As her lover's voice faded, Orim felt herself drifting. The stars wheeled above her. The sound of the stream merged with that of the sea. She reached toward the heavens, seeking to pluck down one of the bright stars that glittered there, to touch it, to taste it, to "No one comes here. We can discuss the plan here-"
Orim started from her dream and straightened. Her limbs were sore, her arms and legs full of pins and needles. She backed away, hiding behind a pillar.
The speaker had been one of the Mercadian ambassadors. There was a Saprazzan with him, clad in the light blue loincloth characteristic of the citizens. His face was in shadow, but Orim could see the moonlight glinting off his light blue skin. The men were speaking Saprazzan, slowly enough that Orim could understand their words.
"We need to act now," the Mercadian said. "They had the vizier in the palm of their hand today. Give them another few days, and she will surrender the Matrix to the foreigners. Our master would be very unforgiving of that outcome."
Orim ventured a glance from behind the pillar. She could see the Mercadian, his white robes gleaming in the darkness. The Saprazzan bent toward him and said something Orim could not hear.
"Of course. Your treachery will be well repaid. You will be the richest Saprazzan in the city and all because of a simple theft. You'll have your money once the Matrix reaches Mercadia."
There was a pause, and the Saprazzan asked some question. The Mercadian shook his head. "It will be simple enough. The foreigners have already expressed great interest in the Matrix. They have been shown its resting place. They will be easy enough to frame."
Orim must have made a sound of which she was unaware, for she saw the Saprazzan half-turn in her direction, peering into the dusk.
The Mercadian turned also. "Who's there?"
She leaped up but was too slow. Out of the starry night, a club descended.
A loud crunch… the smell of blood in her nose… and she fell to the limestone floor. Dark waters closed over her, and she knew no more.
Orim awoke to blades and blood. She sat up and peered about in confusion. Merfolk soldiers surrounded her, their tridents forming a deadly circle. The dark courtyard had been replaced by a bright and ornate room.
"What… what's happening?" she asked in garbled Saprazzan, rising to her feet. "Where am I? Who are you?"
The commander of the soldiers said, "I am Guard Commander Oustrathmer. You are in the royal palace, and you are under arrest."
"Arrest?" Orim asked, clutching her throbbing head. "For what?"
"For murder," the commander said, pointing down beside Orim. A Saprazzan guard lay there, his throat slit. Gesturing toward a small raised room, the soldier said, "And for conspiracy to steal the Power Matrix."
The blood ran from Orim's face. "No. You don't mean-"
"The Power Matrix is gone," Oustrathmer replied flatly.
Only then did Orim recognize the man-he was the Saprazzan conspirator at the pool.
Chapter 14
Keys turned. A pair of doors opened. A visitor was coming to the cell of Gerrard, Tahngarth, and Karn.
"Is anybody home?" came a shrill shout through the final door. "Is any criminals wishing ta see a great magnanimity such as yours truly, eh?"
Standing at the opposite window, Gerrard shouted over his shoulder, "Go away, Squee." To Karn, he whispered, "The little maggot's gone completely over to the Kyren."
Karn shook his head and replied, "No, he's served on Weatherlight a long time. He's not smart, but he's loyal. What he needs is a good talking to. He might even be useful to us right now. He can go anywhere in the city, he can get into any room, he can probably find out more than the rest of us put together."
Gerrard sighed. "All right, all right. I'll talk to him, if you want."
"Does anybody stuck in there gots the smarts ta know they gotta see Squee, seeing as he's Master Squee?"
"Come in, Squee," Gerrard said with a sigh, not bothering to turn around.
The final door opened, and guards allowed the goblin into the room.
Those who had known Squee only as Weatherlight's cabin boy would have been astonished at the change Mercadia had wrought in him. He stood taller, clad in rich silks. A band of gold was bound about his head, though its impressive effect was unfortunately ruined by its tendency to slip down over one eye. The ends of his robes were fur trimmed, though they, too, had suffered from Squee's insatiable curiosity and his tendency to follow tasty insects into inaccessible places. Even now, he was chewing on something, and the tiny wisp of a jointed leg protruded from one corner of his mouth.
"Squee don't gotta visit you in here, you know?" he said as the guard locked the door behind him.
Gerrard turned, regarding the goblin calmly. "Squee, I think it's high time you and I had a talk."
"Suits Squee. Whatcha wanna talk 'bout?" The little goblin seated himself in one of the chairs and propped his feet on the table. He toyed with a shiny bauble on his finger-a Kyren ring that showed his special status in the city.
Gerrard ambled over to Squee and stood looking down at him. "You've done pretty well for yourself since we've come to this place, haven't you?"
The goblin gave a final chew of his morsel before swallowing. "Squee's happy. People like Squee! Dat's good. Squee likes dat. Get some respect."
"Ah! Is that what you want, Squee? You want respect?"
The goblin nodded, but something in Gerrard's expression was troubling him, and his eyes, though never the brightest, narrowed suspiciously as the Benalian drew closer. "Yeah. Respect. Dat's what Squee's got here."
"Let me tell you what you've got here." Gerrard's arm came around in a blow that knocked the goblin's feet from the table and sent him sprawling on the ground beside the overturned chair. "You've got nothing! Nothing! Do you hear that?"
Squee rose, shaking, and started to back away toward the door.
"Don't you think you're going anywhere, mister! Stand at attention!"
Some dim memory penetrated the goblin's consciousness, and he drew up in a rough parody of a salute. Gerrard paced in front of him and stopped, his face lowered only inches from the goblin's.
"Now you listen to me, and don't speak until I give you permission. You're a cabin boy! Understand that? You're a cabin boy and nothing else! I don't care how goblins are treated in this city. You are a member of the crew of my ship, and you're subject to my command! You'll take your orders from me. When I say move, you'll move. When I say jump, you'll say how high, and that's final! Understand?"
Squee gave a strangled answer.
"What was that?" growled Gerrard.
Squee looked down, eyes rimmed in red. "Okey-dokey, Gerrard. Maybe Squee forgot all dat. Maybe Squee forgot you was in charge since you… since you turned so mean."
"Mean?" Gerrard said, his temper flaring. He raised his hand to strike.
Squee cringed back.
Someone grabbed Gerrard's arm and kept it from falling. "He's right, Gerrard," Tahngarth said, his voice a low rumble. "You've turned mean."
Gerrard spun on the minotaur and tried to break free, but Tahngarth's grip was too powerful. "So you want another fight?" Balling his free hand in a fist, Gerrard hurled a roundhouse toward Tahngarth's jaw.
Another hand grasped Gerrard's fist-this time a hand of silver. The pacifist Karn clutched Gerrard's arm implacably. "They're both right, Gerrard. Listen to them."
Gerrard stared at his three crew members, his three friends. He struggled a moment more but glimpsed his red-faced reflection in Karn's silvery chest. His eyes glowed like stoked embers. His brows were twisted demonically in the contours of the metal. His gritted teeth formed an ugly grimace.