Bloodsong Ch. 06

Valeriana quickly averted her eyes.

"A Carcera vessel? You stole a bloody Carcera vessel? Gods above, was your brain replaced with porridge since we last met? Do you know how much Marabeth hates them, how lucky you are that you didn't get torpedoed to the ocean floor for dropping anchor in her territory on a ship from a rival company? I specifically told you—"

"NOW LISTEN HERE—"

"No time, no time for any of this, we must leave, now! Have someone send down a ladder, too. We're not climbing up in these clothes and these shoes."

By the time Mrs. Drakma stopped windmilling her arms and making it hazardous to so much as stand in her vicinity, half the Cyniheans had scaled the side of the ship and clambered back over the railing, the first one to do so tossing down a rope ladder. Mrs. Drakma had spoken in plurals, so it shouldn't have come as a shock that Valeriana was told to climb. Nevertheless, she felt disinclined to obey and made sure to let the woman know it.

Mrs. Drakma pressed her fingertips to her forehead and sighed.

"Sweetling, whatever you find yourself wrestling with, postpone it. Up you go, up, up!"

Valeriana had little choice but to obey, lest she get swatted. Contented, or at least looking to be so as much as possible within the circumstances, Mrs. Drakma turned and continued to give Commander Ikman a piece of her mind.

One of the Cyniheans, the one who'd smiled, offered up his hand as Valeriana made it to the top of the ladder. She froze. Understanding that she wouldn't move unless he did, the other shrugged and went to stand by the others, who all loomed over the railing, watching the screaming match happening on the pier. Valeriana pulled herself onto the deck, landing in a graceless heap, and migrated towards the sterncastle.

She swore to herself that at the slightest sign of trouble, she'd jump.

The commander was loud, but it turned out that given sufficient reason, Mrs. Drakma could be louder. Ironically, considering her insistence on departing at once, they were the only two who had yet to come aboard. Valeriana felt uneasy watching them interact. Not only were they shouting frightful things, but Commander Ikman was only the shortest among his men. He positively towered over Mrs. Drakma, and the woman just went on raising her voice, making him visibly and increasingly incensed.

Valeriana didn't envision any of it ending well.

"He . . . he won't hurt her, will he?" she inquired, needing reassurance more than she loathed calling attention to herself. As one, the Cyniheans turned to give her perplexed looks. She hunched her shoulders almost up to her ears, her cheeks catching fire. "I mean . . . I didn't mean to imply . . . I mean . . ."

The words faded from her lips and thankfully, all those eyes moved on from her to return focus to the action.

The altercation neared its end, just in time, as Mrs. Drakma was starting to look blue in the face. Valeriana supposed that she'd won. Commander Ikman had stopped shouting back and commenced apologizing. It wasn't instantly apparent, as the volume level remained unaltered, which was to say, deafening. If someone were to excuse themselves to her in such a manner, Valeriana would have preferred that they refrain.

The distressed metal under her feet wobbled as the two stragglers made it onto the deck. They'd lifted the anchor — and, quite abruptly, Valeriana's ability to breathe was subsumed by her mounting panic.

The distance between the ship and the pier grew, past that which she believed herself capable of crossing in a jump. She held fast to the railing, head spinning, knuckles white, reminding herself that it was in and out, flowers and candles, how likely was it that she'd step off this deck alive—

A hand clasped her shoulder, stripping off the meagre degree of self-possession she'd managed to hold on to. She tore herself away with a shriek.

"Don't touch me!"

"Good gods." Mrs. Drakma marched in, making a gesture that Valeriana was too out of sorts to grasp the meaning of at the nonplussed Cynihean who'd grabbed her. It was still the same one who had tried to help her up earlier. She shrunk further into herself, while Mrs. Drakma shook her head. "Deeply sorry, she's a work in progress. Not that it excuses a reaction like that, mind you, girl. I know that Barashi makes bogeymen out of anything Cynihe, but this gentleman was hardly going to throw you overboard, or eat you, or whatever nonsense you've been fed."

"I thought she would throw herself overboard," the Cynihean said, continuing to look bewildered, though now a sentiment easily identified as insulted started to creep into his expression. "She was wheezing like a malfunctioning kettle, I only tried to—"

"She does that, yes. She'll regret her rudeness once she calms down."

