Kushiel's Chosen

reached under it, wedging his fingernails into a narrow groove and lifting with a grimace. It came, though, and he lifted the false bottom clean away from the tiny ridge that supported it.
    It was a small space left betwixt the true bottom and the false. It was a very small space.
    I gazed at it, drawing a deep breath. Solid and dark and heavy, the trunk was, carved of cypress wood and bound in silver. There were air holes, yes, bored into the centers of the elaborate floral pattern that adorned the base; holes so small no light pierced them. I had not reckoned, until then, how much I feared confinement in that space.
    "There is no time, Lady Phèdre," the Ban's middle son said quietly. "The Spear of Bellonus has been sighted. We must make ready for arrival."
    I nodded once and took another deep breath - it seemed I could not get enough air into my lungs-and glanced around at Kazan and his men, their faces all at once seeming very familiar and dear. And then, lest my nerve fail me, I climbed into the trunk and forced myself into that terribly, terribly small space, knees drawn tight into my belly, chin tucked, squeezed on all sides by the trunk's walls.
    "Now," Pjètri ordered. "Do it quickly!"
    Epafras and Oltukh set the false bottom back in place, and that was the last glimpse I had of light and life; their worried faces, quickly obliterated by a solid width of wood. And then the false bottom was pressing down on me and I was in darkness. My shoulders and hips were crushed against it; I shifted, trying to move, but there was no space. It was tight and airless. I heard the soft sound of marten skins being piled atop the false bottom, and fought down a wave of panic. Not airless, no; it only seemed that way. Here, in utter blackness, I could see the air holes; there was one close to my left eye, admitting a faint hint of lamplight.
    If light can penetrate, so can air, I told myself. It didn't help. I felt my chest heave, gulping involuntarily for breath, and forced myself to calm, thinking, you are breathing, Phèdre; not dying, not suffocating.
    A simple thing, this confinement, and yet horrifying. I daresay I would have withstood it better when I was younger-before La Dolorosa, and before my near-drowning. As it was, it was all I could do to keep from pounding on the walls of the trunk and begging for release. Instead I shivered and gulped and prayed it went smoothly with the harbor guard-smoothly, and oh, Elua, swiftly!
    The sounds that I heard with my ear pressed to the floor of the trunk were strange and stifled, coming through the wood itself. The lapping of water against the hull of the ship, the muffled tread of feet and the deep scrape of oars. And from far away, very far, an occasional shout. On and on it went, until at last I felt the change when we neared the harbor; our progress slowing, the creak of topsails being lowered, and then the back-stroke of oars, bringing us to a halt.
    A measure of stillness, then, until the tread of footsteps increased manyfold.
    I know, because Kazan told me, that the Serenissiman harbor guard searched the ship with the utmost of thoroughness. The Illyrians were made to drop anchor, and every man on board assembled on deck, relinquishing their swords and standing at attention while the captain of harbor directed the search. Kazan and his men stood among them, unblinking and unwavering, not knowing if they would be recognized as pirates. All of them had daggers concealed somewhere on their persons; if the worst came, they would die fighting.
    Every hammock and every bunk was overturned, every cabin tossed, every soldier's kit opened and searched; a stash of silver denari stamped with the likeness of the Ban of Illyria was seized from the best of the dice players. Pjètri Kolcei lodged a furious protest, claiming that they had not sought to use the coin in trade. The captain of harbor ignored him, and gave orders to search the trunk which held the Ban of Illyria's tribute-gift.
    All of this I learned later; then, I only heard them enter the cabin, holding myself still as the dead in my cramped hiding-space, scarce daring to breathe. It seemed the very hammering of my heart would give me away. Pjètri Kolcei unlocked the lid of the trunk and lifted it; the squeak of the hinges penetrated the marrow of my bones. And while I lay tight-curled and terrified beneath the false bottom, the Serenissiman harbor guard emptied the trunk one item at a time, making a tally of the Ban's