CHAPTER
31
Not According to Plan
Lan was in his study when the phone call came in from Hilo. It was on a line that was separate from the others. Only Hilo was aware of the number, and he knew to use it only for urgent matters that required an absolutely secure connection.
“I found the proof you wanted,” the Horn said, without preamble. “Doru’s been in regular contact with the Mountain. He’s been taking payment from them through secret accounts.”
Lan felt a heaviness descend. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Reluctance kept the Pillar silent for a second. “We’ll handle this tonight, then.” He looked at the clock. The workday was almost over; Doru would soon be leaving his office on Ship Street. There was no point in delaying— that would only spook the traitor and make the whole affair more painful for everyone.
He made the necessary arrangements with Hilo, then hung up and sat quietly and gloomily for a few minutes. The Weather Man had recently returned from Ygutan with information on the Mountain’s activities in that country, including details on its shine-producing facilities and business dealings. The Fist and the Finger that had been sent as Doru’s bodyguards had watched him closely and reported no suspicious behavior on the part of the Weather Man during the trip.
Doru was not stupid; he knew he was on weak footing in the clan, and with Kaul Sen’s lucidity growing more unreliable by the day, it appeared he’d decided to hunker down and behave. He’d even gamely swallowed the insult of Lan suspending the KJA in his absence without consulting him.
Even though Lan had mentally prepared himself for Hilo’s call, the pleasant change in Doru’s behavior had made him think, for a short while, that perhaps he’d been wrong about the man’s compromised loyalties.
He called Woon into his office. When the Pillarman arrived, Lan stood up to greet him. “You’ve been a friend to me for many years, and a good Pillarman for the last three,” Lan said. “Starting tomorrow morning, you’ll be Weather Man of No Peak.”
Woon could not have been entirely shocked by the appointment, but he was still overcome with gratitude. “The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master,” he said, saluting deeply. “Thank you for this honor, Lan-jen. I won’t fail you.”
Lan embraced him and said, “I’ve given you more responsibility for the past several months, and you’ve done well. You’re ready.” In truth, he was not entirely confident in his statement; he still felt Woon was not quite up to the caliber of a superior Weather Man, but he was capable enough and Lan held no doubt of the man’s loyalty. In any case, there was no choice now; Woon had to step up to the task. “Not a word of this news to anyone, until after I give you permission tomorrow.”
“I understand, Lan-jen,” Woon said, with a proper somberness that showed he was perfectly aware he was coming into the role on account of another’s misfortune.
“These are difficult times for the clan; you’ll have to be prepared to take control of the Weather Man’s office quickly. Go home early tonight and get a good night’s rest, but let’s have a drink together first.” Lan took a bottle from his cabinet and poured them each a glass of hoji, which they enjoyed in muted celebration.
After Woon had reiterated his thanks and departed, Lan went through papers at his desk without truly paying attention to them. These days, he never felt as if he was at his best, either physically or mentally. The lingering weakness in his body heightened his constant anxiety over the threats to the clan, and now knowing that the next twenty-four hours would be particularly difficult made it hard to concentrate.
An envelope sitting in an untouched stack of mail caught Lan’s attention.
When he extracted it, he saw that the return address was a postbox in Stepenland. A letter from Eyni. Lan fingered the edges of the seal, eager and deeply reluctant to break it open. Since the divorce, they’d exchanged only a few letters—cordial and businesslike, settling affairs, her telling him where to mail belongings, that sort of thing. But seeing her handwriting, hearing her voice in his head—it never failed to bring down his mood. With what he already had to deal with today, he sighed aloud.
She’d confessed the affair to him. One of Hilo’s men had seen her entering an apartment building with her lover, and knowing her secret was lost, Eyni had gone straight back to the house before the news could make its way through the Horn back to Lan. “Please don’t kill him,” she’d begged in a whisper, sitting on the edge of their bed with her hands squeezed between her knees. “He’s not Kekonese; he doesn’t understand our ways. I’ll stop seeing him and stay with you here, or I’ll leave and you’ll never have to see me again—whatever you tell me to do. But please don’t kill him. And don’t let Hilo kill him. That’s all I ask.” And it was this heartfelt plea, driven by her obviously genuine fear, that saddened Lan the most, because even after five years of marriage she obviously didn’t really know him at all.
“Is he really such a better person than I am?” Lan asked dully.
