“You were in the River?”
“In River water, in the sewers. Something else was happening, too, but I don't remember. There was a sort of fountain of colors … no, I don't know what it was. It was next to Hezhi.”
Ghan pursed his lips. “I have heard of creatures like you, yes. The old texts call them different things. Names aren't important, though. It's what you are, what properties you possess, that matters, and you know that better than I. Are you still Yen at all?”
“I was never Yen,” the man admitted. “I was … my name is Ghe. I was a Jik.”
“Set to watch Hezhi.”
“Yes.”
Fury brighter than any that Ghan had ever known jolted through him then, and before he knew what he was doing, he had stepped up and slapped the Yen-thing, once, twice. The creature looked at him in real astonishment, but as he pulled back to strike again, anger danced across the young features. Ghan never saw Yen—Ghe?—move at all, but suddenly an iron grip closed on his wrist.
“Sit down,” Yen hissed. “I deserve that, but sit down before you make me angry. I have much to tell you. Then I must decide whether to kill you or not.” He pushed back, and Ghan was suddenly sitting on the bed again.
“Now listen, and then counsel me if you can. Because despite it all, our goal is the same. That you must believe. If you don't—well, there is a way I can kill you and keep your memories. But I would rather have you alive.”
“Why?”
“Because Hezhi loves you. Because you helped me just now. Because you remind me of someone.”
Ghan measured his breaths. Would things ever start getting simpler? He understood more about what Ghe must be than he let on. He had a few ideas about how such creatures might be destroyed. So did someone else on the boat, for they seemed to have almost done it. And yet, ultimately, Ghan thought, whatever this thing was, it had been cobbled together from a man. The pieces of it were Human, though perhaps glued together with something both more crude and more powerful than humanity. But Ghe had feelings that could be known, understood. And understanding was a weapon greater than a sword. Especially in this case, when a sword was likely to be completely ineffectual.
But he had to live. He could not let the Life-Eater swallow him. He had read of that ability, as well.
“Tell me then,” he said. “If what you say is true—if you really want only to help Hezhi—then I will help you. But you must convince me.”
“I will,” Ghe returned grimly. “One way or the other.”
WHEN he finally left Ghan's cabin, Ghe felt more powerful than ever, strong enough to rend the barge in two. Now his power was tripled; the holy strength of the River in his veins, the tethered ghosts at his beck and call—and Ghan, as an ally. He could never fully trust the old man, he knew, but he wasn't without his senses. He could feel that the scholar would cooperate. Certainly he would not go to Bone Eel or Qwen Shen—though little would be lost there, since Qwen Shen already knew what he was. And Qwen Shen had tried to kill him, of that he was certain. Not herself, by her own hand, but she had arranged it nevertheless. Why? Of that he wasn't certain, and he needed to know. Was she a tool of the priesthood or the emperor? He thought the former, or else the attempt on his life would have been far less subtle. He went to his cabin, sponged off, and changed into fresh clothing.
He found Qwen Shen on deck. She smiled when she saw him coming. “Master Yen. I am happy to see you survived the skirmish.”
“I am happy to have survived it,” he acknowledged. “Overjoyed that you were not injured.”
“Well, how very kind of you, Yen. Perhaps I am winning you over, after all.”
He smiled thinly. “Perhaps.”
“They say there were many dead barbarians on the after-deck,” she said. “Many with no apparent injuries. No one claims to have killed them, even the ones so expertly carved by knife.”
Ghe bowed slightly. “It would be better that it remain a mystery. But if rumors develop, it might be hinted that I have been trained to kill with the force of my hands, without need of a knife. Such killing may leave no obvious marks.”
She sidled toward him. “This is true?” she asked, reaching to touch the callused ridges of his hand. “You can kill with these?”
“You like that?” Ghe breathed. “That intrigues you?”
“It exhilarates,” Qwen Shen replied. “It makes me wonder what else such hands are capable of.”
“Such things may be discovered,” he remarked.
“Caw they?”
“They can.” He bowed again. “And now I return to my cabin.”
Qwen Shen bowed back, but her eyes remained fixed on him. He felt her scrutiny return to the cabins with him. It felt, to him, like an archer sighting along a shaft.
* * *
QWEN Shen did not wait long to accept his invitation. He had barely enough time to sit down before someone rapped on his door. Trying to anticipate almost any sort of attack, he swung his door wide, but no darts or flashing blades threatened, no incense or mysterious vapors. Just Qwen Shen. She glided through the door when he opened it, then stopped a few steps inside.
“Close the door,” she said, and he did, latching it. “Now, then. What shall we doT
“I have some questions for you. If you do not answer them, I will be forced to—”
“Hurt me? Will you hurt me, Yen?”
“What?” He stopped in midsentence.
“Why not hurt me first!” she cooed, reaching for the scarf at his neck. He reached to stop her, but she shook her head.
“If you want me to answer your questions, you must cooperate with me—at least a little.”
Ghe had not expected precisely this, he was certain. If she had been responsible for the attempt on his life, there should be some fear on her part, some worry that he suspected her. After all, he had rebuffed her advances since the voyage began. Why should he extend his own now?
Perhaps she had some weapon, concealed in her clothing.
“No,” he said. “You take off your clothes first.”
She stepped back from him, her grin broadening.
“Very well,” she whispered. She shuffled farther back and undid the sash on her kilt, then the kilt itself. They crumpled into a pile about her ankles, revealing slim, brown legs, a thick dark scorch of pubic hair, a sensuous curve of belly. With the same enigmatic grin she shucked off her shirt in a single motion, and then she was entirely, beautifully naked.
But nothing stirred in him, and he knew that it should. Would, if he were the man he had once been rather than a ghoul. She walked carefully toward him, as if balancing on a beam.
“And now you, my lord.” She pushed him back on the bed, and he numbly allowed her to.
He lay there, watching her undress him, feeling nothing save the stroking of her hands on his flesh—but his flesh seemed like wood. She flicked her tongue along and around his necklace scar, and a spark fluttered, guttered, and died. He tried then, suddenly frustrated. Could his body not remember this, remember what to do at all? He forgot about what he came here to do, forgot that he had never once desired Qwen Shen. He tried, concentrating on her beauty, her warmth, and the luxuriant softness of her flesh.
“Ah, Lord Yen,” she sighed. “You are keeping a dream from me. That is the problem. Don't try, don't worry, my love. Just let me know your dream.”
My dream is to be alive, he thought, but he knew now, for certain, that he was dead. He wondered, dully, if when he was fully certain—when every corner of his brain accepted the truth—he would return to oblivion.
“I believe I know your dream,” she said softly, coyly. “You dream of a little girl, a little heart-shaped face, a little girl named Hezhi.”
Anger stirred, if nothing else. What was this woman doing? Besides touching him, that is, here, there…