فصل 7

An open response to Her Excellency, High Blade Barbara Jordan of Texas You requested to be left alone, and your wish is granted. I have consulted with the High Blades of East- and WestMerica, as well as NorthernReach and Mexiteca. As of this day, no other North Merican scythedom will engage with your region. Furthermore, all shipments of goods and resources to and from the LoneStar region shall be confiscated by scythes just beyond your borders. You will no longer benefit from the good will of your neighbors, nor will you be seen as a part of the North Merican continent. Yours shall be a pariah region until you see the error of your ways.

I would also like to say, High Blade Jordan, that it is my sincerest hope that you self-glean in the not-too-distant future, so that your region can benefit from more reasonable, and rational, leadership.

Respectfully,

Honorable Robert Goddard, High Blade of MidMerica

7 Dancing in the Deep

Salvage was a painstakingly slow process. It took three months of digging through the submerged debris until they found the outer vault.

Possuelo had resigned himself to the pace of the process. He found that it was actually beneficial, because the other scythes had short attention spans. Nearly a third of them had sailed off, vowing to return the second the vault was found. Those who remained bided their time and kept a close watch on the Spence—albeit from a distance. Tarsila, the Amazonian High Blade, was a formidable woman, and no one wanted to raise her ire by challenging Possuelo’s authority and autonomy over the salvage.

As for Goddard, he had finally sent a delegation under Nietzsche—his first underscythe—who then proceeded to glean several of the salvage crews that were not under the direct protection of a scythe.

“It is not only our right, but our duty to glean civilians whose greed leads to their violating the Perimeter of Reverence,” Nietzsche claimed. Some scythedoms were angered, others supportive, and others strategically indifferent.

While Possuelo negotiated the convoluted politics of the fractured scythedom, Jerico spent each day in a pair of VR goggles, immersed in the world of the dive. Joining Jerico in that virtual journey was a conservator to catalogue every find, as well as a structural engineer to help weave their way through the ever-shifting wreckage.

They used a remotely operated vehicle—or ROV—for the job. Jeri controlled the submersible with hand gestures and turns of the head—to the point that it looked like some exotic dance. Possuelo only took the virtual trip when there was something of particular interest to see—such as the ruins of the Endura Opera House, where eels weaved in and out of dangling chandeliers, and the set of Aida lay in pieces on the sideways stage, like a glimpse of some apocalyptic ancient Egypt, the Nile having swallowed everything in its rising waters.

When they finally reached the outer vault, Possuelo was ecstatic, but Jeri’s response was measured. This was only the first stage of the battle.

They breached it with a steel-cutting laser; then the hole they were cutting gave way before they had completed cutting it—the water pressure having caved it in—and the robotic sub plunged through the air pocket, shattering on the vault’s floor.

“Well, at least now we know that the outer vault remained watertight,” Jeri said, taking off the goggles.

That was the fifth ROV lost.

At first, each time a new robotic sub had to be brought in, it added another week to the operation. After the second one was lost, they requisitioned two at a time, so there’d always be a backup.

The escaping air created a telltale bubbling of white water on the surface that alerted everyone they had breached the outer vault. By the time the crew prepped the standby sub later that day, every scythe that had left the area was either back or on their way.

The following morning, the new robotic sub was negotiating the dark void of the flooded chamber. While the outer vault was covered with residue and slime from its tenure in the sea, the Vault of Relics and Futures was just as pristine as the day it sank.

“The best thing to do would be to cut a hole in this vault as well,” suggested Jeri, “then vacuum the diamonds out.” It was the most efficient plan, but Possuelo had his orders.

“The robes of the founding scythes are also inside,” he explained. “And since the inner vault is still intact, my High Blade wishes to preserve them as well. Which means we have to bring up the entire vault.” To which Jeri raised an eyebrow and said, “We’re going to need a bigger boat.” When it comes to scythes, money is no object, and quite literally so, because scythes pay for nothing and can have everything. Jeri told Possuelo precisely the kind of ship they needed; Possuelo found the nearest one and claimed it for the Amazonian scythedom.

Four days later a fully equipped crane vessel that could deposit the vault right onto the Spence’s deck arrived in the dive zone. Its crew was put entirely at Captain Soberanis’s disposal. Even so, the crane had to wait, because it took more than a week to cut a hole large enough in the outer vault for the extraction, and to secure the inner vault with a cable sling strong enough to raise it.

“Once we start the winch, it will take about twenty-four hours to raise the vault to the surface,” Jeri informed Possuelo and the elegy of scythes that had gathered for a briefing, a veritable rainbow of robes from dozens of regions.

