him here? Unlikely things happen, but not that unlikely."

  "Does Jaya know?" Alaeron said.

  Skiver snorted. "Knew before I did, I bet. She's sharp as an assassin's blade, that one."

  Alaeron sagged against the rail, smiling. "So that's why she's getting so close to him. Winning his confidence. Trying to trick him."

  Skiver raised an eyebrow. "No-o," he said after a moment. "She doesn't hold his spying against him, I don't think. None of us is truly free—we all serve someone, and it's not like we three aren't a pack of outrageous liars. She likes the wizard. I do, too. Why don't you?"

  The alchemist sucked his teeth for a moment. "Because Jaya likes him more than she likes me."

  Skiver patted him on the back. "Ah, perfect. You just won me that beautiful knife with the silver hilt she's got. See, she thought it was because he can do magic just by saying some words and waving his hands around, while you've got to muck about with potions and things."

  Alaeron gaped. "You made a bet about me?"

  "What else is there to do here?" He gestured at the river. "Count the lotus blossoms floating on the water? We gotta stay entertained someways. Don't worry, we didn't say anything about it to Ernst."

  "My life is one humiliation after another," Alaeron said.

  "Aren't they all," Skiver said. He paused. "Well, except for mine."

  Powerless. Alaeron hated feeling powerless. Time to seize some power. "Ernst knows how to fly, you said?"

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  On one of their bored afternoons, Skiver had tried to teach Alaeron the rudiments of lockpicking, using the doors of the cabins on the barge to practice with. None of the doors were equipped with particularly fearsome locks, and Alaeron had mastered the trick of popping them open in less than an hour of tinkering: he'd always had clever hands. So it was trivial for him to use one of the borrowed lockpicks to break into Ernst's cabin, though he eased the door open carefully in case there were traps, magical or otherwise.

  But it appeared the wizard wasn't worried about anyone digging around in his secrets, because the door opened without any fireballs or other unpleasant surprises. Alaeron slipped in. The cabin was much like his own: small, paneled in dark wood, but cleverly made to conceal a variety of conveniences, with beds and benches and tables that all folded into the walls when not in use. Ernst's bag was empty, its contents probably moved into the sea chest at the foot of the bed. A careful examination of the chest revealed no traps—at least that Alaeron could detect—and its lock proved even flimsier than the one on the door. The alchemist lifted the lid, carefully moved aside a few of Ernst's articles of clothing, and then saw the object of his desire: a thick, leather-bound volume with hinges of gold.

  Where there are wizards, there are spellbooks. And where there are spellbooks, there are things an alchemist can learn. To think Jaya had believed Alaeron considered wizards superior. Why, a wizard confronted with Alaeron's formula book would be able to learn nothing, but by studying the arcane writings in a wizard's spellbook and gathering the right components, Alaeron could duplicate almost anything a wizard could do.

  Well. Assuming the spell affected the user, of course. There was no potion that would enable Alaeron to call meteors down from the heavens or make a mountain explode—an alchemist could only learn wizard spells that did things to the wizard. But stealing the power of flight was well within his power.

  The pages of the spellbook were crowded full of arcane writing in various languages, but Alaeron knew more tongues than he had fingers and toes, and he flipped through the book's pages looking for something that seemed likely to confer the power of flight. Ah, there, a page of crabbed writing. He need only copy it down in his own formula book and he'd be able to mix up an extract to give him the same power—he was pleased to realize that most of his preparations had been on the right track, and he only needed to make a few small changes. Flight! The power of escape! And if Jaya would enjoy being carried through the clouds, well, then—

  "You could have asked, you know," Ernst said mildly. "It's rude to snoop through another man's possessions. If there's one thing I can't abide, it's rudeness." The wizard had slipped into the cabin so silently Alaeron had to believe he'd used magic—though it was possible Alaeron had simply been so engrossed in studying the spellbook that he'd lost track of events in the world itself. Such obsessive focus was not without precedence.

  Ernst sat down on his bed and frowned at Alaeron. "Stealing my spells, hmm? So you can bottle them up for yourself?"

