"Drive it off!" yelled Henry Smalls. "Don't let it crush the boat!" The little steward had a dagger in hand and was hacking and jabbing at the coil in the middle of their ship. His blade scraped and scored and finally hit home. The serpent gave a grunt.
Other crewmen set about the monster. A man with filed-down teeth and patchy red hair struck a solid blow with his hatchet. The serpent yowled again, its voice like bending iron. It darted in, lightning quick, knocking Sara Lome down and biting at the other pirate who'd struck. He shouted and swung at its nose, just ducking aside.
Lina stared in horror as the maw of the thing passed just inches away from her. Then the serpent shifted back. Something in the wooden hull of the boat cracked as it moved. Yet another challenge. All right. I won't back down. Lina drew a dagger and threw herself at the coil of the serpent. She scrabbled over Sarah Lome to hack and stab at the monster. Its scales were too thick though, too tough. The beast was going to break their ship and then devour them from the water, one by one.
Sarah Lome caught Lina's eye. "Keep at it," she said. Then she stood, took her oar up again in both hands, and yelled. "Hey! Hey, beast!" She turned and swung at the coil of the monster. The oar cracked in half with a sound like a gunshot.
The serpent roared. It reared back and glared at Sarah Lome. The piratess grinned a feral grin and took up a stance with her broken oar. The monster darted down at her.
Glowing arcane liquid sprayed across the face of the serpent. It roared again and jerked backwards. The whole vessel shook with its throes, flinging the pirates about. Lina lost her footing and fell down against the gunwales, her dagger landing next to her in the bilge. More liquid fire shot out to score the thing, turning its scales black and pitted.
Maxim stood upright near the stern, half-cloak and long black hair flapping in the breeze, eyes stern above his prominent nose. The aetherite had both hands clasped together over some arcane Working that seethed and seeped liquid light. Drops of it dribbled down to the waves, crackling and spattering where they touched the water.
"Back!" he cried, accent thick. He flung the conjured liquid in another scalding spray at the serpent. The creature darted away, but coiled as it was around the boat, it couldn't dodge far enough. A few caustic drops still caught it across the side.
The serpent roared and sank back down beneath the waves. Its coiled length loosened and shifted, pulling free from the longboat. The little vessel rocked and shook, until the finned tail slipped over their heads, then down into the waves.
Pirates stood frozen, waiting for another attack. Henry Smalls crouched with his knife like a bulldog ready to pounce, Sarah Lome clutched her broken oar. Oscar Pleasant stood in the middle of the boat, looking frantically around at the roiling sea. He had a dagger clutched in one hand and Lina's severed hair in the other. Maxim scowled and released the rest of his conjured hell-spittle. It scattered overboard with a sizzling pop, like hot bacon grease poured into cold water.
"Is...is that it?" asked Oscar. "Is it gone?"
The ocean exploded beside him. The serpent reared up, skin blackened and smoldering. Oscar flung himself aside with a scream as it struck out, jaws wide. Lina drew her other dagger, pointing in futility at it. But the serpent pulled back and sank below the waves before anyone else could react.
One minute passed, then another. The pirates spread out to watch the water, weapons held at the ready. It did not rise again though. The serpent was gone.
The crew relaxed. Sarah Lome lay down her oar. Then she spied Oscar and belted out a laugh. Lina glanced over to where the pirate lay in the middle of the boat, shaking, pale and white. He clutched his knife still in the one hand. In the other he held only a small tuft of what was left of Lina's long hair.
Oscar looked down at the bits of hair, then up at the huge woman. "S'not funny!" he yelled. "That could have been my arm!" He scrambled to his feet as others joined in. "It's not funny, damn yer eyes! I almost died, and we're worse off now than before! That damned snake cracked the hull. Look, we're taking on water!"
Lina grabbed up her dagger as she glanced down at the bilge. He was right. Water was dribbling in through several cracks in the wood. And the waves were just level with the gunwales where the sea serpent had crushed them.
"Mr. Pleasant," said their captain.
Lina glanced up at the bow. Captain Fengel had half-turned to face the crew. He had a hand upon the pommel of his sword, though the blade was only drawn an inch, as if he had only just now decided to involve himself in the serpent attack.
