A jolt went through her whole body, arm almost pulled out of her shoulder, numb skin, then solid ground under her feet again. Fingers entwined in hers.
“Come on, Miss Violet,” Gravel told her, holding her hand tight. “Don’t be doing that now. Inside we go.”
Chapter 8
“WHAT’S HE DOING?”
Nel turned her head to follow the sound of Jack’s voice. The Korrigan and the Kelpie. And her.
Jack, soot stained and blistered, reeking of burnt hair and leathers. Quill, back against the void, clawed hands clasped in front of him, just staring. How many times had she seen him like that? Praying, meditating, ignoring the rest of the world. How long since he’d even moved?
“Crying.”
“Kelpies don’t cry. Can’t.” Jack stated it as he would have normally done. But there was nothing in the words.
Kelpies cannot shed tears, so you will be crying on the inside.
Damnit, Piper, get out of my head.
For the hundredth time Nel ran her gaze and the tips of her fingers against the broken spider web of cracks on the bubble’s curving wall. As yet she couldn’t feel any abrasions inside, but if she could they’d likely be dead. Just three more frozen bodies drifting away.
The bubble was broken, almost a third of it riven with fractures. Gods only knew what was keeping it intact.
Gods only . . .
Nel ran her hand across the densest cluster of cracks again, pushing hard. They didn’t shift, not even a flake moved at her touch. But her fingers tingled, numbness, just at the tips.
How is he doing that? This ball should have cracked hours ago.
And it was more than that, she realised. They were drifting ever closer to Vice, another hour maybe and they’d be back on solid ground.
And, best case scenario, they’d be stranded there.
The alternative meant shipping out in the brig of an Alliance ship.
If Nel turned her head, faced away from the docks, she would still see the smouldering remains of the Tantamount. Burning up whatever remained of the air in its envelope. For all intents and purposes it was gone, gone with all hands going down with it.
Nel kept her gaze fixed firmly ahead, watching Vice grow larger until the bubble dropped, none too gently, onto the rim of the flat world.
Glass flew in all directions, flung away from the three of them. A last gesture from Quill or the result of him releasing whatever cantrip had been holding the thing together. The glistening fragments rained down around them, settling in a ring, tiny prisms that caught the light just so. Nel dropped to her knees amongst them, drawing a gasping breath of air.
Air that had been running out, growing thick and heavy inside the bubble. That was all it was, she told herself, as she drew breath after shuddering breath, just the air. Just breathing. Nothing else.
She fell, landing on her side, clutching her stomach. She didn’t remember being hit, being injured, but she must have been. So much pain there.
Shadows fell across her face. Jack looking down at her.
“Where are you going, Jack?” She heard Quill’s voice when the shadow moved away.
“Leaving.”
“But where?”
“Somewhere.”
Silence.
“You coming, Kelpie?”
More silence. A long, sibilant, indrawn breath.
“No.”
Heavy footfalls. Fading quickly.
On the edge of her eyeline, Quill settled in a crouch, hands clasped in front of himself again. He stared resolutely at those hands, hands that trembled and shook so firmly did he grip them against themselves.
Nel drew another shuddering breath and fought not to curl up into a little ball.
“EXPLAIN TO ME again, how this will work,” Quill muttered from behind her. That was Quill, never happy unless he was complaining. Didn’t help that he made some valid points when he did.
More valid than usual this time.
“Alliance ships run with Draugr,” Nel said. “Can’t run the complicated jobs but you find them a repetitive enough job, they can manage well enough. Frees up your deckhands for all else. Less crew per ship, means more ships, been pushing that way for years. Just takes some trial and training to find those jobs what Draugr can do.”
“How does one train a Draugr?” Quill asked.
“With candy,” Sharpe told him. “Sour lemon rocks, the kind you suck on till your face puckers up ’cause they’ll crack your jaw if you bite down on them. That’s why the poor beasties look the way they do. Lemon candy.”
Quill glared at him.