Eyni looked up, eyebrows raised in surprise. Even distraught, her heart- shaped face had a genuine and unpretentious prettiness. “Of course not. But he’s not the Pillar of the great No Peak clan. He doesn’t cancel dinner plans, he doesn’t travel with bodyguards, no one recognizes him or salutes him in public or stops him to ask for favors for their relatives. He can act silly, and sleep late, and go away on vacation at a moment’s notice, and do all the things we once did together.”
“You always knew I would be Pillar someday,” Lan reminded her accusingly. “You understood it would be this way. There are plenty of women who’d be thankful, grateful, to be the wife of the Pillar. You promised me that you were one of them.”
Eyni’s eyes filled with tears of remorse. “I was once.”
I should make her stay, Lan had thought with classic Kekonese vindictiveness. In exchange for this foreigner’s life, she has to stay and give me an heir, for the clan.
In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to be so cruel to either her or
himself.
The envelope in Lan’s hand now was square and stiff, like a greeting card.
It looked thicker, like it contained a longer and more substantial message than previous mailings. He imagined opening it to find a letter in which Eyni repented and begged him to take her back. Far more likely, with well- meaning heartlessness, she’d written to reassure him that she was fine, to wish him well, and to tell him about her new home overseas and all the things she was seeing and doing with her boyfriend.
Lan shut the letter in his desk drawer. In either case, this was not the right time to be distracted by melancholy thoughts of his ex-wife. He would open it later. And because it still taunted from inside the closed drawer, Lan got up and left the house. It was a Fifthday evening and there would still be plenty of time to get back and await Hilo’s phone call.
Hours later, Lan did not, even after a meal and a lay at the Lilac Divine, feel considerably better. He sat on the end of the bed, finishing a cigarette and wringing a final few minutes of peace from the evening before he had to leave.
“Is something wrong?” Yunni crawled up behind him and looped her bare arms around his neck, but he disentangled himself and stood up. He pulled on his pants, then walked into the bathroom with its scented candles and red lighting. He splashed his face with cold water, then took a hand towel from the rack and wiped down his neck and bare chest. From the bed, Yunni coaxed, “Must you leave so soon? Come back to bed. Stay the night.”
She’d like that. She’d make more money if he stayed; it would make up for the fact he’d been coming here less. “I’d like to be alone for a while now,” he said, and because he couldn’t bring himself to be unkind to her, “please.”
The charm girl’s artfully polished facade faltered for a second. She crossed her arms over her breasts. He could sense her indignation at the dismissal: Who did he think she was? A street whore? Where was the sophisticated client she used to have, the one who enjoyed singing and harp music, conversation and wine?
She recomposed herself admirably and stood up with unhurried grace. “As
you like, Kaul-jen.” Yunni gathered her robe around herself, slid her feet into slippers, and padded out the door, shutting it behind her firmly to announce her irritation. Lan didn’t watch her go. He put on his watch and looked at the time. Right now, three Fists were waiting to seize Yun Dorupon from the door of his favorite brothel in the sleazy Coinwash district. The irony of how he and Doru were both spending the evening before their reckoning was not lost on Lan.
After the Fists picked up Doru, they would drive him to an undisclosed location. When they arrived, Hilo would call Lan at home. The Fists were under orders not to hurt or kill Doru, not yet, not until Lan arrived. He’d been clear about this. He wanted to face the man he considered an uncle, and ask him why, after so many years of faithful service, he’d betrayed the clan. Then Lan would have to decide how to handle the Weather Man’s fate so Kaul Sen was never the wiser.
As the inevitable hour drew closer, he felt unsure of his ability to do the right thing. Even now, knowing Doru was a traitor, he did not want to have the old man killed. He could still remember Doru returning from business trips with sweets for the Kaul grandchildren. He was guilted by the image of Doru and Kaul Sen playing chess in the courtyard. But betrayal so close, and at such a high level of the clan—it could not be forgiven. Was it possible, Lan wondered, to be both a strong leader and a compassionate person, or were those two things opposing forces, pushing each other away?
With the door closed and Yunni gone, Lan opened the combination safe and took out the rest of his jade. Another reason he’d stopped coming here as often: taking off and putting on so much jade was painful now—like being dunked in ice and then coals, or physically shaken as if he were a bug in a jar.
