Page 119 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

“They’re not going to want to listen,” the Scholar says.

I exchange another glance with Meroe. “They’re not going to have a choice.”

The Council’s meeting room is more impressive from the other side of the grate. A big, ornately carved wooden table practically fills it. We arrive well before the others, so Meroe has time to help me to a seat, hovering protectively beside me. The Scholar takes his position with bad grace, hands tight on the head of his cane.

The others come in, one by one. Shiara is in yet another silk kizen, this one green and black, with a pattern that puts me in mind of a poisonous spider. Her lips and nails are colored to match. Zarun has managed to change, but there are still traces of crab blood in his curls and on his skin. Karakoa wears a full suit of wooden armor, a weird, insectile helmet held under one arm.

“Deepwalker,” he says. “Congratulations on your victory.”

Some victory. I’m full of holes. I shrug.

“Ordinarily, this would be when we would come to some kind of … accommodation. But,” he goes on, “I’m afraid we don’t have time for negotiations at the moment. People are dying on the walls as we speak.”

“A hammerhead brought down a whole section near the Fourth Tower,” Zarun says. His bravado is dulled by exhaustion. “I’ve never seen them attack the barricades like that.”

“We’re still hunting down all the little ones that got through,” Shiara says.

“I appreciate all of that,” I say. “But I need you to listen to me. This isn’t going to get better. It’s the Vile Rot that’s driving the crabs crazy, and the closer we get the madder they’re going to be.”

The three of them exchange looks. Karakoa turns to the Scholar.

“Is this true?”

“It’s … possible,” the Scholar says. He looks sour. “Isoka isn’t willing to share the source of her information, so I can’t say for certain. But I have always guessed that approaching the Rot would be dangerous.”

“They surprised us,” Shiara says. “But we’ve beaten them back. If they keep coming, we’ll keep killing them.” She shrugs. “Eventually they’ll run out of crabs.”

Zarun shakes his head, wearily. “There’s no end to them. Soliton is huge, and for all we know it’s packed with crabs from bow to stern. My packs are already getting tired.”

“I agree,” Karakoa says. “This can’t go on forever. I suggest we retreat to the Drips. The tunnels are more defensible.”

“We won’t be able to hide behind barricades,” I say. “You just told me a hammerhead broke through. If we’re packed tight in a tunnel, that would be a disaster!”

“Besides,” Zarun says, “what happens when the dredwurms come after us?”

“So, what?” Shiara turns to me. “We give up? Cut our own throats?”

There’s something different about them, all three of them. They’ve always been fractious, proud, quick to snap at one another. Now they’re afraid. They can all see what’s happening, even if they don’t want to admit it.

“We take the crew forward,” I say. “To the Garden.”

Shiara snorts. “The Garden’s as much a myth as the Captain.”

“She is correct,” Karakoa says. “Jarli went looking for the Garden. If anyone could have found it, it was her.”

“She didn’t know the way. I do.” I hope.

Zarun glances at the Scholar. “You believe this?”

“Again, I have no proof,” he says. “But I think it’s worth investigating.”

“Which is why I offered to let you two try,” Shiara says. “Instead, she chose to kick the table over, at what turns out to be the worst possible time. Some of the Butcher’s packs are already fighting each other.”

“There isn’t time to investigate,” I say. “There isn’t time for anything. We have to go now.”

They’re all staring at me now, even the Scholar. I take a deep breath, feel a sharp pain as it pulls at my stitches.

“Isoka,” Zarun says. “You have to know we can’t.”