“This works then everyone is gonna know,” Gravel kept talking. “Gonna hear, gonna know, gonna get all mad at us.”
Violet stopped and faced him. “You can go back,” she told him. “Go back to your hammock. Forget this. Won’t think any less of you.”
Gravel shook his head, without hesitation. “Ain’t about being thought less of, Miss Violet. About being more, being better.”
“Why?”
“What happened below,” Gravel said. “That ain’t right. Waking up one day and finding the Alliance just took over your town. Seen that before. Didn’t like being part of it though.”
“What you said about Autarch though,” Violet said.
“I knows what I said. The right thing the wrong way for the wrong reasons makes it a lot less right. That’s why I’m with you, Miss Violet. Figure this is the more right thing. For all of us.”
“This works,” Violet said, holding him by the shoulder. “Then we’re gone. With Sharpe, Bandit too. Off this boat.”
“And then what?” Gravel’s eyes were bright in the darkness, almost as bright as Bandit’s when the loompa opened them all the way. Like small moons in a pale and furry face.
“Don’t know, have to get to then first. Worry about what after then. But . . . I’m glad you’re coming. With me. Us. Bandit likes you.”
Gravel turned his head towards Bandit. The loompa tapped him on the nose.
“Aye, I like you both too.”
Violet started to reply but was stopped short by the skittering ahead. Scrabbling, like little claws, exactly like a smaller Bandit.
“Easy there,” Gravel reached up to soothe Bandit as he tensed to pursue. “Just a rat, nothing to worry about.”
“Used to be his job,” Violet said. “On . . . back on . . .”
“Your old ship, aye. Loompas are good for that, better than cats even since they can climb.”
“Cats can climb.”
“Not rigging they can’t.”
Violet shrugged. “Come on,” she said. “It’s up ahead, unless they moved it.”
“They didn’t.”
Been back checking, have you? Kaspar wouldn’t like that. Wouldn’t like none of what we’re doing. Shame though. He could be here too then. Then it’d be him that . . .
“Here,” Gravel said, holding the light higher.
Violet shaded her eyes with one hand. The light wasn’t needed, her eyes had adjusted just fine. Probably because of all the time she spent down here she saw better in the dark now. Saw more where there was just shadows and didn’t trip over things others didn’t see.
And now she saw their goal. Onyx.
There was, she had to admit, a sleek, polished beauty to the black golem. What light there was sheeted over the smooth contours, the cast meant to resemble a person. But the arm protrusions that came to such deadly tapered points showed the truth. The golem was a tool, a weapon, meant to sow death and destruction.
And you work for me now, crag-face. See if you don’t.
Violet sucked in a breath. “Ok,” she said. “Make it . . .”
“What?” Gravel answered. “Dance? Curtsey?”
“Try walking. Walking would be good.”
Gravel made a face at her. “Walking, she says. Fine, walking it is.”
He took a step closer, which prompted Bandit to dismount in a hurry, taking up an aggressive posture and squawking at the golem. Gravel waved him off, then clasped his hands together, cracking his knuckles.
“Don’t like that sound,” Violet winced.
“Helps me think,” Gravel said. “Now . . .”
He raised his hands. There was light crackling around his fingers, thick bolts. They ought to be blue, coloured, but it was too dark to see them. Just the faintest tinge to them. The bolts were thicker though, faster too, compared to what Violet had seen on other thaumatics. Did that mean he was stronger? Or something else? He wasn’t trained like all the others—even Gabbi had been taught the proper how to this.
Nothing happened.
“Make it walk.”
“I’m trying,” Gravel said through gritted teeth. He clenched his fists and pulled them back towards his belly. Still Onyx refused to move.
“Seen it done,” Violet said. “It’s thaumatics that make it move, can’t do it without them.”
She rolled the captain’s ball in one hand, inside her shirt pocket, as she thought quickly. It helped her think. Focus. Even made the headaches less. This could work. She’d seen it work.
