by Martha Wells
Tremaine pulled herself through the door and onto the open deck. The wind had died and white clouds of fog hung in shrouds above the choppy gray water. She saw Florian climbing up the sharply angled deck by holding tightly to the railing. The other girl had a bloody nose and the beginnings of a black eye. Tremaine grabbed her arm and they steadied each other. “Are you all right?” Florian asked, blinking unsteadily at her.
“I’m fine.” Tremaine realized Florian was staring at her bloody hand and she wiped it on her middy. “Captain Feraim’s dead.” The Pilot Boat was jammed against a reef; she could see the black rock under the bow, green-gray waves washing steadily against it. The rock disappeared into the mist only a few yards past the bow, but she could see gray shapes of boulders in the dimness. “We’re on that island,” she said blankly, then shook her head, trying to get her brain moving. The boat wasn’t covered by Gardier and the airship was nowhere in sight, though with this mist that meant nothing. “Where’s Gerard?”
“I think he was still down in the hold. I was in the other cabin and I got knocked out.” Florian stumbled and caught herself on the bent railing as the boat shifted under them. She sounded dazed. “I couldn’t find Ander or Stanis—”
“We’ve got to get off this boat.” Still gripping the other woman’s arm, Tremaine slid cautiously down toward the hatch that opened into the stern cabin, bracing her feet against the wall. Florian stretched across to grab the railing, helping Tremaine stay upright as she reached the hatch.
Tremaine shoved at the unresponsive door, then let go of Florian to throw her whole weight against it. It still didn’t budge. Florian added her weight and after three tries, the door popped open, revealing the tumbled cabin with books and charts slung every which way. Tremaine aimed herself at the hatch that led down to the hold, let go, and staggered across the angled floor, fetching up against the far wall.
Florian stumbled in after her, catching herself against the table still bolted to the floor. “Tremaine, careful.”
“Get a bag and grab things.” She waved helplessly at the lockers across the cabin that held the emergency lamps, rations and other equipment. The wireless, of course, was shattered to bits from the spell.
Tremaine turned to the closed hatch, hoping it wasn’t jammed like the other one. She heard Florian rummaging in a cabinet, then the other girl said, “Here’s a rope.” The loose coil hit Tremaine in the back of the head for emphasis.
“Oh, good.” She caught it against her waist as it unraveled and looped a length around her shoulder. Wood cracked and the boat shifted ominously, underlining the urgency. Tremaine grabbed the door handle and shoved with all her strength, almost flinging herself down into the dark hold when it swung abruptly open. The stepladder had been twisted and wrenched off its support and she could see water lapping at the bottom. “Gerard!” she called desperately.
“Tremaine?” She heard thumps and bangs from the compartment, then Gerard appeared below. She tossed the rope down to him, glancing back to make sure Florian was tying the end off on the bolted table leg. The case with the sphere hung over Gerard’s shoulder in a makeshift sling fashioned out of a sheet.
Tremaine steadied the rope as Gerard climbed, bracing herself against the cabin wall. Florian slid to the opposite side of the hatch to grab the sorcerer’s arm and help him pull himself up. “Stanis is down there, dead,” Gerard reported, his voice grim as he got shakily to his feet and steadied his spectacles. His clothes were soaked and he had a bleeding cut on his temple. “He was down below, near the engine when the Gardier’s machinery destruction spell engaged.”
Tremaine grimaced. Stanis. “The sphere wasn’t affected?”
“Apparently not. I was leaning over it when the spell hit, and it even seems to have protected my watch.” He tapped the object in question, still hanging intact from his vest pocket. He shook his head with a bitter expression. “If we had only known it could do that—”
“We could have kept it next to the engine.” More vital information they couldn’t tell the Institute. And she had the suspicion they were too far from the target point to trigger the reverse adjuration to take them back home. When they had tested the distances on earlier trips the target point had had a radius of less than a mile, and the island had been much further away than that. Tremaine pulled up the rope and collected it into an awkward bundle. “Gerard, we’ve got to”—the boat shifted again with a great crack of abused wood and metal, punctuating her words—“go.”
