“Sorry.” Moon turned to go.
She walked with him. “It’s all right. I don’t often get to speak to people who aren’t sodden with drink or smoke.” Stone, who had been wandering the shadowy areas, came back to Moon’s side. She looked him up and down and lifted a brow. “That’s your father?”
“Grandfather,” Stone corrected, and looked her up and down in return. It was as close to true as it was safe to get; most groundlings didn’t live to be Stone’s age.
Her mouth quirked in a smile. “Interesting family.”
She seemed to be finding them odd but not dangerous, which was the best they could probably hope for. It also meant they could ask questions without looking any stranger than they already did. As she led them out, Moon asked, “We’re looking for work. Does that tower hire laborers?”
“You don’t want to work there. It’s a strange place. It belongs to a magister. You stay away from them.” She stopped just outside, but leaned in the doorway and didn’t seem in a hurry for them to go. “They like their own way. Anybody like that is dangerous.”
She was right enough about that. “What does he do in his tower that’s so strange?”
“He collects things.” Her brow furrowed, and she tried to explain, “Trinkets and art. Things from far places. Some of it makes your flesh crawl. You can see for yourself. The tower will open at midday.”
“Open?” Stone asked.
“For anyone to go into the lower floors, to show off his collection and offer him new things. He does it every day. Likes to frighten people, probably.” She pushed away from the door, turning to go back inside. “You go see for yourself—just don’t ask for work there.”
“We will,” Moon said to her retreating back. “Thank you.”
It was still early, so they went to the market the woman had spoken of. Moon couldn’t count on being able to fly out to fish for remoras every day, and they needed to stay as well fed as possible. Moon traded one of their small sunstones for a couple of pots of cooked fish and clams, and a small pile of the marked metal bits that served as the local coinage. They sat down on the steps at the edge of a little plaza to split the food, watching the people in the market pass by.
It was busy, with stalls set up under the eaves of the buildings on each side of the walkway. Besides food, the stalls sold metalwork, pottery, a local cloth made of dyed fishskin as soft as the finest leather, and trade goods like silks and scented oils. Moon had looked at the roots and fruit, but they were all small, old, and far more expensive than the fish. But then they all had to come in on the traders’ ships.
The groundlings browsing the stalls were all better dressed than Rith, Enad, and Theri, but not in a much better frame of mind. Talk was muted, and people picked over the goods in a desultory way.
“Not very lively,” Stone commented. He hadn’t balked at the idea of eating cooked fish, but then Stone was odd for a Raksura. Though Moon did have to remind him not to gnaw on the clam shells in public.
“They can’t afford the roots.” Moon scraped up the last of the sauce. The stall holder had promised them four more bits for bringing the pots back. “Like Rith said, most of them probably want to leave.” They were speaking Raksuran, and Moon kept an eye out for anyone showing undue interest, but everyone seemed wrapped up in his or her own concerns.
“There’s something funny about all this.” Moon lifted a brow, and Stone added, “Besides the fact that they built their city on a leviathan, even if it was sleeping at the time.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” Stone spit out a piece of clamshell. “Maybe I’ll know when I see Ardan.”
“Planning on having a long conversation with him?” Moon asked. They couldn’t afford revenge; the only thing Moon was planning on was getting the seed and getting out.
“A pointed conversation,” Stone said, and smiled.
Chapter Ten
When the sun was directly overhead, something Moon could sense rather than see through the heavy mist and clouds, they went back to the plaza.
A small crowd had gathered near the tower. Some were wealthy local groundlings, all dressed in rich fabrics and smelling strongly of flower perfumes. Many had small ivory fans, though the day wasn’t warm. The fans, and the perfumes, might be a defense against the humid fog, which compounded the leviathan’s stench and absorbed every odor of the city. The others waiting to enter the tower wore subdued, work-roughened cloth and leather, and must be traders up from the harbor.