“We have a record of how many scythe gems are in there,” Possuelo told the others. “We’ll keep a strict accounting and divide them evenly between every region.” “Under our observation,” insisted Scythe Onassis of Byzantium.

And although Possuelo hated that scythes no longer trusted one another, he agreed.

Possuelo was woken by pounding on his cabin door sometime after two in the morning. He tried to turn on his bedside lamp, but the bulb was out.

“Yes, yes, what is it? Why all the racket?” he called out as he stumbled in darkness to the door. He fished for the main light switch and flicked it, but that didn’t work, either. When he finally got the door open, Captain Soberanis stood in the harsh beam of a flashlight.

“Get your robe on and meet me on deck,” Jeri said.

“Whatever for—and what happened to the lights?”

“We’re running dark,” Jeri told him, handing Possuelo a flashlight as well.

And when Possuelo emerged on deck a few minutes later, he immediately understood why.

There in front of him, resting on the open deck, was a steel cube, triple their height, and still dripping wet.

The captain gave Possuelo a wicked grin. “Looks like my calculations were off.” “Wouldn’t be the first time,” quipped Wharton.

Clearly there was nothing “off” about the captain’s calculations. This timing had been carefully planned—and not just the raising of the vault, but everything leading up to it. Soberanis had timed this whole undertaking so that the vault was raised beneath a new moon. With the Spence and crane vessel running dark, no one on the other ships yet knew that the vault had been raised.

“To hell with the other scythes,” said Jeri. “As the scythe in charge of this entire salvage operation, you should be the first to view the contents without those vultures breathing down your back.” “You never cease to surprise me, Captain Soberanis,” said Possuelo with the widest of grins.

A laser technician had already burned through the steel rods that kept the vault sealed. A firm tug from the winch pulled the door free. It fell, hitting so hard it nearly ruptured the deck, and the hollow of the ship rang out a resounding gong. If there was anyone left in nearby ships who wasn’t already suspicious, they certainly were now.

A cold fog rolled out of the icy opening of the vault, like a doorway into another world. It was anything but inviting.

“No one goes in except for His Honor, Scythe Possuelo,” Jeri told the crew.

“Yes, Captain,” said Wharton. “Begging His Honor’s pardon, but what’s he waiting for?” The crew chuckled at that, and the conservator, who had been recording everything in the dim glow of a dozen flashlights, turned her camera toward Possuelo, capturing the moment, and his excited anticipation, for the ages.

Jeri put a gentle hand on Possuelo’s shoulder. “Savor it, Sydney,” Jeri whispered. “It’s what you’ve been waiting for.” No more waiting. Possuelo raised his flashlight and stepped into the Vault of Relics and Futures.

Jerico Soberanis was sharp and cunning. In another person those might have been dangerous traits, but Jeri was not the sort to use those talents in nefarious ways. In fact, the captain’s interests usually aligned with the greater good in one way or another. Salvaging Endura, for example. It was a great service to humanity, and it also did wonders for Jeri’s reputation. Win-win.

It would have been very tempting to let Possuelo sleep until after the vault was open and Jeri had taken a first look. But what good would that have done? Was Jeri going to steal a scythe diamond? Run off with Scythe Elizabeth’s glorious cobalt robe? No, this needed to be Possuelo’s moment. Jeri’s team was already being paid triple what they would normally get for their time, plus a huge bonus Possuelo had promised if they successfully retrieved the diamonds. So why not wrap them in a nice bow for Possuelo? He deserved at least that much.

“The diamonds are here,” Possuelo called out from within the vault. “They’re scattered all about, but they’re here.” Jeri could see them, glistening in the beam of Possuelo’s flashlight, as if the floor were littered with stars.

“The founders’ robes are here, too,” said Possuelo. “They appear undamaged, but—” Then suddenly he yelled—practically screamed.

Jeri raced to the vault, meeting Possuelo at the threshold. The scythe held on to the thick steel of the vault to balance himself, as if the ship were heaving on wild seas.

“What’s wrong,” Jeri asked. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” said Possuelo, although he clearly wasn’t. He looked out at the sea, where dozens of scythe yachts were already powering toward them, shining beams on the vault.

“We must stall them,” said Possuelo, then pointed to the conservator, who was still recording them. “You! Turn that off!” Possuelo demanded. “And erase what you already have!” The conservator was confused but wouldn’t refuse a scythe’s order.

Still gripping the steel frame of the vault doorway, Possuelo took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Your Honor?” said Jeri, even more concerned than before.

Possuelo grabbed Jeri’s hand, squeezing until it almost hurt. “You’re not going to believe what I found in there….”