Chapter 23

Professor Sasan was in fine form for the lecture, which lasted four hours with a small break for students to use the latrines.

The question he had posed last class about the name of the period preceding the beginnings of the First Empire – the Nix, Song learned – turned into a spirited discussion about the limitations of historical knowledge and the questions they begged. The origin of hollows, for example. It was known that there had been hollows by the time of the First Empire, but the Antediluvians who built it were believed to have come from the Old World above. Had there been hollows before they came?

Were hollows, in a sense, the natural inhabitants of Vesper?

That proposition earned offended anger and gadfly delight in equal measure, with the professor serving more as an arbiter of discussion – demanding sources, commenting on their credibility – than as the one leading it. After the break the teaching was more traditional, focusing on the founding and nature of the First Empire. Though its spoken languages were long forgotten and the written works only barely deciphered, Song was surprised to learn there were yet traces of the former. Several of the hollow cants in the Trebian Sea were believed to be descended from Antediluvian tongues.

It was the sort of class Song would have greatly enjoyed, were she of a mind to enjoy anything at all.

Three days. It had been three days since she swung her tantrum around like a sledgehammer to methodically destroy everything she had attempted to accomplish since setting foot on Tolomontera. She had been floundering ever since.

Angharad returned once to the cottage only to fetch her belongings, careful to come when everyone else was certain to be absent. Maryam stopped staying at the Meadow after the second night, but she came back only to sleep and left before breakfast. Tristan, meanwhile, was no longer showing up to class and the only reason Song knew him to be alive was because he had left a note mentioning he was ‘tracking something down’ and food regularly disappeared.

He’d not bothered to write a second or a third note, only tracing an additional X at the bottom of the same paper with each passing day to reiterate he still drew breath.

Three days, and though opportunities had been thin on the ground Song had seen some of them pass by before her. She could have attempted to force a conversation with Maryam in those twenty seconds every morning she saw the other girl before she left the cottage, or requested that Angharad have tea with her politely enough the noblewoman would have found it difficult to refuse. Gods, she could even have headed to the Chimerical to try and corner Tristan while he worked there.

She had not. None of it.

“- three hundred words on why we still call the First Empire an empire even though it was, according to every primary source, an oligarchy,” Professor Sasan said. “I’ll be collecting at the beginning of class.”

A pause.

“It should go without saying, but the hallway full of emerald-encrusted gold sculptures that opened to the side of this lecture hall is a trap,” he added. “If any of you are foolish enough to be tricked by Scholomance putting in such lackluster effort, I will be marking down the rest of your cabal for the assignment instead of giving pity points.”

There was some laughter and after pushing up his spectacles with a smile the professor dismissed the class. Song steeled herself, turned to her left, but before she could so much as open her mouth Angharad was on her feet and walking away. She waded into the fray of departing students.

So much for that.

The Pereduri would not be leaving wandering the hallways alone, at least. Song glanced back at the cabal sitting behind them, finding that Ferranda was avoiding her gaze again. Though amicable the two of them were no more than acquaintances, so they both knew that the other captain would absolutely rope in Angharad if she could. She was certainly making the effort.

Yet how could Song be angry with that courting, when Angharad needed the help and all these troubles were of Song’s making in the first place? Besides, there were other amends that the Tianxi needed to make. She turned to Maryam, who was still putting away her books and papers.

“Do you have a moment?” she quietly asked.

Blue eyes flicked up to her.

“No,” Maryam said. “Captain Yue expects me at the Abbey within half an hour, I’ll be pressed as is.”

“Later tonight, then,” she said.

The Izvorica shrugged.

“You know where I sleep,” she replied, promising nothing.

The bag was hoisted over her shoulder, and with a nod she walked away. Song kept her face calm. It was only overweening pride that made it feel like a dismissal. And perhaps if she had been quicker to approach Maryam, there would not be such… distance between them. She forced herself to keep her mind on putting away her things, and succeeded enough that she did not hear the other’s approach.

“Captain Song, a word.”

Her hand discreetly inched towards the grip of her sword even as she turned and fixed a friendly smile on her face. Ramona of the Forty-Ninth Brigade, it must be said, looked like she could handle herself in a fight. Short hair, a knife scar across the nose and scrapper’s build that was all sinews instead of bulging. The smile the blonde was sporting looked off on her face, like a hound putting on a hat so it might sit at the dinner table.

“Ramona,” Song greeted her with a nod, then raised an eyebrow. “Or perhaps Captain Ramona, now?”

The smile grew slightly more honest and significantly sharper.

“For two days now,” Captain Ramona confirmed. “I would have sought you out earlier, but my house needed to be put in order.”

“Congratulations,” Song replied, largely meaning it.

Tengfei Pan had seemed the driving influence behind the Forty-Ninth’s pursuit of the bounty on Tristan’s head, so she had been holding out hope a change of leadership might make them reconsider. It was only hope, however, so Song hooked her thumb in her belt – coincidentally not far from her sword. A glance behind Ramona told her the rest of the brigade was lingering close. Her look was noticed.