He moved you before. And Quill moved you before that, she thought hard at it. Moved you right across the ship and back. Would have cleared you off the deck if she hadn’t been there to save your craggy behind.
Gravel dropped his hands and stepped back in disgust. It was an expression Violet was so familiar with it took her by surprise. Maybe it was a navigator thing.
Thaumatic, not navigator. Not the same thing. Not all thaumatics are navigators.
“Maybe it’s something else then.”
“Like what?”
“How should I know? A key, everything locked needs a key.”
“It’s a big rock. It don’t lock.”
“Maybe a word,” Gravel continued, thinking aloud, ignoring her. “Maybe it only works for certain people. Special people. Like owners and them that made it.”
“Raines made it,” Violet said.
Gravel blanched. “How’d you know that?”
“’Cause he told me. Brought me down here to show it off. Felt like that anyhow, didn’t make much sense.”
Gravel was very pale, even under the lack of lighting. “Violet, this is bad. We can’t use this thing. Can’t trust it. Not if Raines made it.”
“Have to,” Violet said, not willing to argue beyond that. “I need to get Sharpe out. This is how I do it.”
“The fox scares me, lass,” Gravel told her simply. “He ought to scare you.”
Yeah, he scares me. But . . .
“So you won’t work for my friend,” Violet said. “Fine, don’t do that. Be stubborn. But Raines made you. And he’s my kind. He made you for Scarlett, for her. But he made you. So . . .”
“Lass,” Gravel cautioned as she moved closer to Onyx, hands outstretched, palms flat and facing forward. She ignored him.
“So you’re gonna work for me, rockslide,” she whispered, touching her hands to the smooth black chest. It felt cool to the touch but there was something under the surface. Not warmth, but . . . an attraction. Something pulling at her hands. Felt like quicksand, soft snow. Mud. Just waiting for her to sink in. Violet squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating. She could see red when she thought hard enough, red through the lids of her eyes. And still that sinking feeling.
I made you move before, didn’t I? Looked out through your eyes. Smashed the ship up good. Well, we’re gonna do that again. Just let me in. Open the door and then let me in.
Open the door and step inside, little one.
Her face was screwed up in concentration. She knew this because she could see it herself, looking down. Through the golem’s eyes.
It brought her headache back with a blinding stab. She staggered, hand to her face and clutching. The golem did the same, mimicking her pose.
“Damn,” Gravel whispered, taking a step back.
Violet grinned fiercely.
Got you now.
SNEAKING A HULKING stone behemoth through the labyrinth that was the Fata Morgana was not something Violet had thought through. Fortune favoured them that it was a dead watch and that Sharpe’s holding cell was close enough to where Onyx had been stored. But for the most part it was plain dumb luck that kept them from being discovered.
“This is the one,” Violet said, in front of Sharpe’s cell.
“You’re sure he understands?” Gravel asked, looking sceptically at the golem.
“She’s sure,” Sharpe’s dry voice called back from the other side of door, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You all wearing steel-soled boots out there o
r you just bring a marching band with you? Heard you coming from half the ship away.”
“Shush your face,” Violet told him, holding a hand to her head. Her headache was getting worse. Like there was too much thinking going on in there. Was it the stress or something to do with ordering Onyx around? Couldn’t worry about that now. Just had to get Sharpe and make for the boats. Then Onyx wasn’t going to be a worry. In fact the blighter could take a long walk off a short pier back into the mist for all Violet cared. And fall.
Fall. Falling . . .
Not now. Can’t think about that now.
“Sharpe, move away from the door,” Violet told him.
“Vi, I can barely lie down in this pen, there is no away from the door.”
That was a problem.
“You planning on kicking the door in, Miss Violet?” Gravel asked her. “Might not be too healthy for your friend there.”
“Who’s that?” Sharpe asked. “I know that voice.”
“Name’s Gravel, Mister Sharpe, or Brandon, if you prefer.”
“What do you prefer?”
“That we hurry the hells up.”
“Smart lad, I approve. Hurry up it is. No kicking, though, so we’re clear.”
