Of the Abyss (9 page)

Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Cinnabar and Cadmia Paynes walking together; she ducked back into the shadows of an alley as they passed, and only remembered to breathe once they were well away. She kept her head down as if against the cold-­blowing wind, and tried not to give anyone reason to look twice at her as she cut through the outskirts of the city. There was no firm plan in her mind except to flee those who would gladly turn her over to the soldiers again.

 

CHAPTER 12

I
t
had
been too long, Cadmia realized as she walked through the market with Cinnabar.

Unlike the central market, the one by the docks was loud, crowded, and rank. The brine of the ocean mingled with the smells of fresh and rotting fish, and the inescapable odor of sailors who had been too long without a proper bath.

A sealing ship was loading casks of salt in preparation for its journey north. The captain of a Tamari vessel heavy with rice, coffee, and assorted luxury goods was arguing loudly with a customs officer, while the mate of a Silmari vessel was soliciting crewmen for its next trip out.

The noise, smell, and general commotion was overwhelming now, though Cadmia knew that there had been a time in her life when this had been commonplace. Certainly Cinnabar had no problem with it.

They stopped at Mother's cart-­based shop. Though she carried some useful items like herbal remedies—­the ones for hangover were always the best sellers there—­most of Mother's trade was in trinkets and gifts suitable for a sailor returning home to a sweetheart he hoped to find waiting.

She smiled warmly when she saw Cadmia.

“If it isn't Scarlet's girl,” Mother greeted her. “It's been too long. Is life in the violet order not treating you well?”

“It treats me fine,” Cadmia answered. “I had an impulse to come down here. I
have
missed you. I'm sorry I haven't visited more often.”

“They say an impulse you can't explain is caused by the Others whispering in your ears,” Mother remarked.

“Hm.” There was no good way to reply to that. Cadmia's education with the Order of the Napthol had covered concepts like that, but she was not supposed to discuss them with anyone outside the order. “How has business been?” she asked instead, deliberately changing the subject.

“Better when the Quin aren't down here stealing from me,” Mother griped. “Those boys think they own the city.”

Not any more, they don't.
The thought struck Cadmia like a kick in the guts, but again, her knowledge of the attack, the arrest, and Hansa's protestations of innocence weren't things she could talk about.

She was searching mentally for another subject when Mother nodded to someone in the crowd, and said to Cinnabar, “Looks like someone's looking for you.”

Cadmia and Cinnabar both looked up and caught sight of the man Mother had noticed. Handsome, well-­groomed, and immaculately attired, the dark-­haired gentleman stood out in the crowd of sailors and mongers. He was working his way deliberately through the crowd, his eyes on Cinnabar.

“Do you know him?” Cadmia asked, under her breath.

“Never seen him in my life,” Cinnabar murmured. But he didn't look down. Instead, he boldly met the other man's gaze, and smiled.

Cadmia took a step back, uncomfortably recalling why she generally didn't come here, even for a brief visit. Even though it was barely a twenty-­minute walk between the docks and the city proper, location of both the Quinacridone Compound and the Cobalt Hall, this place fostered a disregard for the laws of the land. Too many foreign sailors, unfamiliar with or flat-­out disdainful of Kavet customs, turned the port into a morally gray place.

For example, Cadmia had no doubt that Cinnabar had already balanced his desire to be friendly with Cadmia and the risk of getting arrested against the likelihood that this stranger had as much coin in his pockets as his attire suggested. He hadn't exactly put his back to Cadmia, but he had shifted position so they didn't appear to be together.

“Are you Cinnabar of A'hknet?” the man asked, once he was close enough not to need to shout over the crowd.

“That's me,” Cinnabar answered. “What can I do for you?”

“So very many things,” the man said, bright blue eyes raking down Cinnabar's body before returning to his face. “But right now, it's more about what I intend to do for you.”

“I'm flexible.”

“I've heard that.”
Time to leave,
Cadmia thought, knowing her face was bright red at the verbal byplay. When she started to try to slide unobtrusively back into the crowd, however, the man unerringly caught her gaze and said, “You may wish to stay, Cadmia. Our conversation might interest a Sister of the Napthol.”