"No, I don't! He shouldn't have . . ." Valeriana could feel tears threatening to spill, and it was hard to keep track of the words coming out of her mouth when she needed to focus on holding those back. She'd dream of Ralen again tonight. "I don't, I . . . I don't want strange men to just grab me whenever they feel like it!"

The loaded pause that followed her outburst had Mrs. Drakma giving her a look that made her chest grow tight, while the Cynihean mumbled something indiscernible and made himself scarce.

"Well. It appears that I'll have to finish railing on the Commander another time. Let's both of us go below deck. They need to put the cloaking back up, and we'll only get in the way if we stay here."

Valeriana allowed herself to be guided away, numb on the inside but not so dulled in her thinking that she failed to notice that for once, Mrs. Drakma beckoned her and waited for her to move instead of pushing or pulling her along.

It was darker than she'd expected, going down. Darker, and emptier. She'd only been on passenger ships before, and the difference was glaring. Very little of what she saw was anything but strictly utilitarian, and there was no decoration to speak of. Since that meant that there wasn't a lot worth looking at, Valeriana kept her eyes on her feet.

Mrs. Drakma appeared to know the way well enough. Valeriana supposed that she must have been on similar boats before. There was a grim purpose to her as she walked on, pushing doors open on both sides of the gallery.

"In here." It was the sixth door the woman tried, but the first compartment she actually entered. Valeriana trailed in after her, scanning her surroundings and discovering them nicer than all else she'd seen of the ship combined. "Captain's cabin. Take a seat, yes, over there, while I look for the wine."

Valeriana sank down on the chaise in the corner, closing her eyes and sucking in slow breaths.

She would have liked to remain like that, basking in the illusion that the world lay motionless a long distance away, that she stood on dry land, that she couldn't hear Mrs. Drakma displacing furniture and pulling out drawers. She lacked the energy to sustain the pretense, though, and had to force herself back to reality eventually. She wished that she'd stood up for herself in Tonya's backyard. By now she would have been done with the rain lilies and tackling the ivy that gobbled up the fence.

"Why? How do you even know that there is wine?"

"It is the captain's cabin. Though, you are right, he may have been a whisky type. One should never assume." Valeriana hoped that she wasn't expected to say anything back, as she had no valuable commentary to offer. Mostly she wanted to throw up her hands and declare that she was through with just about everything. Mrs. Drakma. Her organization. Earth as a whole.

She wouldn't. She never went through with saying things like that aloud, irrespective of how intensely she nurtured the urge.

A bottle, disinterred from the depths of the wardrobe, got waved at her. All she did was stare at it.

Mrs. Drakma neglected to remark on her lack of reaction. The woman looked like she had no desire to linger there, hovering by the doorway with her loot in hand, but appeared to be having trouble unloading that which she needed to get off her chest before she left. It took a long, uncomfortable while for words to emerge.

Valeriana heaved a sigh. She might as well cut to the point herself, so that it was over sooner.

"It's not about them being from Cynihe."

"Hm. You don't have a problem with Frank."

"Frank is mated. Married. And I'm stronger than he is. I'd be able to stop him if he tried anything, while they could break me in half if they wanted to." Furthermore, Valeriana couldn't recall Frank touching her save for a time or two; once to pull her back from getting flattened by a car and once to help her climb into his truck.

She sucked in a breath, discomfited by the realization that the Cynihean's actions fell under the same umbrella, and that Mrs. Drakma was therefore, much as she loathed to acknowledge it, proven right. In the hindsight afforded by no longer being in the throes of a meltdown, she did regret how she'd reacted.

"I've known Commander Ikman for going on fifty years. He's a gentle soul. I can assure you that if those boys up there have his trust, they won't move a muscle to harm you."

"Gentle? He won't stop shouting! At me, you, everyone!"

"He has a genuine inability to express himself in any other way. Try not to mind it so much. Your eardrums adjust, after a while." Judging by the shift of Mrs. Drakma's expression from solemn to amused, there was no point in pressing the matter. Having a wealth of other concerns that merited discussion, Valeriana stopped herself from mourning the fact and launched into the next one straight away.