Moon and Stone joined the back of the crowd. A few of the traders glanced at them, their expressions ranging from thoughtful curiosity to annoyance, as if they feared competition. The locals ignored them, which was just as well.
Before they had left the market, Moon had taken another precaution. From a used clothing dealer he had bought battered pairs of boots for himself and Stone. They were just soft squares of fishskin that wrapped and tied around your foot and ankle. Stone had put them on without vocal protest, affecting an expression of long-suffering.
Raksura normally didn’t wear shoes. Even in groundling form, the soles of their feet were as hard as horn, and Moon had always found shoes impossible to shift with. Most groundlings didn’t notice, considering it just a physical quirk of another race. But if Ardan and his thieves had ever managed to see any live Raksura, they might be looking for such telltale signs.
As the doors opened, Moon sniffed, then unobtrusively tasted the air. There was a hint of decay, of death, under the rush of stale scents. It disappeared into the miasma of leviathan, perfume, smoke, fog, and anxious groundling before he could be sure it was more than his imagination. Moon flicked a look at Stone, but his eyes were on the doorway. There was no hint of the magical barrier. Either it had been taken away so the doors could be opened, or it was only in place during the night.
They followed the traders through an arched entrance hall, the white walls carved to look like long drapes of fabric. Guards wearing coats of reptile hide and armed with short metal-tipped spears stood at frequent intervals. They wore weapons at their belts that looked like small crossbows, just from the brief glimpses Moon was able to get. Good, he thought sourly. First we have a groundling shaman, and now we have projectile weapons.
He had been expecting the inside of this place to be something like their abandoned tower, if on a larger and less decayed scale. But the size of it caught him by surprise.
The entryway opened out into a large circular hall, with a wide stairway curving up to the level above. The walls were set with alabaster panels framed by heavy carved drapery. Vapor-lights hung from sconces made to look like water serpents.
The knot of groundlings in front spread out a little, staring upward in astonishment. Moon looked up and froze, a quiver traveling down his spine.
Suspended high overhead was a giant blue-scaled waterling, its body a good sixty paces long. It was half-fish, half-groundling, with groundling-like arms and a scaled torso ending in a long tail, its fins as large as the sails of a small fishing boat. Its huge clawed hands dangled and its head pointed right down toward them, glassy eyes staring angrily, open jaw big enough to walk upright through, teeth stained yellow and black. It was dead—it had to be dead—stuffed and preserved and slowly decaying.
Stone bumped his arm, impatience mingled with reassurance, and Moon made himself move forward into the hall. That, or something very like it, was what had nearly grabbed Moon when he was flying low over the sea. The traders just ahead of them murmured in uneasy awe and discomfort. Moon was glad he wasn’t the only one.
The local groundlings, apparently used to the sight, had already started up the stairs. Stone followed and Moon trailed after him. He had a bad feeling the giant waterling was only the beginning. At least he knew now what the woman in the wine bar had meant when she said the display in the tower was disturbing.
Preserved carvings hung along the inside stairwell, large sections chipped out of the walls of so
me other building. The faded paint showed groundlings with elaborate jeweled headdresses riding in procession on giant grasseaters, taller than the trees along the side of the avenue. In any other circumstances, Moon would have stopped for a closer look, but this place was making his skin twitch. Most of the groundlings passed the carvings with only brief glances as well, their attention on the gallery above the stairs.
The next level held far more exhibits. Carvings of stone and wood, all obviously cut or chipped out of their original locations, some painted or set with jewels. Some statues were rough and crude, others were beautifully carved, of strange types of groundlings, of other creatures Moon had never seen before. There were metalwork panels, shields, weapons, a whole row of full sets of armor, inlaid with gold, silver, and gems, the helmets formed into snarling animal masks. But next to all the wonderful things there were cubbies in the walls, and in each one was a dead creature, stuffed and posed in a horribly lifelike position. Standing on a low plinth in the center of the hall was the skeleton of something like a branch spider, standing more than fifteen paces high. The bones had been rearticulated somehow, maybe with wire, and the effect was eerily lifelike.
