First of Highwing. Third bell? Fourth? Storm last night. As well as attempted mutiny. Marley led them against me. After all I'd done for him. Things were not going well, when we ran suddenly aground on some rocks just off the coast. Stormwall high above. Temporary truce. Taking command. Keeping Lantern on self at all times; they want to take it from me.
Third of Highwing. Ship has come to rest again, past the Stormwall and up the river. Had Marley and his mutineers killed after rescuing the ship. Handful left. No matter. I have had an epiphany. The Lantern does sing. It calls to me, and is on the very verge of revealing a wondrous secret. But not yet, not yet. It needs to go home. Then it may speak.
Fourth of Highwing. Crew morale low. Fires spied in the night, in the jungle beyond. Sent some scouts; they did not return. Hear drums. See eyes in the jungle. Not human.
Fifth of Highwing. They are coming. The Lantern must go home. The men struggle. It is of no import. The Keepers are here for me, for the Lantern. To bring it home. Home to their worship-fires. Home to the Tomb of the Voorn.
Their leader is before me now. He holds out his hand. I must carry the Lantern home, to Old Yrinium.
The account ended abruptly, but not, as Fengel had suspected it would, with a dramatic splash of blood or ink. He leaned back in his chair, sipping from his glass.
"Well," said Henry. "That puts paid to that. The thing is cursed. Good riddance to it."
"What a tale," said Lucian. "We're better off without it."
Fengel sighed. "I don't know. That gemstone would make us all rich. And we'd get to keep the treasure in the holds." He sighed internally. He really wanted to keep that treasure. And more than that, what if Natasha got her hands on the gem? It was unlikely, but possible. He had left her on the same beach that the Perinese sailors had ended up on.
The more he thought about it, the more the idea preyed upon him. He had her ship, but what if she got the gem? What if she was the one to bring it back to Grey? She'd be able to afford another airship at the least. She would come for him.
Lucian shook his head "No, we're definitely better off without it. Just thought you'd like to know." He stood. "Evening then, sir. I'll go make sure Lome is settled, then hit the sack myself."
Henry put away the wine bottle. Then he moved to prepare his captain's bedding for him.
"Worship fires," muttered Fengel. He sat upright as it came to him. "Lucian, give Maxim a new heading. Dead east. Watch for anything unusual. Skeleton crew: I want everyone rested and fed."
His first mate paused at the door. "Sir?"
"I saw something on the horizon to the east just before we came down here. Henry did as well. Now that I think about it, it simply must be one of those tribal worship fires the mad captain described." Fengel stood from his chair, removed his boots, and moved to the bed. His officers sputtered, the both of them trying to dissuade him at the same time.
"Enough!" he said with the iron voice of command. "We'll have our cake and eat it too, and make sure that Natasha won't get a slice at all. Wake me when we see something. We've got a gemstone to find."
Chapter Fifteen
Mordecai swung his cutlass at the thick foliage. Four of the tightly packed nettles fell, brushing against his unprotected forearms. Pain bloomed where they touched him, his skin feeling like it had caught fire. He clenched his jaw to keep from making any sound, yet a strained grunt pushed itself from his lips.
Morning sunlight illuminated the jungle in shades of pink and blue, though it was still too low to cast any real light in the clearing through which they forged. And the clearing was anything but. Nettles grew thickly in the space, shooting up to head height from the rich earth beneath their feet. Encompassing the clearing was the jungle; dark, dangerous, and impenetrable. To their right hung the Stormwall, close enough to shake the jungle canopy with its gusts and breezes. Directly ahead to the south rose a rocky crag, jutting up from the jungle canopy maybe a league farther on. Up above it hung their prize. The ragged form of the Copper Queen dangled in the breeze, somehow snagged in such a way to halt its aimless drifting.
Natasha followed on his heels, widening the path with her own blade and muttering a constant low-grade stream of invective against her husband, the jungle, and the baser attributes of the Goddess herself. Mordecai heard her gasping breaths between each curse. She was getting tired, finally.
