Chasing the Lantern (The Dawnhawk Trilogy, Book One)
Page 31
The temple was far from empty. Atop the spire stood a single Draykin with a massive golden headdress, the Lorekeeper Rastalak had mentioned, gibbering and hissing in outrage. Lina's crewmates stood at the base of the spire, wearing only loincloths and red paint on their skins. They fought with Natasha's Reavers, just coming over the closest rope bridge on Lina's left. Sarah Lome held their foes at bay with a pair of Draykin spears, one in each hand. The rest of the Reavers tried to cross the shaking and twisting bridge, while holding back in turn a clutch of Draykin guards. Mordecai stood between the two fronts, shouting orders and taking the occasional hack at a lizard-creature. Maxim and Henry Smalls held another rope bridge on the opposite side of the spire against a handful of Draykin guards and acolytes. The little steward jabbed about with a stolen spear, and the aetherite clutched a dripping handful of caustic white light. Above them, on the winding stair of the pillar, raced two figures.
"Give it up, Captain!" cried Henry Smalls up at them. "We need to leave!"
Captain Fengel, clad only in a loincloth, tricorn hat, and his monocle, fought with Natasha Blackheart to get up to the landing atop the spire. Natasha, similarly clad, fought back.
"Out of my way, you harlot!" he yelled. Fengel shoved his wife aside and scrambled hands and feet up the stair.
"Idiot!" growled Natasha. "It's mine!" She grabbed her husband by the ankle, half-tripping him long enough to scramble over and gain the lead.
"Strumpet!" Fengel cried.
"Fool!" came the reply.
"Enough!" cried Lina.
Her voice echoed throughout the chamber. Everyone looked her way, then stared. For a moment the tableaux held, everyone frozen in furious action. The Draykin shaman hissed something low, then stared in wonder and dropped to his knees. The other guards did so as well, stopping wherever they were, ledge or bridge or stair.
"Who the devil is that?" cried Mordecai.
"Miss Stone?" called Fengel. He and Natasha lay on the steps, hands wrapped around each other's throats.
Lina she flushed as she recalled her costume. "Yes," she said.
"What on earth are you wearing?"
"Please, sir," she said. "This won't keep them at bay for long. Forget the gem, we have to go!"
"Ha!" laughed Natasha. "That's one of your crew? And after all your talk of modesty."
Fengel turned his attention back. "Like you're one to talk!" He released his wife, knocked her arms aside, and scrambled past her up to the top of the spire. The moment was broken. The Draykin stood still, but Natasha's Reavers and Fengel's Men threw themselves at each other again with abandon.
Natasha jumped up and raced after her husband. The two of them reached the top of the stair almost at the same time, only to find the Lorekeeper waiting. The little Draykin held a short spear and was hissing fiercely at them. It was dangerous, but short.
Fengel blinked and circled right. Natasha circled left. The Lorekeeper tried to keep them both in its view, and backed up until it was almost against the altar supporting the shining gemstone of the Lantern. Lina's captain looked at Natasha. She met his gaze and gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. As one they leapt forward at the Lorekeeper.
The Draykin hissed and faced Fengel with its spear. Natasha caught it across the side of the head with a strong right hook. The headdress went flying. The Lorekeeper yowled and fell back, dropping the spear and falling likewise to the stone at their feet.
The headdress arced through the air, brushing just against the Governor's Lantern. The gemstone rocked, then rolled off the altar to fall on the wide stone landing. It rolled for the edge.
"No!" cried Fengel. He bent over and rammed an elbow into Natasha's stomach. Her breath left her and she fell back, stepping onto the fallen spear of the Lorekeeper.
Natasha slipped and went down. She tumbled over the lip of the ledge, grabbing ahold at the last second with one hand.
"Ah!" she cried. Then, "you horse's ass!"
Fengel stood in indecision. The gem came to a stop, balanced precariously on the ledge a few feet away.
"Leave it be Captain!" cried Maxim. "The thing is cursed!"
"It's right there!" wailed Fengel. "If I don't get it, she will!"