"You left me alone with them, went off to do — what? — and dropped this on me!" It was inevitable that at some point she make a stand. It might behoove her to do so now, however shaky it landed. Otherwise, she'd slip further and further under the woman's thumb, until there was no room to wiggle out. "I thought that the Liberation Front was just about protecting Earth!"

"When my sister branched out her operation to Cynihe, it only made sense that I match her. Listen," here Mrs. Drakma lowered her voice, which Valeriana took as a sign that she was about to hear something likely to induce an existential crisis. "We're overnighting on the ship, as I need to hash out a few things with the Commander. You can stay in here. There's a bed, and you won't be disturbed. Or you could come join us. I'll leave it at your discretion. Either way, you mustn't worry. We're quite safe."

Her safety or lack of it hadn't been Valeriana's point in bringing that up, but since the woman had touched upon it, she was more than willing to have them also address that separate but nonetheless critical issue.

"Right. You said that Lady Marabeth might try to sink us."

"Which is why we're sailing elsewhere."

"You said you were going to— what were you doing, while you were disappeared?"

"Maz controls the harbor area. I had to ensure that there were no eyes watching that could report back to her. I don't expect her to be paying much attention to the Cynihe gate, what with the seclusion of Barashi upsetting shipments and her being busy replacing a large slice of her staff. Still, it would have been disastrous if someone had tipped her off and caused her to pop over."

"But . . . that won't happen. You handled it."

A smile, gleaming and frightening in its unbridled joy, was returned.

"Of course I handled it."

"I realize what you are trying to do, you know? With this, bringing me here—"

"Of course you do. I've been, I believe, extremely upfront about my designs for you. All the strings I'm pulling, I'm pulling in full view. I'd worry about your intelligence if you hadn't noticed me doing it, to be honest." At that, Valeriana could do nothing but gape. She must look absurd doing it, but it was nigh impossible for her to pull her jaw back up in the face of so much . . . what to even call it?

Outrageous, was what she wanted to say.

"What are we doing here?" she asked instead, resigned to getting an answer she'd hate. "Why are they here? What are you planning?" It took effort not to scream the final sentence. The briefest glimpse of Mrs. Drakma's self-congratulatory smile let her know that she shouldn't have bothered.

"I'm afraid that that's Liberation Front business. Which you have made it clearyou wish to have nothing to do with. In fact, I'm surprised — but pleased, nevertheless — that you are showing an interest, as I would love to tell you more. However, that would also entail involving you further."

I know what you're doing, Valeriana thought at her, furiously, knowing that Mrs. Drakma couldn't read her mind but expecting its contents to be evident from her expression. She knew, and she refused to fall for such a naked, shameless ploy. She didn't need to know. As a matter of fact, she was deciding here and now that she didn't want to know.

"I'd like to be alone. If that's alright."

"Naturally. Now, if you'll excuse me . . . I'm off to collude."

Valeriana watched the woman leave, bottle in hand and a spring in her step, turning once to wink before the door shut, as though they were both in on some grand, hilariously incomprehensible joke. She stood and paced, wringing her hands to quell the urge to throw something. A chance look through the porthole left her briefly petrified. They'd moved a lot further from the shore in the short time it had taken to get below deck.

For once, however, she was quick to get a grip on herself.

Colluding. She'd like to believe that Mrs. Drakma had spoken in jest, but it did feel like the most apt descriptor for whatever the woman might be up to at any given time. In addition, Mrs. Drakma struck her, in hindsight, as precisely the kind of person who would have dubious dealings with Cyniheans.

What was the punishment for that? How complicit had she made herself by standing where she did, for doing as little as addressing them? Had she already earned herself execution, if one tallied her crimes? It seemed like a sick farce that those kept multiplying each time she glanced away. Her whole life she'd tried so hard to be good, toe the line, and now, in the span of a week . . .

Valeriana buried those thoughts. Lingering on them would only drain her and she felt plenty dead on her feet as was. More than to obsess about what her increasingly suspect benefactor could be up to, she needed rest. Sleep — sleep might get her away from the madness of reality for a little while. She'd take her chances with the nightmares. Those were at least predictable.

The bed in the corner seemed lush and inviting, but something disturbed her about the notion of lying in it. She took one of the pillows, divested it of its cover and retired back to the chaise. It wasn't wide enough to allow her to stretch out, but that was alright. She'd rather curl up.

