“Was it successful?”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean, yes?”
“Yes. It was successful.” Caster sent another smoke ring at the ceiling. “The cord at Adennum went away. I could feel it. I’m sensitized to those specific emissions of power, after all.
“The goddesses bleed. And the other half of the expedition, led by Duncan Blackletter, was supposed to be doing the same exact thing at Omphalia at the same time. Their plan was to meet in Aluxia afterward and finish the ritual by cutting the third cord together.”
Alastair looked among his companions. They seemed as troubled as he.
Caster continued, “Powrie said that these events could not be accomplished until all the men who’d made the transition from one world to the other were gone from at least one of the worlds. I assume that’s been done.” He saw Harris nod. “Well, then. I regret to say that my life’s work has been correct and true. I have successfully identified some of the basic tenets that govern the way our world works. And I seem to have helped a very bad man use that knowledge to a very bad end.”
Alastair said, “What end? With the cords cut, doesn’t that mean travel between the two worlds will be impossible?”
The scholar shook his head. “Oh, no, Goodsir Kornbock. Travel was never dependent on the cords—else it could only be done from those three sites. No, only the constraints laid down by the goddesses are gone. Devisers who know how to move from one world to the other can carry whatever they wish with them. I can only assume that the fair world is unprepared for what the grim world can bring her . . . and vice versa.”
Gaby looked even more glum. “Alastair, we’ve got things . . . guns, drugs, bombs you wouldn’t believe. One bomb could destroy Neckerdam.”
“The whole city?”
“All of it. One bomb could turn the whole island into burned slag and kill everybody there. Maybe Duncan can’t get his hands on one; they’re hard to get. But he can bring all sorts of things that will give us grief.”
Alastair went white. He turned back to Caster. “If we stop Duncan in Aluxia, can we repair the cords?”
“If my model work is accurate—and so far, I must say, it has been absolutely correct—then you won’t have to. Even if the third cord is cut, given time, all three will eventually regrow.”
“So this only creates a brief period in which Duncan can act freely.”
“No. The problem is this. In my experiments, once I’d cut the links between my globes, I was able to forge new ones. Links with different defining characteristics. Once they were in place, the old ones would not regrow. All I had to do first was make sure that neither globe was contaminated by a taint of the other.”
Everyone turned to look at Harris and Gaby. Gaby glared back. “Boil that down into English. I mean Low Cretanis. You’re saying that Duncan killed every fairworlder on the grim world so he could cut the links. And if he manages to finish off the grimworlders on the fair world, he can set up new ones.”
“New ones with different characteristics. If he has the skill, he could, for instance, decide that every grimworlder who comes to the fair world ever after becomes devoted to him. And vice versa. An army of slaves in each world . . . slaves that the natives are unprepared to defeat. He could become a god.”
Alastair stood. “If there’s anything I hate,” he said, “it’s being in charge. I’m going up to tell all this to Noriko and make some talk-box calls. One to Panelassion to confirm that the second ceremony took place. Another to a friend of Doc’s in Aluxia so we can have some allies in place before Duncan gets there.
“Joseph, keep an eye on Doc. Tell me if there’s any change in his manner. Goodsir Roundcap, find yourself a bunk; this will be a long flight. Gaby, Harris, get what sleep you can.” He shook his head as if, by denying it, he could undo everything that had happened in the last few bells. He headed forward.
Harris went aft. Gaby started to follow him, but Caster intercepted her. “Goodlady?”
“What is it?”
“You are one of them, aren’t you?” Up close, he tried to take in every detail of her, saw the subtle signs of wrongness about her. “A grimworlder.”
“Well . . . yes.”
“I’d like to speak with you. At length. About your world. Your history.”
She looked away, staring after the vanished Harris. After a long moment she met his gaze again. “I think I’d better not.”
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
“You think I might misuse what I learned.”
“I think you might use what you learned. That’s just as bad.”
“A telling shot. We’ll talk later.” He watched her hurry after Harris.
Gaby paused outside Harris’ bunk and called his name.
There was no answer. She heard slow, regular breathing from beyond his curtains.
Asleep already. He usually wasn’t able to sleep so fast. He must have been exhausted by what he’d gone through. She cursed Caster Roundcap for delaying her. She went forward to her own bunk.
Harris heard her call his name. He waited, his eyes closed. Just go, he silently begged.
She did.
Now he knew, he finally understood, why she’d told him she didn’t want him anymore.
Because he was a man of good intentions.
But good intentions didn’t win fights. They didn’t get things done. They didn’t point toward the future. They didn’t save Jean-Pierre’s life. He’d let her down in every conceivable way.
He applauded her decision. Maybe she wouldn’t take too long to find someone else. Someone who didn’t screw up and get people killed. Someone like Alastair. Someone like Doc. It surprised him that he didn’t want to smash the face of whomever she chose. He wished her well.
He heard Joseph set up a chair a few steps aft. Wood creaked, even over the roar of the engines, as the giant settled.
It was the last thing Harris heard before sleep claimed him.
He awoke feeling no different.
He climbed out of his bunk. Joseph, still sitting, looked at him. There was no censure in his expression.
But then, Joseph didn’t have a whole lot of cause to be judgmental. Harris ignored him and went forward.
There was no one in the lounge. It was dark outside. He continued through the forward sleeping compartment and to the door into Jean-Pierre’s cabin. He walked in and closed the door behind him, shutting the world away.
He found the sofa by touch and settled into it. Ahead, through the bubble of a window, there were stars above, gray nothingness beneath. The stars looked far too optimistic; he decided that the nothingness was right.
Someone settled onto the couch beside him. He jumped about a foot.
“It is I.” Noriko’s voice.
“Oh, Jesus. You scared me.” He took a couple of deep breaths. “I’m sorry, Noriko. I didn’t know you were in here.”
“I was not asleep. You have not disturbed me.”
“I came in here . . . I don’t know. I kind of half expected him to be here. Maybe his ghost. Pouring whiskey for everybody and smart-assing as usual.” He looked into the void of the sea. “Noriko, I killed him.”
“Angus Powrie killed him.”
“Yeah, but I could have stopped him. I just couldn’t figure out how in time.”