“Try the wheel,” Violet said, half to herself. She made the gesture, thought about what she wanted, tried to channel her inner lightning. It all made no sense and she still hadn’t figured it out yet. Onyx put hands to wheel and wrenched. The wheel came away with the sound of protesting metal, there was no way it hadn’t woken half the ship. Onyx took a step back, holding the dismembered handle. The was a hole maybe two hands wide in the door that buckled outwards but it wouldn’t open. No way anyone was fitting through either, except maybe Bandit who bounded for the gap, hanging on by his paws and lifting his face to peer inside.
Sharpe’s face appeared on the other side of the gap, to Bandit’s delight. Sharpe’s hairy, bearded face.
“Hello, my friend,” Sharpe beamed at the loompa as it batted at his whiskers, trying to pull him through the gap. “Good to see you too.”
He caught Violet’s eye and grinned. “And aren’t you the sight, Vi. Think we might need a bigger hole though. And . . .”
That was when he saw Onyx. His face paled and he jerked back from the hole.
“Sharpe,” Violet hissed. “Get back here.”
“Why is the rock here?” he called back. She dropped down and peered through the hole. Sure enough he was backed up as far away as he could in the cramped confines of the cell.
“Helping,” she told him.
“Since when?”
“Since now. Stay there. Gonna fix the door.”
“You too,” she said to Gravel, who swooped up Bandit, taking a step back. Then another, to be sure.
“All right,” Violet took a deep breath, talking mostly to herself. She imagined, thought, compelled Onyx opening the door.
And nothing happened.
She glared at the golem. The golem stared blankly back at her.
You have no idea what you’re doing.
“Hells damnit!” Violet slammed her fist against the door in frustration. She recoiled in pain, clutching at her hand, then brought the whole arm up to cover her face as Onyx struck out at the door, driving the point of its blade into the lock mechanism. Onyx jerked its fist back, taking the whole mechanism and the locking bars with it. The door tottered, creaking, then fell with a sound that shook the corridor, revealing Sharpe.
Bandit and Violet both launched themselves at him in tandem, wrestling with each other as they wrapped limbs around him. Violet buried her face in his shoulder. It was damp and when she lifted her face she realised it was from her own leaking eyes. Bandit made little mewling sounds so there was that. At least there was that.
“Good to see you too, Vi.” Sharpe held on tight, even with Bandit pulling at his clothes.
“Happy as y’all look, we should break this reunion up and move,” Gravel told them. “Can hear alarms going off all over the ship.”
“Come on, little ones,” Sharpe said, finally letting go of Violet. “What’s the plan?”
Violet took a moment. Her migraine was gone, forgotten, but she found herself short of breath. Sharpe took her hesitation to mean something else.
“You have a plan, right? Tell me this isn’t as far as you thought this through!”
Violet grimaced at him. “Course I got a plan, a good one.”
HE HAD NO business being here and Mors knew it. The Luscan’s eyes were boring into him, making Kaspar fight the urge to keep his hands at his side. He waited for one of the other officers to call on him or dismiss him.
They were all there, which concerned him. Aristeia never called meetings of the officers, and Raines had addressed the crew twice since taking over. And yet they were all gathered in the wardroom, what had formerly or should have been the wardroom. Now it was Raines’ workshop.
There were three other ensigns there, a marine lieutenant subordinate to Mors who acted as their captain, Aristeia as skipper, and a mix of junior officers and mates. All somewhere between attention and ill-at-ease. Waiting for Raines to finish his conversation.
The Kelpie captain had not come alone. She had a companion, an unfamiliar Korrigan woman. Kaspar recognised her from the mess hall but couldn’t name her.
The conversation was clearly important, above his pay grade, and unless Kaspar read the tension wrong, meant to be much more private.
Both Heathen and Aristeia had just raised this very point.
Raines looked up from his chair, frowning. He looked irritated, dismissive.
“Fine,” he waved his hand. “Go away, all of you. Away.”
