release the pain in his ankles. But the boards were nearly half a foot out of reach.
“That you are a spellwright is obvious,” the calm voice said. “An adept at disspells, nonetheless. What I cannot surmise is in what languages you spellwright. Enlighten me on that subject.”
Nicodemus coughed a few more times and gathered his wits. He had to lie as little as possible; it would keep his story straight and make things smoother if the deity converted. “I studied with the kobold skinmages of the Pinnacle Mountains. Touching my skin could be dangerous.”
“I have never heard of skinmages. Are there many of you in the South?”
“Not many who are human. I may be the only one.” At last Nicodemus cleared the water and hair from his face and discovered a swaying view of the ship’s deck, its gunnel, the jungled riverbanks of the Matrunda sliding past. Apparently the River Thief had believed his Papa to the Rescue routine and was fleeing downriver with a new captive.
Gradually Nicodemus’s eyes adjusted to the dim green glow shining behind him. Three sailors stood by the gunnel. Their lungi were tied high to keep the garment above the knees. Two had fresh wounds on their bare chests and were looking aft for pursuing ships. The third glared down at what appeared to be a four-foot metallic cocoon that had grown metallic tentacles and jammed them into the ribbing of the boat’s hull.
Nicodemus recognized this as the endgame of Sir Claude’s Wounded Bird routine. As the spells animating his armor wound down, the crouching knight had edited his metallolinguistic armor into a defensive conformation that insinuated itself into the boat’s structure; this to prevent the sailors from tipping him into the river. Presently, an eye slit opened in his helmet to allow Sir Claude to watch Nicodemus attempt a conversion.
“So,” the unseen female speaker behind Nicodemus said, “what forces put the world’s only human skinmage and a Lornish knight in the company of an Ixonian river merchant smuggling opium?”
Nicodemus turned his head to try to see his interrogator but succeeded only in getting more wet hair in his eyes. “Could I know whom I am addressing?”
“This is not that kind of conversation.”
“What kind is it?”
“The kind where you tell me what I want to know or I find out how hard it is to fit a knife blade into your spine.”
“I’ve never been good at those.”
“I’ll start with your lower back so you get plenty of practice before you die. So, tell me why you and the metal man ended up in the same opium running outfit.”
“Ambition, greed, maybe a dash of desperation.”
“Go on.”
“My past was a bloody one; I had to leave the South. Once I made it to Chandralu, an old associate matched me with smugglers hiring spellwrights willing to protect a new opium buying expedition. Sir Iron Ass over there had similar reasons for leaving Lorn.”
While Nicodemus was speaking, the green light shining behind him brightened. “So,” his interrogator asked, “some Southern thugs want in on the Matrunda opium run?”
“That would be a safe assumption,” Nicodemus replied. “And would it also be safe to assume that I am talking to the River Thief’s avatar? Perhaps his high priestess?”
The woman laughed, a light sound with a note of private amusement. This bothered Nicodemus though he could not tell why. “What would make you assume that?” the woman asked.
“Forgive a foreigner’s ignorance. I’ve heard nothing about what the River Thief’s requisites might be; however, when you heard there might be more traffic on the Matrunda opium run, the light behind me grew brighter. If one of the River Thief’s requisites is theft, then increased smuggling on the Matrunda would offer more chances to fulfill that requisite and make the neodemon more powerful. That might produce a more luminous aura around his avatar.”
Two of the sailors looked at Nicodemus, their expressions cold. The unseen woman spoke again. “An impressive bit of deduction, skinmage. You have dealt with neodemons before?”
“The situation I left in the South was complicated. It left me with certain skills that the River Thief might find useful.”
“You want to join us? Why should the River Thief trust a mercenary who betrays his former employer?”
“I contracted to protect the ships with my life. I was the only one in the camp who discovered your caper and the only one who risked his life to stop you. In your hands, I’m as good as a dead man. Therefore, my contract is complete.”
“An honorable mercenary? I’m sure the world is just crawling with those.”
“‘Honorable’ exceeds my expectations. I was hoping for something as humble as ‘not worth killing just now.’”
“If we were to consider your offer, what could you tell us of these Southerners muscling in on the Matrunda run?”
“I can tell you that this expedition had a peculiar buyer in mind for the opium.”
“Oh?”
Nicodemus thought fast to concoct a lie that might reveal more about the River Thief’s requisites. He chose one his wife was fond of telling to deities of theft. “Perhaps you’ve heard of Lorn’s stringent laws limiting spellwrighting. Recently, their metallic overgod has forbidden clerical physicians from casting any text upon the mind of any Lornish man, woman, or child. In Skydoc there is an infirmary for children. Some of their patients are in continuous pain. Lorn won’t allow the physicians to stock the necessary medicines and now they can’t cast spells to relieve their pain. So, the physicians hired a group of … thugs, as you say … to smuggle enough opium into Skydoc to relieve the children’s suffering.”
As Nicodemus spoke, the green light behind him dimmed. Noting this, Nicodemus laughed out loud. He knew exactly what kind of neodemon the River Thief was.
“That was exceptionally clever,” the woman said coldly. “So much so, I might have to test this knife on your spine after all.”
“I have an unusually compact spine. Stabbing me might waste a good knife.”
“Fortunately I have several to hand.”
Nicodemus’s heart began to race. “I have skills you can use. No one knows divinity like I do. Consider how quickly I gleaned your River Thief’s requisites. Clearly he is a water god, and a subtle one, or he never would have been able to sneak our boats out one by one. Clearly he is a god of thieves, or your aura would not have brightened at the prospect of larceny. But the River Thief’s mandate cannot be theft alone or learning that you had just stolen medicine for children would not have weakened your aura. The River Thief’s requisites are for equitable theft—steal from the powerful and give to the poor, that sort of thing. That type of neodemon, it’s a rare kind of god. I could help him flourish.”
Again Nicodemus’s interviewer produced laughter that rang with a peculiar note of amusement. “I can’t decide if you are the most dangerous captive we’ve ever abducted or if you’re just shockingly full of bullshit.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive possibilities.”
“Or maybe you’re simply God-of-god’s damned insane.”
“I admit that story about the children was, technically, bullshit. But it is proof of my skills. I could render my knowledge to the River Thief. I could help him steal on a greater order of magnitude. I could help him steal from other deities.” The green light flickered.
“And how could the River Thief achieve such amazing feats of equitable theft?”
“Government.”
The unseen woman and the three sailors all burst into hearty laughter.
So began the last phase of the infiltration game. Things would be more