Talan woke to the sensation of one of his Fingers spasming.
Surprise jolted him into alertness at once. He fumbled for tinder on his nightstand, struck kindling, lit a candle. The bed-slave next to him grunted in her sleep, but he paid her no mind. He held out his hand to work out which Finger had been set off.
But he already knew.
The index finger on his right hand.
Vish.
Another hit, so soon? Talan could barely believe his good fortune. That old Healer who was supplying Vish with poppy certainly seemed to have a lot of it.
He must tell the Emperor at once. Those were his orders.
He rose and went to the window, moved the curtain to see that it was still completely dark outside; the window only reflected the light of the candle. Very early in the morning. But orders were orders, and the Emperor would not want to miss this.
Talan took his robe from where it hung on the back of his door and pulled it on, then left his room, nodding the barest of acknowledgements to the armoured sentries who stood outside. Had one been dozing on his feet? He made a mental record to have that one beaten.
He made his way along the steel corridor, path dimly illuminated by amber bars, and up the stairs to the top floor of the fortress and the Emperor's chambers.
It was so early. The last time Vish had taken a hit—a massive one—it had been in Farr. Perhaps he was still there, on the other side of the globe, where it was sometimes day when it was night here, and night when it was day.
"Business?" said one of the sentries at the Emperor's own door. At least both of these ones were awake.
"None of yours," Talan snapped.
"Oh! Shadowhand Talan! I'm sorry, I didn't realise! Er…are you sure you want to disturb him at this early hour?"
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't, imbecile. Just let me in."
For a moment the long shaft from the opened door was the only light that led the way down the Emperor's huge bedchamber to his gigantic four-poster, and Talan was glad he had brought his candle, which the sentry re-lit before closing the door quietly after him.
Talan crept across the room, which seemed to take an age, trying to tread lightly so his footsteps would not echo too much, and stood at the foot of the bed as he had been instructed to do in such a situation.
He counted four bed-slaves asleep on the emperor-sized mattress with Kivvest, lying intertwined with him or each other. The Emperor had had a busy night. He had not been pleased at all by the news of their cataclysmic defeat at Tenkachi, and had clearly required much distraction.
"Your magnific—" Talan began.
"What do you want, damn you Talan?" said the Emperor in his young, rich voice, still with his eyes shut. Talan had been ready for it, but he still quivered a little. How had Kivvest know he was there?
"My Lord, Shadowfinger Vish has injested some poppy seed again. I thought you would want to know."
The covers flew off as Kivvest got up out of bed. Talan's eyes lingered on the curves of the Emperor's many bed-slaves, but only for a moment. He knew better than to covet the Emperor's property in his presence. They knew better than to grunt at being disturbed.
The Emperor stood in front of Talan at the side of his bed, entirely naked, head and shoulders taller than him, well-honed muscles gleaming in the candle-glow, handsome face processing the news he had just been woken with. His horse-like manhood dangled between his thighs, but Talan tried to keep his gaze away from that too.
"You thought correctly, Talan," said Kivvest. "Where is he?"
"I have not entered the trance with him yet," Talan said quickly. "I knew you would want to be told first, my Lord."
"That is well," nodded the Emperor. "The True God is pleased with you."
"Would you like me to enter it now in order to ascertain the current whereabouts of the Jewel-seekers?"
"No. I will go in this time. Come."
The Emperor moved to the door at the side of his room, and Talan must follow, through it and several of the ruler's other private rooms. Kivvest was still completely naked, but he showed no sign of caring. What must it be like to be so entirely heedless of others, so confident in one's own skin?
They came through a final door to the vast domed circle of the Emperor's throne room, with its floor of magical marble, currently blank and black.
"I will do it here," said Emperor Kivvest. "Make the spell, Shadowhand."
"Yes, my Lord."
Talan set down his candle, which made a little pool of light in the black, then held up his right hand, concentrated on his right index finger, which was still twitching sporadically, and brought to mind an image of Vish.
With his left hand, he took from his robe pocket the small sharp knife that had been left there, touched the tip of the blade to the top of his right palm, inhaled, and then slit a red line down it, trying not to wince in front of the Emperor. Weakness. I must train harder.
He passed the knife to Kivvest, who cut his own palm-line without so much as batting an eyelid.
The Emperor held out his hand, and Talan clasped it, the blood from each of their cuts mingling.
The Emperor's grip hurt Talan's hand and he winced again, but he knew better than to let go.
Instead, with his free hand he now took the single poppy seed that had also been waiting, prepared for just such an eventuality, in the pocket of his robe.
The Emperor opened his mouth and Talan placed the seed carefully onto his tongue, just barely keeping his hand from shaking.
The Emperor swallowed. His pupils grew a little larger, but he remained lucid and upright.
What strength. What self-discipline to eat a poppy seed and to be barely affected by it.
"On with it, Talan," said the Emperor.
The Shadowhand started. He had almost forgotten himself.
All that remained was for him was to speak the focus word and cast the shadow spell:
"Inhabit," he said.
In his poppy trance, Vish opened his eyes.
He was lying in a hammock in a small, cramped, stinking room built of wood, which creaked occasionally.
Was he still in Farr?
Underneath the creaking and the sounds of more than one person snoring there was a low hum, as of an engine or turbines.
