No screaming. No groaning metal. No sound in the pit. Not even the drip.
She walked to the door. Her cell had almost reached the water. The surface churned as the platform rose up and stopped at her row. She looked up for the coffin, but the darkness was empty. The lake’s surface began to churn once more, and the coffin rose slowly from the water.
“Who’s there?”
The coffin door opened with a sibilant hiss. Black water oozed, sloshing, out. She saw fingers, white maggots with black fingernails, curl around the door. She backed against her cell wall. She heard a rasping wet noise: drowned lungs breathing. The sodden steps came nearer. The bolt shot back; her cell door moved slightly on its hinge. Tired of waiting, the Darkness had come to her.
She woke screaming.
“Porca miseria!” Sofia struck the flint again but got not even a spark. Spring had arrived, stubbornly inclement, and the rain was unrelenting. Getting warm was more pressing this morning than cooking, but the straw was damp and the wind was howling; it was never going to get light. Until the Contract was signed the Dwarf had stopped paying salaries, a policy that worried Levi. Bored soldiers need money, because if they can’t gamble or whore, they find amusement in ways that cause discipline problems. He advised Sofia to stay close to Yuri and to wear her hair in a bob. Sofia cut it. She’d hated it long anyway.
“Can I help?”
Sofia looked up with a scowl. “What do you want? I’m still not a nun, before you ask.”
“It was not my intention to offend, Signorina. My name is—”
“I know who you are: John Acuto’s pet fortune-teller. And you can’t help unless you fart fireballs.”
“Rarely—but if you are trying to boil that water . . .” The priest held his hand out, and the water shuddered and abruptly started bubbling.
“You know Water Style?” she gasped.
He smiled. It was a strange sight with his piteous weeping eyes. “I believe I’m not alone.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, regretting opening her mouth.
“You mean to say you’re really not a nun?”
Sofia searched his clouded gray eyes and saw he was genuinely puzzled. “I studied with one. She’s dead now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that and sorry for not believing you—traditionally, we don’t make initiations lightly. For most people it’s a lifetime’s commitment.”
“She had her reasons, I suppose.”
“Maybe she saw her end coming.” The priest was thoughtful. “The water’s stopped boiling. Why don’t you try?”
Sofia looked into the cauldron. As before, the water was perfectly still, with only a few wisps of vapor to show it really had been boiling. She had avoided meditation since she’d learned who the engineer really was—the Reverend Mother had told her to have faith, but it had been a mistake to trust her: if she hadn’t realized Giovanni was blood to the devil who sent the Wave, then what good was Water Style? And if she did know who he was—well, the Doc was right: blind faith in anyone was foolish. Even the Doc, even the Virgin—they were all liars, manipulating her for their own ends.
The Hawk’s Company was different; here everyone was anonymous, all violence impersonal. Here she could do the only thing that made sense anymore: fight Concord.
“Look, I just want to be normal,” she started.
“You needn’t be afraid of the dreams, you know. That’s how the Virgin shows us the future in motion. It’s ours to accept or change.”
“Damn it, I said no!” she shouted.
“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Better get those vegetables in.”
The water was boiling again.
“I don’t believe it—you’re doing that.”
“You’ve almost given up on yourself, haven’t you?”
“I already told you, I’m not interested in fortune-telling.” She stirred the pot aggressively. After a moment she glanced up.
“Boiling is easy,” he said patiently. “It’s much harder to cool it down. Whoever you are, you’re not a cook.”
“You want to hear my confession? I’m a traitor, all right? Happy?”
The priest tutted quietly. “Well, you’ll fit in if you stay. Everyone is guilty to one degree or another.”
Sofia changed tack. “You want me gone? You’re threatened by someone that knows your tricks.”
“I could sense your power even before I saw you. It’s as big as the sea out there! Whoever taught you recognized that you’re special. But if you stay here, sooner or later, special or not, you’ll make choices that will tarnish you forever.” He turned and began to walk away.
“What did you choose?” Sofia said.
He turned. “You’re afraid of what you might see. For me, the water’s always clouded.”
“You don’t know me!”
He was gone, and the pot was still boiling. It was her. Could she stop it too? Sofia held out her hand and concentrated.
It was waiting, suckling on anger, swollen like a louse, the Darkness that had a name now: Giovanni Bernoulli the liar.
She came up gasping to find the water boiling furiously, spilling over the top, and tears pouring down her face. She was exiled; there was no going back. It was worse than any torture she’d endured in the Beast, because then she had believed her punishment unjust. Now she knew better.
In the Sala dei Notari, Levi studied the town’s mascot. You know where you stand with griffins—they show their teeth from the start. The Ariminumese were infuriating. After weeks of offer and counteroffer they said they were ready to sign, but the terms were still insulting.
Or, Levi thought with another glance at the griffin, perhaps they were as good as the Company could expect in a world where only Concordians paid top prices. If they accepted that, it would be only a matter of time before condottieri questioned the logic of perpetual war against Etruria’s top payer. Would Acuto have an answer? In the accounts, Harry was just another written-off solider. The Company’s purpose was to make money, not to make Etruria a better place.
The doge pushed the counteroffer away like a meal without salt. “No,” he said without ceremony. He walked out, followed by the Signoria.
The notary cleared his throat. “The Signoria reconvenes in a fortnight. In the interim, there is the matter of your camp supplies . . .”