“Dismissed,” Aristeia said for good measure.
“You too, Coldstream,” Heathen added. Mors narrowed his eyes at her but Aristeia nodded, reluctantly. He joined the procession of officers.
“Not you,” Raines called out as Kaspar was halfway towards the door. He winced, pausing mid-step, feeling the eyes of his fellows on him. He turned the heel and stepped back to stand at attention. He heard the door shut behind, ominous and echoing.
“Captain, this is irregular,” Aristeia protested.
“I have questions.”
“They can wait until after this meeting.”
“Or I could ask them now. Ensign, your report.”
“Sir?” Kaspar looked between them. Aristeia glaring, Heathen studying him. And then there was the stranger. Probably Guild.
“Your charge, the girl, report,” Raines leaned back, waving his hand again.
“Violet?”
“Yes,” Raines said impatiently. “Her, what have you noticed?”
“Little, sir,” Kaspar said, shifting uncomfortably.
“Nothing? Nothing unusual, out of the ordinary. Nothing of note?”
“Just that . . .” Kaspar hesitated.
“Yes?” Raines leaned forward.
“She still has the falling, sir. Trouble with colours, dizziness, a fear of heights.”
“That is to be expected, Ensign,” Heathen said. “She was pulled from the black, barely alive.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nothing else?”
“Not much of a report,” the newcomer grinned. “Hardly worth staying around for.”
Kaspar hesitated. The woman had come in with the Kelpie, almost certainly Guild. The golem, hidden though it was below, had also come via Heathen. And when they’d chased down the Tantamount . . .
Bad things follow her. That hasn’t changed.
“I think we can dismiss the ensign,” Aristeia said pointedly.
“Yes, yes,” Raines shrugged. “To other matters. Heathen, Verity, what have you to tell me? How much longer do we have to—”
“Captain,” Aristeia growled.
“The ensign is still here? Off you go, my lad, off you go.”
Kaspar saluted, turning for the door again. It opened before he could reach for it. Mors. The Luscan glared at him, then past hi
m.
“We have a situation,” he announced.
“THE HELLS IS that thing?” Sharpe’s voiced echoed around the deck. His words made Gravel turn and stare at him, stopped short, a bemused expression plastered on his face.
“You sound . . .”
“Sound like the skipper,” Violet said. “But then you were sweet on her, weren’t you?”
Sharpe flinched. The man actually clutched at his chest, gripping at his shirt. He faced Violet with wide eyes.
He started to say, “Violet, I—”
“No,” Violet shook her head. “Not now, shouldn’t had said anything. Talk about it later.”
“Later would be good,” Sharpe managed a smile. “Later, I have something . . . and . . . later. After we get away from this ship.”
He turned and pointed. “But that is not a ship.”
Gravel had cleared the tarps around the test ship, the tender that was going to carry them away. And it truly didn’t look like much, just the bones of a vessel cleared of all mast and rigging. Incomplete and all the more worrisome for it. And there was the problem of how they were going to get it outside in the first place.
“It’s a launch,” Gravel pushed him towards it, tugging Violet along by the hand. “Don’t stop.”
“No sails, where are the sails?” Sharpe did stumble to a halt. He twisted half around. “Raines made that.”
“And I sailed it, now move,” Gravel pushed him again.
“No sails,” Sharpe repeated, stumbling towards the launch.
“Mister Sharpe,” Gravel held him by the shoulders, staring him down. “Need you to focus here, sir. Can’t be doing this without you.”
Sharpe stared back at him, blankly or with focus, Violet couldn’t see.
“Controls are right simple, least until we get going. Need you to operate them, work them just so.”
“Me?” Sharpe pulled back.
“Aye, you. Little tug is all locked up, and I have to see to that, don’t have time to say how. Lowered just so. Miss Vi, need you to open the hatches, no, not now, if you please. Those are the levers there. Yank them and the floor’s going to open up under us. At the last, or they’ll know we’re here, won’t take them long as it is to figure without us ringing more bells.”
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