Lan fingered the beads around his neck, touching each one as if accounting for them, then put on the belt and cuffs, heavy and further encrusted with the jade he had won from Gam. He braced himself.
A few seconds of delay, then the rush hit him hard, much harder than usual. The world tilted and folded. Lan’s body screamed in protest, his chest seizing. He fell to the floor and clutched the carpet with curled fingers.
Breathe, breathe. Get yourself under control. He fought back a moan. This was supposed to get better. The doctor had said that the damage Gam had inflicted was not permanent. But he still hadn’t healed, and on-and-off symptoms of jade overexposure plagued him. The lingering injury from the
duel, the increased jade load, general stress and sleep deprivation—they were aggravating each other in a vicious cycle. Lan crawled onto the bed, reaching for his jacket hanging from the post of the headboard. He felt around until he found the rubber strip, vial, and syringe he’d tucked into the inside pocket and drew them out.
The room seemed to be attacking him, the walls pressing in too close. His senses were wild, snapping in and out of focus. He caught a snippet of some angry conversation on the street outside as clear as if it were next to him. The next second it was gone, but the texture of the bedsheets was so prickly it stung his skin. Lan pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and grasped for the control techniques he’d first learned in the Academy, ones he hadn’t needed since he was a teenager. He tensed then relaxed every muscle in his body, slowly counting out the rhythm of his breaths, until he’d pushed every feeling back to a tolerable distance and his hands no longer shook. Sitting on the pillow with his back against the headboard, he tied off his arm, uncapped the needle, drew the contents of the vial into the syringe, and hesitated.
The shock and disbelief he’d seen on Anden’s face filled his memory. So did the shame Lan had felt that day, knowing he’d profoundly damaged the young man’s admiration and trust in him. Lan shared his cousin’s disgust; he hated needles, and he despised SN1. He loathed resorting to it for the jade tolerance he’d always taken for granted. He was doing all he could to combat the manufacture and spread of the poison, and yet here he was, carrying a vial of it around with him, nestled against his chest like a tiny explosive. The agony of having to justify himself to Anden had caused Lan to go without an injection for days. He knew that wasn’t how you were supposed to use the drug, but each time he waited as long as he could, thinking that finally he was getting better and no longer needed to resort to its use—and then the edginess, the perceptual distortions, the sweats and racing heart would start up once more.
Tomorrow he’d go back to Dr. Truw, get checked over again, see if there wasn’t something else he could do to hasten natural healing and build his tolerance back up to where he could carry his jade without chemical help.
Perhaps he ought to take the risk of leaving Hilo in charge for a little while— a worrisome idea, but one that would allow him to get away to Marenia for a week, where he could wear a little less jade and recover his health. Tonight, though, he couldn’t be weak. He needed to be at his most clearheaded and
decisive. There was no room to be mentally addled or emotionally volatile when you were sending a man to his death.
Lan slid the needle into his vein and emptied the contents of the syringe into his arm. He untied the rubber tourniquet and closed his eyes. The drug circulated up into his brain and in minutes cleared it like a television antenna finally finding a signal and resolving flickering static into a clear image.
Copious jade energy hummed through him, but it was steady and under control, waiting to be manipulated by his will. His senses were sharp as glass but consistent and coordinated, no longer blasting in and out of focus. He felt good. Powerful. He could leap to a second-story balcony or raise a Deflection that would move a car. Lan allowed himself a moment of amazement.
Despite his moral objections to SN1 and all it stood for, it truly was a remarkable drug. No wonder the foreigners wanted it so badly. No wonder Ayt Mada wanted the fortune that could be made from selling it to them.
Lan stowed the items back into his pocket, then finished dressing and let himself out of the room. In the lobby downstairs, he waved aside Mrs. Sugo’s sugary inquiries as to whether he was satisfied with his visit, reassuring her that he was, but unfortunately could not stay to enjoy himself further. He had to get back to the house before Hilo called and someone else picked up the phone.
Having sent Woon home and knowing the Horn was occupied following his instructions, Lan had not bothered telling anyone he was going out for a few hours. He’d opted to take a cab and leave his car in the garage to avoid any attention. The drive to and from the Lilac Divine passed only through undisputed No Peak territories so there was little danger. Outside, he flagged down another taxi and asked the driver to take him back to the house.
