ISAAK HAD PASSED ON THE INFORMATION he’d gleaned from his conversation with Ehri, though some part of him had felt a little dirty doing it. He’d shared every detail about the Tavgharad, and sure enough, Tamar’s sources had been able to learn that one of them, a young recruit named Mayu Kir-Kaat, had a twin brother who also served in the Shu military.
“He was stationed with a regiment in Koba,” Tamar said. “But no one seems to be able to find him.”
“Is that bad or good?” Isaak wanted to know.
“Good for us. Bad for our Tavgharad guard,” said Tamar. “We’ve tracked shipments of ruthenium to Koba. If her brother has been drafted into the khergud program, she may not be happy about it. Many candidates don’t survive, and those that do are much changed.”
Isaak didn’t know a lot about the khergud soldiers, only that they were rumored to be somewhere between man and killing machine. “So if this guard Mayu is the defector,” he said, “you’ll initiate contact?”
“It won’t be easy,” said Tolya. “The Shu guards are rarely alone. But let us focus on that.”
Tamar agreed. “We need you at your best for your meeting with the Kerch.”
And yet no amount of preparation could have readied Isaak for his disastrous encounter with Hiram Schenck.
Isaak started the evening thrilled to be visiting the Gilded Bog, wondering what mad debauchery he might witness and if he’d get a glimpse of Count Kirigin’s wine cellars. They rode out with only a few soldiers, the twins, and Hiram Schenck and his guards. Despite the chill of the evening, Schenck had been giddy.
“This is most exciting, Your Highness,” he said. “A fortuitous moment for both our countries.” He had the same ruddy coloring and auburn hair as his daughters.
“Indeed,” said Isaak. It was a very useful word.
The count greeted them in the gardens of his sparkling mansion, dressed in a vibrant crimson coat, the lapels studded with rubies the size of pullet eggs.
“Delighted to have you!” he said in Ravkan. “Welcome to my little hideaway.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Isaak said, as instructed. “We knew we could count on your discretion.”
“Always,” said Kirigin. “A necessity of statecraft and seduction alike. I have sent all of my houseguests away, and the grounds are yours. When you finish with your revels, I hope you’ll come restore yourselves by my humble hearth and share a cup of something warming.” Then he cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “I sent Commander Nazyalensky an invitation to my autumn revels next week. I wonder if Your Highness might consider encouraging her to come?”
“Of course,” said Isaak. “She isn’t currently in the capital, but I’m sure she’d be happy to join the fun.”
Kirigin blinked. “She would?”
“Perhaps we should be on our way, Your Highness,” interjected Tolya, shepherding Isaak away from the count, who was looking at him strangely. “They’ll be waiting for us at the lake.”
“Did I say something wrong?” he whispered to Tolya as they rode down a gravel path lit by torches.
“Zoya Nazyalensky isn’t happy to join Count Kirigin for anything,” said Tolya.
Tamar gave her reins a snap. “Least of all fun.”
Genya and David were waiting at the shores of an utterly dreary lake. They boarded a small sailing craft, a member of the Ravkan royal navy at the wheel. The night was still, and so a Squaller stood at the mast, raised his hands, and filled the sail with wind. Above them, the night sky was lit by fireworks launched from somewhere on Kirigin’s grounds. Isaak wondered who they were for if all his guests were gone, but they created a lovely atmosphere.
The boat came to a halt, bobbing gently. He could see a variety of other vessels moored not too far away, their sails lit by lanterns. No one
seemed to be aboard.
“As you know,” said Isaak in Kerch, reciting the speech Genya and Tolya had prepared for him, “I’ve never been content with being confined to land. I have traveled the skies. I have ridden the sea. But then I began to wonder, why should the frontier that lies beneath the waves I love so well be closed to us? And so was born”—he swept his arm dramatically to port—“the izmars’ya!”
The water beside the sailboat began to foam and surge. What looked like the back of a silver beast breached the surface. Isaak stifled a gasp. He wished the others had prepared him for the size of the thing. It dwarfed the sailboat.
