Sea Of Ghosts Part 11

Towards dawn, Granger sat with Ianthe and Hana on the roof of his jail, eating thrice-boiled fish baked in sugar and cinnamon that Hana had prepared while they'd been away. A small oil lantern rested on the brine purifier nearby. Ianthe was telling her mother about the amphora.

'What did it perceive?' Hana asked.

Ianthe snorted. 'I don't know! Jellyfish don't have any eyes or ears, do they?'

'You saw nothing inside?' Granger asked.

'I don't see see at all,' Ianthe said. at all,' Ianthe said.

Granger noted that her tone had become less cynical and hostile. She was beginning to accept her situation, and that troubled him more than he cared to admit. She didn't belong here, nor anywhere with him. He couldn't take them with him.

He sighed and rubbed his temples. Once he bought his new boat, he might as well return them to Evensraum. Or even Lions-port, at the edge of the empire. They'd probably be safer there.

'Can you see what Creedy's doing?' he asked.

Ianthe's spoon halted halfway to her mouth. She appeared to smile slightly, although it was so brief it may have been Granger's imagination. And then her blank eyes gazed at the ground for a moment. 'He must be sleeping,' she said, then went back to her meal.

'How do you know? How can you find him?'

She spoke with her mouth full. 'It's like flying through darkness. You can see little islands of light everywhere, but the islands are really someone's perception, and you can drift down inside them if you concentrate.' She swallowed her food and took another bite. 'Then the darkness goes away and you hear and see exactly what they do. But when there's n.o.body about, it's just black, empty of anything. I can see this roof because you and Mother do. And I can see a room in that building,' she pointed to Cuttle's jail, 'because somebody is moving about over there. But the area between is just dead s.p.a.ce, like your friend Creedy's house.'

'You know where he lives.'

She shrugged. 'Only because I sat in his head and watched him go there.'

'But if he's somewhere else? Could you still find him?'

She shrugged. 'Maybe,' she said. 'But I'd have to look inside all the different lights, and that would take all night. How do I I know where he is?' know where he is?'

Granger thought about this. Ianthe could follow someone, spy on them, by putting herself inside that person's mind. But once out of their head, it was difficult for her to relocate them amongst the millions of other people unless she knew exactly where to look. 'Can you tell who is who?' he asked. 'When you move into these islands in the darkness, these perceptions, do you know whose eyes you are looking through?'

Ianthe finished her meal and set down the bowl. 'Not at first,' she admitted. 'You can see your own arms and legs, but you can't see your own face, can you? Sometimes the only way I can know for sure is to look at the person through someone else's eyes, unless they happen to look in a mirror, I suppose. Women look in mirrors a lot . . . so does Emperor Hu. I don't think Creedy owns a mirror, though.'

'You shouldn't be spying on the emperor,' Granger said.

She gave him a sarcastic smile. 'Only on your friends?'

Granger grunted. He got up and strolled to the edge of the roof. His garret sloped darkly behind him, and down in the ca.n.a.l the brine was as black as sin. No green and gold lights. He couldn't see his own boat. There was only the constant slap of water in the darkness and the sour metal stench of the sea. The great shadowy ma.s.ses of the surrounding jails loomed over him, now silhouetted against the lightening sky. Steam rose from the funnels of Dan Cuttle's place. He was probably boiling up a vat of bones. He searched the skies for Ortho's Chariot but couldn't spot it. Scores of stars still sparkled ahead of the coming sunrise. The day looked like it would be another fine one. Granger felt the time was right.

He turned to the girls. 'Wait here.'

He went back into his garret and took out the large paper parcel he'd hidden under his cot, then carried it back up to the roof and gave it to Hana.

'What's this?' she asked.

'Just something I picked up.'

Hana unwrapped the parcel. It contained two ankle-length satin frocks, each adorned with all sorts of fancy lace frills. One was mostly peach-coloured, with silvery sparkles across the front, while the other boasted pink and yellow stripes and puffy arms. Hana held up the peach dress and blinked at it. 'You bought these for us?'

'The other one's for Ianthe. It's got ruffles.'

Ianthe's face remained expressionless. 'Ruffles,' she said in a flat voice. 'Yes, it does, doesn't it?'

Hana appeared to suppress a smile. She moved more of the crumpled paper aside. 'And what's this? Undergarments?' She lifted out a pair of the knee-length white pantaloons Mrs Pursewearer had sold Granger and held them out at arm's length. 'These look . . . well made.'

