Tress of the Emerald Sea (The Cosmere)(97)

He was, unfortunately, correct. Tress looked to her friends, hoping they knew a quick solution to this problem as they had the first two. No one spoke up. The other three might not have been marked, both literally and literately, by the fruits of their frustration on this point, but they were equally stymied.

Curiously though, there is a feature of collaboration that is often misunderstood. Two heads are not necessarily better than one (no matter what Dr. Ulaam might say). That rather depends on the heads in question.

However, when someone tries, it makes others more willing to try. And when you taste a little success—even vicariously—it can act as a mental laxative.

Or if you prefer, a little success is the metaphoric bang on the front of the mental vending machine that jostles loose the stuck ideas.

Tress’s eyes went wide.





THE HYPOCRITE





Tress placed exactly two midnight spores on the table. The other officers shied back noticeably, though there wasn’t a lot of room in the captain’s cabin for shying. She’d spent a little while preparing this experiment, which had given Huck time to scamper off, not wanting to be in the room with more active midnight spores.

Tress put her silver knife on the table, then got out an eyedropper full of water. “Midnight spores behave differently than the others. The others all have an immediate, almost chemical reaction to water. But these spores, they seem almost alive. Like they want something.”

“What…what do they want, Cap’n?” Ann asked.

“Water,” Tress said, leaning down to eye level at the table, holding her eye dropper. “It’s like…a trade. I give them water, and they obey me for a time.” She raised the eyedropper, causing Salay to gasp despite herself. “This should be safe. But in case it’s not, be ready to sever my bond to the spores with that knife.”

Sever it how? Fort asked, leaning forward. He was the only one in the room who didn’t seem positively terrified. Something about this entire conversation (and if you’ve been paying attention, you’ll know what) intrigued him—overcoming his natural fear.

“Black lines,” Tress said, glancing at his board. “Cut them with the knife. But I’m hoping that won’t be necessary this time.”

She released a single drop of water. Like before, the midnight spores bubbled and merged, becoming something not unlike an undulating pustule. Or (and please forgive me) a boiling boil.

As before, Tress felt a connection to it immediately. A tugging at her mind. She could initiate the link, could offer the water and make the bond. But for now she resisted.

“I feel something,” Ann said. “Like it’s yanking on my brain!”

“It’s looking for a host,” Tress said. “Or…a buyer. The monsters that roam the Midnight Sea? This is what they are. Creations of the Sorceress, bound to her. I wonder how she feeds so many…”

The globule lurched toward Fort, then took on the shape of a cup—specifically, the large metal tankard that was the heaviest and largest of Tress’s collection. The midnight cup then grew legs and moved toward Fort. He’d bonded it inadvertently, as evidenced by him suddenly putting his hand to his mouth—which would inevitably have begun to feel dry. A small black line began to move between him and it.

Tress seized control.

When Captain Crow had used the midnight spores, Tress had been able to take control of the thing, destroying it in the process. This time it was far easier. She pushed her mind against the spores and offered water. More water. A bribe.

The thing immediately moved to her instead, and let her take over. She was closer to it, which Tress thought was key. She took complete control, then severed the bond before she could be drawn into the thing’s eyes and experience life as if she were a midnight cup.

It popped and evaporated, leaving smoke, then nothing.

Fort gasped, then took a long drink from a red ceramic mug of water Tress offered him.

“What happened?” Salay asked, stepping forward.

“I took control of the thing,” Tress said. “I bribed it with my water instead—offering that in trade, giving it more freely than it could take from an unwilling subject. Once it accepted, I took control, then dismissed it.”

“And…you think you can do this with the ones guarding the Midnight Sea?” Ann asked.

“We are going to find out,” Tress said, standing up. “How long until—”

A pounding came at the door. Tress hesitated, then nodded. Ann moved to open it, and they were confronted by Laggart.

Hell. I forgot to tell you about Laggart. Tress let Laggart stay on the Crow’s Song. She rightly figured that without Crow around to impress, he wouldn’t try anything funny.

(Not that he could, mind you. Laggart was to funny what liquid nitrogen is to a healthy set of lungs.)

He’d spent the last few days strutting back and forth up and down the deck. Ornery. Confused. Uncertain. “I need to speak to you in private, Captain,” he said.

Tress was unsure about this, so she rested her hand on her flare gun. But she nodded to the others, indicating they should leave. They did so, closing the door behind them as Laggart stepped inside.

They regarded one another for a short time. Then Laggart drew himself up—looking like a buzzard that forgot to put on its feathers after its morning shave—and met Tress’s gaze. “I demand,” he said, “that you shoot me.”