do you understand?”
Slyr nodded vigorously, and then her eyes narrowed.
“You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?”
Annaïg smiled. “It’s not what you think.”
“What, then?”
“I think I might be able to hit twice with the same stone,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Toel believes that I am not ambitious enough, that I’m not willing to do what I have to do to survive and get ahead.”
“Yes,” Slyr said. “I’ve heard him say so.”
“I’ll get the ninth savor,” Annaïg promised. “And I’ll show Toel just how far I’m willing to go.”
“How?”
“I’m going to steal it from Phmer.”
Slyr’s eyes widened and her mouth parted.
“That’s impossible,” she said.
“Look,” Annaïg said, drinking a bit more wine. “We can work for two weeks to invent this thing—and probably fail—or we can go where we know it already exists, and spend that time learning how best to use it to please Umbriel.” She sat back. “I think it’s what Toel intends me to do. I think this is a test he has devised.”
“That does sound like him,” Slyr admitted. “But to invade another kitchen, to pass all their safeguards and survive, much less escape being caught—I can’t imagine how it could be done.”
“I can,” Annaïg told her. “I know how to learn secret ways, and I know recipes for concealment that—with a bit of work—ought to keep me undiscovered.”
“I’m not sure you understand,” Slyr said. “Even if you escape—if Phmer finds any evidence that you stole from her, she can demand Toel give you to her, and he must do so. That is the law. Perhaps that is even what Toel has in mind for you.”
“Then I had better not be caught,” Annaïg said. “Or leave trace of my visit.”
Slyr’s face hardened into an expression of determination.
“Tell me what I can do to help,” she said. “I will not fail you.”
“You had better not,” Annaïg said. “This really is your last chance. You must understand that.”
“I understand,” Slyr replied.
“Good. I’ll let you know when I need something.”
Glim unfolded the note from Annaïg the skraw Jernle had handed him. It was written in the jumble language of their childhood—which only the two of them understood—although Glim hadn’t seen any evidence that anyone on Umbriel could read in any language. Still—avoiding leeches was better than picking them off.
What are you up to, Nn? he thought. For a moment he considered refusing the request until Annaïg agreed to make something to replace the vapors. He followed her logic, understood why she couldn’t do it, but still, something about her refusal bothered him. Maybe it was because she didn’t take him seriously, that she thought her cause was bigger than his. And it was, wasn’t it? How many of his people—his relatives—had died because of Umbriel?
But the skraws weren’t to blame for that. They didn’t even know it had happened.
But someone was responsible.
He turned to Wert, who was watching him patiently.
“I need detailed information concerning the kitchen of Phmer,” he said. “Bribe the pantry workers, if you must.”
“More maps?” Wert inquired.
“No. More than that.” He paused. “And let’s see what happens if some of the middens stop draining. That should get someone’s attention.”
Wert’s face broke into a huge grin. “At last!” he said. “Which ones?”
“You decide,” Glim said. “I need to have a second look at something.”
Everything led to the sump, which meant lots of things led away from it as well. Early on Glim had found his way to the trees of the Fringe Gyre.
The flying island of Umbriel was a rough cone, with the apex pointed down. The sump was a basin in that cone, and most of the population of the city lived in warrens in the stone. The lords lived on the upper edge in their delicate habitations of metal and crystal. But another world sprouted from the verge of the rim, enormous
Slyr nodded vigorously, and then her eyes narrowed.
“You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?”
Annaïg smiled. “It’s not what you think.”
“What, then?”
“I think I might be able to hit twice with the same stone,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Toel believes that I am not ambitious enough, that I’m not willing to do what I have to do to survive and get ahead.”
“Yes,” Slyr said. “I’ve heard him say so.”
“I’ll get the ninth savor,” Annaïg promised. “And I’ll show Toel just how far I’m willing to go.”
“How?”
“I’m going to steal it from Phmer.”
Slyr’s eyes widened and her mouth parted.
“That’s impossible,” she said.
“Look,” Annaïg said, drinking a bit more wine. “We can work for two weeks to invent this thing—and probably fail—or we can go where we know it already exists, and spend that time learning how best to use it to please Umbriel.” She sat back. “I think it’s what Toel intends me to do. I think this is a test he has devised.”
“That does sound like him,” Slyr admitted. “But to invade another kitchen, to pass all their safeguards and survive, much less escape being caught—I can’t imagine how it could be done.”
“I can,” Annaïg told her. “I know how to learn secret ways, and I know recipes for concealment that—with a bit of work—ought to keep me undiscovered.”
“I’m not sure you understand,” Slyr said. “Even if you escape—if Phmer finds any evidence that you stole from her, she can demand Toel give you to her, and he must do so. That is the law. Perhaps that is even what Toel has in mind for you.”
“Then I had better not be caught,” Annaïg said. “Or leave trace of my visit.”
Slyr’s face hardened into an expression of determination.
“Tell me what I can do to help,” she said. “I will not fail you.”
“You had better not,” Annaïg said. “This really is your last chance. You must understand that.”
“I understand,” Slyr replied.
“Good. I’ll let you know when I need something.”
Glim unfolded the note from Annaïg the skraw Jernle had handed him. It was written in the jumble language of their childhood—which only the two of them understood—although Glim hadn’t seen any evidence that anyone on Umbriel could read in any language. Still—avoiding leeches was better than picking them off.
What are you up to, Nn? he thought. For a moment he considered refusing the request until Annaïg agreed to make something to replace the vapors. He followed her logic, understood why she couldn’t do it, but still, something about her refusal bothered him. Maybe it was because she didn’t take him seriously, that she thought her cause was bigger than his. And it was, wasn’t it? How many of his people—his relatives—had died because of Umbriel?
But the skraws weren’t to blame for that. They didn’t even know it had happened.
But someone was responsible.
He turned to Wert, who was watching him patiently.
“I need detailed information concerning the kitchen of Phmer,” he said. “Bribe the pantry workers, if you must.”
“More maps?” Wert inquired.
“No. More than that.” He paused. “And let’s see what happens if some of the middens stop draining. That should get someone’s attention.”
Wert’s face broke into a huge grin. “At last!” he said. “Which ones?”
“You decide,” Glim said. “I need to have a second look at something.”
Everything led to the sump, which meant lots of things led away from it as well. Early on Glim had found his way to the trees of the Fringe Gyre.
The flying island of Umbriel was a rough cone, with the apex pointed down. The sump was a basin in that cone, and most of the population of the city lived in warrens in the stone. The lords lived on the upper edge in their delicate habitations of metal and crystal. But another world sprouted from the verge of the rim, enormous
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