"Archers!" the captain bellowed. Jaya stepped forward, along with a couple of sailors holding crossbows, and readied their weapons. "We'd better take out the men with the hooks, hadn't we?" he said.

  The crossbowmen fired, but their bolts fell short. The pirates returned fire, with similar results. Jaya clucked her tongue. "Crossbows. They're toys. Anyone can use them—but what good are they? Even the best of them is nothing compared to a real bow." She lifted her weapon, selected an arrow, nocked it, pulled back, and released. Without pausing to watch the arrow's flight, she slotted another, drew, and loosed that too. A pair of the men with the grappling hooks tumbled into the water before the rest scampered back.

  Alaeron didn't know much about archery, but Jaya looked sufficiently pleased with herself that he assumed her work was impressive. The captain confirmed that when he whistled. "Fair shooting, archer!"

  "Here, don't kill them all," Skiver said. "Save a few for the rest of us. Especially me."

  "Plenty to go around," the captain said. He glanced at Alaeron. "Well? Shouldn't you be hurling pots at them?"

  "Ah. Well, I'd need to be quite close to throw them. Ideally no more than about twenty feet—"

  The captain went red. "Twenty feet? If they're that close they'll be boarding us, locked in hand-to-hand combat with my men! I won't have you tossing firepots into a melee, man!"

  "I have a sling," Jaya said, drawing and loosing another arrow. "Can you use one?"

  Alaeron smiled. "Oh, yes. Not as well as you, I'm sure, but with these weapons, precision strikes are not necessary—as long as they fall in the general vicinity of the pirates, they will be most effective."

  Jaya crouched, reached into her bag, withdrew a leather sling, flung it at Alaeron, and nocked another arrow.

  Alaeron untangled the sling. He'd used such weapons often as a boy, hurling pebbles at rats and such, but not lately.

  "Mind you don't set my ship on fire!" the captain growled.

  "Fear not. I do have explosives, of course." Alaeron watched the gap between the ships narrow as the pirate ship sped on, weighing the bomb in his sling. Better to let them get a bit closer. "But I don't propose to begin with those. I was recently in Numeria, where I obtained certain rare substances. The decadent aristocrats of the city of Starfall are known to imbibe all manner of mysterious fluids collected from the great wreck known as the Silver Mount." He hefted a round-bottomed flask in his hand, the dark purple fluid inside sloshing and fizzing. "These fluids have myriad effects, often hallucinatory, from providing a sense of peace and well-being to making the drinker feel trapped in a realm of living nightmare. I have carefully mixed a number of the most potent drugs to create this concoction. I call it a confusion bomb." He smiled at the captain. "Any alchemist can make a bomb that burns wood," he said. "But I have crafted weapons that sear minds."

  There was a moment of silence as the crew, Skiver, and Jaya regarded him. Then the captain said, "Do you always give flowery speeches when you're about to be attacked by pirates? Go on and throw it then!"

  Alaeron sighed. No one appreciated his genius. He judged the pirate ship was close enough now, just. He fitted the bottle into the sling's pouch and set the weapon whirling over his head, then loosed the projectile. It sailed in an arc up and over the deck of the pirate ship, where it splashed down on the deck, spraying purplish fluid in all directions, and producing a great haze of mist that shimmered with the colors of the Silver Mount at noon. He slung another confusion bomb—that one missed the ship by a few feet and sank, damn it—but his third struck a different part of the deck. He slung his fourth and final bomb as far toward the rear of the ship as he could, where most of the pirates had gathered to avoid bombs and arrows.

  "Better ready another volley, archers," the captain said. "It doesn't look like the alchemist's bottle of purple juice has done anything—"

  Then one of the pirates leapt off the deck, clawing at his clothes and shrieking, and tried to swim frantically toward the Pride of Azlant before sinking under the waves. Other pirates started climbing into the rigging, only to fall off, or become entangled and hang upside down, or leap from a greater height into the sea. Some were fighting one another, or writhing on deck, or trying to set fire to the sails, while those who'd been outside the range of the bomb did their best to restrain their fellows. The ship began to veer just slightly off course.