Sharpe grinned. His humour had been coming back. The tide was out on whether that was a good thing. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he said.
“I cannot. But that does not mean I believe you.”
“Stranger things are true, Mister Quill, stranger things.”
They’d parked themselves on a small rise, where cobblestones gave way to muddy and over-trodden trails. It was an ugly spot where dead-end streets ended in drunken, tottering buildings but it had the ideal vantage over the Draugr pens and the roads leading down to the harbour.
“This is taking too long,” Quill muttered.
“Takes as long as it takes, Loveland,” Nel told him.
“Kind of agree with Quill,” Sharpe admitted. “Sitting still, waiting, makes me nervous.”
“We haven’t done anything yet,” Nel scowled. “Nothing to be nervous about.”
“You haven’t. I’m on the run. Wanted man. Being hunted.”
“By who?” Nel snorted.
“The Guild,” Quill told her reproachfully. “Or have you forgotten already?”
Nel winced. Truth was, she had.
“And we’re sure about that?”
“I’m sure,” Sharpe said. “There were a few . . . incidents, along the way. Things that happened, happened wrong.”
“You didn’t mention this.”
Scowling. “A lot’s happened, Nel.”
Nel bit her tongue. Seemed the wisest response.
“More than likely this hunter was responsible for what happened to your crew,” Quill said.
“That,” Sharpe nodded, “and more.”
Yeah, makes sense, don’t it. And I just happened to find my old captain’s deed nailed to a board here. Convenient. Except I probably wasn’t who was supposed to find it.
“They’re coming,” Sharpe whispered, unnecessarily hoarsely.
And as of now the Draugr were beginning to file out of the compound. Neat orderly lines if not marching in step. There a dozen or so minders with them. Pipers, Nel thought with a grimace. The creatures responded to the notes en masse. It was an efficient system.
“I still do not see why we waited until they began loading,” Quill turned to her.
“Not loading, Quill,” Nel watched the procession. “Just wanted them out of the buildings. Didn’t want to go in after them.”
“That would have seemed simpler. Stoker and the others could simply have walked out with us once we found them.”
“Would have been seen. Paid the man off for a reason, mean to get my return. They’ll be the last ones out, on account of them hoping some rich dandy captain is going to swoop in and buy them. So we know where to look. And grabbing them from the tail is a sight more easy than hunting down the whole line.”
“Clever,” Sharpe said.
“Until we are seen anyway,” Quill pointed out. “Or do you intend to dispose of the guards? This is not your first rescue attempt, either of you. Correct?”
“You steal ships, we rescues princesses,” Sharpe told him. “That’s how the world works.”
Nel kept counting off Draugr as they marched. She was over a hundred now. “Speaking of princesses,” she said. “Plan doesn’t require you being here, Quill. Fact is you’d be more useful tracking down Jack.”
“I know where he is,” Quill assured them.
“And where’s that?” Sharpe asked.
�
��The town square.”
“You sure? Won’t have moved on?”
“I am sure.”
Nel frowned. Town square? Worry about that later, Jack is Quill’s problem. Focus on yours.
“We need to get the whistles,” Nel reminded them, singling out the pipers.
“Not all the whistles,” Sharpe pointed out. “Just enough for a dozen or so likely lads. If we take them all we’ll be leading a procession back to the docks. Be a grand sight but won’t help us with your plan.”
“Good distraction though,” Nel said. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
“And the rest of your plan?” Quill asked. “Where do you plan to obtain the uniforms?”
“Don’t need the uniforms, Quill,” Nel said. “Just raincapes and colours. There’s a store not a few blocks away, can get what we need there. This isn’t a daylight job so that will get us by.”
Quill looked sceptical. “Perhaps.”
“Meet us between here and the docks,” she told him. “I’ll have a pretty blue dress just for yourself by then.”
“With a bonnet and bow,” Sharpe added. “And you’ll look prettier than a songbird in spring.”
