discover his identity, I would make it known to the officers of the ship; and if there was not time for that or they would take no action, I would kill him myself.
Holding the golden candle high, I started up the stairs to the crew's quarters, knitting plans much faster than I walked. The officers—the captain the dead steward had mentioned—would refurnish my stateroom or assign another to me. I would have a guard posted outside, not so much to protect me (for I intended to stay there no more than I had to in order to keep up appearances) as to give my enemies something to strike at. Then I...
Between one breath and the next, every light in that part of the ship came on. I could see the unsupported metal stair on which I stood, and through the twining black metal of its treads the pale greens and yellows of the vivarium. To my right, radiance from indistinct lamps lost itself in nacreous mist; the distant wall at my left shone gray-black with damp, a dark tarn turned on edge. Above, there might have been no ship at all, but a clouded sky besieged by a circling sun.
It lasted no longer than a breath. I heard distant shouts as sailors here and there called the attention of their mates to, what could not in any case be missed. Then a darkness fell that seemed more terrible than before. I climbed a hundred steps; light flickered as though every lamp were as tired as I, then went out again. A thousand steps, and the flame of the golden candle shrunk to a dot of blue. I extinguished it to save what little fuel remained and climbed on in the dark.
Perhaps it was only because I was leaving the depths of the ship and ascending toward that uppermost deck which confined our atmosphere, but I felt chilled. I tried to climb more quickly, to warm myself by the exertion, and found I was unable to do so. Haste only made me stumble, and the leg that had been laid open by some Ascian infantryman at the Third Battle of Orithyia drew the rest toward the grave.
For a time I was afraid I would not recognize the tier that held my cabin and Gunnie's, but I left the stair without thought, kindled the golden candle for an instant only, and heard the creaking of hinges as the door swung open.
I had shut the door and found the bunk before I sensed that I was not alone. I called out, and the voice of Idas, the white-haired sailor, answered me in a tone of mingled fear and interest.
I asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you. I—I hoped you would come. I don't know why, but I thought you might. You weren't with the others down there."
When I said nothing, he added, "Working, I mean. So I slipped away myself and came here."
"To my cabin. The lock shouldn't have let you in."
"But you didn't tell it not to. I described you, and it knows me, you see. My own cabin's near here. I told it the truth, that I only wanted to wait for you." I said, "I'll order it to admit no one but myself."
"It might be wise to make exceptions for your friends."
I told him I would consider it, actually thinking that he would certainly not be such an exception. Gunnie, perhaps.
"You have a light. Wouldn't it be nicer if you used it?"
"How do you know I've got one?"
"Because when the door opened, there was a light outside for a moment. It was something you were holding, wasn't it?"
I nodded, then realized he could not see me in the dark and said, "I prefer not to exhaust it."
"All right. I was surprised, though, when you didn't use it to find that bed."
"I remembered where it was well enough."
The fact was that I had refrained from lighting the golden candle as a matter of self-discipline. I was tempted to use it to see whether Idas had been burned or bitten. But reason told me the assassin who had been burned would be in no condition to make a second attempt on my life, and that the one who had been bitten could hardly have reached the iron stair in the airshaft far enough ahead of me to have climbed it unheard.
"Would you mind if I talked to you?
Holding the golden candle high, I started up the stairs to the crew's quarters, knitting plans much faster than I walked. The officers—the captain the dead steward had mentioned—would refurnish my stateroom or assign another to me. I would have a guard posted outside, not so much to protect me (for I intended to stay there no more than I had to in order to keep up appearances) as to give my enemies something to strike at. Then I...
Between one breath and the next, every light in that part of the ship came on. I could see the unsupported metal stair on which I stood, and through the twining black metal of its treads the pale greens and yellows of the vivarium. To my right, radiance from indistinct lamps lost itself in nacreous mist; the distant wall at my left shone gray-black with damp, a dark tarn turned on edge. Above, there might have been no ship at all, but a clouded sky besieged by a circling sun.
It lasted no longer than a breath. I heard distant shouts as sailors here and there called the attention of their mates to, what could not in any case be missed. Then a darkness fell that seemed more terrible than before. I climbed a hundred steps; light flickered as though every lamp were as tired as I, then went out again. A thousand steps, and the flame of the golden candle shrunk to a dot of blue. I extinguished it to save what little fuel remained and climbed on in the dark.
Perhaps it was only because I was leaving the depths of the ship and ascending toward that uppermost deck which confined our atmosphere, but I felt chilled. I tried to climb more quickly, to warm myself by the exertion, and found I was unable to do so. Haste only made me stumble, and the leg that had been laid open by some Ascian infantryman at the Third Battle of Orithyia drew the rest toward the grave.
For a time I was afraid I would not recognize the tier that held my cabin and Gunnie's, but I left the stair without thought, kindled the golden candle for an instant only, and heard the creaking of hinges as the door swung open.
I had shut the door and found the bunk before I sensed that I was not alone. I called out, and the voice of Idas, the white-haired sailor, answered me in a tone of mingled fear and interest.
I asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you. I—I hoped you would come. I don't know why, but I thought you might. You weren't with the others down there."
When I said nothing, he added, "Working, I mean. So I slipped away myself and came here."
"To my cabin. The lock shouldn't have let you in."
"But you didn't tell it not to. I described you, and it knows me, you see. My own cabin's near here. I told it the truth, that I only wanted to wait for you." I said, "I'll order it to admit no one but myself."
"It might be wise to make exceptions for your friends."
I told him I would consider it, actually thinking that he would certainly not be such an exception. Gunnie, perhaps.
"You have a light. Wouldn't it be nicer if you used it?"
"How do you know I've got one?"
"Because when the door opened, there was a light outside for a moment. It was something you were holding, wasn't it?"
I nodded, then realized he could not see me in the dark and said, "I prefer not to exhaust it."
"All right. I was surprised, though, when you didn't use it to find that bed."
"I remembered where it was well enough."
The fact was that I had refrained from lighting the golden candle as a matter of self-discipline. I was tempted to use it to see whether Idas had been burned or bitten. But reason told me the assassin who had been burned would be in no condition to make a second attempt on my life, and that the one who had been bitten could hardly have reached the iron stair in the airshaft far enough ahead of me to have climbed it unheard.
"Would you mind if I talked to you?
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