It took her a while to nod off, despite her exhaustion. For close to an hour she lay in a borderland state wherein she drifted in and out of wakefulness, easily startled by the smallest sound. There was the swinging of waves, splashing against the porthole once each while, every time causing her to jump. There was an ungodly amount of creaking, filling her with the irrational fear that the ship would come apart. There were voices coming from above, or rather, one voice — Commander Ikman's, and perhaps Mrs. Drakma was right about him not knowing what speaking at a normal volume entailed — and then spots of silence before it sounded again, which she guessed corresponded to interjections from the quieter people he conversed with.

It occurred to her that she might want to pay attention to what was said, but since the thought cropped up as she stood on the verge of seeing the world fade, she didn't get around to doing anything with it.

Valeriana slept fitfully, with frightened faces that mirrored hers swimming behind her eyelids and laughter, high and cold, drowning out screams and pleas. All that considered, she stuck it out a decent amount of time. When she woke, an indeterminate number of hours later, night had fallen outside.

The gnawing in her belly suggested that she was overdue some food. She'd have to go looking for it, which meant leaving the relative safety of the cabin. Not wild about the prospect but recognizing its necessity, she went to the door and cracked it open a fraction. The passageway had its darkness lessened by the orange glow of dispersed crystals, wedged in nooks along the walls. Unpleasant memories surfaced at the sight, but Valeriana supposed she ought to be glad that there was anything to see by.

She set out. It didn't take long for her to pick up on Mrs. Drakma's blood song coming from further ahead, faded enough to suggest that the woman wouldn't hear her if she called out.

She was in two minds about following it, reasons for and against piling heavy on either side of the scale. In the end, she reminded herself that as infuriating as Mrs. Drakma's general attitude and inability to heed a refusal were, finding her and sticking by her remained less endangering than wandering the dusky corridors. The one thing that scared her more than losing her way was the possibility that she'd run into somebody.

The next section she entered was better lit. Lamps, not crystals, swung from the ceiling, scattering dancing shadows across the walls as she ambled past. Mrs. Drakma's song sounded close by, though the voices speaking over it came close to smothering it.

Valeriana spied a closed door ahead.

Her approaching steps were rendered soundless by the argument going on inside. She'd intended to knock first. If Mrs. Drakma or the commander — his shouting was hard to mistake — missed it, as they likely would with all the noise they made, she'd turn the knob. If the door turned out to be locked, she'd call until there was enough of a lull in their exchange to let her be heard.

Her knuckles lingered against the wood. Hesitating, as an idea formed.

She wouldn't warn them of her presence. Partly because she didn't wish to interrupt. Partly because . . . no, truly, because it might provide a clearer picture of the network of intrigue she'd landed in the thick of. Because it felt important, vital even, to know how Mrs. Drakma spoke when she didn't know her to be listening.

She stopped short of pressing her ear to the door, though. That would have been a bridge too far.

" . . . too soon. We've been through this; let them be weakened before engaging. It's no use moving when they have yet to suffer major losses. Wait. Prepare."

"WE'VE WAITED ALREADY, BRISEIS. WE'VE WAITED LIFETIMES. WE ONLY IMPROVE OUR CHANCES BY FORCING THEM TO SPREAD RESOURCES. THEY CAN'T FIGHT TWO WARS OF THIS SCALE AT ONCE."

"You shall be waiting forever if you play your hand this early. Barashi does have the resources to fight and win a second war, because your people, Ikman, are weak. They'll want to trample you fast so that they can focus on the Inocore, and they'll manage it. You are, much as I know that you hate to hear it, ill organized, insufficiently armed and just plain not ready. So I say it again: prepare. Be patient, if only for now. Prepare."

"HOW EASY IT MUST BE FOR YOU, TO SPEAK OF—"

A brightening of the light shining at her back and the sound of incoming footsteps forced Valeriana away from the door. Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, she scurried into the adjoining passageway.

It was dimmer in there, and the path ahead looked darker still. She hesitated minutely before prying a crystal out of its nook. Holding it aloft, she turned the corner and walked on until both the arguing and the stomping of feet resounded far behind. She supposed it safe to halt. She would huddle somewhere and wait for Mrs. Drakma and Commander Ikman to be finished — she'd know they'd arrived at that point once she ceased hearing him.