"If you are quite done with histrionics," continued Fengel, "I suggest you begin to bail, and the rest of you, row." He swayed slightly, certainly just the swell of the waves beneath the boat. Fengel pointed out at the horizon. Distantly, Lina could just make out a dark speck. "The Copper Isles. We're finally home."
Silence reigned as the crew peered out over the ocean. Then they became ebullient.
"We made it!" cried Oscar Pleasant. "We made it!"
"Wir werden leben!" yelled Maxim, reverting to his native tongue in excitement.
"The Captain did it," said Sarah Lome, voice soft with wonder. She threw herself back down onto a bench and reached for an oar as the pirates all praised the Goddess, their leaky longboat, and the Captain himself. "Quiet," she bellowed at them. "Oscar's right for once. Captain's got us this far, now it's time for us to do the rest, before we all sink. Henry, get to the tiller. Oscar, Geoffrey, Maxim, start bailing. The rest of you, row!"
What followed was some of the most backbreaking labor that Lina had ever been subjected to. Stroke by stroke they approached the horizon, Sarah Lome doing the lion's share of the work, rowing as much as any three other men combined. Henry Smalls guided from the tiller. The rest used their hands to help paddle or bail leaking water from the bilge.
The distant speck resolved into a small island chain as the sun crawled down from the sky. Lina spied no beaches, only sheer sea-cliffs riddled with shining veins of copper and topped with thick and impenetrable jungle. Jagged rocks and outcrops protected the approach from every direction. These were the Copper Isles, a notorious pirate haven and the bane of shipping between the Western Continent of Edrus and the newly discovered continent of Yulan.
Evening found them paddling out of a small canyon waterway into a lagoon deep within the interior of the isles. The cove was ringed by the same sheer, hundred-foot-high cliffs that Lina had seen everywhere else in this place. Green vines and vegetation crept down from the heights to drape across the other waterways that led here, most only big enough for a longboat. The far end of the cove was gentler, and the cliff there slanted down to the water in a series of natural terraces. A town had been built upon these, an echo in wood and stone of the creepers and growth hanging elsewhere above the cove. Lina spotted houses, shops, and workmen's huts, all hanging precariously, linked by rickety bridges and suspended boardwalks. A series of piers stretched out from the bottom of the township, a pair of sail ships now at dock. Mirror to its twin below, the top of the town supported another harbor, though for a very different kind of vessel.
Like great bulbous fish, the skyship gasbags stretched golden and gleaming in the fading sunlight, shining sails spread wide along their lengths. Beneath each hung the long shape of the vessel itself, a hull like any other ship attached by thick cables to the oblong balloon frame. There were half a dozen of the wondrous vessels, and Lina's breath caught in her chest at the sight of them.
This was Haventown. Home port of Fengel's Men and the only sky-pirate den in all the seas that were known.
"Just a little farther," croaked Henry Smalls.
The steward's voice brought her back to the present. Lina bent back to bailing, cupping her hands and tossing water overboard. The crewmen around her were ready to collapse in exhaustion, and she was as well. The only one who did not row or bail was the captain, sitting serenely up at the bow, confident that his crew would not fail him. By now the water in their bilge filled a quarter of the boat, a
nd was halfway up Lina's calves where she sat on a bench.
"Put your backs into it!" roared Sarah. The piratess heaved at the oars, seemingly indomitable. The dying vessel surged with each powerful stroke, leaping forward in fits and starts.
Lina felt like she would die. Slowly they crossed the lagoon, sinking lower with every passing moment. Two-thirds of the way across, the water came up to her waist, the bench seat she sat on only just above the waterline. When they finally made it to the town and pulled in along an empty pier, only the tips of the gunwales were above the water.
The longboat scraped to a stop against the stony shore. Up above the tideline the pier turned into a weathered boardwalk bordering the docks from the rest of the town. Captain Fengel stood and nimbly climbed the ladder up to the pier, conveniently having stopped just next to it. His crew half-walked, half-swam after him, or made for the bow and the shore.
Lina floated in the drowned longboat, resting. Then, in floundering fits and starts, she pushed away from the boat and dog-paddled her way up to the shore where the boardwalk stretched out to the pier. She collapsed, panting, and barely noticed the shadow that fell across her. Lina glanced up to see Captain Fengel peering down at her through his monocle, a vaguely surprised expression on his face.