“Yes, of course.” He made sure the sling with the sphere was still secure, then hauled himself across the cabin toward the hatch on the port side. “Captain Feraim and Ander?”
“Feraim’s dead,” Florian told him, climbing back to the other side of the cabin. She tore open one of the cabinets and grimaced when she saw the rifles stored there were now nothing but pieces, trickling out of the open rack. She moved on to the next. “We haven’t found Ander yet but—” Her foot knocked against something, scooting it across the floor to land in the middle of the cabin. Tremaine stared at it. It was the grip of a pistol.
“Ander’s,” she said with a wince. “He wasn’t down below?”
“No. He must have been washed overboard. Poor boy,” Gerard said grimly, turning back to the hatch. “Come on.”
Florian gave Tremaine a stricken look, then shook herself and turned back to the cabinet. Tremaine climbed across the cabin to help as the other girl dumped the wireless operator’s manuals out of their canvas satchel. I can’t think about it right now. She helped Florian stuff in cans and packages of provisions, matches and the medical kit.
The door grated against rock as Gerard finally forced the port hatch open. Through it Tremaine could see gray daylight and fog drifting over the dark rock wedged under the boat. The railing all along that side was crashed.
The deck shifted abruptly and Tremaine staggered. Florian caught her arm, keeping her from falling into the cabinets. Florian muttered, “That wasn’t good.”
“Now,” Gerard said, motioning urgently to them, “we’re slipping off.”
“Go, we’re right behind you!” Tremaine pushed off the wall toward him, shouldering the satchel of provisions. Florian grabbed one of the oil lamps and straggled after her.
Gerard climbed out of the hatch, making his way cautiously through the shattered wood to the knob of rock that was holding the hull in place. Tremaine took his supporting hand gratefully and scrambled after him.
Just as Florian jumped down out of the hatch behind her the boat shifted again. She yelped and Tremaine and Gerard both grabbed for her, Gerard catching her arm and Tremaine her jacket flap, pulling her to safety. The hull ground slowly down the black rock. With a great crack and a screech of abused metal, the boat slid away from the reef, rolling away into the waves. “That was close,” Florian breathed, stumbling a little as she gained her balance on the wet rock.
Tremaine nodded in relief. Continuing its long slow roll, the boat capsized, gray foam washing over the scarred hull. They retreated hastily, Tremaine looking back to see the wreck fading into the fog.
“Well, that’s that,” Gerard said wearily. He took the oil lamp from Florian and they carefully picked their way along the ridge. “I just hope this protrusion is actually attached to the island.” He paused, looking around at the fog, trying to get his bearings.
“I guess we’re not close enough to swim to the target point and go back through the portal?” Tremaine asked hopefully, squinting to see off into the mist.
“No, the island is several miles outside the circle’s radius.” Gerard pressed his lips together, studying the dim white sky.
“Did anybody see where the airship went?” Florian asked.
“They must have lost us in the mist,” Tremaine told her, trying to ignore the sick sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Besides, if they knew about the Pilot Boat, they must know at some point there’s a force coming through after us to attack them.” She remembered her dream, the Ravenna sinking s
lowly beneath a still sheet of black water. They had to keep the sphere away from the Gardier. Looking at the innocuous bundle slung over Gerard’s shoulder, she said, “It might be better to smash the sphere now.”
Gerard shook his head slightly, still distracted. “We have to get word back to Rel.” He turned to her, smiling a little ruefully, and adjusted his spectacles. “And I personally would be afraid of what the Gardier might do if they managed to find even one of the pieces.”
Oh, there’s a lovely idea, Tremaine thought, grimacing. As they continued, the rocky ridge widened out, more boulders appearing on either side in the wash of dull gray waves.