Bero’s heart was hammering in his chest, but his hands were steady as he brought the Fullerton gun from the passenger side floor onto his lap and readied himself to fling open the door. The call had come from Mudt half an hour ago, and the driver and car had appeared in front of his aunt’s apartment building fifteen minutes after that. “It has to be tonight,” Mudt had said.
Everything was happening very quickly, but Bero was fine with that. The sooner the better. There were two bouncers and several expensive cars parked
in front of the elegant, dusky red facade of the Lilac Divine but no silver Roewolfe. Bero spoke over his shoulder. “You ready, keke?” From the seat behind him, Cheeky made a nervous noise of assent.
A man emerged from the Lilac Divine, a man Bero would recognize anywhere. As he watched in astonishment, one hand on the door handle, Kaul Lan, the Pillar of the No Peak clan, got into the back of a taxi. The taxi pulled into the street almost directly in front of them.
Bero was frozen for a second. Then everything fell into place for him. He spun forward in his seat to yell at the driver. “Follow that cab. Come on, go!
Drive!”
“What are you doing?” Cheeky shouted, pulling his partly open door shut as the vehicle began moving. “We’re supposed to be shooting up the club!
That’s what they told us to do!”
“Forget the fucking club,” Bero shouted back at him. “Why do you think they sent us to shoot it up tonight? Because the fucking Pillar of No Peak was there, that’s why! And now he’s in that taxi. He’s who the Mountain wants.
There’s no point hitting the Lilac Divine if he’s not there!” Bero was not only certain of this, he was convinced that fate was shining on him at this instant, offering him the opportunity he’d been waiting for, something even better than what he’d been promised. “This is it, keke,” he said. “Our big chance.”
Do a good job, make a big impression, show just how valuable you can be to the clan—those had been the goateed Green Bone’s words. What could possibly make a bigger impression, what could be of greater value, than taking out Kaul Lan himself?
Bero grinned, a little madly. It was not hard for him to call to mind the memory of Kaul Lan’s dismissive, compassionate disdain. Tonight, the Pillar of No Peak would realize how badly he’d underestimated Bero. Fate worked in mysterious and beautiful ways.
“Okay,” Bero hissed. “At the next stoplight, pull up beside the cab.”
The driver was a lumpy-faced, heavyset fellow who hadn’t said a word all night. Either he was too dumb to be perturbed, or considered drive-by machine gun shootings to be unremarkable in his line of work. Who knew where Mudt had found him. He didn’t even respond now, merely shrugged at Bero’s direction and sped up to close the gap to the taxi.
“You’re out of your mind. The fucking Pillar of the No Peak clan.”
Cheeky’s voice wavered on panic. He muttered, “We’re worm food, keke,”
but still he cranked down his window. They readied themselves to thrust the barrels of the Fullertons out the right-hand side of the car and open fire. It would be fast, and very loud, and very messy.
Lan noticed the black car following him. It wasn’t the car itself he noticed first; from the distance of a city block, his heightened Perception sensed the unmistakable hostility and fear directed squarely at him. Lan glanced over his shoulder and watched the vehicle take a turn after them, maintaining a two- car-length distance behind the taxi. He turned back around to face forward, then stretched out and focused his Perception.
Three men. The driver’s energy was cool and dull; the other two were burning flares of excitable aggression and fear. No jade auras. Not Green Bones, then. Common criminals, or hired grunts. Lan’s mouth twisted. He removed cash from his wallet—enough to cover the cab bill and then some— and leaned forward, handing it to the driver. “This is far enough,” he said.
“Take a U-turn at the next light and drop me off at the corner. Then keep your head down and get out of here.”
The taxi suddenly shot ahead and spun into a U-turn.
“Shit, what’s he doing?” Bero exclaimed.
From the back seat, Cheeky said, “He’s on to us. He’s getting out of the cab.”
“Turn around!” Bero yelled at the driver. “Turn around before he gets away.” There was already traffic blocking line of sight between the two cars.
The driver lost several seconds before taking a sharp turn up to the curb where Kaul had gotten out. The taxi was already driving down the street and the Green Bone was nowhere in sight. Fuck! Bero opened the door and jumped out onto the sidewalk, swinging his head back and forth, trying to see where their target had gone.
“What do you think you’re doing now?” Cheeky hissed at him from the open car window. “Kaul’s gone. We’re not going to chase after him on foot.
Get back in, before someone sees you standing there holding a fucking Fully
gun. We can still go back to the club, do the job they told us to do.”