The hammock swayed gently even though Vish wasn't moving.
An airship. He was on an airship. Yes, the irritants must have an airship in order to have travelled to Farr. They must have stolen back the one that feral dog Vorr had taken from them in Imfis and flown to the Matriarchy. This was the first time that Vish had taken a poppy hit while on it, though.
So, if the insects weren't in Farr, where were they now? Where were they heading? Maybe he could find out.
Carefully, he swung his legs out of the hammock and sat up to regard the room further.
Some of the snores were coming from a long-haired delinquent sleeping in the neighbouring hammock with his mouth open. The Imfisi skypirate who was wind-aligned and who had shot down Vorr over Efstan.
Vish experienced a powerful temptation to slit the skypirate's throat or skewer him here and now with his sword. It would be so easy, and so delicious. But, no. If he did that, the irritants would know that something was amiss and would be likely to excommunicate Vish from their party. He was much more useful to the Emperor remaining under cover of secrecy. At least for now.
There were three more people sleeping in the room, but Vish couldn't see who they were, even with his shadowsight, simply because they were obscured.
Making no detectable sound, he got out of the hammock and walked along the floorboards, soft as a shadow.
The next hammock along was empty. Maybe someone was awake. Perhaps they were steering the ship while the Imfisi mongrel slept. Vish must act quickly.
Next was the old Oneist Healer, also snoring peacefully. Another appealing prospect for the slitting of a throat, but the same problem applied. And the Healer was Vish's poppy supplier, after all, making this inhabitation by shadow magic possible.
Next along was a dark-skinned man who slept with a wide-brimmed hat tipped over his eyes. A newcomer whom Vish didn't recognise. He had the look of an Umbarian—one of the few members of the newly-created diaspora, then. Vish had no idea who he was or why he thrown in with this sorry rabble. He was likely entirely inconsequential.
Last along was a huge man too big for a hammock, so he just slept on his back on the floor.
He had the off-the-shoulder robe and shaved head that betrayed him as unmistakably a Farrian monk.
A Farrian monk? Here, traveling with these pests? Could he…? Could they really have been so stup-?
"Vish, what are you doing up?"
Vish froze. He had been so intently focused on the Farrian that he had forgotten to pay attention to the door behind him at the far end of the room.
He decided the best course of action was to remain standing exactly as he was, facing away from the new arrival. He could kill them straightforwardly enough, but again, undercover…
The intruder padded round to where Vish stood still as death.
"Ah, you're in one of your poppy trance things…" It was the Efstanish boy who carried the Fire Ruby. "I thought you were going to hold off from those for a while longer. Oh well. Just don't hurt anybody, okay? Look, come back to your hammock so you can sleep it off."
The boy took Vish's hand and with considerable self-restraint he allowed himself to be guided like a somnambulating fool back to his hammock, which the boy gently helped him into.
He lay down and pretended to be asleep as the boy woke the Imfisi, had a hushed argument with him about it being his turn to steer the ship and keep watch again.
Vish lay in his hammock listening to the sounds of the creaking ship, the humming engines, the snoring old man, the quiet argument of the two young men, waiting for the boy to fall asleep himself, waiting for his moment to do evil. Sweet, delicious, succulent evil.
Eventually the Imfisi got up off and left the cabin. Eventually the slow, heavy breathing of the boy joined the other sounds.
As Vish went past him he cast a small Sleep on him anyway, just to make sure.
He reached the sleeping Farrian again.
Could they really have been so stupid? Vish finished his thought from earlier.
The man really was huge. And the Farrian monks were notoriously well-trained. This one would need a bit of help as well, just to make sure.
"Sleep," Vish said under his breath, waving his hand over the man.
He bent down and reached his hand inside the robe which covered the man's chest.
In a fold next to the man's heart, his hand found something solid.
Vish clasped the cold object and slid it out of the robe.
In his hand he held the gleaming green shape of the Farrian Earth Emerald.
He could not believe the scale of his good fortune.
He could not believe how colossally stupid this motley collection of rebel Jewel-seekers had been.
No, he chided himself. Why should I be surprised? The True God favours me. I am the True God's champion. I am the True God incarnate!
He reached into the inner pockets of his own garments and drew out the little phial and scraper that he had known would be in there. Then, ever so meticulously, ever so quietly, he took a few scrapings from the Earth Emerald and collected them in the phial. That would be enough with which to imbue himself and a select group of his most elite miliary officers with the power of the Earth. Enough to forge some magical objects that would pass on the earth-alignment further to his troops.
All he needed to do was to take them into his bloodstream, and then they would truly be his to put to use as he saw fit.
Vish tilted back the phial to his mouth and drank the emerald shavings.
He felt the awareness of earth surge in him. He sensed it, far away beneath the flying airship, but he also became alive to the wood of which the ship was composed, to the Farrian's own earth-alignment.
But the alignment would only be temporary for this body, Vish's body. What he needed to do now was to return to his own body and complete the ritual to draw the emerald-shavings into his own bloodstream, then restore the shadow-alignment to this body.
Vish returned the emerald to the fold in the robes of the monk, walked back to his hammock, sank into it, and left his body, allowing himself to sleep off the rest of his poppy trance in peace.