"I don't want the stupid gem," snarled Natasha. "I want my ship! I just don't want you to have it!"
A gunshot echoed throughout the chamber. The stone next to Natasha exploded. She yelped and slipped further. Everyone looked down to where Mordecai stood alone on the bridge, the remaining Reavers wholly on the spire now. He glowered and lowered his pistol with a curse.
"Mordecai," yelled Natasha. "You whoreson bastard! Wasn't it enough to take my ship from me? If I'm going, I'm taking you with me. I don't know how, but I swear I'll do it!"
Mordecai glanced at the other Reavers, some of whom were staring back at him. "Just trying to save you from your husband," he said. He sheathed his sword, tossed his spent pistol over the bridge and drew another. "Now, hold still while I save you again."
The Draykin below were caught between staring at Lina and casting ugly glances at the pirates. This can't hold for long. "Captain!" she cried. "Leave it!"
Natasha yelped as she slipped a little. The gem rocked on the ledge, back and forth, over the abyss. Fengel looked from one to the other.
Then he made a choice.
Natasha slipped free. She shrieked. Then Fengel was there, grabbing her wrist with one hand. He grunted, grabbed her with his other hand, then dragged her over the ledge just as the Lantern went the other way.
The gemstone tumbled. It fell down in a long arc, passing Maxim, Henry Smalls, Sarah Lome and Reaver Jane. It fell down toward Mordecai, taking aim again with his pistol. At the last second he reached up and caught the thing with his free hand. It shone.
Mordecai Wright stared at the thing incredulously. Then he laughed. "Really? After all this? Well, why not." He shifted it to one side and took a shooter's stance, leveling the pistol in his other hand at Fengel and Natasha.
Then his bridge gave way.
The ropes supporting the suspension at either end snapped all at once. With a surprised curse Mordecai fell away, his gun going off and the ball shooting wide.
The Lorekeeper scrabbled forward over the edge. It screamed out in denial as the Governor's Lantern, and Mordecai Wright, fell into the abyss at the bottom of the temple. The little Draykin priest began to go into hysterics.
"Captain," cried Henry Smalls. "We have to go."
Fengel shook himself, saw the Draykin, saw Natasha, and gave a frown. He helped her up to her feet, and then ran. The pirates took that as a sign. Henry, Maxim, Sarah, and the others took the nearest bridge, running past the still-stunned Draykin onto the exterior ledges and up to where Lina stood. Natasha's Reaver's, bereft of leadership, joined in. Fengel and Natasha themselves brought up the rear.
Time to go. Lina turned and ran back outside.
The Draykin mob below had closed the path down the stair. They still stood on it, chattering and hissing to themselves, an argument or discussion it appeared. They pointed at the top of the temple, at Lina, as if trying to decide something. Lina didn't like that.
Even worse, the ship was gone.
Rope ladders dropped down in front of her. She glanced up to see the Dawnhawk directly overhead, having moved its course a little.
Lucian Thorne stuck his head over the side. "Hallo down there. Fancy a lift?"
"I thought you were dead!" cried Lina in delight. "How did you get off the Queen?"
The first mate made a small gesture with his hand. "The Queen drifted over one of those pointy pyramids. Net we were stuck in got caught on the tip and tore right open. Took a bit of a tumble, but me and the others are fine. Now, you'd best all get up here; the natives are looking restless."
Lina and the others caught the ladders and climbed. She made her way up to the top, where Lucian waited to pull her over the deck. He widened his eyes in surprise at her appearance, then moved her aside to help the others up.
"We always miss the excitement," said Ryan Gae. His hair was mostly gone, and burn marks covered the side of his face.
"Looks like it was fairly wild," said Andrea Holt, an amused smirk twisting her lips.
Lina used Runt to cover herself, suddenly embarrassed.
The others made their way up three at a time. Lucian called for their navigator to get them aloft. Both Maxim and Konrad his counterpart ran back to the helm, shoving each other aside. Just as Natasha and Fengel came over the side, a great cry rose up from the Draykin mob below. Lina peeked over the gunwales.
