Part 7 (1/2)

'They'll give her a good life.'

She shook her head defiantly.

Granger frowned. 'Is it so hard to let her go? Even if it means keeping her here?'

Hana closed her eyes. 'How do I convince you to trust me?'

'Tell me the truth.'

'We tried to!'

Granger unlocked her leg-irons and led her downstairs to the cell block. She didn't resist as he scooped her up in his arms. He carried her along the flooded corridor and across the threshold into the cell. Ianthe was curled up in the corner, crying into her elbows. Hana went over to her at once and embraced her.

Granger watched them for a moment, and then he eased the cell door closed behind him and turned the key in the lock out of habit.

Moonlight flooded the garret. Granger couldn't sleep. His prisoners would probably be awake in their cell below. No one slept well on the first night. They'd be looking at the walls and wondering what the dawn would bring. They'd be looking at the slop drawer. Granger lay in his cot, wrapped in blankets that didn't reach his feet, and stared at the head of a nail embedded in the ceiling. In this quiet darkness the smell of the sea always reminded him of his childhood in Losoto. The scent of brine was much stronger down in the cells, where there were bars instead of gla.s.s in the windows. Some nights it made you dream of drowning.

On the floor all around lay the sc.r.a.ps of wood and tools that he and Swinekicker had gathered over the years to fix the old man's boat. He'd dismantled most of the furniture last winter and burned what he decided couldn't use. His whaleskin cloak lay in a crumpled pile beside the heavy grey galoshes he'd borrowed from Creedy. In the gloom the dragon-bone joists in the ceiling looked like a sketch of a land at war with itself, a framework of pale borders dividing innumerable fiefdoms. It was a map of fear, l.u.s.t and betrayal, just like any other map in Hu's empire.

Can you hear me?

The shadows gave no reply. Granger felt foolish. Perhaps Ianthe was was asleep. Either way, the girl seemed determined to hide her powers from him. All Haurstaf could stare into the minds of their own kind, and an exceptional few could read the thoughts of humans. Their powers over an Unmer mind were akin to rape. And yet none of them possessed preternatural vision and hearing. He shook his head. Ianthe asleep. Either way, the girl seemed determined to hide her powers from him. All Haurstaf could stare into the minds of their own kind, and an exceptional few could read the thoughts of humans. Their powers over an Unmer mind were akin to rape. And yet none of them possessed preternatural vision and hearing. He shook his head. Ianthe had had to be psychic, and a powerful one to boot. And that made her valuable to him. She was his ticket out of here. to be psychic, and a powerful one to boot. And that made her valuable to him. She was his ticket out of here.

A st.u.r.dy deepwater boat could take him across the Mare Lux, beyond Losoto and the reach of the empire. Valcinder still maintained some free ports, it was said. He could sell the boat there and buy pa.s.sage on a vortex-cla.s.s s.h.i.+p across the Strakebreaker Sea. In a year or so he might reach the Herican Peninsula, the last great wilderness the place where G.o.ds once walked with men.

He could escape the brine.

The thought should have given him solace, and yet he found it impossible to sleep. Doubts continued to nag at him. Was there any any way she could simply have heard him pull the drawer from the cabinet? He couldn't see how such a feat was possible. But if he was going to sell Ianthe to the Haurstaf, then he had to be way she could simply have heard him pull the drawer from the cabinet? He couldn't see how such a feat was possible. But if he was going to sell Ianthe to the Haurstaf, then he had to be absolutely certain absolutely certain. She was still too much of a mystery to him. The extent of her abilities remained untested, obscured by her lies. It was like peering into the depths of the sea. One never knew exactly what one might find down there.

He had to determine her limits.

But how do you test a psychic who knows your every thought and plans to confound you?

Granger got up and took the water jug from the sink. Then he walked downstairs to the flooded cell corridor. No windows opened onto the narrow s.p.a.ce, and it was utterly dark down there, but Granger could have found his way in his sleep. He counted fifteen steps, then crouched. Slowly and carefully, he eased the lip of the jug into the brine, filling it with poison.

He slept later than usual. When he woke the sun was high and the room was already uncomfortably warm. He opened a window and p.i.s.sed into the ca.n.a.l below. He still felt tired. He threw on a robe and pulled his borrowed galoshes over his bare feet. Then he picked up the jug of poisonous water and sniffed it. It smelled sulphurous and metallic, but so did everything else in his jail. He doubted any normal person would be able to detect the deception until it was too late. A psychic, however, would already know what he had done.

He carried it down to the flooded cell block.

Neither of his prisoners looked like they'd slept at all. Ianthe didn't seem to have the energy even to raise her head and scowl at him. She was still curled up in the corner, her head turned away, but breathing with such fierceness that Granger knew she was awake. Hana pushed herself up from the palette and tried to smile.