'I'm told they're good quality,' Granger said.

Ianthe gave a little squawk, then covered her mouth with her hand.

Hana looked up at him with bright eyes. She gave him a huge smile, then stood up and kissed him on the cheek. 'I don't know what to say. Thank you. Thank you from both of us.'

Granger looked at his feet. He nodded awkwardly. 'Your old clothes were pretty rotten,' he said. 'I didn't want you both getting fleas.'

Creedy was shaking him. 'Colonel, I found a buyer.'

Granger blinked and raised his hands against harsh sunlight. 'What time is it?'

'Afternoon.'

'What day?'

'I dunno. Today.'

'G.o.ds, man, do you never go to bed?'

'Not when there's money to be made,' Creedy replied. 'I found us a buyer for the olea. A collector, here in Ethugra.'

Granger sat up in his cot and stretched his neck. The roof of his garret wavered with copper-coloured reflections. He remembered putting Ianthe and Hana in their cell, but not much after that. He must have been exhausted. 'The jellyfish? I thought Maskelyne was the only collector in Ethugra.'

'That's what I thought,' Creedy replied. 'But then I started asking around, sly like, so n.o.body-'

'How much did you get for it?'

Creedy frowned. 'I said I've found us a buyer. I didn't say I'd sold the b.l.o.o.d.y thing. He wants to meet you.'

'Me?'

'The brains of the operation.'

Granger got up. 'What do I know about jellyfish?'

'About as much as me,' Creedy said. 'But you're prettier than me, and the buyer's some t.i.tled Evensraum merchant. All airs and graces. Wipes his a.r.s.e with squares of silk. I don't know if I could speak to him without murdering him.'

Granger frowned. What was an Evensraumer was doing in Ethugra? Unless . . . Unless . . .

'He's a prisoner?'

Creedy nodded. 'A rich prisoner. Holed up in one of the Imperial jails on Averley. Special privileges and all that. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d used to own more land than Hu. He's got gilders coming out of his pores.'

Granger knew the type. Wealth bought luxury and status even in Ethugran prisons, even if it couldn't always purchase freedom. There were captives in this city who ate better than their jailers did. They were always pre-a.s.signed to Imperial jails, thus avoiding the allocation system used for regular inmates. Emperor Hu made a good profit from such prisons, although it was rumoured that Maskelyne's men actually ran them.

Maskelyne again, Granger thought miserably. Why does it always come back to him? Why does it always come back to him?

'What is it?' Creedy said.

'Nothing.' Granger sighed. Maybe he was just being paranoid. 'When can I meet him?'

'Whenever you like. He ain't going anywhere.'

'Now?'

The other man shrugged. 'The olea's in the boat. I'll drop you off there.'

Shortly afterwards he found himself hunched beside Creedy in his launch as it thundered along. He'd left fresh water and soap for Hana and Ianthe. Creedy gunned the engines without regard for other ca.n.a.l traffic, pus.h.i.+ng them quickly through Francialle and into Averley Plaza. They discussed money. How much should Granger ask for the olea? Creedy waved his arms and talked about thousands, but Granger wasn't convinced. If he got more than eight hundred, he'd be happy. The sun was still above the rooftops when they reached the marketplace embankment, bathing the Imperial jails and administration buildings in soft, golden light. Creedy wrenched the tiller to port and cut the engines, expertly berthing the metal vessel between a fis.h.i.+ng barque and a clutch of coracles. Once he'd tied up, he dug out a bulky whaleskin parcel from a hidden compartment under the port strakes and beckoned Granger up the stone steps to the embankment.

The market had finished hours ago. Only a few beer sellers stayed open, serving those stallholders who had remained after their morning's work. Groups of Asakchi and Valcinder merchants lounged against the stony figures of the Drowned, drinking and talking, while a group of children raced around the empty stalls, shrieking with delight at some game. Creedy led Granger to one of the many huge bra.s.s doors lining the westernmost facade and then banged on it repeatedly. A great booming sound echoed within.

'Ask for Truan,' Creedy said, handing Granger the wrapped amphora. 'I'll be yonder, drinking my share on credit.' He gave a short salute and then wandered off towards the beer sellers.

