by Wen Spencer
“What better bait for wolves than the sacrificial lamb?”
Alissa made a sound of disgust and climbed off of Jerin. “Leave you to take the fun out of it. Meza, gag the bitch.” She handcuffed Jerin firmly to the headboard. “You’ll have first watch, Meza.”
Meza gagged Cira tightly, settled at the paper-strewn desk, and reached for a pen. “Good, I can get caught up with these invoices.”
I made the right decision. I made the right decision.
Ren clung to the mantra, though as the sun moved across the sky, she sank into utter misery. Runners bringing her updates from her sisters did nothing to shake the soundness of her decision, or give hope that Jerin would be restored to them. The ever-so-polite raid on the Herald ferreted out the Porter mole and a wealth of information. Recent deliveries of cooking goods to the barracks turned up enough poison to lay waste to the Fifth Battalion. Incensed by their close call, the troops marched the street, arresting all loiterers, turning up scores of heavily armed river trash.
The Red Dog steamed into port, low and sleek as a hunter, the late afternoon sun glinting off the crimson-painted wood shields enclosing her decks. As women and supplies were loaded at frantic speed. Raven reported that orders had been sent downriver as far as the mouth for the Red Dog’s sister ships to join in the hunt.
Wait, was Raven’s unvoiced appeal.
Ren shook her head. All afternoon, the image of raped, mutilated, and murdered Egan Wainwright seared through her memory. Gods have mercy, her sweet beautiful Jerin was in the hands of women that had done that to a man! If the Porters meant to marry Jerin for his royal bloodline, then he would be spared that fate. But what if she had been wrong about the Porters? What if they had taken Jerin as disposable bait?
She wouldn’t delay any longer. She signaled that they were to steam out immediately. “What armaments do we have?”
The corner of Raven’s mouth dipped in worried disapproval. “The Red Dog is only lightly armed. Two eight-inch guns, one forward, the other aft, behind iron shutters. True, their twenty-pound balls will put a hole in just about anything, but you’ve got to be pointed in the right direction first. The bow is reinforced as a ram. And we’ve got the marines-a hundred rifles is nothing to sneer at.”
“Hopefully more than what Kij has.”
“One hopes.”
Chapter 15
Jerin never considered he’d fall asleep, not with the stress and fear of his situation. If he had thought it possible, he would have guarded against it. The day’s rigors, however, combined with the warm, soft bed. put him fully asleep before he realized the danger.
He woke to Kij’s voice, coming from across the room, asking softly, ‘“Is he still sleeping?”
“Like a babe,” Meza whispered in reply. There was a rustle of paper. “Sign here, and here.”
“We’re through the last lock. We’re going ashore here. See that he gets well cared for-something to eat, a chance to relieve himself. You’ll reach home within a few hours. Install him in the husband quarters-quietly. No one but family is to see him. We’ll have to handle this carefully for it to work.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Meza asked.
“The last fifty years have proved us cleverer than all. We’ll weasel out and land on our feet. Have we not time and time again?”
“We’ve never pushed our luck this close before.”
“This will work. It goes faster than I planned, but a nudge here, a nudge there, and everything will fall right. Trust me. Meza.”
There was a slight, tired sound from Meza. “I do. Please, be careful. I’d rather not have Alissa as Eldest.”
With a laugh, Kij said her good-bye and went out the door. Jerin lay with his eyes closed and forced his breathing to stay deep.
The duchy of Avonar lay upriver of Hera’s Step. Kij said they were through the last lock, so they were now above the great waterfall. He recalled the small town that supplied boats with coal, food, and entertainment while they waited their turn to move through the locks. The town was crowded with ship crews and passengers, people he could hide among and perhaps find aid from. While there were towns north of the falls, he would be a lone stranger in a place loyal to the Porters.
Now was the ideal time to escape. If he was to free himself, though, he needed to get rid of Meza.
Considering Kij’s orders, asking for food and water might force Meza to fetch it herself. If not, she’d at least undo his hands so he could eat.