"You can't tie that wreck up here!" shouted a voice.
A figure appeared out of the gloom. Tall, sandy-haired and ruggedly handsome, he was a pirate straight out of the penny-shows that Lina had loved as a child. He looked to be several years older than her, in his early twenties, his smile easy and cocksure. He held a mug in one hand, brimming with foamy ale. "Other ships need the space," he said with a smile.
Fengel and Lina both glanced back down the dock at the empty piers. Henry Smalls crept over to join them, standing deferentially behind his captain and looking like a scruffy, half-drowned bulldog.
The stranger stepped over Lina as if she weren't even there and came to a stop before Fengel. He grabbed at the captain's hand and pumped it, slapping his shoulder as well. "Goddess' teats. I was waiting for you up at Skydock near our usual watering hole. Then I saw the little longboat floundering around down here in the lagoon. Where's our bleeding ship at?"
Fengel considered the man calmly. It must only have been a trick of the light that he seemed to sway. Henry stepped beside his captain. "It's gone, Lucian," said the little steward. "The Flittergrasp is gone."
Their captain reached out, took Lucian's drink, and downed it in one smooth gulp. "First mate Thorn," he said to Lucian, his voice a harsh croak. "We’ve had a rather rough time of it. I would appreciate if you could take up the command for now."
Lucian stared at Henry in dismay, his drink forgotten in the face of their news. "But how? What happened to the ship?"
"Aetherite blew it up in Triskelion," said Henry. "We've barely made it back."
"In a longboat? Across the Atalian Sea?"
"It was a kind of balloon at first. Someone's idea of an airship. Happened to be attached to the longboat, thankfully."
Lucian covered his eyes. "Our ship. Our beautiful ship." He straightened with a sigh. "Captain...there's no loot either, is there?"
Captain Fengel only frowned.
The first mate groaned. "Captain, you need to pay off Mr. Grey. Very, very badly. And now, without a ship..." He looked back to Fengel. "Captain, we need to talk about this. But you'll have to go pay obeisance to Blackheart first."
Fengel staggered as if he had been shot. An ugly scowl curled its way onto his face. "Ah. Yes. Obeisance."
"She's up at the Bleeding Teeth. But—hello. Who is this?" The first mate stared down at Lina, one eyebrow raised.
Lina tried to stand and talk at the same time, and failed. Lucian reached down to help her up. "Lina," she tried again, attempting a smile at the dashing first mate. He winced, and she knew she had been less than successful. Oh, that's right. I've no hair anymore.
"Doxy from Triskelion who wanted to be a pirate," said Henry. He turned to Fengel. "Sir, you can't put off your obeisance to Blackheart, but we can't be going up to Natasha in this state."
Fengel shook, as if surprised to find himself where he was. "What? Poppycock." His voice wavered. He looked around, as if taking in the dock and the town for the first time. His eyes darted down to the groaning pirates laying about the pier and he frowned as if surprised to see them there. "Mr. Mate, I would be obliged if you could take care of the crew."
Lucian nodded. "Of course, sir. Of course." Then he blinked. "How should I take care of them, sir?"
Fengel swayed. "We've just come back to port. Do what we usually do."
Henry Smalls spoke up. "It's exposure, Lucian. Lots of small beer, clean water, and food."
Lucian nodded, then turned back to the captain. "But with what money, sir?"
"Lucian, I leave that…in your capable hands."
Lucian peered at him. So did Henry. Fengel didn’t seem to notice. Lucian sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll just take them to Garvey's Hole. Put it all on the tab." He frowned back at Henry Smalls. "That tab's still good, yes?"
Henry rolled his eyes. "Until tomorrow, apparently."
Fengel clapped Lucian on the shoulder. "Good. You have your orders, Lucian. Henry, you're with me. And…you too, Miss Stone."
Saying nothing more, he staggered past them onto the boardwalk and up the hill.
Lina stared after him, then turned to the other two men. She worked her mouth to get enough spit to talk. "Obeisance?" she asked. "To who? Who's this Natasha? Not even the serpent made him flinch."