  "By Gozreh's trident," the captain said. "I've never seen the like."

  "You are a master of terrible magics," Jaya said gravely, but not without admiration.

  "That's proper monstrous, all right," Skiver said. "Are they mad forever, then?"

  Alareon shook his head. "The effects should wear off soon." He handed Jaya back her sling, which she handled gingerly, as if afraid the bombs might have left some residue behind.

  "We don't need to kill the pirates, then," Jaya said. "We can just get away."

  "Hmm," the captain said. "Isn't it pretty to think so? But no. If they caught us, they'd put us all to the sword, or take us as slaves, or throw us into the sea to drown. I don't see any reason to show them mercy just because their plan to murder us all failed." He paused, watching as one pirate successfully set his own hair on fire and began capering around the deck. "Not that this looks all that merciful, really. When the alchemist's madness does wear off, I don't imagine they'll decide to leave us alone. We could try to board their ship, take the ones left as prisoners to the authorities in Absalom ...but I don't fancy that. We're behind schedule already." He clapped Alaeron on the shoulder. "So. About that alchemical fire?"

  "You would burn them all?" Jaya said. "As they go mad, and claw at themselves?"

  "They knew the business they were getting into," Skiver said, almost gently. "If you break into a man's house to steal his gold and he catches you and skewers you with a sword, you've got no business complaining—that's the risk that comes with the job."

  "I'm afraid I agree with Jaya," Alaeron said. "I'm...not comfortable burning them out like this." In truth, he didn't care one way or another whether the pirates burned or drowned—they were scum, and murderers, no doubt—but he thought standing with Jaya might earn him her admiration, and she did give him a grateful look.

  The captain shrugged. "I could throw you off the deck for disobeying me—it's my ship, and my word is law—but your patron paid me good money to deliver you safely, and that was a good trick with the bombs. So, fine, don't give me any of your fire. Tar bombs it is!"

  "Wait—" Jaya said, but the captain was already calling orders to the sailors, who produced lumps of sticky tar hanging from short lengths of rope. Once the blobs were lit, the sailors whirled them around on their ropes—much like Alaeron had just done with the sling—and released, sending a barrage of flame arcing toward the pursuing ship. Several missiles slammed into sails and decking and stuck fast. The crossbowmen sent off a few flaming arrows as well, adding to the conflagration.

  The captain strode back toward Jaya. "I'm not without mercy," he said. "I won't shoot the ones who abandon ship. They can grab a bit of flotsam, and if the gods decide to save them, so be it."

  "I'm going belowdecks," Jaya said. "I've seen enough fires in my life, I don't need to see another."

  "I'll go with—" Alaeron started to say, but stopped. He'd seen something, on the pirate ship. Could it be? No, certainly not ...

  "What?" Jaya said.

  "I, ah ...I'll see you later, then," he said, leaning over the railing and peering at the other ship, which was rapidly becoming engulfed in smoke and flame, with sailors mad and sane alike leaping into the water to escape the certain death on board.

  "Don't suppose I could buy a few of those bombs off you?" the captain said. "Could be useful."

  "They don't work for anyone else," Alaeron said absently, squinting into the smoke. "They're attuned to my personal magical field."

  "Shame," the captain said. "They're just the thing to break up a riot—or start one." He walked off, bellowing at his crew, leaving Alaeron to stare, and to look for ...

  There. A man, stepping out of the smoke toward the front of the ship. He was a huge figure, bigger by far than the other pirates. The ship was listing to one side now, sails completely aflame, with the body of the vessel not faring much better, and the distance between the ships was growing ever larger, but even at this distance, Alaeron could recognize the man: Kormak, the Kellid enforcer sent by the Technic League. The man stood on the burning, sinking ship as calmly as if he were on a street corner, and he extended his arm, straight out, pointing at Alaeron across the gulf of water between them. As if to say: You. I'm coming for you.

  Alaeron took a step back instinctively, even though there was no way the Kellid could reach them ...unless the Technic League had given him equipment enabling him to fly, or leap great distances. Alaeron's mouth went dry. Were those men even really pirates? Or just sailors the Kellid had hired—or threatened?—into pursuing his quarry? Was Alaeron to blame for the madness and death of innocent men?