Cinnabar tensed, obviously reevaluating his impression of this man, and his assumptions about what he wanted.

Mother broke in, asking, “Are you here to buy something, or to be a pest?”

The man quirked a brow, then reached into his pocket, and dropped a pair of silver coins on top of the shelf she had set up across the wagon handles. “The red silk shawl there.”

Mother looked at the coins, then the shawl. She took the former while wrapping the latter in white paper, then handed the merchandise over without bickering about the price, which meant that her customer had just offered so much money that she didn't want to risk having him realize his mistake.

“A gift for a special lady?” Cinnabar asked.

“An engagement present for a friend's fiancée.”

“Men who buy red silk for their friends' future brides usually aren't terribly interested in preserving the friendship,” Cinnabar observed.

“That all depends on how you define friendship,” the man said. “You and I, for example, could probably have a lovely one, assuming you don't rot in a Quinacridone jail, or have your guts torn out by an Abyssi.”

“Excuse me?
”
All Cinnabar's practiced flirting disappeared in the face of the stranger's blunt words.

“Your testimony against Dioxazine led to the deaths of nearly a dozen Quin guards. They think you misled them deliberately, sent them into a trap against an Abyssumancer. The mancers, of course, just think you report to the Quin.”

“Who
are
you?” Cadmia demanded.

“Someone who's willing to help out your friend . . . and yourself.”

“They captured the mancer,” Cadmia asserted, a little less certainly than she would have liked.

“They captured an innocent man and you know it. The Quin know it now, too, which puts the two of you in an awkward position. They wouldn't dare cause trouble for a Sister of the Napthol, but they wouldn't think much about using a monger as a scapegoat.”

Cinnabar had gone pale, but that wasn't where Cadmia's gaze was locked. Instead, she was looking at blue eyes. Electric blue.

“I thought you deserved a warning,” the man said to Cinnabar, who nodded without a word. “I also happen to know of a Silmari trading vessel shipping out soon that's still looking for an extra hand or two.”

“Why are you helping me?” Cinnabar asked, pulling himself together. “I don't even
know
you.”

“I would hate to see a man punished for daring to do what he thought was the right thing,” the blue-­eyed man answered.

Or he's trying to remove a witness,
Cadmia thought. Instinct, or paranoia? She remembered what Hansa had said about the creature who had helped him. All he saw was blue eyes.
They seemed to glow.
This man's eyes weren't exactly
glowing,
but they were brighter than she had ever seen.

“Can you tell me what exactly has happened?” she asked, trying to keep her tone calm and nonjudgmental. “I think I've missed something.”

“Well . . .” The man paused, as if he needed to think about it. “Hansa Viridian has been released, but I suppose that's no surprise to you, as the Sister who interviewed him.” Did he see her shock and ignore it? Or was he so certain of the truth of his statement that he was oblivious to her response? “The Quin discovered the real Abyssumancer, and in interrogation he admitted to planting a Numenmancer's tools on Dioxazine so the guards would walk into his trap unprepared.”

“What about Viridian's wounds?” She wasn't thinking about Cinnabar any more. She was thinking about what she had seen, and heard . . . and
said.
Could she have spoken against an innocent man?

“What wounds?” the blue-­eyed man responded, innocently. “The only person who claims to have seen them was Hansa's hysterical fiancée.”

It was at that moment that Cadmia became stone-­sure that there was more going on than this man was reporting.

Cinnabar, like any good child of A'hknet, shook his head and said, “Doesn't matter to me if he is or isn't guilty. What's the name of that ship?”

“The
Tally
-­
ho
. I've already spoken to the captain on your behalf, but the sooner you report, the more he'll probably like you.”

“I . . . thank you.”

The blue-­eyed man smiled once again, and said, “Maybe I'll look you up onboard later.”

“Any time.” Cinnabar's smile was a ghost of its usual stuff. “Caddy . . . I'll see you around.” He kissed her cheek, barely a peck, said goodbye to Mother, and then hurried off as if Abyssi were chasing his heels.

