“Whatgame are you playing?You trick me into a trap, and expect me to blunder intoanother?”
“I’moffering you protection from the band of pirates trying to kill you.This isassuming, of course, you can get there in the first place.There’s not much Ican do about that, but, again, you’re pretty resourceful.I’m sure you’llmanage.”
Shelooked at him, silent.
“Go to Sparrow,”Isaac said, as if reciting a lesson, “say the phrase, and wait for me in thetavern.Do you understand?I’m going to return there on my way back to Khador,and, when I do, I’ll have a provisional survey ready for you to sign.”
“Whateverthat is,” she said, “you can stuff it up your arse.”
“Itwill be a legal claim to the treasure of the necromancers.All of it.Theentire wealth of nations.”
For amoment, they blinked at each other.
“What?”Zaria asked, nonplussed.
“Therewill be some taxes,” Isaac continued, “but the fortune will be yours, fair andlegal.You can pay off any bounties you might have.Start your life again.Maybe you could buy your own fleet of ships and sail beneath a royal flag.Thekingdoms don’t tend to be scrupulous, according to you.”
Sheleaned back to peer at him, mohawk flowing above her eyes.“Oh, what, I’msupposed to believe that?You’d give up all this wealth to some cutthroat youbarely know?”
“Idon’t care about the treasure.I just want my father back.”
Shescoffed.
“I wantto say this again.”He leaned over the edge of the hole.“I’m sorry, Zaria.I’msorry for doing this to you.I’m sorry you’re being punished for doingsomething good.”He glanced down at the rope around his wrists.“You did abrave thing, trying to help those children.And I think you deserve a rewardfor it.There’s no trick.It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
Hestood up straight.Outside, the desert sun creeped in through the gaps of giantteeth.
“I’mtrying to save your life,” Isaac said.“I hope you realize that.”
“Isaac.”
“Goodbye.Hopefully, we’ll see each other again.”
“Isaac,”she said, voice rising.
Hewalked away from the open trapdoor, eyes set on thetomb entrance.
“Isaac!Isaac!”
First,he needed to cut off his restraints.
Theshibboleth did not accost him as he passed back within its range.Feeling bold,Isaac made his way over to the pool of bodies spread below its feet.His goalwas to find a weapon.It was likely he wouldn’t find anything that hadn’tturned into a rusty hunk of iron, but even the poorest implement would have tosuffice.
He bentdown, pilfering through rotted bone and tattered garments.He vaguelyrecognized the age of some of the bodies just by the clothes on theirback—there were turbans and robes, a doublet that hadn’t been fashionable forcenturies, old chainmail, boiled leather.Most of it had decayed to scraps andshards.
At thetrapdoor, Zaria stopped shouting.A silence fell over the skull.
Isaacfound a bronze sword underneath the body of what was likely a cleric.The humanhad been clutching it in their hands when they died—her hands, he thought, theshape of the pelvis was feminine—and her forearm detached from the skeletonwhen Isaac relieved the weapon from her grasp.The blade was in remarkably goodcondition, though it had turned entirely blue and was chipped through inplaces.As Isaac sat on the sandy floor of the titan’s mouth, trying to anglethe weapon between his wrists, he thought of afternoons in his uncle’s library,studying metal alloys and the economics of smithing.
Hebegan to saw the blade.Progress was slow.Even if bronze did not rust likesteel, it could still become dull.The way his wrists were tied prevented himfrom gaining much leverage.Still, he could feel the blade gradually workthrough the rope.He would be free in minutes.
Somethingcaught his eye.
Therewas a frock of hair poking out from a set of robes.The color is what caughthis attention.It was the same shade of dirty blond as Isaac’s own.He bentover, ignoring the metal groans coming from the trapdoor behind him.
Therewas a human corpse slumped between a pile of turbaned bodies.It was very, veryrecent.The skin was still intact.There were no visible maggots.The man waslying on his side, facing away, and the sickly purple blotches of lividity werebeginning to pool on his head and neck.Isaac gripped his shoulder, finding themuscle stiff and uncompliant.He remembered anatomy lessons on thedecomposition process as he flipped the body onto its back.It was no more thana day old.
Theface was young, the boy’s eyes open and blue.His throat had been slit, and hishead listed slightly back as Isaac studied the injury, like the hinge of anopening door.He did not look shocked or angry or afraid.He had no expressionwhatsoever.
