Page 18 of The Tainted Cup

I handed over the parchment Ana had given me. Stephinos filedit away and slid another piece of paper over to me: my dispensation, a document I could bring to any imperial bank to collect my monthly pay.

“I’m going to be really indulgent this time,” I said, picking itup.

“Are you now,” he said.

“Yes. I’m going to hold it for ten seconds rather than the usual five before giving it right back to you, and won’t that be a treat.”

He grinned. I studied my monthly dispensation, trying to take satisfaction in it. Like every piece of text I saw, the letters quivered and slipped about, but the numbers made sense—though the amount they indicated was very small.

“What a thing it is,” I said, “to be rich for a handful of minutes.” I sighed, put it back down on the counter, and pushed it over to him. “Or at least slightly less poor.”

Stephinos watched me, a sympathetic gleam in his eye. “Need an envelope?” he said around his pipe.

“No,” I said. “I’ve got one.” I slid the envelope out of my pocket and handed it over. I’d spent a few minutes yesterday working on the address, sketching parallel lines on its front to make sure the letters touched the lines on the top and bottom. It was difficult for me to write legible text, but if I was patient and careful, I could manageit.

Stephinos appraised my work like I’d made a copy of a holy text. “This one’s pretty good!” he said. “Much better than the others.”

“Don’t need to drown me in compliments, Steph. But I appreciateit.”

“You seem in need of them. Is she running you ragged again?”

“If I’m alive, then the answer’s yes.” I tried to smile, but the chiming of Ana’s little contraption echoed in my ears. I glanced eastward, thinking. “Steph—you’re Legion, and you know more than anyone about the shape of things around here. Can I ask you something?”

“Knowing the shape of things isn’t the same thing as knowing things. But you can try.”

“Has there been any word on how the wet season’s going to bethis year?” I asked. “Any chance we’re going to catch a good one?”

A baleful stare. “Ahh. Huh. No such thing as a good wet season, Kol,” he said. “But as to whether this one’s worse than others…” He waved his hand at the warehouses and lots beyond. “Read the mud, boy. Read how it’s churned. Read the number of horses, the amount of stone, the crates of bombards headed east. Read those and tell me what you think.”

“I guess post my money as fast as you can, then. Sanctum knows if I’ll get to send another.”

He slipped the dispensation in the envelope and placed it in the pile of outgoing post. “You’re a good son, Kol.”

I hesitated to respond. My family thought me neither beautiful nor bright, and I mailed my dispensations home out of filial duty rather than love or fondness. “What makes you say that? Half the Sublimes here must be sending their pay home.”

“More than half. But I only tell the good ones secrets.”

“Oh? Like what?”

He crooked a finger, and I leaned close. “Take the back way to your quarters tonight,” he said. “Some route most wouldn’t bother taking.”

“I see…Can you give me more than that?”

“Captain Thalamis came by looking for you. From the Apoths. Asking about something you did today. Didn’t like the look of him. I’d avoid him if you can.”

“Thalamis?” I said. “Why’s he coming after me? I’m not in Sublime training anymore, and he’s not my commanding officer anymore.”

“Not sure he knows that. Bastard thinks he’s commander of all he sees.” The coal in his pipe flared hot, and smoke streamed from his nostrils. “Just saying—take the back way home tonight, Kol. And stay safe.”

I thanked him and slipped away.

—

I DID TAKEthe back way home, the chimes of Ana’s contraptionfilling my mind and Stephinos’s words echoing in my ears—Read the mud.

How odd it felt. Commander Blas’s death was easily the biggest thing to ever happen to me in my career; yet the chimes and those three words made it seem very small in comparison to what the rest of the Empire did.

Every wet season, the great leviathans rose in the eastern seas and silently, steadily approached the coasts. And every wet season, the bombards and ballistas of the Legions and the great walls of the Engineers kept them back. That was the only reason the people of the cantons tolerated the taxes and drafts and commands of the Empire of Khanum: it was the Empire and the Empire alone that could marshal the resources and maintain the sea walls to keep the leviathans out. Yet when every wet season ended, the folk of the Empire did not breathe easy, but instead asked—What about the next season? What about then?