He couldn’t see Kaul in either direction on the sidewalk. The street bordered a steeply descending embankment. Bero ran to the railing and looked over, remembering in despair how fast Green Bones could move. The clumpy grass and dirt sloped down into darkness, all the way to the unlit pier where the silhouettes of small moored sailboats lined the edge of the harbor.
Frustration welled behind Bero’s straining eyes. This was going all wrong, not according to plan at all.
Then, miraculously, as if destiny had turned his face and made his eyes land on just the right spot, he saw a figure walking along the boardwalk by the water. It was too dark to tell for certain that it was Kaul, but Bero knew it was him. The set of his body, the way he walked—Bero shouted in triumph.
“I see him!”
Cheeky cursed and scrambled from the car. He leaned over the railing and stared at where Bero was pointing. “Forget it, keke. He’s too far away now, and he already knows we’re on to him. We’ll get him another time.”
“There won’t be another time!” Kaul would get wise. He’d travel with his bodyguards or change his routine. In any case, after this failure, the goateed Green Bone would brush Bero aside as unworthy, just another disappointing wannabe—and take away his chance at jade.
Bero slung the strap of the Fully gun over his shoulder and clambered over the railing. “Stay here if you like,” he said. “When I come back with Kaul’s head, I’ll tell them what a thin-blooded coward you were. You better get out of town.”
Cheeky was a pussy, just like Sampa, but the difference was that he couldn’t stand to be called out on it; Bero had figured that out early on. Bero dropped to the other side of the railing and started sliding and scrambling down the hill as fast as he was able to with a heavy weapon weighing him down. He didn’t look back once. He was sure Cheeky would swear a bit and follow him, and even if he didn’t, Bero didn’t care—he wasn’t going to give up and let his one golden chance slip away.
The goateed Green Bone had promised him a pebble of jade for gunning the Lilac Divine, but if he killed Kaul Lan—the Pillar of the No Peak clan!— hell, Kaul’s jade was his by right. Green Bones took jade from the bodies of their enemies, everyone knew that.
Lan had vaulted the railing and leapt Lightly down the steep embankment to the empty wooden walkway that ran along the harbor. He straightened his jacket and walked, leaving his pursuers behind. He wasn’t worried about them following. His Perception was incredible, the strongest and clearest it had ever been. He could sense the confusion and disarray he’d left behind and was sure the goons were not even professionals. They’d been hired to take a run at him. Lan was almost insulted.
He was also aggravated by the idea that he and his family might not be as safe inside No Peak territory as he’d assumed. During foreign occupation a generation ago, Kekonese rebels had been masters of guerrilla fighting, sneak attacks, and constant low-level harassment. Hilo had told him about the organized thieving in the Docks; the Mountain clan was almost certainly behind it, and Lan was sure this was part of the same thing—an ongoing effort to wear No Peak down, to distract and overwhelm its leaders. Their enemies were feigning peaceableness, refusing to show themselves while hiding behind the activities of common criminals who were reckless and stupid enough to do their bidding. It had the makings of a patient war based on tactics that Ayt Yu and Kaul Sen would have approved of against Shotarians, but it was entirely counter to the tradition of open duel between Green Bones in dispute with each other. It was offensive and disrespectful. It angered Lan, and he could see why it infuriated Hilo.
Perhaps he ought to go back and kill these men. He didn’t have time for that, though, and he didn’t want to create a scene that would slow him down right now. There were bigger problems to deal with tonight, and he was supposed to be in his study awaiting Hilo’s call. Lan walked faster. The boardwalk stretched all the way down near where the General’s Ride passed under the KI-1 freeway. There, he could climb back up to street level and hail another taxi to take him home unmolested.
He was nearly there when his chest began to hurt. It was a sudden, constricting pain, as if his diaphragm had been seized in a huge fist. Lan slowed, alarmed, as he put a hand to his sternum. Nothing moved in the near darkness. The streetlight from the road above illuminated only the flat shapes of sampans and the masts of junks bobbing ever so slightly, the water slapping gently against their hulls.
Lan felt abruptly confused, as if he’d stepped from one place into an entirely different one through a door in a dream. He shook his head, trying to get his bearings back. What was going on? What was he doing here? His breaths were growing short and shallow, and he wondered why his heart was pattering irregularly.
