The Crippled God

killing?’
    The pale-skinned woman smiled, the expression seeming to fold the two sides of her face slightly inward. ‘The Proclamation of Restitution has been sanctioned. We continue the task.’
    ‘And did this fate befall the Perish?’
    ‘Yours is not a Perish ship.’ She frowned. ‘I sense enmity from your vessel – and that fat little girl with the pipe, she is a mage, is she not? We shall adjudicate her first.’
    The handmaid walked back to the rail and leaned over. ‘Highness,’ she called down, ‘they’re being a little cagey regarding the Perish. Might be you were right.’
    ‘Anything else that might be important?’ Felash asked.
    ‘No, Highness. Only that they want to kill us.’
    ‘Very well. Carry on.’
    The handmaid turned round.
    The Lesser Watered spoke, ‘Reach not for your weapons. Kneel. For each and every one of you, the healing of the world begins with your death. Among all the reasons to die, is there one more worthy than this? Be thankful that we give meaning to your end. Kneel.’
    The handmaid shook her head. ‘A Pure already tried all that. Caught me off guard … for a moment or two. My will is not yours to command.’
    She moved then, rather faster than they’d expected, her hands thrusting outward, striking the bodyguards in the chest. Both warriors were lifted from their feet. Over the rail, plummeting to the waters below. She ducked at that instant, evading the Lesser’s lashing attack, and kicked at the second joint on the woman’s left leg, folding it halfway between the knee and the ankle. Her attacker stumbled, and the handmaid slipped past her, spinning round and out to one side to meet the six marines.
    Behind them others were coming up from below, she saw.
    She drew her fighting knives. She needed bigger weapons. The marine closest to her wielded a nice pair of cutlasses. She would take those.
    Shurq Elalle loosed a startled oath and then leaned forward to watch the two armoured guards plunge into the choppy waters between the ships. Both men vanished in a froth of bubbles. Turning to Felash, she asked, ‘Does she need help over there?’
    Plucked brows lifted. ‘I certainly hope not!’
    The sounds of fighting – blades clashing, shouts and then screams – came from the deck of the other ship. ‘Princess, this handmaid of yours, where did she come from?’
    ‘Ah, now that is a mystery.’
    ‘Enlighten me.’
    ‘Do we have the time? Well, I suppose we do.’ She puffed on her pipe, her face disappearing briefly behind a plume of smoke, and then said, ‘My mother’s account, this. There were seven of them. Six remain – the seventh, well, there was some kind of private challenge that, um, failed. No matter. Now, I will grant you, they appear young, but do not let that deceive you. My mother concluded that alchemies constituted a worthwhile investment in maintaining the vigour of her six eldest daughters’ handmaids. And we daughters are of course sworn to secrecy in all such matters, perpetuating the illusion that we have simply grown up with our loyal companions, and so on …’
    She paused then when another chain-clad marine spun head first over the rail, trailing blood over the side. A loud splash followed.
    ‘They were most recalcitrant about divesting themselves of their horrid masks, but in the end my mother’s will prevailed.’
    Shurq Elalle frowned. Masks?
    The sailors made a mess of things as the Lesser Watered, in her pain and panic, used the sorcery of her voice to command them, and it was some time before the handmaid worked her way through the howling mob. Frenzied rage had shock value, and the crew’s utter lack of the instinct for self-preservation made things rather frantic for a few moments, but there was nothing tactical in their efforts to bring her down. When at last the handmaid stepped over a sprawl of bleeding bodies and approached the Inquisitor, she was breathing hard and sweat stung her eyes.
    The woman facing her cradled a broken arm, stood hunched over a dislocated shoulder, and glared across at the handmaid. ‘What manner of demon are you?’ she demanded in a ragged hiss.
    ‘For an answer to that,’ the handmaid replied with a half-smile, ‘best look elsewhere.’
    The Inquisitor scythed out one leg. The handmaid leapt high, swung down, and severed the limb just above the knee. As she came down, her other cutlass cut into the vertical hinge of the woman’s face, splitting it in two. A back-swing with the