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Tress of the Emerald Sea(71)

Author:Brandon Sanderson

The tosher explained his predicament. The minister of trade was sympathetic, judging by the way she almost fainted as he approached, and she listened to his complaint. However, she could not help him; the king himself had mandated that only corn be fed to the servants.

Well, the king wasn’t the sort of person you could meet every day. Because he wasn’t regular, and it was an every-second-day thing for him. On the proper day, the tosher—umbrella in hand—called up. He knew the king would be able to hear, as the tosher had firsthand, empirical evidence of how good the acoustics were in that particular location.

He asked the king if he would please give them potatoes for dinner again. He loved them so much, he always ate two. The king was sympathetic, judging by how he stopped giving the tosher new work for a short time in order to answer.

“I can’t,” the king said. “The entire potato crop succumbed to pests. Also, look out.”

The tosher learned two important lessons that day. First, you don’t need to lower your umbrella to talk to someone. Second, no one—not even the king—had the power to provide potatoes at the moment.

“You’re the one,” the king said after doing his business, “who started the two potatoes thing, eh?”

“Um…yes?” the tosher called up, then regretted opening his mouth.

“Funny,” the king explained, his voice echoing, “I had to stop buying potatoes even before the crop died. Once you took two, everyone wanted two. Because of the increased demand, potatoes became too expensive. We stopped being able to afford them for servants.”

So in truth, there was a third lesson.

Even small actions have consequences. And while we can often choose our actions, we rarely get to choose our consequences.

As Tress walked belowdecks, she felt a certain…discomfort. That was a common occurrence. Conversations with Captain Crow tended to leave a person with residual filth. Emotional soap scum.

As Tress saw Ulaam walking away—disappointed that the laughter hadn’t been due to any impaled crotches—she hastened after him.

“Doctor,” she said, “there’s something I wanted to ask you. About…the spores I most certainly did not try.”

“Hush,” he said, looking down the corridor. He ushered her toward her room. Once inside, he inspected her closely. “Yes…I believe you’re still alive.”

“I mean, I’m talking to you. And walking around.”

“That’s not as concrete a set of evidences as you might assume,” he said. “But what was it you wanted to ask me?”

“Do midnight spores…leave any kind of trace after the bond is broken?” she asked. “Like, say you were using them to sneak into someplace you shouldn’t be.”

“That is, generally, where people sneak. Hmmmm?”

“Right. But let’s say that, um, you were interrupted and someone broke the spell for you so you didn’t die.”

“It’s not a spell, but a complex symbiotic relationship between two entities. Either way, I’d buy the person who saved you a very nice present. Perhaps a spare shoulder.”

“Uh…”

“People can always use more shoulders. You know, despite people promising me cold ones as gifts on three separate occasions, they’ve never come through? Humans can be so inscrutable.”

“Right. Uh, back on topic? Please?”

Ulaam smiled, fingers laced before him. Strange, how his grey skin and red eyes could seem so…quaint once you got to know him. Less demonic. More eccentric. “You won’t be discovered,” he said, “unless someone actively saw the Midnight Essence moving about while you were controlling it. Once the bond breaks, it evaporates into black smoke, which disperses quickly. No residue is left behind.”

Tress nodded, relieved.

“Why are you so anxious about this?” Ulaam asked.

“Well, I just had a conversation with the captain,” Tress said. “I feel like I got the better of her. And so…”

“And so you wisely assume that maybe instead she was secretly manipulating you. Perhaps because she had a clue as to what you were doing, hmmmm? Curious. What, tell me, did you get her to do?”

“Sail us to the Crimson Sea,” Tress said. “I know what you’re going to say. But I also talked to Fort, Salay, and Ann. They’re willing to sail the Crimson too, and think they can make the Dougs agree.”

“I don’t doubt they can,” Ulaam said. “The three of them can be very persuasive. But why are we sailing the Crimson? What in the world could make you want that to happen?”

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