“If this works . . .” Quill sighed, a rather tepid response Nel thought. “Never mind. Very well, I will see you both later. Until then.”
The Kelpie slipped away, leaving Nel and Sharpe alone.
“That was unexpected,” Sharpe said. “Is he getting more agreeable in his old age?”
“No,” Nel told him. “Ain’t that.”
“What then?”
“Violet,” she said simply. “He’d never say it but he wouldn’t deny it either. He’s dark . . . over what happened to her. Learning she’s still out there, that we . . . left her out there, it won’t sit right with him until he puts it right.”
Easier for him. He has a chance to make it right. Not sure I ever can.
The pens looked to be mostly empty now. Time to make their move. She motioned to Sharpe.
Sharpe nodded. “Always liked that about Quill,” he said as they started down the hill. “Never knew where you stood with him but he did have his own code. Respect that in a fellow.”
“Don’t think any of us really understood Quill’s code,” Nel frowned. “Except maybe the captain. Maybe Piper too, come to think of it. Both always knew which way Quill would jump before I did. Hells, maybe it was just me.”
“It wasn’t just you,” Sharpe’s voice was dropping as they drew closer. Little more than a whisper.
“He blames me, Quill does. For what happened to Violet.”
“Was it your fault?”
“It was my choice.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
“Same result.”
“Hard to argue that. So let’s steal some bodies, hey? And then we can move on with getting our girl back.”
Sharpe pulled his hood up and together they slipped quietly towards the back of the Draugr procession.
“STILL HAVING BAD dreams, my furry little wench? The nightmare kind, not the wanton kind.” Gravel played a card on top of hers, scoring the round. Violet made a rude sound and played another card without paying much attention. Gravel was a snarky little street urchin. She liked that. Made him easier to talk to. Easier than the stiffer and more formal Niko Kaspar.
“Ain’t yours, snipe, and at least one of us can grow hair.”
Gravel laughed good-naturedly and cleared the cards. It was his turn to shuffle.
“Remind me to kick your boy in the shins about running his mouth too,” Violet said.
Gravel missed a deal, sending a card off the table. He swore and bent to retrieve it. “The game is euchre, little fox, we’re both going alone. And Kas ain’t my boy.”
“Spoilt for choice there, but he still runs his mouth.”
Gravel shrugged. “He can keep it shut, more than you think anyway.”
Violet didn’t answer.
“Don’t be all mad he told me about your night terrors. He used to have them himself not so long ago.”
Violet looked up from her cards. They were bad anyways. “He said he went over the side once.”
“Didn’t say much else, right?”
“No. Yes. Some.”
“Sounds like our Niko.”
“So what happened? How did it happen?”
Gravel shrugged.
“Oh come on,” Violet said. “You know, I can tell.”
“Never was good at saying no to a pretty lady.” Her playing partner placed his cards face down on the table, leaning back and folding his arms.
“It was two years ago,” Gravel mused, his eyes becoming distant as he brought back old memories. “Kaspar was fresh out of officer school, and I still had the tar of the docks on me. As far as the brass and braids were concerned, we were expendable. That old fox Raines, he’d come up with a new idea. Something brilliant, they all said, a way to sail a ship without sails. A ship that could sail from the Edge to the Morgana. Barmy, I thought. Absolute madness. But the brass and braids went for it and built the damned thing. Then they just needed some idiot to shake it down. And that,” he picked his cards up again, “is where our dashing young Niko and I came in.”
“How?” Violet asked. “This ship . . . it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. Even heard of. How did you—”
“How did a bilge rat like me and a bright shiny pup like Kaspar end up stealing her maidenhead?” He grinned at her.
“Don’t be an ass.”
“They needed volunteers. The original was nothing like this. It was an open-decked sloop with Raine’s contraption bolted to it. Proof of concept they called it. And that concept didn’t need much in the way of crew once you took out the rigging. Just a couple of people nobody would miss much. Kaspar volunteered. I didn’t get so much say.”
