“Fine,” said Mr. Wade. “I have been in communication with my government, but I hardly think that’s irregular considering that I am here against my will—”
“Untrue. I gave you the option—”
“Of getting off in Seatk’r,” Isham barked. “That’s not really an option, is it?”
“You told me there were Iycestokian ships on their way,” Caliph said. “They could have picked you up—”
“King Howl, may I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
Isham Wade leaned on the bar with both arms. “Do you know why I boarded this ship?”
“I think we both know it had to do with Stonehold’s solvitriol capabilities. But I don’t think that matters anymore. The only thing that matters now is what happened in Sandren.”
Isham blinked his eyes behind his thick lenses. “Actually Iycestoke didn’t send me to talk about solvitriol power at all.”
Caliph scowled. “Then why?”
“You didn’t look at the proposal I gave you?”
Caliph had forgotten all about it. “I gave it to my spymaster.”
“I see. And he didn’t mention—”
“He didn’t mention it because he’s dead! He died in Sandren!”
One of the sentries poked his head into the room. Caliph made a sign that everything was fine; the man saluted, hefted his gas-powered crossbow and let the door swing shut.
Caliph noticed that Specks had not left the room. He was sitting down at the table, listening intently to what was going on. “Specks, I’m sorry but can you take the tray back to the kitchen? We’re going to skip lunch.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
Specks lifted the tray and left the room.
When he was gone, Isham Wade scratched his beard thoughtfully. “I’m sorry about your spymaster.”
“Get to the point,” said Caliph.
Mr. Wade leaned once more on the bar, staring out the windows where the smoking dunes sped by. He drummed the bar with the flats of his fingers. “Did you know I am an expert in Pandragonian relations, King Howl?”
Caliph said nothing. He fixed his eyes on Isham Wade.
“Mm. Indeed I am. Did you know that the Pandragonians are secretly at war with the Shradnae Sisterhood?”
Caliph leaned back and folded his arms. He felt like a cloth was being dragged slowly off a new sculpture and the suspense over what was going to be revealed wasn’t the good kind.
“No?” said Wade. He pursed his lips, savoring the moment. “Well they are.” He wagged his finger. “I know just about everything that’s going on in Pandragor and what.”
“I can assure you, you don’t want to lose my interest,” said Caliph. “I suggest again that you get to the point.”
“Actually I think I’m quite safe.” Wade’s shrewd eyes regarded him. “But anyway, I will get to the point. You know the Pandragonians were involved in your civil war, correct?”
“Of course.”
“Well, King Howl. Initially this was all about solvitriol power. The Pandragonians wanted their blueprints and the witches wanted their book.”
It felt utterly bizarre to Caliph that an understanding existed as to what book Mr. Wade meant. The Cisrym Ta had only ever been a private element. As other couples might have argued over where to hang an heirloom—which only one side of the family appreciated—so too the book had caused ripples of irritation between Caliph and Sena. It had never really been connected to the whirlwind of governmental affairs. It was not a part of his public life.
“They were working together to bring down the Duchy of Stonehold,” said Wade. “With the agreement that each of them would help get the other what they wanted.”
“But?”
“But then things went wrong. Some piece of holomorphy that the witches were supposed to hurl at Stonehold was undermined. In the end, the agreement fell apart.
“It’s terribly fascinating to us southerners. Normally we don’t pay any attention to the north, you know? I shouldn’t have said that as a diplomat, but it’s true. And then these wild rumors start trickling down to us and what—First that you’ve intercepted solvitriol blueprints—which we were selling to the Pandragonians. Then people are being brought back from the dead. That’s new! There’s a witch-goddess in Isca. Suddenly we’re all very interested.
“Regardless of whether any of it is true, you know what it all keeps coming back to? This book. It’s the thing the Shradnae Sisterhood was after. Supposedly it’s what brought you back to life—though I admit I have my doubts. And now the Pandragonians want it. That’s right. I’m not even sure they know why. Personally I think that if the witches want it, the Pandragonians must just think it’s good. And that, King Howl, brings us to why I boarded the Bulotecus. Because, if the Pandragonians want it—”
“Iycestoke wants it too,” Caliph finished.
Mr. Wade smiled, pudgy cheeks pinched and shining.
“It’s ridiculous,” said Caliph. “It’s just a book.” But that was an old line. He felt the book’s power now, not as some mysterious holomorphic trapping but as the crux.
Mr. Wade’s black eyebrows lifted. “Is it?” he asked, “just a book? Because if it is, then I’m sure we can solve this quickly. We have machines in the south that can turn out copies. Everyone will be able to read it and decide for themselves.”
“I see.” Caliph didn’t know where to go from here. He certainly wasn’t going tell Wade that he didn’t have the book. Instead he opted for, “I’m sure we can come to an agreement on that. Printing a book is not that difficult. But don’t you think we have more important things to decide at the moment? I mean what happened in Sandren—”
“King Howl.” Wade’s tone took a mildly condescending edge. “What happened in Sandren is the point. You’re absolutely right. It was terrifying. It was wonderful. I don’t mean to be direct, but here it is: who gives a shit about Sandren? They were an elitist outpost that sold wine at inflated prices.
“They were a fucking city-state. Really.” He put his palms together in front of his lips. “What I care about is that that kind of power is harnessed correctly. Legitimately. And by the way, the sickness in Sandren, whatever it is, is spreading. It’s in Pandragor. It’s in Yorba. Most importantly, it’s in Iycestoke. We don’t know how. But if you were in my position, wouldn’t you find it a bit … fortuitous to know that the only people with a vaccine were the people with the book?
“Now listen. You’re in a sticky situation. All those zeppelins—vanishing without a trace? I’m not accusing you.” Wade raised a palm and patted the air in Caliph’s direction. His ring with the moving gears glittered; his eyebrows crawled to the top of his glasses as if genuinely apologetic. “But only ships from Stonehold were spared and again, only Stonehold has the book.”
Caliph had gone flaccid. Now he straightened. “I get it. What are you offering in exchange?”
“In exchange, we help you … hunt down the individual who misused the book’s power, blah blah some justice for the papers. We tell the press that the book has been destroyed or locked up for safekeeping or what. Meanwhile, you keep your copy. Iycestoke its copy. We of course form an alliance—if it turns out that the book is actually useful—and we prevent its dissemination, obviously, to people who want to cause our respective nations harm.”
“So, you’ll help me hunt down my ex…” Mother of Emolus, what did he call her? Even now, he felt like he was betraying her. “… mistress. And we’ll what? Put her to death?”