The King's Blood(166)
“The water changes,” she said. “We’ll be to the islands in two, three more days. We have enough water and food until then.”
“We probably will,” Kit agreed.
“Was that in question?” Marcus asked. “I thought we’d intentionally packed enough to make it to the place we could get more. Did I misunderstand that?”
The Timzinae woman snorted derision.
“It’s the sea,” she said. “There’s always a question.”
W
hat about questions?” Marcus asked three days later as they walked down the stony streets of the island waystation. Ahead of them, Adasa Orsun was haggling with a Southling.
“What about them?”
“Can you have a false question?” Marcus said. “For instance, if I said something like, Isn’t Sandr full of himself? or You can’t do that, can you? They both mean something, but it’s not something that’s true, exactly, is it?”
“You’re forgetting. It isn’t truth. It’s never truth. It’s certainty. A question is uncertain by its nature.”
“But if I say, I don’t know …”
“You can be certain that you’re ignorant,” Kit said.
The Southling held up two fingers, the Timzinae three.
“What about, I think her name is Adasa.”
“You’re certain of that, yes.”
“I think her name is Mycah.”
“You aren’t certain of that. In fact, I suspect you’re certain that it isn’t. Though I wouldn’t know that based only on what you said.”
“That’s a strange line you walk,” Marcus said as they came to a rough corner. Nothing in the waystation was straight. The roads twisted and turned, following the shape of the rock. It gave the place an inhuman feel that Kit recognized and respected. It felt like the temple from which he’d fled.
“I think we all walk it all the time. I may be a bit more aware of it. I believe this is the place we needed. Only let me tell our captain where we’ve gone.”
He walked over to her. The spiders in his blood were excited, dancing and tugging at him. Being around so many people caught their attention after so long with only the same two. And there might only be five or six dozen people on the island, so small was it. To go from a long voyage into a real port was a deeply unpleasant experience. But that was a problem for another day.
“I can’t go lower than this and make enough to buy food,” the Southling man was lying.
Kit touched Adasa Orsun’s shoulder.
“Forgive me. I’m thinking of taking Marcus to the geographer’s shop over there. When you’re done here, will you look for us there?”
“I can,” she said.
“Thank you, and he can go lower and still buy food.”
“You are a madman,” the Southling called after him. “Madman!”
Inside the shack, an old Southling woman sat on a stool. Her wide black eyes took them in without seeming to see them. Or perhaps it was only that she passed no judgments.
“You’ve come for a map?” she asked.
“I hope we have,” Kit said. “I’m looking for the reliquary of Assian Bey.”
“You and everyone else,” the woman said, amused.
“Do you have a copy of the Silas map?”
To the degree that a Southling’s eyes could narrow, hers did.
“That map doesn’t exist,” she lied.
“It does, and I am the man who is to have it,” he said. In his blood, his body, the tiny things began to stretch and flail. He felt their delight. “Listen to me. Listen to my voice. You need to show me that map.”
“I don’t …”
“I do,” Kit said. “It’s going to be all right.”
The woman scowled, but then she held up a single finger.
“Wait here,” she said. “I have to go look at something.”
Another lie, but perhaps not too far from the truth. If she didn’t have the map herself, she at least might know where it was.
“What’s a Silas map?” Marcus asked.
“It’s the one that the last people to try to reach the reliquary used,” Kit said. “It seems like the best starting place.”
Marcus put a hand on Kit’s shoulder, turning him gently.
“Have you just told me that you don’t know where this place is?”
“I do. It’s on the north shore of Lyoneia,” Kit said. “Probably.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“You don’t know.”
“I could be more precise, but I think I’d be less accurate,” Kit said. “I believe there’s a word for reliquaries that are easily found and commonly known.”