  A horrible thought. The sort of thought that made him want to retire to a laboratory in the country, where he'd never have to see or speak to another person, but just lose himself in his researches.

  Fortunately, the Kellid apparently lacked the power to fly. The ship slowly sank, with Kormak never moving from his position on the foredeck, until he was obscured entirely by smoke.

  Too much to hope that Kormak would drown. But being adrift in the Inner Sea might, at least, slow him down. Surely he wouldn't be able to pursue Alaeron forever? Not once their party got to Osirion, and on into the mountains on the eastern edge of the Mwangi Expanse—even Alaeron didn't know exactly where they were going, so how could Kormak possibly follow?

  Initially Alaeron had counted himself lucky that the League had sent a human after him, instead of dispatching one of the tireless Gearsmen to bring him back. But what if Kormak was even more relentless than a metal man from the stars? After all, Kormak had the capacity to take things personally. What if the Kellid never stopped his pursuit?

  I hope the savage lands of the south suit me, Alaeron thought, for I may never be able to return to civilized lands again.

  Chapter Ten

  The City at the Center of the World

  The remaining days of their voyage to the Isle of Kortos were rather pleasant, since the captain invited Jaya, Alaeron, and Skiver to dine with him each night in thanks for their service in repelling the pirates. Skiver hadn't actually done anything, but no one doubted he would have enthusiastically stabbed anyone who managed to board, and Jaya had apparently forgiven the captain for his harsh treatment of the pirates, though she may just have been playing nice for the pleasure of his table.

  The food was quite a bit better than they'd enjoyed previously on the journey, and the captain was the most educated person Alaeron had spoken to in some time. They were both adept at ignoring Jaya's boredom as they discussed their conflicting interpretations of world philosophy over their meals, though Alaeron had his chance to be bored when Jaya and the captain began comparing experiences in the various far-flung cities of the Inner Sea, trying to one-up one another regarding visits to the most outlandish ports of call—the captain had been to Halgrim in the far-off Lands of the Linnorm Kings, so Jaya conceded defeat. (Though if they actually made it to the ruins of Kho and back, she'd never lose a "most exotic destination" argument ever again, Alaeron reflected.) Skiver never seemed bored by anything, though he did perk up a bit whenever talk turned to killing pirates, putting down mutinies, sea monster attacks, and the fine points of scuttling ships infected with the plague.

  The only problem with the trip was the fact that Skiver still had two of Alaeron's artifacts, and didn't seem inclined to give them back. Alaeron had offered several times to trade him more stories for the relics, but Skiver refused: "I found a secret floating dice game belowdecks," he said happily, "and there's nobody on this boat who can throw worth a damn. I'm keeping plenty entertained, thanks. I'll just hold onto your trinkets a while longer. I figure if nothing else they're insurance for your good behavior, eh? If Ralen Vadim had known you had something you cared so much about, he'd have kept them locked in a box in Andoran against your safe return. All I'm doing is borrowing them for a while. That's a kindness by comparison. I'll keep them safe, don't you worry."

  Alaeron had considered drugging the man and stealing his possessions back, but he and Skiver were trapped on a ship together, and unless Alaeron was willing to actually murder the man and throw him overboard, any sort of conflict would just lead to more problems. Besides, Ralen Vadim had paid the captain of this ship—who knew what their relationship was, or what instructions the captain had regarding Alaeron? He didn't dare make a move.

  Which meant his studies were interrupted. He'd been testing the relics methodically to see how they interacted with one another. He'd never seen all of them begin to buzz and move and draw together as they had in the Silver Mount, but they did affect one another—sometimes sticking together almost magnetically, or growing warm in proximity, or setting up a strange resonating hum like two lute strings vibrating in sympathy. It took time to work through every possible set of combinations, and he had a journal filled with notes no one else would be able to decipher, but Skiver had torn away one-third of his data set, and why? Because it amused him. What a peculiar and infuriating man.