The Lorekeeper was outside, pointing at the airship and screeching furiously. The assembled mob began to howl and stomp, enraged at being tricked. One of them ran out of the press and leapt at the nearest ladder. It almost didn't make it, but at the last second it snagged the ladder, and quickly began its ascent.
"Oh, fun," said Lucian darkly. He drew the cutlass at his side. "Navigator, get us up! I don't care which one of you!" Then he leaned to hack away the rope ladder.
Lina peered at the quickly climbing reptile. It looked much like the others, but there was something about it...
"Don't!" she said to the first mate. "I know that one!"
Lucian paused, blade held overhead. "What?"
Rastalak clambered over the gunwales and rolled to its feet. It held up its hands in submission. "Wait, this one would join you. I would speak to your leader."
Fengel and Natasha stepped forward at the same time. Then they glared at each other. "What do you want?" asked Fengel. "We can't take the Lantern away anymore."
Rastalak shook its head. "Te Salaas Voorn is no longer a problem. Ah! If only I had thought to do as you did. But no matter." It met Fengel's gaze with a frank one of its own. "I am still an outcast among my people. Take me with you."
Fengel frowned. Lucian peered over the sides of the ship and cursed. Then he began hacking away the rope ladders. "Get this ship up!" he yelled back at the helm.
Fengel glanced at Rastalak, then at Lina. Then he flushed and looked back to the little Draykin. "Very well," he said. "Miss Stone. Please keep Mr. Rastalak out of the way while we make our escape. Assuming that someone hasn't damaged the ship too badly." This last he cast at Natasha, who only glared at him in outrage.
Lina touched Rastalak on the shoulder and brought him up to the bow. Runt squirmed over her shoulders, upset and exhausted by all the activity. The pirates scrabbled up the ratlines to the lookouts above, or took their places at helm and along the gunwales. Slowly, slowly, the Dawnhawk turned and rose, the outraged inhabitants of Old Yrinium crying out below them.
Lina knelt on the bow, arranging Runt for decency as best she could. Rastalak put his hands on the rail and peeked over, stunned by the view. Lina smiled, recalling the first time she'd been up in the air. As they flew, a question that had been bothering her bubbled up from the back of her mind.
"Rastalak. How do you speak our tongue?" she asked. "I haven't heard any of the other Draykin do it."
The lizard-creature made a small hand gesture, annoyed at being disturbed. "I observed, and then learned it from Silas Thorn. Many other tribes of your people inhabit this land. Their tongues I have learned, too. The grunts of your kind are not overly complex."
"Chirr!" said Runt.
Lina opened her mouth to reply, then shut it. She shook her head, and watched the city in the valley as it shrank, shrank, and then disappeared behind them.
Epilogue
Fengel climbed up from the stairwell at the bow of the ship. He stood there a moment, feeling the wind as it played about the collar of his coat. Out beyond the rails of the Dawnhawk, the sun was setting.
The Yulan was behind them now. The passage from Yrinium to Breachtown had been uneventful. Both his Men and his wife's Reavers were too injured, tired, or sick of the whole continent to cause any trouble. Now they worked in mixed shifts, helping to take the airship home. They'd passed through Breachtown during the dead of night, exciting only a few bored watchmen. Then they were out beyond the bay and free over the Atalian Sea. Two days had passed since, and now it was evening on the third.
Fengel looked around and frowned. No one had noticed him yet. Maybe I should go down and come back up? He pondered the thought for a moment before shaking his head.
He strode down the deck toward the helm. Miss Stone was in her customary place, nursing her pet scryn with a bottle of hard liquor.
"Miss Stone," he said as he approached. "Everything is going well?"
The ex-prostitute looked up at him. Runt took the opportunity to grab up her hip flask. "Everything's fine, sir," she replied. "Nice weather. Calm."
"Yes. Calm."
They looked at each other for a moment. Then she blushed a furious red. He winced, then felt his own face start to heat. Half of the crew had seen her topless during the events in Old Yrinium. He still didn't understand exactly why she'd done what she had, or what had happened, really. That failed to make it less embarrassing.