Gerard halted abruptly. Tremaine leaned around him to see the ridge dead-ended into a rough waist-high wall, constructed of dark stone.
“What is it?” Florian asked, puzzled. “Is that a breakwater?”
“Whatever the purpose, it’s man-made.” Gerard sounded deeply worried. Beyond it was a rougher, obviously natural wall of lava rock, disappearing into the fog about thirty feet above their heads.
“I saw another boat caught in the storm,” Tremaine said, remembering it suddenly. Spots of purple and gold against the storm gray water. “It was a sailing ship. I don’t think it was Gardier.”
Gerard stared at her. “You’re sure?”
Tremaine nodded. “Well I didn’t have a chance to snap a photograph, but yes, I’m sure.”
Florian pushed the hair out of her eyes, biting her lip thoughtfully. “So . . . There’s people here? Besides the Gardier?”
Tremaine and Gerard both turned to look at her. “We hope? Or not?” Florian added uneasily.
“It’s . . . hard to tell at this stage,” Gerard admitted as he started forward again. Tremaine took a deep breath, adjusted the strap of the satchel on her shoulder and followed.
As they drew closer she saw the blocks forming the wall were huge, each close to twenty feet long, though they were only a foot or so wide. Like stone logs, Tremaine thought, puzzled, running her hand over the rough surface. She couldn’t see any mortar holding them together, but the wall seemed stable just the same. On the other side was a path, just wide enough for three people to walk abreast. Gerard climbed over onto it and she followed him, then turned to help Florian scramble over.
“This could be some sort of pavement, but it’s hard to tell,” Gerard said, brows drawn together as he studied the smooth stone surface under their feet. “I wonder ... If that wasn’t a Gardier craft you saw, if they were also under attack or simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Tremaine leaned against the wall to retie her bootlaces. “I hope it didn’t sink.” I hope not everybody is as doomed as we are. She shouldered her bag again. “Which way?”
“We need to get as far away from the wreck as possible.” Gerard glanced up and down the path. They could see about twenty feet in any direction, if that. The waves appeared out of an ocean of cloud to wash against the ridges and scattered boulders. It was quiet except for the distant scrape that must be the hull of the capsized Pilot Boat rubbing against the reef. “Unless we want to try scaling that cliff...”
“I vote not,” Florian put in, gazing up at the sheer rock wall.
“Quite.” Gerard adjusted his spectacles. “Widdershins way is usually appropriate in these situations.”
“These situations?” Florian asked with a puzzled glance at him.
“Situations in which we don’t know which way to go,” Tremaine explained, knowing Gerard’s sense of humor.
They followed the path to the left. After a short time it curved inward, leaving the sea, turning into a twisting passage through high rock walls, heavily shadowed by short deformed trees and curtains of dark foul-smelling vines. The walls were dotted with niches, square-cut and obviously meant for some purpose, but while some were high enough to hold lamps, others were at waist height, or only a few handspans above the ground.
The passage turned and dead-ended suddenly into a large square plaza. At the far side was a crude blocky structure made from more of the black stone logs, the only feature a large forbidding doorway in the center. The gray daylight illuminated a few paces of the dark tunnel within. The rock walls on the other sides were the same as the passage they had just come through, except on the left the rock dropped away to reveal a narrow canal. “It seems to be deserted,” Gerard commented warily. The edges of the stones were weathered and softened by time and there was no sign of any living inhabitants.
Her eyes on the view ahead, Tremaine stumbled a little on the uneven paving blocks. It was hard to see the full extent of the building; the concealing swaths of fog disguised where it left off and the dark cliffs began. Gerard stopped near the doorway and Florian moved over to the canal, Tremaine trailing after her.
It was just wide enough for a large rowboat. The far bank seemed to be made of more of the stone logs like the building, though heavy dark green bushes and palms grew atop it. The fog kept them from seeing anything beyond that. The canal itself was choked with reeds and other vegetation and the water smelled stagnant and foul. A bright green snake with black diamonds along its back slipped through the stems of the weeds as she watched. “First sign of life,” Florian commented, not sounding enthused at the sight. She shivered and rubbed her arms briskly.