“A conversation between us is overdue,” Captain Ramona said, “but I am not unaware there has been bad blood between our brigades.”

Deftly she unsheathed the thick blade at her hip and set it down on the table, a worn pistol joining it a heartbeat later.

“This is not a trap,” the blonde said. “I offer to walk with you unarmed, letting you choose the destination, and instructed my cabalists to hold back for five minutes before leaving the lecture hall.”

Song’s eyes narrowed. Huang Pan, the round Tianxi with the contract that discerned whether an object or individual was situated in one of the cardinal directions, still had all his daily uses left. But it would be difficult to follow us using that alone, Song decided. There was a reason they had used it to ambush Tristan and not chase him. It was, in the end, not all that precise a tool.

“Let us talk, then,” Song nodded. “Come.”

She put a spring to her step, noting that the Malani girl from the Forty-Ninth went to pick up the abandoned weapons as the two of them headed into the halls. Neither so much as glanced into the trap hall to their left, instead stepping past a triad of chattering Izcalli and making enough room no one was close enough to easily overhear. Song slowed her steps then, but only slightly. She would not make it easy for the Forty-Ninth to catch up.

“This will serve,” she told Ramona as they continued their walk.

They were still heading for the front gates, but they had time enough for a short talk before reaching them and the spikes in the ground provided some modicum of safety.

“Truce,” Captain Ramona bluntly offered. “Our patron wants all of your heads on a pike, but we’re not here to indulge whatever pissing match she has going on with your own brigade’s patron.”

“It was not them that began this conflict,” Song said.

“No, it was us trying to cash in on that bounty,” the other woman acknowledged. “And because we tried, Fara can’t taste salt anymore.”

Song blinked, trying to hide her confusion. Not well enough.

“That’s how Lady Knit works,” Ramona explained. “She takes something from you, to knit you back together like you were.”

No wonder the Malani girl looked like she was not sure whether she wanted to slit Tristan’s throat or flinch away from him. She had lost much but must fear losing even more in avenging herself of it.

“Interesting,” Song simply said.

Best to let Ramona keep talking. The best terms were had when you let the other side negotiate with itself.

“A truce is what I offer, for a start,” Ramona repeated. “It occurs to me we’ve been going at this all wrong.”

The Tianxi only inclined her head in agreement, the other woman’s lips tightening in irritation at how little she was being given before she smoothed it away.

“Word is the Thirteenth’s been having a rough patch,” she said.

“Rumors are fickle things,” Song replied.

“They are,” Ramona said. “But it’s public record what bounties people take from the board in the Galleries, and I asked my patron about what these trials are like.”

She shrugged.

“Nasty pieces of work one and all, she said,” the blonde said. “Seems to me like you got a little too eager to make up for your blunder and the Thirteenth took one in the gut for it. It got you up to third place, sure, but you’re on shaky grounds at home for it.”

Song’s jaw clenched. She would be tied for second, if not for the point she had lost on the first day. Captain Vivek of the First Brigade had lapped both her and Sebastian Camaron by clearing two lesser assignments in quick succession, a bold advance that had allegedly sent one of his cabalists into Lady Knit’s care for a night.

“As I said,” Song replied, “rumors are fickle things.”

“I’m not blind,” Captain Ramona bluntly replied. “Your pale girl looks like she’s ready to chew wood and the Malani swordmistress barely talks anymore. Abrascal’s gone with the wind.”

“Covenant work,” Song said, affecting a shrug.

It might even be true.

“Either way, he’s a bad look for you,” Ramona said. “And if the way your Thirteenth slapped us around taught me anything, it’s that a brigade will tighten up at the first gut punch but it can only take so many of those before that anger’s turned inwards.”

Song breathed in sharply, stung. That was truer than the other woman knew.

“Tengfei saw you as someone to bury for that, the source of all his troubles,” the blonde said. “That was short-sighted of him. See, Song, I think you and I are in the same boat.”

The Tianxi frowned.

“Is that so?”

Captain Ramona chuckled.

“My captaincy’s shaky,” she said. “I got the seat because Tengfei blundered, but if I can’t deliver success then the same votes that got him in charge in the first place will turn back. But yours is just as shaky, eh? Too many gut punches. You need a win, same as me.”

“So you offer a truce,” Song said.

It was hardly anything to boast about.

“That’s the loud part,” Ramona said. “The quiet is that we’ll write off the gold you stole and tell you where the Ninth stashed all the stuff they took from you.”

And there was the offered victory, presumably. Admittedly a tempting one. Retrieving their affairs might even go some way in mending bridges with Angharad, considering how incensed she had been at the thefts. Only one detail was yet missing.

“And what would your win be, Ramona?” she asked.

“I do what Tengfei couldn’t,” the blonde replied. “Abrascal’s dead weight for you now anyway, rope around your neck. Just give me a time and place and I’ll rid you of your trouble – and cut you in for a third of the bounty on top of it.”