"Well, then," he said as he turned away. "Carry on." He took a few paces away, then stopped. "Miss Stone?"
Lina grabbed the bottle away from her pet. "Yes?"
"What do you think?" he asked. "Have you had enough?"
Lina froze. Then she looked out beyond the rails to the evening sky and smiled. "I think," she said, "that I wouldn't trade this for anything else in the world. Captain."
He nodded and smiled at her, then moved on.
Fengel eyed the ship as he went. The Dawnhawk had taken a beating recently, but before long she'd be in perfect condition again. The Mechanists were busy working at all hours, it seemed.
Lucian came forward with a status report, both one he spoke aloud, and one he gave in a muttered whisper. Fengel acknowledged it, and made a sign with his hands as he walked past Gunny Lome, busy trading glares at Reaver Jane from across the deck. The huge piratess nodded slowly.
Henry Smalls came forward with the captain's evening tea. Fengel took the cup and sipped, the high, clear wind blowing away the rising steam of his drink. For a moment, everything was perfect.
"Captain," said Henry quietly, silver tray in hand. "Have you seen my big dagger? The one I loaned you awhile ago?"
Fengel shrugged, not really caring.
Henry sighed. Then lowered his voice. "Sir. Is it wise to relax so? I don't trust that she-shark or her people, not even a bit." He stole a glance around the deck. The Reavers and Fengel's Men tended to avoid each other. Even now, Fengel could pick out several cliques around the deck; the crews refusing to mix.
"It will be fine," he told the steward, placing the teacup back with Henry. "I'm going to have a chat with Mrs. Blackheart right now."
Henry stared at him. Then he nodded slowly. "I'll go get the physician's kit ready," he said, scurrying away.
Fengel paced down past the helm. Maxim and his counterpart Konrad were both on shift, as they had been since leaving Yrinium. The two aetherites argued incessantly, and refused to leave the other unsupervised at the helm for even a moment. So far they hadn't devolved into unleashing their spells upon each other, but they'd been up for three days. They were either going to kill each other, or drop into a coma. He shook his head and moved to the stern.
Natasha stood alone. She was properly dressed again, in long black trousers, a scandalously low-cut blouse, and a kerchief upon her head. She was looking out at the sky behind them and the ocean waters below, leaning on the railing.
He moved up next to her. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.
She turned and raised an eyebrow at him. The red paint that the Draykin Lorekeeper had painted them with had stained. No amount of washing had so far gotten it removed from either of their faces. For whatever reason, only the two
of them had ended up so colored.
"Go ahead," she said.
Fengel watched the moon above the water, reflecting cool light across the horizon. "So," he said after a moment.
"So," she replied.
"There's not quite enough of either crew left to run the ship."
"Aye."
"I think, to make it back to Haventown, we're going to have to work together."
"Mhm-hmm."
They quieted again. An irritated shout came from up the deck. After a moment a lone scryn flew past the stern, a chrome hip flask in its maw. Fengel felt a moment of revulsion for the thing.
"Think there's something to that?" asked Natasha. She turned, leaned on the rail with one arm, showing him her bared throat and the low cut of her blouse. She blinked, long eyelashes fluttering.
He kept his posture ramrod straight. Then he sighed. "You're incorrigible."
"And you're stuck up."
He nodded. "Maybe. Maybe there is something to that."
"All right."
Fengel pondered a moment. "It would mean we'd have to truly work together. No more backstabbing. No more racing to get ahead. You'd have to stop caring that one of us is better than the other."
Natasha froze. Then she relaxed. "Same goes for you. A partnership. Equals."
There was mockery in her tone. Fengel frowned. He didn't trust it. He turned to face her fully, unconsciously falling into a quick-draw stance. He stuck out one hand.
Natasha rolled around to face him fully, yet still leaning against the rail. She put one hand to the small of her back. Ostensibly to support herself, more likely to put the dagger there close to her grip.
She took his hand. It was soft, between the calluses.