Behind them followed the crew, or what remained of it. Their march had been forced, pushing through the night in desperation after the drifting airship. They followed it across the Silverpenny River and into the jungle on the southern bank. Through thick foliage, poisonous creepers, and surprise quicksand they ran. Numerous obstacles presented themselves. Sometime around midnight, after the second aerial attack by the aggressive, venomous spiders living in the lower branches of the surrounding trees, some of the men decided to make a stand. They refused to go any further without rest. Natasha accommodated them, leaving their corpses to feed the rich earth of the jungle floor.
Fengel had won again. Somehow he had escaped the predicament they had left him and his men in, gotten back aboard the Queen, made it through the Stormwall, and then crept up on them, taking Natasha's Reavers utterly by surprise. But how?
It was an academic question. Without another airship they'd be stranded in the jungle, at the mercy of whatever had killed the crew of the Albatross. They'd also miss any chance of getting the treasure back. Or any chance at revenge.
Oh, yes. Especially revenge.
Mordecai let his rage burn slowly, the fuel that kept him going. After a few more minutes they reached the edge of the clearing, skin blistered and swollen from the sting of the nettles. Natasha again took the lead and he fell back to rest his arm. He followed her back into the grip of the jungle.
Darkness enclosed them again. Beneath the upper canopy it almost seemed another world. The earth at their feet was rich and dark, thick ferns growing wild. Here and there lay deadfall trees, but there was surprisingly little dead foliage. Overhead grew the banyan and baobabs, all laced together and fighting for sunlight. The air was musty and sweet, like fruit set out for too long and gone to rot. Branches swayed overhead as the pirates moved, a sign of the monkeys and lemurs that leapt from branch to branch, spying on them from high above. Mordecai kept a wary eye about. Last evening they had been attacked by poisonous snakes, jungle cats, and unnaturally large spiders.
Natasha's Reavers trudged onward. The cracks in the canopy grew brighter as the morning went on, but precious little light spilled down into the gloom they moved through. Though there were no more nettles, Natasha still hacked at any overgrown fronds or thick vines that dared to be in her way.
The ground grew steeper. Beneath them the loamy earth slanted sharply upward until they were forced to climb on hands and knees up a slope. They had reached the craggy hill. Hopefully, the Queen was still caught at its summit.
Mordecai stopped to rest against the trunk of a banyan, panting heavily. The incline rose even more sharply just up ahead. Rocks protruded from the hill to form a network of minor cliffs. Natasha started to ascend. Mordecai shot out an arm. "Wait," he gasped. "We need rest before we can climb that."
His captain gave him an ugly look. Her eyes were sunken and bruised from exhaustion. The skin along her jaw was swollen from the touch of some venomous plant. "Got to catch the Queen," she snarled. "Stay here and have a bit of a sit for yourself if you want to."
She shrugged his hand away and threw herself into the ascent. A spasm of anger coursed through Mordecai. He forced himself to calm, or at least to somewhere calmer, then followed.
The trees were shorter and thicker here, not having to grow so high for nourishment. That also meant that there was more undergrowth. Between the rocks and the branches, Mordecai needed both hands free. He sheathed his sword. All too soon he wished he'd had it back. Branches that Natasha pushed aside whipped back at him, and his fine, soft gloves were going to tatters where he grabbed at the sharp rocks. Gradually, the gloom br
ightened. The way became easier, and the foliage less thick. The rocks leveled out back to an incline rather than a set of cliffs. Mordecai ducked under one last low-hanging banyan limb and stepped out into daylight.
And then he stared.
The top of the hill flattened, stretching out into a broad overhang that extended above the jungle below. It was grassy and level with the canopy of the trees growing from the flanks of the hill. The Copper Queen was caught on the jutting outcrop of rock by some rope that dangled from its bow, the deck being only a little higher than the rocky outcrop. Past it, the Yulan Jungle stretched for hundreds of miles, brilliant and emerald green in the morning sunlight. His captain stood only a few feet ahead.
The ship looked even worse in the daylight than when he'd seen it last. The bag was sagging, the hull was scorched through in places, and the ratlines and rigging were a tangled mess. Cannons had either broken free or unmoored themselves and lay scattered about. All in all, Euron's ship was not destined to fly for very much longer, if at all.
Also, there were apes.