Henry and Lucian both narrowed their eyes. "His wife," they said as one. The loathing in their voices sent a shiver up Lina's spine.
Chapter Two
The heat-fatigue was making things rather difficult.
Fengel concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. The wooden stair he climbed was steep and built haphazardly into the earthen slope between terraces. His breath came in short gasps, stolen in the moments between mounting one step and pushing down upon the last.
A platform landing appeared halfway up this terrace. Grateful, Fengel stopped a moment. It was not large. Several small shacks clustered on it like a clutch of frightened pups backed into a corner. Their brightly painted signs advertised a tailor, a tattooist, and a black apothecary. A drunk sailor knelt at the edge of the platform, retching his rum over its lip. Two rogues stuck to the shadows, peering at Fengel and fingering daggers. To his right rose more of cliff-hugging Haventown. At his left the slope continued down to the docks and the lagoon. The air stank of brine, beer, and subtle jungle smells. Nostalgia washed over him and Fengel sighed. Home. I'm home at last. Hurrah.
The failed job in Triskelion, the loss of his Flittergrasp, and then the mad flight from that city. It made him want to shake his head, except that the muscles in his neck ached and his mouth was dry as a bone. Dimly Fengel realized that he should get food and water, though he didn't feel desperate. Just confused.
Fengel tried to focus. Where were they going again? Was this it? The upward stair looked rather imposing. Surely he hadn't meant to climb it now? Visible weakness in a captain was anathema upon a ship, and he was a little off at the moment. He certainly wouldn't have put himself in a position to show it to any of his crew. Or would he? Fengel pulled at his beard. This will take careful deliberation.
"Something wrong, Captain?" The voice came from the stair directly behind him.
He turned to peer at the duo below. Henry Smalls, his faithful steward, looking grizzled and drawn. Beside him stood a young...boy? No, not with that figure. A woman then, petite and with knife-hacked hair. Probably. If only she wouldn't stop shifting in and out of focus, he would be able to tell. Miss Stone. That's right, I brought her along.
The silence stretched. Not good. I need to say something. Fengel grinned. "Absolutely capital, Mr. Smalls. Here we are, after all."
His steward blinked up at him. "Sir? It's still a goodly distance to the Bleeding Teeth."
Blast. This landing wasn't their goal then. "Of course, of course," replied Fengel, making a dismissive gesture with his hands. Think fast. "I meant here, the view of the lagoon. Positively charming. Should the Servants flitter down from the Goddess on high, this is the place where they would choose to do it."
Smalls and the young woman looked out over the placid but scummy lagoon. "If you say so sir," he replied dutifully.
Fengel sighed and rubbed his forehead. He really didn't want to climb anymore. "You are a man of simple tastes, Mister Smalls. Still, I persevere."
He continued in their climb, taking care not to groan at the ache in his calves. Prim, proper, and impervious. Never let them think that you did anything against your will, and never show them your limits. Never let them see you stumble. That was the key to success, though by itself it only took one so far. What was the Bleeding Teeth? He had known a few minutes ago, and felt a peculiar undercurrent of dread at the thought. Ah! He had it now. The place was a tavern atop the highest terrace. Which explained the dread; more climbing was needed. Still, Fengel brightened. A tavern meant food and drink, both of which were sorely needed.
Night fell as they climbed the switchback stairs and terrace boardwalks, and Haventown blossomed to life around them. The air filled with catcalls, raucous laughter, and the sound of breaking glass. Lanterns and candle flames were lit, illuminating foggy windows and setting dirty glass aglow. Pirates, smugglers, and sailors appeared as they ascended, all swaggering and strutting through the rebel town. Barkers stood before the brothels and better taverns to hawk the goods inside. Three footpads waited in a narrow alley while a young woman lured in victims. Past her two rival captains shouted at each other while their crews placed bets or called out barbs of their own. An aetherite conjured up dancing, living flames for his own amusement. Fengel spied Blackheart's Bandits, keeping things peaceable if not exactly keeping the peace. High above them floated the airships in Skydock, the fabric of the gasbag frames and their skysails reflecting the light back below like great, soft lanterns.
Chasing the Lantern (The Dawnhawk Trilogy, Book One) Page 2