Moon and Stone moved out into the room, as the groundlings wandered and pointed and exclaimed. It looked like this was as far up into the tower as they were allowed to go. A shorter open stairway led to a set of doors, but they were tightly shut and watched by two guards.
Stone stopped suddenly. He was staring at a stand with a large jar set atop it.
Moon’s breath caught. We’re in the right place. The jar was carved of rich dark wood, and it had obviously been made by Arbora. The sinuous shapes of winged Raksura wrapped it, their claws hooked over the rim. The wide opening was sealed with a single piece of polished onyx. Stone turned away from it, and said, low-voiced, “It’s a queen’s funerary urn.”
Moon looked down, biting his lip, trying to conceal his start of shock. “From Indigo Cloud?” he muttered, speaking Raksuran.
Stone shook his head. “Ours were put into hollows in the wood of the tree, and the mentors made it grow around them. No one could get to them.” He looked at it again, eyes narrow. “This came from another colony.”
Moon swallowed, relieved. At least it wasn’t one of Jade or Stone’s ancestors. “Ardan’s been to the forests. The seed has to be here somewhere.”
Stone strolled away toward one side of the room. Moon took the other.
Delin, Niran’s scholarly grandfather, had a collection from his travels too, but it had been limited to pretty samples of pottery and other trinkets, and his books of notes and drawings. Ardan had sea creatures with maws of teeth and staring eyes, a flightless giant bird like the vargits that stalked the jungles far to the east, and something that was just a bundle of tentacles with mouths on the ends. There was a Tath, standing upright and pinned to a wooden post, the boney mask that protected its face making it look sightless. Its jaw hung open and its long clawed hands dangled uselessly, and Moon still had the urge to rip it apart. He was half-afraid to look into an alcove and discover that Ardan had collected a Fell. Though he supposed the Fell would have long since found a way to reach the island if Ardan had been fool enough to stuff a ruler or a major kethel.
Then he walked past an alcove with an occupant that stopped him in his tracks.
A waterling lay stretched out on a plinth, but it was nothing like Nobent or the monstrous creature downstairs. This was a sea realm dweller. Her skin was pale green, with a pattern of opalescent scales. The heavy ribbons of her hair were dark green, like sea wrack, and there were sharp fins along her calves and thighs. Her fingers and toes were webbed, and tipped with deceptively delicate claws.
Moon stepped closer, unwillingly fascinated. She still wore her jewelry: a belt of pearls, white metal armbands shaped like water snakes. He couldn’t see the death wound; possibly it was in her back. Whatever preserved her maintained the appearance of life, betrayed only by the faint scent of corruption and the sunken, bruised skin around her closed eyes. Moon had never seen a sea dweller this close before. He would have much preferred to see this one alive and swimming.
He turned away to see Stone regarding it with a grimace of disgust. “I’m surprised he doesn’t have any stuffed groundlings,” Moon said. There was no way Ardan could even pretend to classify a sealing with the Tath, the branch spider, and the other predators.
Stone gave the dead woman one last dark glance. “He doesn’t have them down here, where the others can see.”
He had a point. “Have you found anything?”
“It’s not here.” Stone’s jaw set, as if it took all he had to suppress a growl.
“It’s not on display,” Moon corrected. The next step seemed obvious. Tricky and potentially dangerous, but obvious. “I’ll say I want to see Ardan, tell him I know where he can find more Raksuran treasures.”
Stone shook his head. “Moon—”
Moon explained impatiently, “If he believes me, maybe I can look around inside the—”
“Moon, if he finds out what you are, he’ll collect you.”
“I know that.” With effort, Moon kept his voice low. “He won’t find out. I’m good at not being caught.”
Stone was more skeptical. “I saw how good you were at it when your groundling friends staked you out to be bird bait.”
