“I reject that,” Farrier said, firmly. “I do not believe any flesh will ever substitute for the educations and incentives of the Incrastic program. An Oriati civil war will leave them nicely positioned for our rescue, and the Cancrioth will be the perfect wedge.”

And in her own darkest depth Baru felt a spark of raw desire.

She had her opportunity. She could at last point to a single ultimate goal for her work. She would draw Falcrest into war with Oriati Mbo; she would coax and unite and convince the Stakhieczi to invade from the north. And as these two wars destroyed the trade engine that turned in the Ashen Sea, she would secure the absolute the annihilation of the Masquerade’s power. The Mask would leave Taranoke. The Mask would leave Aurdwynn.

And if their works were all undone with their departure … if the secrets of inoculation were lost, and the great roads overrun by banditry, and plague left to sweep the world, and babies abandoned in the wind, and the winter given to scurvy, and a portion of the good and great taken each year by a simple tooth abscess … then so be it.

The end. The ruin of everything. A great jet of blood across the face of history. Wasn’t that what she’d promised Tain Hu?

*   *   *

A SUDDEN thud struck the door. Farrier looked up sharply. Hesychast kicked back his chair and put up his fists. Even Yawa covered her brother.

Apparitor cried, “Iraji!” and sprang for the doorway.

“Don’t!” Farrier shouted. “Don’t open it, it might be a trick—”

But Apparitor had already done it. A cold sea draft stirred everyone’s clothes as Apparitor caught Iraji: the boy still possessed of a high-browed strong-nosed dignity even as he fell.

“He was eavesdropping,” Apparitor said, with pride. “Good man.”

“We seem to have sent him into a faint.” Farrier elbowed Hesychast. “Have you a clever explanation, Mister Torrinde?”

Hesychast rose and went to tend to the boy. “Yes,” he said, “I do, the boy is Oriati.”

“And?”

“And the terror of the Cancrioth must be bred deep into him.”

The clamor woke up Xate Olake, who began to howl again. Baru shuddered and tried to look away. But something told her she had to stare at him, that he was important, vital, why, why—

Not him. The windows behind him.

Baru ran to the window, fumbled with the shutters—slammed her head into the right side, having forgotten to open it—at last stuck her ringing face out into the wind and looked down toward the harbor.

The navy frigate Sulane was running up her signal flags.

“Your Excellences,” Baru said, “Sulane is demanding our surrender.”

10. The Killing Woman

10

THE KILLING WOMAN