He was, by the law of the sky, totally right to be pissed. But the captain didn’t care, and as the rest of our boats began circling while we waited for orders, Truelove decided that now would be a really good time to get all theological.
“This is not your prize,” he said, and I got a sense of that true-believer calm in his voice, the same as I was used to hearing from the captain. It was way less sexy coming from him. “This is a gift from the Devouring God and an echo of his coming. So I am told and so I believe and so it is finished.”
The silence on comms felt more awkward than it had a right to be, given that it was just a ship not broadcasting. It got rather more awkward when the reply came in. “Last message unclear, please repeat.”
“This”—Truelove began—“is a gift from the Devour—”
“It is not the Beast.” That was the captain, whose channel had priority for reasons of rank. “We are done. You may take the carcass if you are so fool as to wish it.”
This time awkward didn’t even begin to describe it. “Understood, Pequod,” said the Ganymedian captain, in tones thatwere about as icy as I’d have expected given that he’d been subjected to a religious tirade and then called a fool to his face.
“What my captain means”—this was Flint, ever merry, ever working the angles—“is that while we’ve no doubt you know your business… You’re a man of business I’m thinking, for certain you sound like one?”
There was a suspicious pause and then the captain of Rose Bud replied, “I have a range of interests, yes. I began as a perfumier.”
“Ah then no doubt you’ve your own reasons for wanting this old and plaguey corpse.”
“It is a gift,” Truelove repeated, and though my many careers had never included con artist, I did wonder just a little if they were working a two-man grift. “From the Devouring God.”
“As you can see,” continued Flint, still all cheer and goodwill, “amongst my own crew we’ve different priorities, but as a businessman I assume you see some value in this carcass beyond the few drams of oil you’ll be able to wring from its dried bones.”
“You sound,” replied the captain of the Rose Bud, his voice all suspicion as well it might be, “like you want it for yourself.”
He was in a different boat a good hundred meters or so from mine, but I could see the look of innocence on Flint’s face as he spoke. “Me, sir? No, I’m of a mind with my captain—leastways of a mind with her conclusion if not her reasoning. This Leviathan’s nothing to me but a disease-ridden hulk that’ll see half my crew down with fever as like as not.”
“Foul and pestilential,” agreed a new voice over comms; Marsh, I thought.
“But some amongst my company are by way of following the Great Chaos”—this was one of the many, many names for the Starry Wisdom sect—“and, well, they do be having their peculiarities.”
“If it is the Crawling God’s will,” intoned Truelove in support, “that we be struck down, we shall be struck down, and Ishall rejoice in the sight of the perishing of the unworthy before mine own flesh succumbs.”
“See what I’m dealing with?”
It seemed that A had checked out of this whole conversation, which meant that strictly speaking Locke was the ranking officer in this exchange, and they’d been curiously silent.
“Orders?” I asked over internal speakers.
Locke’s hand came to rest on the back of my pilot’s chair. Honestly, I wasn’t super clear where things stood with me and Locke at that point. They were the definition of hot and cold at the best of times, and at work they were all business. “Let it play out. Flint and I have our differences, but I trust the man.”
A little below us, Truelove’s boat had moved into dart-range of the stricken Leviathan, and while I might have been imagining things, I thought the Rose Bud’s boats were slowing. At last, the Ganymedian’s voice came back across the void. “And what will you do with this thing you tell me has no value?”
“Me?” Flint managed to shrug audibly. “I’d let it drift. My crewmates on the other hand…”
“What will be will be.” By now I was more than 90 percent sure Truelove was playing his role up. “But our faith demands that we stare into its deliquescing body and take what we find there as we will.”
Possibly it was the worddeliquescingthat pushed him over the edge, or maybe some more experienced sky-dog had explained to the captain that yes, there really wasn’t much to be had from this kind of Leviathan and yes, they really did run a risk of making your whole ship come down with a horrific pestilence.
Either way, the Rose Bud’s boats unshackled themselves and let the corpse float free on the winds, leaving us to tow it away at our leisure.
“What the fuck was that about?” I asked the internal comms, not really expecting an answer.
The Old Ionian voider leaned over to me. “Ambergris, girl.Ambergris. Strange thing the other captain being a perfumier by trade and not knowing of it.”
And thatwasstrange.
Strange enough that, had I not lived the story, I’d have doubted the truth of it.
CHAPTER