The amphora felt as heavy as a boulder. Granger was about to put it down, when the door opened and a hard-faced little man peered out and blinked. 'I'm the jailer,' he said. 'You the guy with the thing?' He glanced at Granger's parcel, then waved him in without waiting for an answer and swung the door shut behind them both.

They were standing in a grand stone hallway. A sweeping staircase rose to a second-floor gallery. Down here on the ground level, two arched doorways led to administration offices on either side, wherein Granger could see scribes working at their desks amidst stacks of paper. One of the seated young men glanced up from his quill and frowned through his spectacles, before returning his attention to his ledger. The building contained a weighty silence that seemed several degrees more substantial than the air itself.

Given the solemn majesty of his surroundings, the jailer who had admitted Granger could not have looked more out of place. He was as small and tough as a street dog, with a naval haircut and a brawler's skewed nose. He wore a perpetual scowl, giving his face the same creased, weather-worn appearance as his salt-stained leather tunic and his sailcloth breeches. Ink crosses and sigils tattooed across the back of his hands suggested he'd spent some time in a less imposing prison than this one, albeit on the other side of the bars.

One of Maskelyne's men? Granger's unease deepened. Granger's unease deepened.

The jailer stared at the parcel in Granger's arms for a moment, then beckoned him to follow up the staircase. On the right side of the upper gallery he unlocked a stout iron-banded door, which looked a hundred years older than the stonework around it. Granger realized that it must originally have been fitted to a series of identical doors in the flooded levels below, only to be moved up floor by floor as the building grew higher to escape the rising seawater. Imperial builders often followed this pattern, constructing identical floor plans one above the other in order to strip out and reuse every possible fixture and fitting before filling the drowned levels with rubble.

The man waved Granger through. 'Truan's wing,' he said.

His wing?

Granger stepped through the door and into a large, opulent lounge in which velvet chairs, sofas and polished hardwood tables had been artfully arranged on Valcinder rugs. Carved bone chandeliers depended from the high ceilings, while the tall windows on his left overlooked one of Ethugra's grander ca.n.a.ls and the facade of another Imperial jail on the opposite bank. Latticeworks of iron covered those windows, yet even these were ornate and painted white. As surprising as all this was to Granger, his attention was nevertheless grabbed by the opposite, innermost wall of the room. He'd never seen anything like it before.

A score of alcoves lined this wall, each sealed by a ma.s.sive plate of gla.s.s and filled with a different type of brine. Granger recognized the tea-coloured water of the Mare Lux, the dark red Mare Regis brine and that painful green ichor that composed so much of the seas around Valcinder. But there were other colours too the blues and purples and the soft golds of those weird and distant oceans that he had only heard mentioned in tales.

Within all of these alcoves were oleas.

Each species had been segregated from the others. There were wondrous, ghostly things with tendrils like wisps of fog, and fat brown jellies that looked like pickled brains. In one alcove, schools of tiny quick-moving motes gave off a queer electric luminance, while in the next hung an enormous bloated crimson shape among whose folds Granger thought he could discern an eye. He had an odd sensation that it was watching him.

'Marvellous, aren't they?'

Truan, for it must have been he, had entered the chamber through another door. He was a tall, lean man with a long, cadaverous face. He wore a padded gold tunic embroidered with steel wire in the latest Losotan fas.h.i.+on, and white hose that only served to exaggerate his skeletal appearance. Brine spots stippled the backs of his hands. His green eyes regarded Granger with vigour and intelligence. He dismissed Granger's companion with a wave and waited until the man had closed the door behind him.

'Would that I could have them fight each other,' he said, indicating the creatures in the flooded alcoves. 'But olea are far too valuable to waste in sport. That hexen midurai is one of only three known specimens in existence.' He pointed at the large crimson jelly. 'From its size, I estimate it to be over sixteen hundred years old. And these,' he waved a hand at several unremarkable ochre lumps floating in a tank of yellow brine, 'are hexen parasitae from the Sea of Dragons. They way they breed is as remarkable as it is hideous. Even the Drowned avoid them.'

'You know why I'm here,' Granger said.

The Evensraumer nodded, then gestured for his guest to sit on one of the sofas. 'Would you care for some wine, Mr Swinekicker?'

Granger looked at the sofa with distaste. He shook his head.

'Tea, then? I don't often get the chance to converse with outsiders.'

'No.'