  Alaeron cleared his throat. "I apologize for the intrusion. Yes, I should have asked, and I'm sorry. Wizards, in my experience, are very possessive of their spellbooks, even though it costs them nothing to let an alchemist jot down a few lines—"

  "Wizards are keepers of secrets, alchemist," Ernst said sternly. "If anyone can see our spellbooks, it rather devalues the contents, don't you think?"

  Alaeron, who had a possessive streak of his own when it came to knowledge, could only sigh. "Yes. So. What happens now? Do we do battle? Tear the ship apart with bombs and magics? Or something more formal? A duel on the riverbank, perhaps?"

  Ernst twisted a clump of his beard between his thumb and forefinger, his mud-colored eyes thoughtful. "Perhaps, if circumstances were different. The truth is, I went snooping through your possessions, too, and for even worse reasons." Ernst reached into his pocket, and Alaeron tensed, ready to snatch up a vial full of something nasty from his own pocket. The wizard came out with—

  "My artifact!" Alaeron shouted. Ernst was holding the gray disc Alaeron had brought out of the Silver Mount. "By the gods, why do I even bother with putting wards and traps on my bag?"

  "It was all the traps and wards that drew my attention, actually," Ernst said. "I thought, ‘My, there's something more valuable in that bag than dried jerky and extra rope!' Good safeguards, by the way. Had a bear of a time getting through them, and I only dared take one of the relics you had buried in there. All that effort, though, and this little trinket doesn't do a thing as far as I can tell."

  "So Skiver didn't tell you about my relics? Or Jaya?"

  Ernst slowly shook his head. "No, they didn't. Though I've been trying mightily to pry any amount of information out of them. Skiver's quick with a dirty joke, and Jaya ...." His eyes got faraway. "She's sweet as a peach and tough as old leather all at once, isn't she? But neither one tells me anything my employer might like to know."

  "Chuma," Alaeron said.

  Ernst shrugged. "I assumed you knew. All of you. None of you are fools, as far as I can tell, though you don't have much else in common—cutthroat, huntress, and bottle-washer. That diversity probably makes you a better crew, truth be told. But it's not polite to talk about treachery, is it? I had an arrangement with Chuma before I even met you lot. He agreed to finance my explorations in exchange for my giving up anything interesting I found that fell outside my area of interest. But then he told me I had to get on this boat with you and try to find out where you lot were really headed, and when I objected—spying is ungentlemanly—he told me it was this, or forget about my bargain, and oh, he'd have my head lopped off, too. So here I am."

  "The mighty battle mage is afraid of a merchant?" Alaeron said.

  Ernst snorted. "He's rich, and he has a lot of friends. Facing him in single combat is one thing, but—actually, I take that back. I wouldn't even want to face him that way. They don't call him ‘Scorpion' for nothing. He's more dangerous than he looks, and he hardly looks like a fluffy kitten."

  "We all work for someone," Alaeron said. "I won't fault you for having a master. It's possible you like him even less than I like my own." He held out his hand. "My artifact, please."

  "Ah. As to that. It is yours, of course—but I ask a small favor in return. Tell me where you and yours are really going."

  "The Screaming Jungle, as we said."

  "You know less about the Screaming Jungle than Skiver knows about his father, and all Skiver knows about his father is that it stands to reason he must have had one at some point." Ernst shook his head. "You didn't blink when I mentioned Liclac, or Osibu, or the Blighted Gardens, but only two of those are even real—I made the other one up. Pray tell me, which is false?"

  A one in three chance. Better, if Alaeron could make an educated guess. "Liclac," he said, because it was one of the silliest names he'd ever heard.

  "Alas, the Liclac Ruins are real, though I couldn't tell you much else beyond the fact that they exist. But ‘Blighted Gardens' does sound plausible, doesn't it? Glad I still have the touch of invention." He held up the disc. "This is yours, for but a word of truth."

  Alaeron sighed. "Fine." He wracked his brain for some part of the Mwangi Expanse he'd actually heard of. "The Red Star," he said suddenly. "The Doorway to the Red Star. That's where we're bound. Great magic there, as I'm sure you know."