Maybe they were.

The stranger started away from Mother's cart, and Cadmia followed.

Softly, she said, “I saw the tools they took from Dioxazine. No one but a Numenmancer would have had them. An Abyssumancer wouldn't even have been able to acquire them.”

“Sister, you may be allowed to discuss the Others with impunity, but as a simple citizen of Kavet I do believe it would be illegal for me to speculate on the subject.”

But his eyes were dancing with amusement.

She bit her tongue, because he was right . . .
damn it
 . . . even if she was certain he was playing with her.

She was still trying to form another question for him when she saw Novice Sienna waving at her through the crowd, trying to get her attention. When she ran forward, Cadmia thought she would mention Hansa's release, but that wasn't the subject on her mind.

“Cadmia, do you have Pearl with you?” Sienna asked, breathless.

“Pearl? Why would she be with me?” Cadmia responded.

“I have no idea why, but I was hoping anyway. She's been missing for . . . I'm not sure for how long, actually, but no one remembers seeing her for
hours,
probably since she last went outside.”

“Would she have run away?” the stranger asked.

Cadmia wanted to snap at him to stay out of this, but Sienna answered, wringing her hands. “She's always been happy at the Hall. And she
never
goes anywhere without permission. I think she's afraid if she wanders off, no one will be there when she comes back.”

“That girl should not be alone in this city.” In contrast to his cavalier or frankly manipulating tone earlier, the man now seemed genuinely concerned. To Sienna, he said, “You should go back to the Hall.”

“No, we should alert the guards,” Cadmia argued, trying to think of the best way to respond . . . only to realize that Sienna had already turned away, and was ignoring her as she followed the stranger's “suggestion.”

“You don't want sighted guards looking for her,” he said.

“You're not implying . . . Pearl is the sweetest little girl I've ever met!” Cadmia hissed. “Every guard in the One-­Twenty-­Six already knows and adores her. She likes to bring them cookies and cider and talk to them while they're on duty. And how would you know anything, unless—­”

As her mind caught up to her mouth, Cadmia realized her suspicions had not only crystallized into certainty, but that the stranger knew it. Cadmia took a step back, eyes searching for the nearest guard as she drew breath to call out.

“I have no intention of harming you,” the man said, his tone still casual, as if he were discussing the weather, “and in fact, I may be able to help you find Pearl, but if you raise your voice at this moment I
can
kill you, without anyone in this plaza noticing, much less raising a hand to help you.”

“Do you know where she is?” Cadmia asked, in a soft, trembling voice.

“I may be able to make some inquiries,” he responded, “
if
you agree not to cause trouble for Mars's newest Quin hero.”

“You monster,” Cadmia hissed. “You would really hold the safety of a nine-­year-­old child hostage, just for my silence?”

“Your voice is getting loud,” he warned, prompting her to snap her mouth shut again. “And yes, I would. I don't do
favors,
but I will make
deals.
You stay out of our way, and I will do my best to return Pearl to you, or, if she is already safe and wishes to stay where she is, to let you know as much.”

For all she knew, he was the one who had taken Pearl—­just as she was now quite sure that he had healed Hansa, and probably manipulated events to secure that guard's freedom.

The Others cannot lie,
she thought,
and if he is spawn, like Hansa believed, they also cannot back out of an agreement once they have given their word.
If she was right about what he was, then he would
need
to help Pearl, as long as she kept her mouth shut about Hansa.

She had felt Hansa's innocence when she went to him. If this creature had healed him for its own reasons, then every word Hansa had spoken in his own defense had probably been true. He wasn't a mancer; he had been caught in a trap involving magic and creatures beyond his training or understanding. In that case, did she even
want
to cause more trouble for him?

Or was she just justifying her own actions, when she said, “If you will do everything in your power to ensure Pearl's safe return to the Cobalt Hall, then I will refrain from mentioning my . . . concerns . . . to anyone.”

“If I discover Pearl had a good reason to leave the Hall of her own free will, I will not force her to return. But I will see to her safety.”