"We can do something," she said. "We can find someone. Physikers, alchemists—"
"Tried, Ezri. Alchemists and poisoners. We need the antidote from Stragos, or an actual sample of his poison from which to create one." "And didn't I deserve to know? What if you" d—"
"Dropped dead in here one night? Ezri, what if a Redeemer had put his sword through my skull, or the crew had just murdered me on the day we met?"
"That's not you," she said, "that's not how someone like you dies, I know, I just know—" "Ezri, you" ve seen every one of my scars, you know I'm not—" "This is different," she said. "This is something you can't just fight."
"Ezri, I am fighting it. I" ve been fighting it every single day since the Archon put the fucking thing in me. Leocanto and I count the days, do you understand? I would lay awake at night the first few weeks, and I was sure I could feel it, doing something in me—" He gulped, and felt his own tears pouring down his face. "Look, when I'm in here it doesn't exist, understand? When I'm with you I can't feel it. I don't care about it. This is… it's like a different world. How could I tell you? How could I ruin that?"
"I would kill him," she whispered. "Stragos. Gods, if he was here right now I'd cut his fucking throat—" "I'd help. Believe me—"
She released her arms from around his neck and they knelt there in the semi-darkness, staring at one another. "I love you, Jean," she whispered at last.
"I love you, Ezri." Saying it was like allowing some sudden release of pressure behind his heart; it felt like breathing in at last after ages spent underwater. "You're like no one else I" ve ever known." "I can't let you die," she said. "It's not you… you can't—"
"I can do what I damn well please," she said. "I can get you to Tal Verrar. I can buy you time to get what you need from Stragos. I can help you kick his arse."
"Ezri," said Jean, "Drakasha" s right. If I can't get what I need from him… taking Stragos down is more important—" "Don't say it."
"I'll do it," he said. "It only makes sense. Gods, I don't want to, but if I have no choice I'll trade myself for him."
"Damn you," she whispered, and faster than he could react she leapt to her feet, seized him by the front of his tunic and slammed him against the starboard bulkhead. "You will not! Not if we beat him, Jean Tannen. Not if we win." "But if I have no choice—"
"Make a new choice, you son of a bitch." She pinned him to the bulkhead with a kiss that was pure alchemy, and his hands found their way down her tunic, down to her breeches, where he unhitched her weapons belt with as much gratuitous fondling of the areas not covered by it as he could manage.
She took the belt from his hands and flung it against one of the stiffened canvas walls, where it struck with a clattering racket and slid to the floor. "If there is no way, make a way, Jean Tannen. Losers don't fuck in this particular cabin."
He picked her up, making a seat for her from his crossed arms, and whirled her around so that her back was against the bulkhead and her feet were dangling. He kissed her breasts through her tunic, grinning at her reaction. He stopped to put his head against her chest; felt the rapid flutter of her heart beneath his left cheek. "I would have told you," he whispered. "Somehow."
"Somehow, indeed. "Man," " she said, " "what a mouse he is made by conversation—""
"Oh, it's not enough that I have to take this from you, now I have Lucarno chastising me—"
"Jean," she interrupted, pressing his head more firmly against her with a hug. "Stay with me." "What?"
"This is a good life," she whispered. "You suit it. We suit it. After we deal with Stragos… stay with me."
"I like it here," said Jean. "Sometimes I think I could stay for ever. But there are… other places I could show you. Other things we could do." "I'm not sure I'd adjust well to life on land—"
"Land has its pirates, same as the sea," he murmured between kisses. "I'm one of them. You could—"
"Belay this. We don't have to decide anything now. Just… think on what I said. I didn't bring you in here for negotiations." "What did you bring me here for?"
"Noise," she whispered, starting to pull his tunic off. "Lots and lots of noise."
5
Just before the midnight change of watches, Gwillem emerged from his new quarters into the narrow corridor between the ship's four smaller cabins. Scowling, clad only in his breechclout and a hastily thrown-on vest, he stepped across to the door of his old compartment. Bits of flannel rag were stuffed into his ears.
He pounded on the door several times. When no answer was forthcoming, he knocked again and hollered, "Treganne, you bitch, I'll get you for this!"
6
"Are her preparations almost complete, then?"
The two men met in the roofless ruins of a stone cottage, south of the city proper, so close to the edge of the eerie jungle that not even drunks and gazers would crawl out to it for shelter. It was near midnight, and a hard rain was falling, warm as spit.
"Got all our junk sold just this afternoon. Been taking on water and ale like crazy. More than enough food already. Once we scrape up everyone that wants to get scraped up tomorrow, I'm sure we're gone."
Jaffrim Rodanov nodded, and for the hundredth time cast his gaze around the broken house and its shadows. Anyone close enough to listen through the noise of the rain would have to be close enough to spot, he reckoned.
"Drakasha said… disturbing things when she called the council. What's she told you about her plans once she's back at sea?
"Nothing," said the other man. "Peculiar. Usually she gives us a good week to get our skulls busted and our purses sucked dry. She's got a fire under her arse and it's a mystery to the rest of us."
"Of course," said Rodanov. "She wouldn't tell you anything until you were on your way. But she's said nothing about the Archon? About Tal Verrar?" "No. So what do you think she's—"
"I know exactly what she's doing. I'm just not entirely convinced it's wise." Rodanov sighed. "She might call down a heap of shit on everyone in the Ghostwinds." "So now you—"
"Yeah." Rodanov passed a purse over, giving it a shake so the coins within could be heard. "Just like we discussed. Keep your eyes open. Note what you see. I'll want to hear about it after." "And the other thing?"
"Got it here," said Rodanov, hefting an oilcloth satchel with a heavy weight inside. "You're sure you have a place where this cannot be found—" "My sea-chest. Privilege of rank, right? Got a false bottom." "Good enough." Rodanov passed the satchel over. "And if I have to… use this thing…"
"Again, like we discussed. Three times what I just paid you, waiting for you once it's done."
"I want more than that," said the man. "I want a place aboard the Sovereign."
"Of course." Rodanov extended his hand, and the other man met his grip. They shook in the traditional Vadran fashion, clasping one another's forearms. "You know I can always use a good man."
"You're using him right now, hey? Just want to be sure I got a place to call home when all this is over. One way or another." Utgar's grin was the faintest crescent of white against the shadows.
7
North by east on the Sea of Brass, with the wet southern wind on the starboard quarter, the Poison Orchid dashed across the waves like a racing mare at last given her head. It was the third day of Aurim.