They were large and white furred, shorter than a man by a foot, but thick and powerfully built. Heavy tusks poked up from their lower jaws, gleaming white in the sunlight. The apes, fifty or so, crawled about the deck, hooting and gibbering.
"Well," said Natasha after a moment.
Mordecai glanced at the outcrop and the uncertain footing of the deck. In both places they'd be at a disadvantage. And while the apes would die like anything else, there were quite a lot of them. "We should wait them out," he said after a moment. "Maybe somewhere down below."
"No."
Mordecai caught her eye and held it. "We're exhausted, and I don't think these brutes will cow easily." He grimaced back at their own ragged line of crew still making their way up the hill. "Unlike our own. There's nothing we can really do at the moment."
Natasha snarled. "You're wrong, Mordecai. There is one thing we can do; we take that damned ship back."
She hefted her blade and marched across the outcrop to where the rigging had snared. Senseless wench, Mordecai cursed to himself. He glanced back at the crew stretched behind him. They were just as rag-tag and exhausted as he'd said. Reaver Jane looked dead on her feet, and Guye Farrel was a swollen mass of stings and bug-bites. The Wiley brothers were gasping and cursing. Everyone else either stared at him dumbly, or had taken the opportunity to sit. Mordecai hissed a command at them, voice hoarse from weariness and pain. Those closest started and shambled forward, while those sitting climbed wearily to their feet. He made sure they were all moving before stalking over to his captain himself.
He caught up with her just below the ship where the snared rigging created a convenient ladder up to the slanting bow. Hoots and grunts echoed off the ship, and a single white ape clung to the ropes before them, jumping up and down. It noticed Natasha approach and stopped. As Mordecai walked up to her, the creature bared its fangs and hissed in warning. Some of the other apes clambering about up above peeked over the bow, curious at the noise. They stared at the pirates.
Mordecai glared back at the row of inhuman faces. He kept still, but readied his grip on his blade. Glancing over at Natasha, he wasn't surprised to see that she only looked peeved. Well, my idiot captain, now what?
Natasha held out a hand to him. "Mordecai?" she said in bored tones. "Gun."
He looked at her incredulously. She met his stare when he didn't act immediately, then shook her open hand at him. Her request brooked no refusal. Uncertain, he drew his pistol and passed it over, barrel first. Natasha was unpredictable, vicious, and short-sighted. But surely even she wouldn't be so reckless as to fire into the beasts.
He was wrong.
Natasha gave him a disgusted look and twirled the flintlock around to grip it. The she took a smart step forward, pointed the barrel of the gun right between the eyes of the ape before them, and pulled the trigger.
Smoke erupted from the gun and the report echoed across the hilltop. The ape sagged and fell at their feet, face shattered by the weapon. For a moment everything was frozen. The pirates watched fearfully; Natasha stood with her arm outraised. The apes cringed back from the noise. Then the creatures spied the corpse of their fellow. As one they bellowed, eyes bulging. Those closest above flung themselves from the Copper Queen down at the hilltop, the others behind following suit.
The battle was joined. Mordecai and Natasha tried to hold their ground, swinging their blades and firing shot after shot from the pistols at their belts. Still, they fell back before the charge. For a moment Mordecai thought they were lost; clubbing fists and gaping jaws filled his vision. He felt a sudden, powerful loathing for his captain. Her recklessness had brought them to ruin.
Reaver Jane appeared, a long knife in each hand. She ducked past Mordecai's offhand side to jab her long knives into the face of an ape. His crew joined the fray as well, their cries barely heard over the roar of the jungle creatures.
Mordecai fought like he'd never fought before in his life. He thrust, ducked, and cut. He whirled right, hacking at a neck, slashing at a pair of eyes. Blood flew through the air. The howls of their enemy were deafening. But it wasn't enough. The beasts weighed at least half as much again as a man, and were hideously strong and savage. White-furred limbs crashed down at him, heedless of his blade and how much damage they might take. Mordecai was battered, beaten. Hoary talons tore at his side, his arms, his face. Their nightmare trek through the jungle was nothing compared to this.
Then something changed. The flow of the battle shifted, and the apes were less furious, less numerous. Mordecai sensed the chance for victory and threw himself at it, as a drowning man might grasp at a piece of driftwood just out of reach.
