Page 54 of A Drop of Corruption

I unrolled the paper. Sketched on the inside was an ashpen drawing of a man’s face. He looked thin and reedy, with his curly hair pressed flat against his head, and a beaky nose and small eyes set close together: somewhat common features among Rathras folk. Even though the drawing was crude, there was something hurt and sullen to his eyes, as if I had done him a disservice by unrolling the little paper and looking at him.

“That’s him?” I asked.

“So the boy at the bank claims,” said Malo. “He does not look the sort, no? Yet he may have reshaped his flesh by now. Bones he won’t be able to change on his own, but the thickness or thinness of a face, or the shape of his nose…that is more mutable. Mark it well, though, and let me know if you spy it among the trees!”

—

The hours passedin a humid torpor. Soon my clothes were soaked with sweat and I was forced to strip down to my white tunic. The other wardens did the same, though Sabudara and I scrupulously avoided looking at each other. Tiny insects flittered about us, taking bites of our flesh, and the wardens showed me how to seal my skin with a dark orange paste that smelled faintly of lemon. I rubbed the paste on my cheeks, musing that this morning I had been a respectable Iyalet officer, yet now I was already as jungle-wild as Malo.

As night fell we moored the boat at a bend in the river, hewing close to a tall cliffside that shielded us from being seen from the southand west. The wardens brought in the seakips for rest and food, and then we set to making our own dinner. We risked no open flame nor light but ate cold rations in the dark, relying on the enhanced vision of the wardens to parse the shadows and spy any threats.

“My least favorite part of going out with you lot,” muttered Tangis. “Not just the poor rations, but I got to wait for one of you to tell me where to piss.”

“You want your prick gobbled up by a lurking turtle, then feel free to piss where you like,” said Malo.

“It’s been so long since my prick was gobbled by anything, ma’am,” retorted Tangis, “that p’rhaps I’d not turn down a reaper-back’s kiss.”

Malo was so amused by this that she translated it for her fellow wardens, who whooped and chuckled huskily. It made for a strange sound: they had trained so strenuously as hunters, apparently, that they even knew how to avoid laughing aloud.

The wardens soon fell to playing games, dealing out tiles and dice and whispering near-noiselessly in the dark. There was little light except for the sliver of moon above, and I lay against the edge of the deck, gazing up at it; yet after several games I noticed that the wardens were watching me and muttering to one another, sometimes accompanied by smirks, other times scowls.

“Something wrong?” I asked Malo.

“No,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“They…find you curious,” she explained reluctantly. “Sublimes never come with us in our work. If we ever see one, it is only to be given orders.”

“That’s common,” I said—for although I’d worked alongside Sublimes for nearly all my career, I knew we were still a rare sight for many in the Iyalets.

“Yes, but especially for we wardens. We stay out in the canals and the jungle, away from where decisions are made. They definitely do not see anyone so well-traveled.”

“I’m only well-traveled if you count places no one might wish to see.”

Malo translated this to her wardens and was met with another question. “Then where have you been, in the Empire?” she asked me.

“I have served in Daretana, Talagray, Sapirdad, Logirstad, and Qabirga.”

Malo looked surprised, translated this, and was met with more surprise.

“You’ve been to Talagray?” said Tangis softly. “Fucking hell…”

Another warden asked a question. Once more, Malo translated: “Have you seen the sea walls there? Do you think they shall hold?”

“I…have,” I said haltingly. “They are grand works. And they will hold, if there are good folk to work upon them.” I added, “And…there are, I think. There were some decent men I left behind, when I departed.”

Malo translated this. There was much nodding in answer, as if they all saw the wisdom in my awkward words. I wondered if she was actually translating what I said.

Another question, this one from Sabudara. I noticed the wardens all leaning in to look at me, grinning. Again, Malo translated, now smiling as well: “Have you ever met the emperor?”

I smirked. “Afraid I haven’t.”

Sabudara asked another question, and again Malo translated: “But do you know if he is really a thousand years old? And is he truly a god?”

I paused, discomfited to find myself speaking on behalf of the emperor. “Why does she ask this?”

“Mostly they are fucking with you.” Malo shrugged. “But this is not the Empire. They have grown up with a king living in a white city above them, but they know him to be very old and weak. Your emperor is another thing entirely. Stories cling about him like haze on a mountain. And you are the most-traveled person we have ever spent much time with. So…” She smirked cruelly. “…ishe a god?”