He was right; Pekka had never tasted camel, and had no great desire to do so. In something else he’d said, though, he might well have been wrong. “We may have a two years’ start on you,” Pekka told him, “but are you sure we have a two years’ start on the Algarvians? I wish I were.”
Fernao’s grimace suggested he’d taken a bite of camel after all. “No, I am not sure of that,” he admitted. “I have seen no Algarvian journals dating from since Lagoas declared war, and Mezentio’s mages may not be publishing any more than you were.”
“My belief is that the Algarvians are not traveling quickly down this ley line,” Siuntio said, not for the first time. “They have put so much work into their murderous magic, I think it occupies most of their mages.”
“That makes good sense,” Fernao said, “but not everything that makes good sense is true.”
“I am painfully aware of it,” Siuntio said. “Were I not, Ilmarinen’s work would be plenty to prove the point.”
“He will be waiting for us at the university, I suppose?” Pekka said.
“Aye, unless he’s gone off in a fit of pique,” Siuntio answered. Pekka bit her lip. With Ilmarinen, that was anything but impossible. But Siuntio went on, “I do expect to find him there.”
Fernao ate fast, as if afraid an Algarvian mage might start experimenting while he savored his smoked salmon. Getting up out of his chair was an even more awkward process than sitting down in it. Pekka signed the chit for all three breakfasts. The Seven Princes could afford it.
She and Siuntio had to help Fernao up into a cab. He sighed, saying, “I have not got used to being a burden to everyone around me.” Pekka and Siuntio both assured him he was nothing of the sort, but he didn’t seem inclined to listen. He sat glumly for some little while as the cab horse clopped through the streets of Yliharma. At last, he remarked, “I had heard the Algarvians struck you a heavy blow, but I had not realized it was as heavy as this.”
“It could have happened to Setubal, too,” Pekka said.
“It nearly did,” the Lagoan mage answered. “Mezentio’s men had set up a murder camp across the Strait of Valmiera from our city, but we raided it and freed most of the Kaunian captives there. We keep close watch, lest they try again.”
Thinking aloud, Pekka said, “If they work out the proper spells, I wonder if they have to be as physically close as they seem to believe. Could they not transmit the force of the magic along a ley line?”
She sat squeezed rather tightly between Fernao and Siuntio. Both men sent her looks full of consternation. Fernao said, “They started using their magecraft in Unkerlant, where ley lines are few and far between. It may well be, we have the powers above to thank for that.”
“And what do the sacrificed Kaunians have for which to thank the powers above?” Siuntio asked. Fernao looked as if he’d bitten down on one of the sour citrus fruits Jelgavans used to flavor wine. He made no reply.
When they reached the sorcerous laboratory the Algarvian attack had almost destroyed, they did find Ilmarinen waiting for them. He tilted his head back so he could look down-or rather, up-his nose at Fernao. “Come to see how it’s done, have you?”
“Aye,” the Lagoan mage answered equably. “After all, what else am I but a thief?”
Ilmarinen started to come back with something sharp. Before he could, Siuntio took him aside and spoke to him in a low voice. By the way he suddenly stared at Pekka, she was able to make a good guess as to what Siuntio told him. Ilmarinen said, “That’s a nasty thought, my dear. I’m the one who should have come up with it.”
Pekka smiled her most charming smile. “I’m sure you would have, Master Ilmarinen, if you hadn’t been too busy fuming about Fernao here.”
They’d all spoken Kuusaman, but the Lagoan mage caught his name. “What was that?” he asked. Pekka translated for him. He said, “You need not defend me, Mistress; I can take care of myself. And I have spent some time fuming about Master Ilmarinen, too, so he is entitled to fume about me.”
“Don’t tell me what I’m entitled to,” Ilmarinen snapped; like Siuntio, he could use classical Kaunian not just to get ideas across but almost as if it were his birthspeech.
“Shall we proceed to the experiment?” Siuntio said. “In every moment we quarrel among ourselves, the Algarvians gain.”
“Oh, aye, this one will solve everything,” Ilmarinen said. “We’ll have Mezentio hiding under his bed in no time flat.”
“Maybe we can confirm the actual consequences of the divergent series on the half of the specimens on the negative axis,” Siuntio said.
“You know what they are,” Ilmarinen said. “You all know what they are. You just don’t want to admit it. Even when you’ve had your noses rubbed in it, you don’t want to believe it. Bloody cowards, the lot of you.”
“I believe it,” Fernao said. “I want to find out what we can do with it.”
To Pekka’s surprise, Ilmarinen beamed. “Well, what do you know? Maybe you’re not worthless after all.” The only thing different Fernao had done was agree with him for two sentences. Contemplating that, Pekka had all she could to not to laugh out loud. Aye, in many ways, Ilmarinen and her little son Uto were very much alike.
Cornelu’s leviathan snapped up a squid. Life of all sorts teemed in the chilly waters of the Narrow Sea. Despite his rubber suit, despite the magecraft that helped ward him, those waters felt unusually chilly today. Maybe that was his imagination. Imagination or not, the Sibian exile wished his Lagoan masters had picked a warmer season of the year to send him forth.
Whenever the leviathan surfaced, Cornelu looked around warily. In these waters, the Algarvian navy and Algarvian dragonfliers reigned supreme. Sailors and men on dragons who served King Mezentio might well take him for one of their own. He hoped they would, but he intended to do his best to disappear if they didn’t.
He was particularly careful when he crossed a ley line. Whenever his amulet detected the thin stream of sorcerous energy that formed part of the world grid, he used it to search for nearby ships. He hadn’t found one yet, but that didn’t make him stop looking. If he wanted to get back to Setubal, being careful was a good idea.
“And I do want to get back to Setubal,” he told his leviathan. The great beast kept on swimming; had it been a man, it would have shrugged. Without a doubt, it was happier out in the open ocean.
But then, it wasn’t seeing Janira. When he was in Setubal, Cornelu went back to the eatery where she worked every chance he got. He’d taken her to a music hall and to the unicorn races. He’d kissed her-once. Only now that he was going to be away from her for a long time did he realize how smitten he’d become.
It wasn’t just that he could speak his own language and have her understand. It wasn’t just that he was desperately looking for a woman after Costache’s betrayal. He told himself it wasn’t, anyhow. He hoped it wasn’t.
With a tap, he urged the leviathan to stand on its flukes, to extend his horizon as it lifted its front end-and him-out of the water. There to the north was the mainland of Derlavai. He knew the little spit of land that stuck out toward him-it lay just west of Lungri, a coastal town in the Duchy of Bari. After the Six Years’ War, Bari had been split off from Algarve and made self-ruling, but it was Algarvian again now. Its return to Algarvian allegiance had touched off the Derlavaian War.
Cornelu urged the leviathan farther south. He wanted to be sure he gave the headlands of Yanina, which thrust far out into the Narrow Sea, a wide berth. The closer he came to land, the closer he was likely to come to trouble. He didn’t want trouble, not on this journey. He wasn’t hunting downed Algarvian dragonfliers, or Algarvian floating fortresses, either. He had a delivery to make. Once he did, he could hurry back to Setubal.