  On the good side, Jaya seemed to have a new respect for Alaeron, either because she'd seen his alchemy at work, or because he'd spoken up to agree when she'd opposed burning the pirate ship. They'd begun spending more time together, walking up on deck, enjoying the generally fine weather and the sea breeze, and talking: Alaeron telling her for free stories Skiver was forced to extort from him (albeit casting himself in a somewhat more heroic light, for her benefit), while Jaya was a fount of hilarious and harrowing stories about her travels with her family throughout the Inner Sea region. Alaeron had always told himself he had no time for romance, but as he grew more fond of Jaya, he began to suspect he'd actually had no real opportunity before. Not that romance blossomed between them, precisely, but there was certainly friendship, and the way Jaya occasionally put her hand on his, or took his arm as they strolled around the foredeck, gave him hope for future intimacy.

  "Look!" she said, on what the captain assured them would be the last day of their voyage. She pointed toward the eastern horizon, where a smudge of brown and green was visible.

  "Land, finally," Alaeron said. "I haven't been to Absalom since I was a young man. They do a wonderful sort of spiced cake there. I wonder—"

  "No, not that," Jaya interrupted. "There, in the water."

  Alaeron squinted, seeing nothing but rippling water and the dazzle of sunshine on the waves—ah! Something was moving in the water. It looked like a man swimming, but here, this far from land, with no craft in sight? Alaeron gripped the railing so hard it made his knuckles ache, and his throat began to close up with fear. Was it Kormak, swimming tirelessly, fueled by the strange tinctures of the Technic League, ready to clamber up the side of the ship and seize Alaeron by the throat again?

  "Gillmen move so gracefully," Jaya said.

  Alaeron closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, then opened them again. With his eyes unclouded by panic, he could see the figure in the water wasn't big enough to be Kormak anyway. Looking closer, Alaeron saw the gillman had the pale skin and dark hair—and, presumably, purple eyes—of the old Azlanti people. "Ah. Yes. I don't think I've ever seen one."

  Jaya nodded. "I haven't, often, and only around Absalom. They have an embassy at Escadar, you know, and worship at some old Azlanti ruins there."

  "Looks just like a human," Alaeron said.

  "So they once were," Jaya said. "Or so the stories say. They have gill slits, in their necks, and they don't do well if they stay out of water for long, but otherwise, yes, they are very like men. In every ...relevant detail." There was a small smile on her lips that Alaeron found both intriguing and horrifying. Was she suggesting that she'd ...been intimate with one of them? If so, what was the attraction? Just the exoticism?

  And was, say, an alchemist exotic enough to catch her fancy too? Maybe he should have spent more time studying bodily mutation. If she liked men with gills, he could learn to grow them, given some time and a decent laboratory ...

  The captain approached. "Archer, alchemist, you'd best pack up your things." He'd never called them by their names once, and for that matter, Alaeron's group never called him anything but "captain." "We'll dock within the hour, and I need you off my ship and on your way."

  "Of course," Alaeron said. "Thank you for your hospitality."

  The captain waved it away. "No thanks necessary. It was nice to take a few meals with people who talk about something other than shipping lanes and import tariffs. You're a decent foredeck philosopher, Alaeron, even if you are dead wrong about the implications of the Prophecies of Kalistrade for international commerce. I might bring an educated civilian along on every trip in the future, just for conversation." He bowed formally to Jaya. "My lady of the bow, you are as charming as you are deadly, and as deadly as you are beautiful, and I'll be sure to try that fish house you recommended next time I'm on the far side of the Arch of Aroden. If you ever need passage anywhere my ship goes, you need only write, care of my address in Absalom."

  Jaya kissed the captain just to the left of one of his muttonchop sideburns, which gave Alaeron the new and ridiculous experience of being jealous of another man's cheek.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Alaeron followed Skiver down the gangplank, with Jaya at his back. Stepping onto the solid ground of the dock after so long at sea was profoundly disorienting—he had to lower his head and take deep breaths and walk very carefully to keep the world from seeming to roll and tilt beneath him.

  "Absalom," Skiver said, stopping on the dock and gazing at what little they could see of the city. "It's as grand as they say, innit?"