He stirred then, making a show of waking and stretching, blinking with sleep befuddlement. Did Meza believe his act? She glanced up from her paperwork, fingers ink-stained, looking more an accountant than a murderous smuggler. Cira, on the other hand, glancing over the rim of the footboard, had murder in her eyes. Was that look of anger for him, for falling asleep, or just anger at the situation?
Trying to ignore the hate on Cira’s face, he whined, “I’m hungry, and thirsty, and I have to wee-wee.”
“I’m not surprised,” Meza said, methodically cleaning her pens and putting the desk aright before standing. “You’ve been asleep for hours.”
He felt a flare of guilt at her words. He should have tried to escape hours ago, gotten free and back to his wives. Every minute he spent away from them, the less likely he could ever return to them.
Meza came and unshackled his wrists. Holding firmly to his elbow, she steered him to the corner where there was a chamber pot built into a dresser to make an indoor privy. She kept hold of him while he relieved himself. though she averted her eyes. He chanced much, moving his stash pouch from his pocket to his loosely gathered sleeve.
Afterward, Meza led him back and handcuffed him to the bed again. “I’ll go get you something to eat.”
Even as she shut the door behind her, he slipped the pouch out, fingered through it, and pulled the lockpick free. From the foot of the bed, Cira’s eyes went large.
Minutes later, when he undid her gag, she whispered fiercely, “You have to be the slipperiest prince consort in history! I saw them take that from you. How did you get it back?”
“I picked Meza’s pocket,” he whispered, tempted to gag her again. “I wanted to be free of them before they decided that they wanted to be serviced.”
“What about your word of honor?”
“I lied.” Jerin struggled with her handcuff. “You meet people at their level, or the liars and murderers of this world will drag you under.”
Cira smothered a laugh. “I can’t believe you! Did Queen Mother Elder really agree for you to marry her daughters?”
“I don’t see how being raped would be preferable to lying.”
The cuffs came undone and she rose, rubbing her wrists.
“What should we do now?” he started to ask, but she caught him and kissed him. Her mouth was warm and sweet, and he realized that he was half in love with her.
“Why did you do that?” To his shame, he wanted to do it again.
“You’re teaching me never to give up.”
He wasn’t sure if this was a good thing. He pulled himself free, needing to put distance between them before he gave in to kissing her again. “So what do we do?”
“Get in the bed,” she said with a grin.
His heart leaped and a flame of arousal went through him. “What?”
“Pretend like you’re still handcuffed. I will too.” She glanced about, then picked up a heavy stone paperweight, and gave him an evil grin.
He sat down, put his hands back above his head, and tried to be calm. Cira settled at the foot of the bed, her eyes glittering with contained excitement. Minutes stretched out until they seemed unbearable.
Then finally Meza stepped through the door.
She carried a glass of lemonade and a bowl of biscuits covered with sausage gravy. Jerin’s stomach growled at the smell. In tense silence, he and Cira watched as Meza came across the room, unaware of the danger to her, intent on not spilling the nearly full bowl. As she set the food on the table beside the be
d, Cira rose, drawing back the paperweight.
Meza must have caught the motion in the corner of her eye. She started to turn, and Jerin lunged out, grabbing hold of her hands. Her eyes went wide in shock, and then Cira struck her. It was a hollow noise. Meza’s eyes rolled back, showing their whites before they closed, and her knees folded.
Jerin jerked his hands away from her as she crumpled, and covered his mouth to hold in the dismayed cry that was trying to escape. Cira bent over Meza, quickly and ruthlessly binding the woman. When Jerin trusted himself, he took his hands from his mouth and whispered, “Is she dead?”
Cira glanced up and her eyes saddened. “No! No. I’m sorry, honey, I would do anything to spare you this.” Cira undid Meza’s gun belt and strapped the six-gun to her waist, tying it down low for a fast draw, and then checked the pistol. “Let’s get out of here.”
The Destiny was steaming directly up the center of the massive Bright River, making it nearly a quarter mile on either side to the shore. The sun was in the final throes of setting, and the river reflected all its vivid blood reds and fire yellows.