  "Oh, yes," Ernst said. "I've read of it. A ring of crimson stones, hovering in the air. The ruins of a cathedral to a cult so dark that, though its name is remembered, few of its tenets are. Once home of the King of Biting Ants, a sorcerer—I hate sorcerers, they never have to work for anything, they do magic as naturally as Skiver swears and Jaya looks beautiful. But you're lying. I can tell. There is a spell, you know, that allows those wise in the ways of magic to tell when someone is telling them a lie—the spellcaster sees worms and maggots falling from the liar's mouth, or a cloud of black and stinking smoke pouring from between the liar's lips, or a dribble of liquid offal. Do you know, my friend, that in my eyes, you are quite literally talking shit, now?"

  Alaeron nodded. "I'm familiar with such spells. But last I checked, only priests and other servants of the gods could cast them. And you, my bearded friend, are neither."

  Ernst narrowed his eyes. "Fine. I can tell you're lying because you're a bad liar. Answer me, or this trinket of yours will become so much silver dust."

  Alaeron drew a vial from his pocket and uncapped it. "This is acid," he said. "A wonderful solvent, really. I've seen it eat through skymetal. Wonder what it would do to your spellbook?"

  Ernst went still. "I am not entirely sure what would happen if you poured acid on a book inscribed with arcane magic."

  Alaeron showed his teeth. No one could have really mistaken it for a smile. "I'm an alchemist, you know. We believe in experimentation. So how about I just pour acid on it and see what happens?"

  "Stop it," Jaya said, appearing in the doorway. "You, put the acid away. You, give him back his relic. So much posturing."

  "Jaya," Alaeron said, and "My dear," Ernst said, and then they just glared at each other until Jaya hissed and snapped her fingers.

  "Stop! Ernst: we're bound for the ruins of Kho. All right? Go tell that to Chuma. Let him bring a mercenary army and a bunch of men with baskets and carts if he likes. It's an entire city, Alaeron. It's not as if we'll be able to carry all of it away on our backs, is it? Just let Chuma know he'll have to pay me well for the privilege of leading his men to the ruins, and that he'd better come fast, because I don't mean to delay. I have family waiting for me back in Andoran."

  Ernst shook his head. "Kho? The Doorway to the Red Star was somewhat believable, but—"

  "It's true," Skiver said, popping his head in. "Sorry, was eavesdropping from the hallway. Nice lockpicking, Alaeron, but you should've drugged old Ernst's wine to make sure he was sleeping while you poked around. Not a bad effort, though. You're learning. But yes, Kho. That's where we're going, and we're going to bring back treasures, oh yes."

  "The lost city of the Shory Empire," Ernst said slowly.

  "Yes, one of them." Alaeron capped his acid. "The oldest. The first to crash. And, more importantly, the one we have a hope in Hell of actually locating. Jaya knows the way. Or, rather, she has family in a village a stone's throw from the ruins."

  "Farther than that," Jaya said. "No one would want to live that close, according to my mother."

  "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Ernst cried. "Jaya, as I held you close, as we whispered secrets—"

  "We were both whispering lies," she said, but fondly. "Lies are so much more beautiful. I didn't tell you because ...well, who knows. The habit of a lifetime of deceit? Fear that it might have dire consequences for me? Because Ralen Vadim wouldn't like it? Then I realized—I'm the one who knows where we're going. I'm the one who's valuable here. If Chuma wants to follow, he can pay for the—"

  "Forget Chuma!" Ernst said, eyes wide. "Kho! The great city of Kho! Shory magic! One of the great civilizations, as old as the empire of Azlant, but far stranger! The magics they possessed, the power to lift whole cities into the air, the secret of Aeromantic Infandibulum! I will accompany you. I will lend my spells to your cause and my back to shoulder the treasures you carry out. I ask only that if we find any books, any scrolls, you let me copy them." His eyes were wide and wild, and the intensity of his gaze was one Alaeron recognized. He'd seen it in his own face often enough, after all, in the mirror when he was in Numeria, desperate to plumb the depths of the Silver Mount.

  And just think how well had that worked out.

  "Fine," Alaeron said, scowling. He didn't like Ernst any better now, but he couldn't help feeling he understood him, a bit. "I don't care. Come if you like. Jaya?"