Schenck grasped the railing, trying to take it all in. “Incredible,” he said. “To think it was beneath us the whole time. Now let’s see what it can do.”
“Of course,” said Isaak, and lifted his hand to give the signal.
The izmars’ya descended again, vanishing beneath the surface. All was quiet, the only sound the pop and whine of fireworks dotting the sky with cascades of light.
Then a loud boom sounded from too close by. The water next to the boat nearest them exploded in a massive plume. The sleek-looking schooner listed starboard and collapsed, the lights from the lanterns catching in its sails and setting them ablaze. The craft began to sink, taking on water at an alarming rate, as if someone had ripped its hull wide open.
Boom. Another boat collapsed—this one a huge old galleon. Another
—a tidy clipper. Even if these craft had been manned and had attempted to mount some kind of defense, there was nothing to shoot at. There was no sign of the izmars’ya, only the calm surface of the lake.
A chill traveled through Isaak that had nothing to do with the cool night or the gloomy fog around the lakeshore. So this was why the Kerch were so eager for these underwater ships. They could strike at any time without risk to themselves—an invisible enemy. It was a frightening thought.
Schenck was clapping his hands and whooping. “Stupendous! Better than I could have imagined. The Council will be thrilled. How long is the range? Can the missiles rupture a steel hull? What kind of fuel will we need?”
Isaak didn’t know how to answer. No one had prepared him for this
kind of interrogation. He’d thought they would just offer a demonstration and then retire to Count Kirigin’s home to warm up.
“All in due time,” Isaak said—or would have said. But he had not gotten the first word out when the izmars’ya breached the waters next to the sailboat with an earsplitting roar. Its metal flank slammed into the sailboat, knocking Isaak and the others to the deck. Hiram Schenck screamed.
The hull of the izmars’ya had cracked open, and the interior body of the ship was visible. It was filling with water as the crewmembers shouted and tried to pull themselves up the metal walls. There was another loud boom as its fuel tanks exploded into giant clouds of flame. Isaak heard a high whine, followed by another and then another, as the izmars’ya’s missiles shot into the night sky, joining Kirigin’s fireworks.
A stray missile grazed one of the sailboat’s masts, snapping it in two. Isaak shoved Hiram Schenck aside before it could collapse on the merchant.
“Get us out of here!” shouted the captain, and the Squaller filled the remaining sails with wind, driving them swiftly to shore.
The rest of the disaster was a blur: soaked soldiers, Hiram Schenck’s hysterics, Count Kirigin calling, “Then you won’t be staying for dinner?” from the steps of his house as their party beat a hasty retreat to the palace.
When they finally entered the king’s sitting room and Isaak stripped off his wet coat, he was prepared for a long night of strategizing and recriminations. Instead Tamar threw herself down on the couch and burst out laughing. Tolya picked up David in one arm and Genya in the other and spun them both around.
“Brilliant,” gasped Genya, thumping on Tolya’s shoulder so he would set her down. “A performance worthy of the too-clever fox himself.”
“The way Schenck squealed,” crowed Tamar. “I think he may have wet himself.”
“I almost did the same,” said Tolya. “Was the missile supposed to hit the mast?”
“Of course it was,” David said sternly. “You said you wanted a spectacle.”
Genya planted a kiss on his cheek and repeated, “Brilliant.” Isaak stared at them. “Then … that wasn’t a disaster?”
“It was a triumph,” said Tamar.
“I see,” said Isaak.
“Oh, Isaak,” said Genya. “I’m so sorry. We just weren’t sure you could feign real surprise.”
“We needed your reaction to be natural,” Tamar said.
Tolya’s face was contrite. “We only had one chance to get this right.” Isaak sat down on the couch. “Damn it.”
“We’re sorry,” Genya said, crouching at his knee and looking up at him imploringly. “Truly.”
“Can you forgive us?” asked Tolya.
“I was just so excited,” Isaak said. He pulled off his left boot and watched it spill what looked like half a lake onto the carpet. “Finally something went wrong and I had nothing to do with it.”
