He’s right behind me…Oh God, he’s just right there…
Then the shadow moved—was it cocking its head?
“You can turn around, you know,” said his voice. “I did have some—how shall I put this?—issues with my original appearance. It was nearly as unpleasant for me as it was for them, but…I think I’ve found a suitable method to veil my form. You should be safe.”
No. Don’t. Don’t turn around. Don’t see.
“Or…don’t.” The shadow assumed a standing posture, like he stood on the air itself, and he began to pace around. “I mean, ordinarily I’d think—anything to make this situation a little more personable, but…” The detritus seemed to rattle as his voice plumbed the lower depths of his range. “It has been a long while since I’ve had a real conversation. Especially a conversation with someone like you.”
She was baffled by how untroubled, how plummy he sounded. This thing had been the cause of the deaths of hundreds of slaves, and a dozen scrivers—and yet now he addressed her like an acquaintance at the street corner.
But perhaps it made sense. A being like him would be worried by very little.
The shadow stopped pacing. Then it swelled on the wall as he grew near, and her stomach trembled with nausea.
Oh God, she thought. Tears sprang to her eyes. Oh God, please…
“You know why I’m here, Sancia,” he said. “And I’m sure you know who I am.”
There was a long, long silence.
She eventually realized he was expecting an answer.
“C-Crasedes,” she said.
The shadow shifted again, like he’d cocked his head the other way. “And I’m sure the construct’s told you all kinds of stories about me. Stories about how I’m a monster, some implacable, horrific thing…”
She thought of the imperiat, in the box at her side. Could she get to it fast enough, and turn it on? She very much doubted she could with him watching—and the utter devastation around her was an excellent reminder of what could go wrong.
“Yes?” said Crasedes. “Do you think me such a thing?”
She swallowed. “I…I saw the slaves and the scrivers down in the belly of the ship…”
“Hmm,” he said contemplatively. “That’s fair. This restoration was a far cry from ideal. I would have done it about a dozen other ways if I could have. But I knew I needed to be here as fast as possible—because the construct is lying to you, Sancia. If you keep helping her, I must tell you—she’s going to kill you and everyone in your city. And that, I guarantee you, will be just the start. Are you hearing me? Are you hearing me, Sancia?”
His voice seemed to echo inside her head, so much so it almost felt indistinguishable from her own thoughts.
She shook herself. Focus.
The shadow began pacing on the wall again, his limbs huge and spectral and distorted on the face of the dripping wood. “I need something from you, Sancia. I need you to tell me where the construct is. I know she’s wounded, and weak. I know she’s probably trapped in an actual, physical place, if I had to guess. And I need you to tell me where that is, so I can get to her and stop her before things get very bad. So tell me, Sancia. Please. For your sake, and the sake of all your people—where is the construct?”
Sancia stood perfectly still, staring at the shadow on the wall. Don’t speak again. Don’t turn around. Don’t see him.
“You know her power,” said Crasedes. “You’ve been touched by her, been altered in ways you both know and don’t know…”
Her heart went cold. What in hell does he mean by that?
“But just because she’s changed you, it doesn’t mean you owe her anything. She already thinks you’re her tool. Just look at how she’s made you…”
“What do you mean?” demanded Sancia, still facing the wall. “How has she made me?”
The shadow turned to her. “Well…I can’t quite tell you. Because one of those changes, it seems, makes you very, very difficult for me to perceive. She has…protected you. Hidden you. She means to make a weapon out of you, to be used against me. Did you know she had done this? Did you ask for this alteration?”
She was silent.
“Hadn’t thought so,” he said. “One wonders what other designs are ticking away inside that head of yours…”
Sancia started trembling. Oh God…
“I didn’t want it to be this way,” he said. The shadow on the wall assumed a pose of theatrical contemplation. “I didn’t want her to escape. I didn’t want her to use you. I certainly didn’t want all those people on board this ship to die. But I knew I had to, Sancia. Are you hearing me?” Again, his voice seemed to spill into her mind like the ocean at high tide, and she found it hard to think. “I had to do it because I knew if I wasn’t here to stop her, she would kill a thousand times more than those who perished here tonight. So I had to make a choice—a callous, coldhearted, monstrous choice. I’m sure you can sympathize…”
She listened to his voice. It felt very hard to remember the faces of the dead slaves lying on the floor of the galleon. She couldn’t recall what the children had looked like, so pale and so still…Or had there been any children at all? She suddenly wasn’t sure.
“Turn around, Sancia. Turn around and talk to me face-to-face. I mean—look at this ship,” his voice purred. “If I’d wanted you dead, well…you would have been dead a long time ago.”
His words danced over the surface of her mind. Suddenly it seemed like such a reasonable request…
Yes. I will. I’ll do it.
Sancia turned around.
She was still perceiving the world with her scrived sight, so that was how she first saw him—though as she turned around, initially she wasn’t sure what she was seeing.
When she’d looked at Clef and the other hierophantic rigs with her scrived sight, they had always looked like little bloody red stars that glimmered unpleasantly—but this thing before her was most certainly not a star. It was like a giant, whirling, crimson maelstrom, a massive, bloody thumbprint hanging in the center of the aperture, a violation so tremendous it was like reality itself was bleeding.
But she also saw him with her regular sight. And that confused her no less.
A man was hanging in the air above the wreckage, sitting cross-legged. He wore a black cloak, a three-cornered hat, and a shining black mask—the classic Papa Monsoon costume from carnival. His mask was totally expressionless, just a blank face with slits for eyes, and yet Sancia could not spy any hint or glint of eyes behind that mask. She couldn’t see any skin or sign of human features at all, really: every human feature was shrouded by sleeves, or gloves, or cloak.