  "You are most welcome," she said, but she was frowning.

  "Nice of you to share your opinions," Skiver said, "but I'm chief of this little expedition, ain't I? The only word that matters is mine." He looked Ernst up and down, picked at his teeth with a long fingernail, squinted like a suspicious jeweler eyeing a suspect ring, then grinned. "The more the merrier, eh? How you planning to stop Chuma from, ah, showing his displeasure?"

  Ernst bounced on the edge of the bed, turned boyish with happiness. "Oh, I'll write letters, and tell him you were indeed lying, and that you're actually going to ...oh, who cares? Something believable. Hmm. Chuma loves money—ah! The Gembasket, yes. A valley said to be so rich in resources that precious gems litter the ground, but practically inaccessible. It's a dream of all the avaricious men from Katapesh, and Chuma is first among them. I'll say you've found a secret pass to the valley, through the mountains. And that I've weaseled and wheedled my way into your confidences, and will go with you on your journey. All right?"

  Skiver twiddled his little finger around in his ear. "Katapesh. Is that the country with that wizard-king, what's his name? Nex?"

  Ernst frowned. "No ...That would be Nex. Named after the wizard. Who's been dead for a very long time, by the way." He paused. "Skiver, how can you know so little of the world you're presently traveling in? Katapesh is probably only about a hundred and fifty miles from us. Directly south!"

  Skiver sniffed the end of his finger and made a face. "So? Who cares? You come to Almas, I'll show you five places where you can gamble, ten places where you can find a whore, and fifty places where you can find drugs and drink to erase all your pain, all within a single mile. That's knowledge, wizard—deep and narrow, not broad and shallow."

  "You may have a point," Ernst said. "Certainly my teachers who urged me to specialize in a single type of magic rather than becoming a jack-of-all-trades would have agreed with you."

  "And what happens when Chuma realizes you've tricked him?" Alaeron said.

  Ernst shrugged. "I'll say you deceived me with tales of the Gembasket. Or some other lie. Or I'll give him some Shory relic that will make him forget all my trespasses. That's the future, Alaeron, we'll worry about it then. The important thing is that if he sends men, they'll be looking for us to the south, when we'll be heading to the west."

  "I thought it was a whole city?" Alaeron said, looking around at them all. "More treasures than we could possibly carry out? Why not invite Chuma and his hired warriors and anyone else who can come with us? Share and share alike, strength in numbers, all that?"

  They all frowned at that, and then Jaya shrugged. "Because," she said, "we want to get first choice of the treasures."

  "Chuma's probably not too good at sharing, anyway," Skiver said. "More than likely he'd let us lead him to the ruins, then kill us, and tell Vadim we were eaten by one of those big bastard crocodiles."

  "Both good points," Alaeron conceded. He sighed. "Fine. May I have my relic back now, please? Since we're all friends here?"

  "Of course," Ernst said. But before Alaeron could reach out his hand to take it, Ernst flipped it toward him, sending the disc spinning through the air like the oversized coin it resembled.

  The disc spun three or four times normally, then began to turn more slowly, then simply stopped, hovering in midair, emitting a faint blue light and producing a hum that made Alaeron's back teeth ache. Alaeron snatched it from the air, and it buzzed against his hand for a moment before subsiding.

  He looked wide-eyed at Skiver and Jaya, and they looked back, their faces as horrified as his own doubtless was.

  "What?" Ernst said. "So it hovers? What of it? That's hardly great magic. It's barely a cantrip, I don't see—"

  "Surely he's still in Absalom," Jaya said. "He can't possibly track us now, can he, just from that little bit of hovering?"

  "There's no way he could know we're in Osirion," Skiver said. "Right? From Absalom you can go anywhere, no reason to think we'd go here."

  "Unless we mentioned Osirion in the Dagger and the Coin," Alaeron said. "Unless someone heard us. Unless someone told him. Did we? I can't remember."

  "What are we talking about?" Ernst demanded.

  "Death," Skiver said. "Fire. Pursuit. The usual."

  Chapter Seventeen

  The End of the River

  They told Ernst about Kormak. "Does this make you reconsider your plans to join us?" Jaya asked him.