Silence fell in the old ventilation shaft. Tamara watched Indigo, her injured arm tucked to her chest and her uninjured hand resting near the holster of her one-bullet gun. Indigo sat against the wall with blood drying on his cheek and his sword at his side, looking at no one in particular. I started to worry that the two of them would call my bluff and take me up on the offer of a three-way melee to the death here in this tiny room.

Then Indigo raised his head, looked at Tamara, and then at me. I couldn’t name the expression on his face, but it made me uncomfortable.

“I agree,” Indigo said.

“I agree,” Tamara said, immediately.

The rapidity and ease of her response jolted my attention from the strange sad way Indigo watched me. “I had to drag you kicking and screaming through that conversation, but that’s it, you agree, just like that?”

“I wasn’t the one you had to convince,” Tamara said ominously. Then she ruined the sobering effect by adding, snippily, “Would you prefer if I didn’t agree? And you didn’t say yet, Sean. Do you agree to your own arrangement?”

“Wholeheartedly,” I said.

An odd little smile found a bitter place on her mouth. I saw her glance up and aside, at Indigo. Indigo, who had pulled his sword into his lap and was wiping blood off it with his palm, smooth strokes showing off the blade’s sharp edge.

Once we reached the Philosopher Stone, I knew, the two of them would try to kill each other. Indigo had the physical advantage: stronger, faster, and more experienced. But Lantern-Eyes knew the terrain, and I had no doubt that even as the three of us sat there in that old ventilation shaft, her analytical mind was putting together a plan. I didn’t know who would win, but I knew they would try to kill each other and pay no mind to unthreatening little me.

Whoever won, I’d trade my translation services for my life. And they’d take me up on it, because they’d have no other choice. The Philosopher Stone data would be written in Ameng, and I was the only person on this ship who could read Ameng.

For the very same reason, no one but me would be able to tell if the wrong data got sent out—if, for instance, the unthreatening and kindhearted translator made a private copy of the correct data for his own use, to save his life and his friend’s, and gave his captor something that looked correct, but wasn’t really.

I’d made a promise, and I would keep my promise. Like with Benny. But after we reached the Stone, our truce would fall apart. And no matter who survived, the only person on this ship who would walk away with a copy of the Philosopher Stone data was me.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO:

Another Lengthy Détente with Some Stubborn Assholes

“I need you to confirm something about the location of the data,” Lantern-Eyes said.