She looked thoughtfully at the Ramosan, whose face split in a wicked grin.
Along the seawall, a large group of Saprazzan officials gathered. Next to the vizier were Sisay, Hanna, and Orim. On a separate, lower platform stood Guard Commander Oustrathmer. All were stern faced as they stood watching a line of storm clouds slowly taking shape along the western horizon of the lemon sky.
There was a loud rumble of drums, and from out of a guardhouse came a file of soldiers. In their midst, bound with chains, was a thin, dark figure. His face was red with bruising, and a line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. A scar stood out in scarlet against his pale face.
A guard at each elbow, he shuffled to a narrow, enclosed stone pit that stood on the outer section of the wall. The cover that normally sealed the pit had been placed to one side, and the crowd collected about the edges. As the prisoner reached the side of the well, a guard bent and fastened a large block of stone to his leg by a weighty chain.
The vizier turned to the assembly. "See, citizens of Saprazzo," she said in a clear voice, "that justice is done upon those who commit thievery and murder in our midst. This Mercadian has conspired to steal our Matrix. He has killed a guard in the commission of his act. For the loss of our national treasure, and for the death of this comrade, I am heartily sorry."
The tall figure of Oustrathmer stood watching the scene impassively. A close observer might have noticed that his webbed fingers twitched nervously.
The vizier looked at the Ramosan and said, "I have been satisfied of this man's guilt in the crime. Sentence against him is passed. Let him return to the sea from which we all came, and let the centuries wash his bones free of guilt."
She nodded to the guards. Two of them seized the heavy stone, while another propelled the prisoner to the edge of the well. His last despairing cry was cut off by a splash. Bubbles sparkled along the surface of the water.
The vizier spoke once more. "I understand this thief and murderer was a member of a secret organization that would overthrow legitimate government in Mercadia. This execution provides a clear message to such conspirators-Saprazzo will tolerate no subversive activity within its walls."
Orim looked on worriedly. A guard was busy securing the lid over the well. She turned to the vizier, who stood beside her, and whispered, "Do you think he's…"
The vizier smiled and spoke quietly. "He is fine. Trust me, Orim. We had our folk waiting below for him, and they will ensure that no harm comes to him. But Oustrathmer will send word that Lahaime of the Ramosans is dead and that Saprazzo is on the side of Mercadia. It will allow Lahaime and I both to operate without intense scrutiny." Her face grew grim. "More such false information will be borne by this spy, and we will use him to weaken the Mercadians. Once Oustrathmer's purpose is at an end, we will be certain he receives his due for betrayal. There will be no return to the sea for him."
She looked at Orim, and her face softened. "Now, let us talk with Cho-Manno. We must pool our strengths-the people of the waters-and end the evil that has gripped Mercadia."
The long quay leading out into nighttime waters bustled with activity. Wagon trains were drawn by sweating workers. Iron bands surrounded their upper arms, and cloths tied about their foreheads kept the sweat from their eyes. Their muscles bulged and strained as they hauled their loads over the flagstones toward a waiting vessel.
Accompanying the men were four figures, hooded and cloaked. They halted when a gigantic captain raised a hand before them. The captain walked slowly around them, stopping before a dark-skinned woman.
"Where to?"
"Mercadia. Our passage has already been paid." She brought out a piece of paper.
The captain took it, scowled at it, turned it around several times, and spat to one side on the slippery cobbles. "To Mercadia? Very well. But I have no cabin space left. You'll have to ride in steerage."
"Steerage!" a blonde-haired woman said indignantly. "But this paper guarantees us-"
The captain crumpled the paper, tossing it away. "That's what I think of that," he growled. "You paid only for passage to Rishada and Mercadia. You'll travel in the style available, and I tell you you'll journey to Rishada in steerage and no other way. Understand?"
A man with the tawny skin of a Cho-Arrim said, "Look me in the eye and tell me that."
The captain permitted himself a small chuckle. "All right." He stared intently into the man's eyes.
A quiet chant began on the Cho-Arrim's lips.
The captain pulled away, frightened. "What did you do?"
"Where did you say we were riding?"
Blinking in confusion, the captain said, "You can have my quarters. I was planning on sleeping with the crew."
With a sly smile, the Cho-Arrim man nodded. "That's what I had thought. Now, can you show us to our quarters?"
The captain nodded, at a loss for words. He led the four hooded figures along the quay and to one of the ships that bobbed in its moorings beneath a star-filled sky.
Chapter 16
Atop the great engine block of Weatherlight perched the Power Matrix. It seemed a huge, crystalline squid clinging to a vast whale of silver and ivory, glass and wire. The two artifacts were clearly kin, clearly fashioned by the same hand in some ancient time. Their polished brass panels, their networks of wire, their elegantly turned support structures, their enormous arrays of crystal-all of it showed the same genius for artifice. Matrix and engine were of a piece, fashioned for each other.
But the crystals of both were utterly dark. "Where is the power?" roared Volrath. His voice echoed through the long, narrow engine room. He lurked back in the darkness amid the ribs of the hull. Teams of Mercadian artificers meanwhile swarmed the inert bulk, lifting their examination lanterns for a better look. Volrath hissed. "This is supposed to be a Power Matrix! Where is the power?"
The chief artificer cringed beneath the verbal assault. She was one of twelve workers holding the Matrix in position. Her fingers struggled to find a grip along the lateral crystals. They were slick with the gore of the former chief artificer. Volrath had been unimpressed with the man's results and had forced his successor to drag the corpse to the deck and fling it overboard. Now, the new chief artificer's life depended on the same faulty piece of equipment.
"Forgive me, Master Volrath," she ventured quietly. "But might I make an observation?"
From the darkness behind came the growled response. "It is your job to make this machine run, not to make observations."
If she was going to die anyway, she might as well die speaking the truth so that her successor might be spared. "There are crystals missing-five large and irregular crystals." With a bloodstained finger, she pointed. "Here, here, here… do you see where the conduits converge on empty spaces? Crystals must be inserted here before the Matrix will function. And not just any crystals-these are irregular, one of a kind. Once they are in place, the Matrix will fuse with the main body of the engine, and-"
She could speak no more. It is hard to speak when a cutlass is lodged in one's lungs. There was a red fountain, and the chief artificer slumped brokenly on the machine she was unable to fix. In her last glimpse of the world, she saw the eyes of her assistant-the next chief artificer. Horror, despair, and sadness mixed on his features, with something else-gratitude. The woman slid, dead, to the floor of the engine room.
"Well, haul her out of here," Volrath growled. "And clean this place. I want it to be sparkling by the time I return with these… these crystals she spoke of."
The new chief artificer lifted his dead mentor and carried her toward the hatch. The other workers gaped at the horrible sight.