For a second, Song blanked in utter surprise. Why would she – no, it only made sense. She had not hidden her dislike of the thief all that deeply, and now he was flouting her authority by abstaining from classes barely a week into the year. By appearance, Song had every reason to want to be rid of him. Why wouldn’t she trade the thief for victories that would make up for her debacles, a flush of gold and the knowledge that his enemies would hound the Thirteenth no more?

“A third,” Song slowly repeated, to keep from showing any of her thoughts,

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Ramona grinned like someone whose bet had paid off. Song, for an idle moment, considered unslinging her pistol and shooting her in the stomach. How satisfying that would be.

“Don’t be greedy now,” Ramona chided. “Tell you what, to sweeten the deal I’ll even throw in introductions to a Savant who’s looking to jump ship. I noticed your lot don’t have a scholar to handle the classwork.”

“Maintaining numbers would be a concern, after losing a cabalist,” Song acknowledged.

She kept her tone even, giving away nothing. The other woman studied her, dark eyes narrowed.

“I can tell you’re not quite sold,” Captain Ramona said. “Fair enough. I’ll admit the risks are worse for you if it goes badly.”

She shrugged.

“But it’s a good offer and I think deep down you know it,” the Lierganen said. “I’ll let you sit on a while. You can come back to me once you’ve worked it all out to your satisfaction.”

Song chose not to finish the rest of the walk to the gates in Captain Ramona’s company.

—

The Academy class was worse than Saga had been, in some ways.

What Colonel Cao was teaching them was objectively important. Supply requests were one of the responsibilities of captains and every brigade would have to make them when they took their end of the year test, meaning this was practical knowledge she was being given. Even more so when the colonel took them time to lay out how to get around any obstructionist quartermasters one might chance to encounter or be able to draw on the strategic reserves of Watch fortresses when the ‘spare’ stocks were already spent.

Yet while Song’s reed pen scratched against paper, her mind kept drifting. It was thoroughly frustrating to catch herself losing focus again and again, until the frustration itself became the distraction. Worse, her eyes kept drifting to the slate hung up on the wall and the names it displayed.

VIVEK LAHIRI – 5

SEBASTIAN CAMARON – 4

SONG REN – 3

All of this, she could not help but think, for third place. There were dozens beneath her and even more that’d never made it onto the board, but what did that matter? It was not them she had believed herself to be triumphing over. It was a relief when class ended after a mere two hours, Colonel Cao releasing them with a warning that at week’s end the first evaluation would begin. She did not elaborate on the nature of it in the slightest, which drew out interested whispers.

Song would have fled the Galleries, but she was intercepted on her way out and when the likes of Captain Nenetl Chapul made an invitation she was in no position to refuse.

It was not a long walk down to the salons. The captain of the Third Brigade had not approached her before, as was only to be expected of a woman leading one of the largest alliances in their year. Song had been careful about not approaching her instead, for making such ties would make her a pawn in the grudge match between Captain Nenetl and Sebastian Camaron. That was reason enough to be wary when the round-cheeked Aztlan invited her for a spot of tea in the nicest salon.

Her contract, Song mused as she sat down across the table, was intriguingly complex.

The easiest way to describe it would be that Nenetl held absolute awareness of herself. The Aztlan girl ‘knew’ everything about her body and mind in that unqualified way that only gods could provide. Nenetl would know she caught a cold the moment the sickness settled in her, know terror was being pushed into her mind even as it affected her thoughts or when exercise was doing more good than harm to her body.

That contract would even make her a fine shot: she would know everything wrong about her stance.

The price was a sort of controlled mania, emerging compulsions to do a single action seventy-seven times in a row that would get harder to fight off the longer she had them. Her contract was in Antigua, so odds were good seventy-seven was a number sacred to her god. Ritual prayer ensured by contract, more or less, which Song had noticed to be a favored price of older gods whose influence waned. The younger, reckless ones instead glutted on concepts they liked like children eating all the sweet rice balls on the plate.

Nenetl poured for the both of them, the fragrant scent of Shouxing red leaves wafting up to Song’s nose. She breathed it in with a sigh, not bothering to hide her pleasure. They took the first sip together, as was proper, but the Tianxi noted that Nenetl’s hand waited no time in reaching for the startlingly large plate of spice cookies she had ordered along with the tea. The two of them made small talk for a few minutes, discussing the oddness in having rain scheduled every seventhday and how the cabal-based half of Warfare class promised to be interesting.

It was Captain Nenetl who eventually cut to the chase.

“I have come across information,” she said, “that might be of interest to you.”

“Might?”

“The uncertainty is only in the degree, in truth,” Nenetl said. “I learned where the Ninth keeps your belongings.”

Song kept her face smooth. That made twice someone was trying to sell her the information. Ferranda was convinced the hatred between Nenetl and Sebastian Camaron was genuine, so it should not be a trick in that sense. That did not mean it was not a trick in another.

“And if I were to ask how you obtained that information?”

Nenetl cocked her head to the side.

“You’ve already had an offer,” she deduced. “Likely the same source for the leak. The Savant in the Ninth Brigade gets chatty when plied with fine liquor.”

One of the many reasons Song disliked drunks.

“I am not uninterested,” the Tianxi said. “That is contingent, of course, on the price.”