Violet nodded. “So your trip went wrong?”
“Aye,” Gravel shook his head. “Aye, you could say it went wrong. We didn’t know it at the time but we weren’t the first ones to test this . . . concept. First boat they sent out never came back. Second one exploded, somewhere out near the belts. Exploded, lass, less than a week into their shakedown.”
“How long did it take you?”
“Your faith in me is touching, lass,” Gravel reproached her.
“Can’t build the drama when I can see you survived,” she told him. “And it had to work at some point ’cause we’re sitting in the middle of it playing cards to talk about it.”
“Aye, spoils the ending, don’t it. Trip was meant to last two weeks in that bucket of tin and gears. Had enough supplies for three, broke it in one, and didn’t make it back for a month, maybe longer. Got hard to tell near the end there.”
“So?” Violet demanded impatiently. “What happened?”
“Broke the old fox’s damned engine, didn’t we? Well . . . I broke it,” he grimaced. “Kaspar didn’t make a big deal about that in the final report but that’s what happened. Broke the engine and we drifted off course. We managed to pull together a sail and catch a solar back home eventually. Luck of the black, really, weren’t nothing astounding on our part.”
Violet shook her head. “You’re the worst storyteller ever to climb a ship’s rigging. How in the hells did Kaspar go over the side?”
“Trying to fix the engine I busted. Like I said, they bolted the piece of scrap to the hull, had to dangle him over the edge to try and fix it. Not that we could. Line got snagged and he had to cut himself free, wasn’t enough pull from the ether to hold him in so he fell right through the envelope.”
Gravel shuddered. “Damned scary,” he admitted quietly. “Seeing him drift off like that. We had no steering at that point, wasn’t a chance in all the Lanes I could have gone after him. He managed to grab the end of the line and pull himself in, but it was a damned close thing. Seemed fine at the time. Wasn’t till after a day or so that he felt the falling. Hard lad, I guess, when he needs to be.”
“How long?” Violet asked. “H
ow long did he have the night terrors for?”
“Too long,” Gravel said uncomfortably. “Whose deal is it?”
“Yours,” Violet said, watching him carefully. She suspected Gravel was cheating—he always dealt her too many black cards. That and there was another deck mixed in. She had pairs of the same card several times. Violet rubbed at her eyes. Her eyes ached and her hands trembled. Then Violet cursed as she realised she’d missed Gravel dealing. She took up her cards.
Blacks again, damnit.
“Happened to me once,” she said as they played their hands. “Fell through the envelope, ended up at the end of my rope.”
“Good story?” Gravel asked politely.
“Running an ice cargo. Started melting and we sprung a leak. Leak burst when I was fixing it.”
“Wet fur,” Gravel nodded. “Must be heavy, nor your best look.”
Violet glared at him and slapped a card down.
“You’ve the worst luck, Miss Violet,” Gravel said, shaking his head at her latest play. “Or would you like me to go over the rules again?”
“Blame the dealer,” Violet said, waving her cards at him.
“So how many times you fall off the ship, lass?” Gravel sighed when he saw her hand. “Just the two times? With the ice slip and what when we found you all frozen and stiff in the black? Weren’t the same, surely.”
“Weren’t the same,” Violet snapped.
“Heard stories about Free Lanes crews.”
“Yeah?”
“Aye, meant to be devious and unscrupulous-like. Running all sorts of ill-gotten and underhanded goods. And meant to be good at what they do. Never thought they’d be shipping frozen water and falling sodden over the side.”
Violet threw her cards at him.
“Played a lot of cards with the ensign,” Gravel said, picking up what she’d thrown. “Wouldn’t believe it but the lad’s got a temper on him too. Gets frustrated just like everyone else.”
“Why wouldn’t I believe that?”
“’Cause of how he carries himself aboard here, all prim and proper. Yes sir, no ma’am. Aye Captain. Saluting just so and always neatly pressed. A proper officer and a gentleman.”
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