“Good god, you weren’t kidding, were you?” said the Captain.
The bald man laughed, revealing a stump of a missing tongue. Slate looked away, grimacing.
“That’s enough, Boran,” said the Captain. “Leave us.”
The tattoo artist packed his case away, and waved his fingers at Caliban and Slate, eyes twinkling. Neither of them returned his wave. He left, humming to himself.
Slate wondered vaguely where they’d found him. Minor wonderworkers were common enough, often possessing very specific talents. Still, what kind of turns did a life have to take before you discovered that your personal gift from the universe was making carnivorous tattoos?
Caliban sat down again, clearing his throat and glaring daggers at the Captain. When he spoke, he seemed to test the words first to make sure they were coming out correctly. “I can’t believe you’d do this to me. Particularly after I saved your—”
“Yes, well. Times change. People change.”
“Apparently so.”
Somebody’s pretty self-righteous for a nun-killer. This may be a long trip.
“I’m sending you off to die, anyway,” said the Captain, not meeting his eyes. “Do the job as best you can. You’ll probably be dead long before the tattoo gets any ideas—and if you do live, we’ll take it off you.”
Caliban turned his head away. Slate watched him fight himself visibly under control and decided to intervene.
“Great pep talk, Captain,” she said. “I knowI’minspired. Are you quite done? Can I take him away now?”
“You sure this is the only one you want?” the Captain asked her. “The Dowager said the prisons were opened, god help us all.”
Slate shrugged. “If you thought numbers would help, you’d send the army. He’ll do. I hope.”
“Sir Caliban?”
The knight opened his eyes and looked at them levelly. “My word would have been enough,” he said.
The Captain shrugged. “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.” And when Caliban simply gazed at him, he added, “Look, I don’t like this either. But the Clockwork Boys have to be stopped, and soon. We just don’t have the men to hold them off forever. If this works—well, the gods can call me to account for it on the other side.”
Caliban transferred his gaze to Slate. “That’s why you told me to run for it,” he said.
She nodded.
The Captain’s eyes flicked from one to the other, but he didn’t say anything.
“Why areyoudoing this?”
Slate pushed one of her sleeves up to the shoulder. Her own tattoo looked larger, perhaps because she was so much smaller. Jagged black teeth formed a semicircle halfway around the arm. The ink was not a great deal darker than her skin, but there was raw pink flesh under the creature’s teeth.
“Ah.”
When the tongueless wonderworker had given her the tattoo, the smell of rosemary had been so overpowering that the Captain and one of his men had to hold her steady while she sneezed and jerked. It had been humiliating. Her nose had bled by the end of it, and her head had felt as if it were packed to the seams with wool.
The Captain had been apologetic. She’d ruined two of his handkerchiefs. Whatever he thought of himself, it did not involve holding down twitching women while tongueless wonderworkers etched curses into their flesh. Even if theywerecriminals.
“When is the scholar due to arrive?” Slate asked.
“He is supposed to arrive tomorrow or the next day. We expected you to leave in three to four days—are you sure you won’t stay at the palace?”
“No need, is there?” Slate smiled, because otherwise she thought she might cry. She slid off the desk. “Three days, then. You know where to find us.”
She led the way out the door, with the knight walking a single pace behind her.
CHAPTER 3