He was at the docks. Trying to get home. He’d left the Lilac Divine, gotten into a taxi, been followed … that’s why he’d left the cab and was down here. Why had it all escaped him so completely for a second back there? He took several more steps forward and staggered, unsteady on his feet. Something was wrong. A fog was descending over him, siphoning the clarity from his mind, the strength from his body. He felt warm and flushed, but when he put a hand to his brow he found he was not sweating; his skin was fever hot and dry.
These weren’t jade-related symptoms; they weren’t anything he’d experienced before. It occurred to him that perhaps he was having a stroke or a heart attack. Then the more obvious explanation struck him: the injection of SN1 he’d taken a few minutes ago. How many days had it been since his previous injection? Eight? Nine? After that long an abstention, he should’ve taken a half dose. He must’ve been distracted and rushed and taken a full dose instead.
Lan tried to focus. He had to get to the street and find a phone right away.
He’d taken the precaution of keeping SN1 counteractant in the house; he simply needed to get back there. He put one foot in front of the other, misjudging the distance to the ground and stumbling. His fists clenched. He could do this; he willed himself to. The street was not far, and he was a Kaul —his father had once spent three days crawling through the jungle with a bullet in his back. Lan fixed his eyes ahead. He forced steadiness into his breath and took another step, then another. His mind cleared, his gait steadied.
A noise behind him made him turn. Lan was astounded, not just by the fact that the two men—no, teenagers—from the black car had followed him, but that, in his state, they’d been able to sneak up to within fifty meters without him noticing. When he turned, the boys stopped and a second of silent immobility passed. The taller youth on the right fumbled with the bolt of his Fullerton machine gun, but it was the sallow, crooked-faced teen on the left that made Lan stare in incredulity. “You?”
They opened fire.
A detonation of bewilderment and rage burst in Lan’s skull. Enough.
Enough with this. He brought his arms up—unleashing Steel and Deflection together in a massive expulsion of jade energy. The teenagers were not very good shots; adrenaline and fear made them worse. Bullets tore up the wooden planks around Lan’s feet, zinged into the air above, chopped into the hulls of boats, and even sent up rows of tiny splashes in the water. The ones that would have hit the Pillar were caught up like flies in a blast of gale wind. Just as he’d taught Anden, Lan gathered them into the sucking wake of his Deflection, whipped them around and hurled them back out like a fistful of thrown marbles.
They did not have the deadly speed and accuracy of bullets fired from a gun, but they were still dangerous. One of his attackers dropped the Fully gun, clutching his arm, the other took lead to the knees and went down with a cry, his weapon clattering to the boardwalk. Lan was already moving, faster than shadow. Blazing with Strength, he struck one gunman in the throat, crushing his windpipe before he hit the ground. He turned to the other youth, the one whose life he’d spared six months ago. The wounded teenager was trying to bring his weapon back up with his left arm. Lan tore the gun away, bent the barrel in his hands, and flung it aside. The boy scrambled backward, his face an openmouthed white oval as fear finally overtook reckless greed.
“You want this, do you?” Lan held up the jade beads around his neck.
“You think it’s worth dying for. You think it’ll make you someone you’re not.” He reached to grab the fool by his hair and pull him forward, to break his neck like a duck’s, as Hilo had intended before. “You’re stupid, then. Too stupid to live.”
His hand closed on air as his legs suddenly buckled beneath him. Lan collapsed, his body engulfed in an agony of heat raging under the surface of his skin. The pain in his chest returned, redoubled, emptied his mind of thought.
The teenager backpedaled, staring with wide, confused eyes. Then he turned and ran. His footsteps reverberated like cymbal crashes in Lan’s hollow chamber of a skull. Lan didn’t notice. He couldn’t breathe. His mouth was dry; his throat was burning up. He needed to make it stop. Put out the fire. Fire was like jade, and greed, and war, and unfulfilled expectations— consuming what it touched. Water. Get to the water.
The world was dulling. He was crashing out rapidly now, as if his jade was being ripped away from him all at once. He felt frantically for the beads around his neck, the cuffs around his arms—he still had every stone. Get up, he urged himself. Keep going. He heaved himself back up and took a few more steps. Lan had once run lightly on thin beams across the Academy’s training grounds, but now he lost his balance and put a foot down too close to the edge of the pier. He pitched over, and when he hit the water, it was such an instant cold and silent relief that he didn’t struggle when the silence closed over his head.