That…did seem daunting. The vines on Tress’s fingers wriggled down, hiding behind her palm.
“If you survive that,” Huck said, “you have to face the Sorceress’s guardians: a force of metal men that live on her island. They’re completely indestructible, impervious to all kinds of weapon fire, and are relentless.
“They capture anyone who sets foot on the island, then imprison them. Captives don’t even get to meet the Sorceress—so don’t think that’s a way to get her attention. I’m told she thinks anyone foolish enough to get captured by the guardians is beneath her notice.”
Huh. Getting captured on purpose had been one of the plans Tress was considering.
“And if you somehow escape them,” Huck said, “you’ll never reach the Sorceress. She lives in a tower made of an indestructible metal. It is so slick it cannot be scaled, and nothing will stick to it. She stands atop it in the evenings to commune with the moons, but there are only two ways in. Through doors locked by mysterious means, or through the small window where her ravens travel in and out, doing her bidding.
“Tress, if you attempt to go to that island, you’ll get eaten by Midnight Essence monsters. If by some miracle you survive and make it to the island, you’ll get locked away forever by the guardians. And even if you escape them, you’ll end up sitting in front of the tower and screaming to be heard until you lose your voice. There’s no way to accomplish what you want.”
“Hoid did it,” she said. “He saw her. And so did Charlie.”
“Charlie,” Huck said, “was specifically kidnapped because she hoped to be able to ransom him to the king! Who knows what happened with Hoid. It could have been the same thing.”
She sat back, and to some extent Huck’s information did as he hoped. It revealed exactly how difficult her task was.
Well, she couldn’t focus on it at the moment. She had other problems to deal with. She wouldn’t be around to get cursed by the Sorceress if she ended up imprisoned by a dragon first. And she’d never have a chance to be imprisoned by a dragon if she was killed by rainfall on the Crimson.
So, Tress returned to her practice with the vines.
THE POET
The flare burst at Ulaam’s feet. A writhing, twisting mass of vines subsumed the surgeon, wrapping him all the way up to his neck. He tried to free himself, but the best he could achieve was a cross between a convulsion and a dry heave.
“What do you think?” Tress said, hurrying through the hold to stand next to him. “Will it work to capture Crow?”
Ulaam struggled to shrug. “From my understanding of her ailment and her powers, this should be sufficient. Her vines intercept physical danger, but they don’t care if she’s immobilized. Their needs and hers do not entirely align, hmmm? So long as she keeps living to provide them with water, they don’t care what happens to her.”
“Do you think it’s overkill?” Tress asked. “If what you say is true, we could jump her in the night while she’s sleeping.”
“Her vines would surely react to that,” Ulaam said. “The spores inside her have no way of judging your intent. They would assume the worst and fight you off.
“The brilliance of this mechanism you’ve devised is that you don’t have to fire it directly at the captain. The vines will judge your shot off-target, and therefore might not respond. Once she’s wrapped tight, be certain not to make any threatening moves, and the spores should be satisfied.”
“Thank you,” Tress said. “Oh! Let me get you out.” She reached for her silver knife.
“No need,” Ulaam said. “This is quite pleasant. Tell me, where did you find those flares?”
“I made them,” Tress said, digging through her bag—which was on the floor of the hold near where I was sitting. She’d taken the chance to explain her plan in detail to Ulaam and me.
I had, of course, responded by asking what she thought of my mullet.
Please stop trying to imagine that. It would be best for both of us.
“You made them?” Ulaam said. “Yourself?”
“I had some of Weev’s schematics, explaining how cannonballs worked,” she explained. “It wasn’t so hard to extrapolate.”
“Remarkable. I say, young lady, I must have your brain. Once you are through with it, naturally. Hmmmm?”
“I’m sorry, Ulaam,” she said as she hunted in her bag. Where had she put her notebook? She wanted to record that this design worked better than her previous one. Ten shots, and so far no duds. “Talk like that still makes me queasy.”
“You haven’t the nerves of a pirate yet, I’m afraid.”
“I know.”
“I could insert some. It’s a thirty-five percent agony-free process!”
“No thank you,” she said, pulling out the notebook and turning. She jumped as she found Ulaam standing next to her. The vines lay in a heap where he’d been standing.
“How?” she asked.
“I digested them,” he explained, “in a few key places.”
“…Digested?” Tress asked.
“He’s extra gross!” I said. “I envy him.”
“As you should, my friend,” Ulaam said. “By definition, I can do anything a human can—plus more. I see you are taking notes on your experiments, Tress. Interesting, interesting. You know, I could certainly—”
“My brain is not for sale,” Tress said.
“I was going to ask about your hands this time. Such excellent penmanship. My, my.” He smiled, showing a literally inhuman number of teeth. He says he does it because he figures an extra big smile should be extra comforting to humans. I can never tell if he’s joking or not.
“Hands,” she said. “Not for sale. Nor my knees. Or my ears. No body parts for sale, Ulaam. Ever.”
“Well, that’s quite definitive,” he said. “You’ve grown rather forceful, hmmmm? I remember when you first arrived, and you seemed embarrassed to turn me down.”
“I’m not any different now. I’m simply more desperate.”
“More desperate than those first few days on the ship?” he asked.
Tress hesitated, thinking back to those first awful days. Well, yes, she’d been desperate then too. She’d assumed herself to be as desperate as was possible.
Perhaps it was like lifting weights—her capacity for desperation was increasing with time. And there just wasn’t room for other emotions, like embarrassment.
“Regardless,” Ulaam said, “we shall move on. No more offers for now. Your plan with the captain. You’re certain the others will join you in this mutiny?”
“Pretty sure,” Tress said. “I…may have led Salay and the other officers to think I am a King’s Mask…”
“Oh my,” Ulaam said. “How did you manage that?”
“Accidentally,” Tress said with a grimace. “Somehow I seem to be best at lying when I tell the truth.”
“Wise words, wise words,” I said. “But tell me, have you heard my latest poem?”
“Excuse me,” Ulaam said, “I’m disconnecting my ears for the next two minutes.”