Holding Jerin’s hand tight, Cira guided him through a maze of cotton bales and crates stacked on the Destiny’s decks to the railing. There they crouched in the growing shadows.
“Can you swim?” Cira asked him.
Jerin looked uneasily out over the quickly moving water. “Some. I-I don’t think I could get to the shore. It’s too far and the current’s too strong.”
Cira nodded as if this was a fair assessment. “Truthfully, I don’t think I could either. We’ll have to get up to the pilothouse and take control of the ship there. I wish I knew how many women Kij left on board.”
“Why do you think Kij got off?”
“I’m afraid to guess, honey.” Cira patted his hand absently.
Waved ashore by the Queens Justice late the morning after she left Mayfair, Ren heard her first news of Jerin. A whore matching Jerin’s description and a scarred woman had been taken from the docks at gunpoint earlier that day. Investigating gunshots, the Queens Justice had found the kidnappers freshly murdered. There were signs at the murder site that a paddle wheel had tied off there, and the Destiny had been one of four ships spotted that morning. Seven women dead, river trash, used and disposed of.
Raven asked questions of her own, but Ren stood numb, barely hearing the replies. She knew everything that mattered. Jerin wasn’t one of the dead, the Porters had recaptured him, and the Destiny had several hours’ lead on them.
“She was riding high and fast, full steam,” the region captain of the Queens Justice shouted as the Red Dog made to cast off. “You can burst your boiler and still not catch her.”
“This just gets worse and worse,” Raven growled beside her. “I pray to the gods that Kij does not murder Halley out of hand.”
Ren swung around to face Raven. “What? When did Halley enter into this?”
Raven lifted an eyebrow. “Jerin was with a scarred woman.” Raven ran a finger down her face.
“Pearl-handled six-guns, riding a big roan.”
Ren gasped. “Halley! How in the gods did she free Jerin?”
Raven lifted her shoulders. “If she’s been tracking your sisters’ killers, then she might have infiltrated part of Kij’s networks. She wasn’t one of the dead. Kij must have both of them.”
Ren cursed quietly. Marines packed the gunboat, allowing her no room to vent anger or fear. “The Destiny is the safest place for Kij to commit this treason. It’s a floating island, easy to defend. I doubt she’ll be taking them off until they reach Avonar. We’re hours behind them, but they’ll have to stop for the locks.”
“Kij most likely has things set so the Destiny won’t have to wait for the queue.”
“Even Kij has to wait for the locks to fill with water. It takes several hours to work through the locks.
On horseback, we could reach the end of the locks before the Destiny steams out.”
“Your Highness.” Raven used her title like a whip. “Kij knows that’s when she’s most vulnerable and where you’re most likely to catch up with her. She’ll have the trap there.”
“She has Halley and Jerin!”
“If you get yourself killed, Your Highness, no one will be able to rescue them. You’ve got the gunboat.
Put it to best use!”
Ren let out her breath in a long sigh. “You’re right. You’re always right. We’ll keep to the gunboat.”
Halley! Jerin! Sweets gods above, protect them!
***
The pilothouse sat on the topmost deck of the Destiny, a shack perched at the center of the vast flat space. A lone Porter sister stood at the wheel, gazing out over the bow of the ship as Jerin and Cira crept from the stern. As planned, Jerin crouched outside, hidden behind the half wall. Cira drew her pistol, quietly worked the door latch, and then stepped inside.
Instantly things went wrong. There were multiple startled cries, a crash and splintering of wood, and a gun went off, the bullet whining into the night. Jerin risked a glance over the wall.
There had been a second, unseen Porter in the room, apparently lying on the back bench. She had rushed Cira, knocking the pistol from her hand. The two now grappled in the tiny room, smashing back and forth. The pilot gripped a hand to her arm, blood seeping between her fingers.
As Cira and the other crashed through the door, the pilot lifted a flap on a wall-mounted tube. “Koura!
Mitzy! Get up here! We’ve got trouble!”
From the tube, a tiny startled voice queried urgently. The engine crew shoveling coal had been alerted!
The pilot awkwardly drew her pistol and hurried out after Cira and her sister.