An ape before him reared up. It raised both arms, intending to clobber him into the ground. Mordecai ducked forward and to the side. He lashed out at the creature's inner thigh, felt his blade bite into the thick fur and muscle there. The ape screamed and hammered down as he darted away, blood spraying from a new wound. Mordecai regained his footing, then threw himself at his foe, turning now to face him. He brought his cutlass up and hacked with a two-handed blow at the face of the ape. It bit and the creature screamed.
The struggle ended. The ape before him backed away, clutching at the bleeding ruin of its face, trying to leave. Mordecai let it. Warily, he looked to the rest of the hilltop. The apes were fleeing, nursing wounds, or hooting in pain as they descending down into the tree line. Pirates stood dumbfounded, three-fourths as many as they had reached the hilltop with. The wounded and dying groaned from where they lay on the earth.
Natasha stood nearby. She was bruised and bloody, but alive. Putting one foot on the corpse of a foe, she raised her sword up high and yelled victoriously. Amazingly, the cry carried, the crew roaring after the retreating white apes.
Mordecai staggered over to her. "What," he gasped, "were you thinking?"
Natasha did not reply at first, or even look at him. She panted, calmed, and then wiped her blade on the fur of an ape. Only then did she look to her first mate. "I suppose I thought the noise would frighten them off. It appears I was wrong." She shrugged. "No matter."
Mordecai stared incredulously at her. "Look at us! We've just lost a quarter our number!"
Natasha raised an eye at him. "Then those that are still alive had better get aboard, unless they've grown fond of these jungles." She turned away from him and marched up to the Copper Queen.
Mordecai spat in frustration and turned back to the crew. The damage wasn't as bad as it seemed. Many nursed broken ribs, sprained limbs. They were battered, cut, and torn. But they would serve, and live to serve another day. Some eight of their number were dead or dying, necks broken or wounded beyond survival. Mordecai ran a tally. All in all, they were still within an acceptable number of losses.
And yet, it had been completely unnecessary. She didn't have to fire. They could have waited out the apes, or at least rested before the attack. Mordecai understood Natasha's hurry; shou
ld the Queen free its tangled rigging from the outcrop, they'd lose their only method of transport. But it had lasted throughout the day; it was likely to hold here a little longer.
He ordered the dead stripped, the dying put down, and then moved the crew onto the airship. Thankfully, they were too tired or injured to feel resentment; Mordecai himself didn't have much left in him to deal with such trifles.
The Copper Queen looked just as bad on the inside as it did on the out. The apes hadn't helped. Detritus, tools, and rigging were strung everywhere. Above them the gasbag frame bulged at the stern, and the whole deck slanted dangerously toward the bow.
Natasha was already waiting for them. She stood amidships, clinging to a support line anchoring the deck to the frame. "About time," she said, voice flat but pitched to carry. "Reaver Jane, you alive? Good. Take the Wiley Brothers and Farrel up above. Get the light-air cells in the frame rebalanced. Have a care, I think there's still an ape or two up there. Skinny Tom, get yerself and five others to cleaning up this mess. Toss anything we don't need and won't burn; it's just ballast. Something happened to the cannons. They look melted, I don't know. Get rid of all but one. Keep the powder. Mordecai, get us cut free from this damned rock, and see if you can get that furnace going; we're going to need the propellers."
Their captain turned back and began the climb to the aftcastle deck. Mordecai stared at her, then looked at the others. They stared after Natasha wearily.
He had to retain order. "You heard her," he snapped. "Get moving."
Mordecai waited until the crew were busy, then rushed up the deck after his captain. He found her glaring up at the propeller system. The old propellers had long rusted away to disuse; these had been hurriedly fitted back in Haventown, and only kept going thanks to the bungling Mechanist youth they'd acquired.
"Looks like it should work still," said Natasha. "Have Tom keep anything that'll burn. Attend to it now, though, we haven't a lot of time."
"What," asked Mordecai, "is the hurry? We're aboard now, the apes are gone. The crew are going to mutiny if we keep up at this rate."
Chasing the Lantern (The Dawnhawk Trilogy, Book One) Page 20