Truan smiled. 'I can see from your expression that you disapprove of my lifestyle.'

'You're supposed to be a prisoner here.'

Truan's eyes narrowed. 'I am am a prisoner here, sir,' he said. 'It's true that my wealth affords me certain luxuries and allows me to pursue my interests, but walls are walls. I will remain here until the emperor decrees otherwise, while you are free to leave the city whenever you choose.' a prisoner here, sir,' he said. 'It's true that my wealth affords me certain luxuries and allows me to pursue my interests, but walls are walls. I will remain here until the emperor decrees otherwise, while you are free to leave the city whenever you choose.'

Granger thought about his waterlogged boat, but said nothing. He set his parcel down on a nearby table and began to unwrap it. He was surprised to find that his heart was racing.

Truan hovered nearby, eyeing the amphora with interest as it was revealed. Finally he strolled over, leaned across the table and squinted at the markings etched into the clay. He turned the jar a little to one side, frowning. 'Is this a joke, sir?' he said.

Granger felt his heart grow cold. 'What do you mean?'

'It's a wine amphora.'

A sudden awful realization gripped Granger as he stared down at the lump of pottery they'd dredged up. Creedy. Creedy. Creedy had decided which ca.n.a.ls to search. Creedy had identified the find. Creedy had found the buyer. And Creedy had brought him here, away from his home. Anger coiled inside him. He was about to turn and leave when his pragmatic side urged him to stop. Might the Evensraumer not simply be lying to lower the price? He swallowed his rage. 'If it's of no value,' he said, 'I'll take it elsewhere.' Creedy had decided which ca.n.a.ls to search. Creedy had identified the find. Creedy had found the buyer. And Creedy had brought him here, away from his home. Anger coiled inside him. He was about to turn and leave when his pragmatic side urged him to stop. Might the Evensraumer not simply be lying to lower the price? He swallowed his rage. 'If it's of no value,' he said, 'I'll take it elsewhere.'

Truan continued to study the object. 'Unmer wine is of some some value,' he said, 'provided it has not been exposed to the air. I suppose I could offer you twenty gilders. But not a coin more. Frankly, I'd be doing you a favour.' value,' he said, 'provided it has not been exposed to the air. I suppose I could offer you twenty gilders. But not a coin more. Frankly, I'd be doing you a favour.'

'Forget it.' Granger picked up the amphora.

'Thirty, then,' Truan said. 'That's five more than the market price.'

Granger began walking towards the door.

'Thirty-five,' Truan called after him. 'My final offer.'

Granger reached the door, and turned the handle. It was locked. He hammered his fist against the iron barred wood.

'Very well,' Truan said. 'My jailers charge me exorbitant commission on anything I order. I'll give you fifty for the wine if you don't tell a soul. You are robbing me blind, after all, and I won't have my other suppliers hear of it.'

Granger turned to look at the other man. Fifty? For a jug of wine? Truan seemed unusually keen to get his hands on such a worthless artefact. And yet his instincts continued to gnaw at him. Something is wrong here Something is wrong here. The amphora, the buyer, it was all too convenient convenient for Creedy. And there was something else, something about Truan that bothered him. This man was no trader, that much was clear. He had raised his price three times before Granger had even reached the door. After all, they had both been captive in that room. Granger wasn't going anywhere until the jailer came to release him, and Truan would have been well aware of that. Not even the poorest Losotan merchant, much less one as rich and successful as Truan purported to be, would have made such a mistake. But if he wasn't who he said he was, then who was he? for Creedy. And there was something else, something about Truan that bothered him. This man was no trader, that much was clear. He had raised his price three times before Granger had even reached the door. After all, they had both been captive in that room. Granger wasn't going anywhere until the jailer came to release him, and Truan would have been well aware of that. Not even the poorest Losotan merchant, much less one as rich and successful as Truan purported to be, would have made such a mistake. But if he wasn't who he said he was, then who was he?

Granger had his suspicions. 'Perhaps I'll have that tea after all,' he said.

Truan smiled again and waved Granger back to the sofa. Then he strolled across the room and pulled a bell chord. Chimes sounded in the hall outside. Granger took a seat and waited with the sealed amphora in his arms. A fortune or a pittance waited within.

'Which part of Evensraum are you from?' Granger asked.

'Deslorn,' Truan replied.

'A shame what happened there. The typhoid, I mean.'