It was unfair to bring that up. “That was different.” It was different in a hundred ways. Ilane had wanted to get rid of Moon somehow; if he hadn’t turned out to be a shapeshifter she could accuse of being a Fell, she would have thought of something else. Presumably Ardan wouldn’t have that kind of personal malice towards him. Not on such short acquaintance, anyway. “And he’s not going to have Fell poison.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Fine, so what do you want to do?”
Stone didn’t have to think about it. “I’ll tell him I know where to find the treasures.”
“You can’t. The rooms upstairs could be too small for you to shift in. You’d be stuck.” Obviously Stone didn’t object to the plan, just the fact that Moon was the one implementing it. He stifled the impulse to feel hurt; Stone couldn’t think he would betray the court to some random groundling sorcerer. Still…” What, you don’t trust me?” All right, maybe he hadn’t quite stifled the impulse.
Stone gave him a withering look. “Jade made me swear to take care of you and not let you do anything crazy.”
Moon stared at him, torn between extreme pique and gratification at the show of concern. And there was always the chance that Stone was just making it up, to justify him taking the risk instead of Moon. “I don’t do crazy things. I don’t need to be taken care of. And since when do you listen to Jade? Or anybody?”
“I’m a consort, I listen to queens. Something you might consider at some point.”
How Stone managed to say that with a straight face, Moon had no idea, and he wasn’t going to dignify it with an argument. Instead, he pointed out, “None of the others can do this.” In either of her forms, Jade would be recognized as a Raksura by any of the thieves who had been to the colony tree and seen the carvings. None of the warriors had ever had to hide what they were. The only groundling they had spent any time with was Niran, and he didn’t count. “It has to be you or me, and it can’t be you.”
Stone folded his arms and stared at the wall. He said, “You don’t know I’d get stuck,” but Moon knew resignation when he heard it, even from Stone.
First, they made a quick trip back to their tower so Moon could retrieve his consort’s gifts from their hiding place. If he was going to convince Ardan he knew where Raksuran treasure lay, it would be handy to have proof. He convinced Stone not to return to Ardan’s tower with him; if something went wrong, then at least only one of them would be caught, and Stone would be free to find a way to rescue Moon—before Moon’s dead body turned up in Ardan’s collection.
Stone agreed reluctantly, and didn’t tell Moon to be careful
. They both knew that being careful wouldn’t get them the seed.
By the time he returned to Ardan’s tower, most of the locals had gone, but the traders seemed to be waiting for something. Moon hoped it was for Ardan to make an appearance.
Finally, the doors at the top of the stairs opened and a group of groundlings came out. Some were guards, some obviously servants, and one, a short blue-pearl man dressed in rich gold and green robes, was obviously the leader. That has to be Ardan. Moon followed the other traders over, trying not to show the tension that was making his teeth ache. This was the one thing he was most worried about; if Ardan was very powerful, he might be able to tell Moon was a shifter just by looking at him. As an ivory-inlaid folding table and a chair were whisked into place for the leader, one of the servant groundlings announced, “This is the Superior Bialin. He speaks for Magister Ardan.”
Of course he is, Moon thought sourly, disappointed. Ardan couldn’t come down here, where the big doors downstairs were still open and Moon could leap the gallery and have a straight path outside if anything went wrong.
There were several traders here to offer objects and information, and Moon let them go first so he could watch what happened. It was a simple procedure: the traders each presented their objects to Bialin, who examined them, and then told the trader it was garbage and to go away. Moon wasn’t close enough to get a good look at the objects, but from what he overheard, most were either jewelry pieces or small carvings from distant groundling cities—the kind of things that would have pleased Delin, but that were far too prosaic for Ardan’s taste.
Two traders had a small chest, which they opened to reveal the preserved body of a little creature. Moon stood on tiptoes to catch a glimpse and thought it looked like a treeling sewn onto a lizard.
Bialin gazed at them tiredly. “This is a treeling sewn onto a lizard. Get out.”
Finally it was Moon’s turn. He stepped up to the table and Bialin said skeptically, “And what have you got to offer?”