He handed her the jug and thought to himself, I've poisoned the water, Ianthe. I've poisoned the water, Ianthe.

She set it down and rubbed her eyes. 'Do you feed us?' she said.

'In a minute.' He waited.

She picked up the jug.

'Hana.'

She lowered the jug and looked at him.

Don't count on me stopping her from drinking it, Ianthe. I'm not going to do it again. And don't pretend to be asleep. I can hear you breathing. 'How did you survive? In Evensraum, I mean. Cholera wiped out the colonies.' 'How did you survive? In Evensraum, I mean. Cholera wiped out the colonies.'

She shrugged. 'Why did you change your name? Why Swinekicker?'

'Name of the guy who owned this place,' he said. 'I don't want to talk about that.'

'I walked east.' She raised the jug to her lips.

'East? To where?'

'Deslorn,' she said. 'Hundreds of us took that road.' She was looking at him strangely now, trying to discover his motives. 'When the cholera took hold in Deslorn, I moved again. Temple Oak, Cannislaw, other places. A refugee camp in the woods, that's where Inny was born.' She lifted the jug again.

d.a.m.n you, Ianthe. You'd let her die to prove a point? Granger put his hand on the lip of the jug and lowered it. 'How did you end up here?' Granger put his hand on the lip of the jug and lowered it. 'How did you end up here?'

She let out a deep sigh. 'Trove,' she said matter-of-factly. 'Inny can spot things lying on the seabed.' She set down the jug and looked at it. 'We got involved with this smuggler, Marcus Law. He was dredging the waters out past Port Va.s.sar, the Ochre Sea and places like that. And he'd send the trove he found to the Losoto markets. Illegal, of course. But you always find buyers for exceptional finds, and a lot of Inny's finds were like that.'

Granger thought about this, now curious despite his misgivings. If Ianthe could do what her mother claimed, then what she was telling him made sense. Black-market salvage operations like these funnelled money into the Evensraum Resistance. The Imperial Navy had closed down dozens of them.

'You're telling me she can actually see see trove down there?' trove down there?'

Hana nodded. 'Like you can see me now.' She picked up the water jug and held it out to her daughter. 'Inny . . .'

'I don't want anything from him him,' the girl said. 'You drink it.'

Hana looked up at him helplessly, then she raised the jug to her own lips.

'Stop.' Granger took the jug away from her. His thoughts were reeling now. Had Ianthe been about to let her mother drink brine, simply to conceal her talents to conceal her talents? Or was it more likely that Hana was telling the truth, that Ianthe simply didn't know about the poisoned water? He stared down at the jug in confusion. 'I have some wine, if you'd prefer.'

'Thank you,' Hana said. 'That would be nice.'

He emptied the jug in the corridor outside. Ianthe's behaviour continued to confound him. Had mother and daughter known about the poison all along and planned planned that whole display for his benefit? Had Hana that whole display for his benefit? Had Hana counted on him counted on him preventing her from taking a sip? It was the only thing he could think of that made sense. preventing her from taking a sip? It was the only thing he could think of that made sense.

How do you test a psychic who knows your every thought and plans to confound you?

Had they simply outwitted him? Granger let out a growl of frustration and went to find them some wine.

At noon he cooked them thrice-boiled fish, adding oats to turn it into a thick porridge. If he was going to outwit his prisoners, he decided, it was best to earn their trust first. He found a little honey he'd been saving for himself and spooned that in too. It made the gruel more pleasant. He tasted it with his finger, then added salt and tasted it again. Not too bad. He felt quite pleased with himself. As he was ladling the mixture into bowls he heard the sound of a bell ringing outside. He went over to the open hatch and ducked outside.

The postboat was moving slowly along Halcine Ca.n.a.l, puffing steam from its short bra.s.s funnel. She was an old Valcinder coastal cruiser, slender and graceful. East Empire s.h.i.+pwrights had carved her hull from the jawbone of a hexen barracuda and fas.h.i.+oned her stem from hundreds of white and yellow angui bones that still gleamed like twists of marzipan. The waterway here was narrow enough to allow the postman's son, Ned, to toss bundles of letters onto the prison wharfs or into the open decks of the jailers' own tethered boats. Most of Granger's neighbours had postboxes fixed to their wharfs, but it wasn't raining so Ned wasn't bothering to use them. The Hoekens and Mrs Pursewearer would complain about that, and Ned would just laugh uproariously and carry on as usual.

On the opposite side of the ca.n.a.l Dan Cuttle was climbing down a series of ladders that zigzagged all the way down one side of his brick jail like huge iron st.i.tches. He waved and called down, 'Fine hot day.'

'It's cooler down here in the shade,' Granger replied. 'Any time you want to swap your business for mine, I'd be happy to oblige you.'