Page 182 of Carousel

When he speaks again, his voice is as soulless as I believe he is. “Let’s take this conversation to my quarters.”

“I’ll go with you,” Riss says, getting up.

“That won’t be necessary. Riss, Meg. Please attend to your duties.”

Dezeeves leads the way. I follow, looking just like the loyal servant to Hevalla anyone would think he has made me.

The Captain’s Quarters aren’t far beyond the grate over Deck 7. We enter a room that reminds me of the inside of Temple, a kind of office with shelves overflowing with books. The furthest wall has two large portholes – right by them is a large telescope. A map of the world covers one of the internal walls, and I see an assortment of things on the long desk. Papers, pens, a globe, a drawing compass, a clock. The whole room has a faint but undeniable smell of rum.

It would be fascinating, if it wasn’t so utterly overwhelming. Is this what the inside of Dezeeves’ mind looks like?

I prefer my miserable, smoky one. At least I’d be able to think in it.

Dezeeves sits behind his desk, indicating the seat opposite.

I take the seat. And, as more items on the desk come into focus for me, I notice the small silver flask, almost hidden by a scroll.

“Is that Cosmer’s?” I ask, baffled. I’d seen it only this morning, in the satchel. Could Meg have brought it up to Dezeeves since then?

Dezeeves’ bushy white eyebrows gather up like clouds. “No, no. That is mine. I am aware Cosmer has a similar one.”

He pushes it to one side, in a way that makes the scroll cover it more.

I seethe.

Even from here, I can see the flask isn’t similar. It’s identical.

But before I can question him about it – demand to look at it – Dezeeves rummages in his drawer. He pulls out an item and places it on the desk. An oxygen – or, I suppose, it could also be for osimidite – mask. It isn’t attached to anything. Its tube hangs freely from it.

“The symbol of self-saviour,” he states. He peers at me. “Do you know what the polar opposite to the oxygen mask is?”

It’s like hearing an echo. I know this.

I’ve seen this.

In one of my very first dreams on the ship.

I answer him at once. “The gun.”

“Correct. The gun. The symbol of power over others.”

He had that ready, too. He puts a small revolver on the table. Straightening up, he closes the drawer, his attention back on me.

“I said, no more tests,” I remind him.

“The last one,” Dezeeves says. “And, I believe – the most important one.”

“The mask represents Rhavna,” I guess. “And the gun represents Hevalla.”

He inclines his head. His greasy ponytail falls over his shoulder.

“You know what you must do.”

I do.

The real question I am being presented with is, do you think I am a traitor for Rhavna, or a spy for Hevalla?

I could use my power. Make him simply tell me what the right answer is. Spill all of his secrets.