Sea of Ghosts - Alan Campbell [131]
He flushed the head, then went back to the bed chamber and eased his wounded body down into the sheets. That horrible, burning-eyed visage stared back at him from the mirror in the ceiling. It occurred to him that Ianthe might look through his eyes, so he closed them. He lay there for a long time, gazing into the darkness behind his eyelids, thinking about her. Then he got up again and went back to the head. He took the jar of Royal Lady Skin Soft Cream from the shelf and weighed it in his hand. Stupid thing. But he opened the jar anyway and scooped some out and rubbed it into the leathery folds of his face.
After he’d finished, he lay back down on the bed. That hideous face in the ceiling mirror, now daubed with white cream, mocked him. Granger grabbed the sheets and pillows from the bed and set off back to the bridge. It made more sense to sleep there, after all.
‘What do you want?’ Briana asked.
Maskelyne looked up from his writing desk. ‘Sister Marks,’ he said. He set down his pencil and stood up. ‘Actually, I want to help you.’
Briana glanced around the stateroom. This luxurious accommodation was usually reserved for visiting clients, and no expense had been spared on the deep Evensraum rugs, gilt furniture and clamshell lantern shades. Lucille was reclining on a white leather carasole bench with a glass of wine in her hand. Her bruises looked shocking in the bright white light. Painted toys lay scattered across the floor around Maskelyne’s son, who took one look at Briana and then crawled over to hide behind his mother’s legs.
‘As I understand it,’ Maskelyne said, ‘Colonel Granger has sunk your escort ships and is now dragging this vessel to some unknown destination.’
Briana opened her mouth to speak, but Maskelyne held up his hand.
‘The harpoon is lodged in the Herald’s stern post below the waterline,’ he went on, ‘making it impossible to reach without diving equipment – which, of course, you lack. Nevertheless, our kidnapper cannot board us, nor fire upon us without risking the life of his own dear child.’
‘He’s—’ Briana tried to interject.
‘Furthermore,’ the metaphysicist added, ‘Colonel Granger must assume that you have already summoned aid telepathically, and so he must act quickly. What, then, are his options?’
‘Obviously,’ Briana said, ‘he’s going to turn this kidnapping into a political statement.’
Maskelyne’s eyes opened in mild surprise. ‘Precisely,’ he replied. ‘How many cultures have found themselves liberated because they could not afford the psychic services their own enemies relied upon?’ His dark eyes gleamed. ‘What do you imagine would happen, for example, if our renegade colonel decided to run the Haurstaf flagship aground on the Evensraum coast?’ He smiled. ‘Have you ever seen an animal carcass lying across an ant trail? The bones are so clean they look like they’ve been polished.’
Briana smiled thinly.
‘Would I be correct in assuming you haven’t contacted Awl yet?’
‘I’m perfectly capable of dealing with this situation myself, Mr Maskelyne.’
‘Well, quite,’ he said. ‘We wouldn’t want your sisters to think you incapable, would we?’
Briana felt her face redden. ‘Be careful, Mr Maskelyne. You are in no position to lecture others.’
‘I apologize,’ Maskelyne said. ‘I meant no disrespect.’
‘Of course not,’ Briana replied. She placed her hands on her hips and gazed around the room, thinking. Jontney peered out from behind his mother’s legs, but Lucille avoided her eyes. Finally, she faced Maskelyne again. ‘Well, what do you propose?’
He indicated the door. ‘If I can just have access to my equipment?’
The Unmer artefacts salvaged from the deadship had been packed into crates and stacked across the breadth of the Herald’s hold, lashed down under oilcloth. Maskelyne immediately