“Cira, watch out!” Jerin shouted, standing up.
The pilot turned, bringing up the pistol, then recognized him and froze. Cira twisted suddenly, the Porter sister’s pistol in hand, and fired. In the gathering dark, the muzzle flare bloomed bright again and again.
The report echoed, bank to bank, repeating up the river hollow.
He and Cira faced each other, gun smoke swept off by the stiff wind. A moment of silence passed between them, and then Jerin said, “The engine crew is coming.”
“Everyone on the ship is coming.” Cira snapped into motion. Holstering the pistol, she muscled the younger Porter sister up and over the railing edge. There was a distant splash. “We have to steer the ship to shore.”
But the wheel was broken, smashed in the fight. Cira swore. The great paddle wheel was slowing down, the untended engines were dying, and the thud of heavy boots thundered up the many flights of stairs toward them.
“We’re going to have to swim anyhow.” Cira caught his hand and they headed for the stairs, hoping to beat the oncoming crowd. Two coal-blackened women appeared at the top of the stairs. Cira wheeled in front of them, racing back toward the pilothouse, cursing softly.
Like black wolves the women came, splitting up to run them down. One snatched up Jerin, lifting him from the ground, while the second tackled Cira to the floor. Jerin struggled in his capturer’s grasp, reaching over his head to try to gouge out her eyes. She jerked her head back from his questing fingers, and shifted him into a choke hold. As grayness rushed in. he heard a splash, and then Cira was there, pistol in hand.
If the woman had thought, she could have kept him as a shield. She threw him. instead, at Cira. Cira caught him with her left arm, firing as soon as she was sure he was clear of the gun. His ears rang from the retort, and he clung to Cira, trembling. Cira panted, nose running with blood. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, clearing the blood, wincing at the pain.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
Jerin nodded.
“I’m out of bullets with this gun.” Cira tossed the pistol aside. “Let’s get Meza’s pistol-I dropped it in the pilothouse^-and get out of here.”
Jerin nodded.
Cira led him back to the small structure and hunted through the wreckage to find
the pistol. Jerin saw a flicker of shadows and called out a warning too late. Alissa Porter struck Cira with a short pole. Cira fell, unmoving.
“You!” She pointed at Jerin with the pole. “You, I’ll deal with later.” She switched the pole to her left hand, freeing her right hand to pull a long knife. “Right now I have a serious mistake on Kij’s part to correct.”
“No!” Jerin scrambled to the pistol on the floor. His hand closed on the gun and he started to bring it up when Alissa backhanded him with the pole. The pistol went clattering across the floor.
“I will kill you if you don’t stay put!” Alissa shouted, bringing up the knife in warning.
“Leave her alone!”
“Stay out of this!” She moved toward Cira, eyes on him.
Jerin remembered then the derringer in his hidden pocket. He scrambled backward, out of her striking range, clawing for the tiny gun. “Leave her alone!” he shouted again, pulling it out and aiming at Alissa.
Alissa’s eyes went wide at the sight of the pistol. “How the hell-put it down!”
“Get away from her!”
“Put it down!”
“Get away from her!”
Alissa made a sudden motion, one he recognized as the start of throwing her knife, and he pulled the trigger. In the small enclosed space, the tiny gun sounded like a cannon. Blood sprayed the glass behind her. She looked at him, surprised, made a slight mewling sound, then collapsed.
Suddenly the night seemed too still, too empty. Jerin stood, a wisp of smoke coming from the derringer’s barrel.
I’ve killed her.
For several minutes he stood, unable to move, the violence of his action shocking him to his core. Then, desperately, he wanted to go home.
He glanced about the room, filled with unconscious and dead bodies, guns, knives, and broken ship parts. The wheel spun freely, the boat giving no indication that it connected to anything anymore. If they couldn’t turn to follow the river as it wound its way through the hills, they would crash on the shore.
Jerin looked out through the pilothouse windows. They were drifting downriver, stern first. The stern lantern marked the back of the boat. The water shimmered black, reflecting faint starlight. A thicker black marked the trees on the right and left banks. The boat rode roughly in the center of the river.