“Gerard, the Gardier didn’t build this place, did they?” Tremaine demanded. The corners of the stones were rounded, moss and sand collected in niches and cracks; it looked ruinously old. “It’s not what I expected.” She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. She realized she hadn’t imagined their enemies living in very different circumstances from themselves.
“You’re right, this looks more like the remains of a long-dead civilization,” Gerard answered. He made a gesture and a wisp of spell light leapt to life above his head. “We’ll have to chance that it’s uninhabited by the Gardier or anyone else. We need to get under cover.”
Florian looked as uncertain as Tremaine felt, but they didn’t have much choice. Gerard stepped inside the doorway, the spell light drifting ahead of him.
The passage beyond was high-ceilinged and dry, the natural rock walls smoothed to roughly square precision by long-ago hands. “Hmm,” Gerard commented, and moved further into the tunnel. “I don’t suppose the emergency supplies included electric torches, batteries and a carbide lamp.”
Florian glanced into the satchel doubtfully. “Umm, no. Should we light the oil lamp?”
“Let’s save it for now.” After a short distance the passage turned to the left and Gerard paused, patting his pockets. “Compass, compass.”
“Wait, I’ve got one.” Tremaine dug in her coat and pulled out the small brass compass.
Gerard consulted it, Tremaine taking the lamp so he could record the direction in his battered notebook. He smiled slightly as he tucked the notebook back into his coat. “Your father used to carry small explosives in his dress suit.”
“Those were the good old days?” Florian offered dubiously.
“A long long time ago.” Tremaine handed Gerard back the lamp. She would rather not explain the facts of Valiarde life to Florian.
Gerard sighed. “Quite.”
They moved down the new passage, the light from the entrance fading quickly behind them. A cool steady breeze came from somewhere ahead. Tremaine tugged on the strap of the satchel again, wishing the spray hadn’t drenched her stockings. There were several more turns that Gerard carefully recorded, then the passage widened. Tremaine had barely noticed the ceiling was higher, that the wispy white spell light no longer reached the walls to either side. Then they turned a corner and the passage opened suddenly into a great dark echoing space. The light reached another waist-high wall not far in front of them.
Gerard gestured for the light to drift up as they moved forward slowly. It gave them tantalizing glimpses of the chamber beyond, of stone bridges, galleries, rows of pillars. Columns, built of bundled masses of the stone logs, supported a bridge that crossed overhead
and led away into darkness. From the wall a wide stairway curved down and ended in a floor of polished black stone. No, not stone, Tremaine realized, seeing a drift of seaweed floating atop it. Murky water, still as glass. The whole place was half-submerged.
Tremaine stared, thinking, This is Kimeria. There had been a scene in her last play, cut due to the theater’s inability to stage it, where the characters, while exploring a hidden fayre island, encountered a sunken city. This was very close to how she had pictured it.
“Wow,” Florian said softly.
“My sentiments exactly.” Gerard shook his head slightly, his frown thoughtful. “The air is still fairly fresh. There must be an opening to the outside somewhere close.”
Tremaine nodded. “It smells like salt water. Really stale salt water.” While it looked a great deal like her imaginary city, this place didn’t bear much kinship with the little ship Tremaine had seen. She had only caught a glimpse of it, but she clearly remembered the colorful sails and the painted designs on the prow. Whoever had built this wasn’t an admirer of color or ornament, or at least not the kind of ornament that she could appreciate.
“Hold on.” Gerard gestured at the spell light again, dimming it to a negligible gray spark.
The moments stretched as Tremaine waited for her eyes to adjust. Florian shifted restlessly beside her and Tremaine bit her lip as the darkness seemed to press in. Then she saw the dim radiance from the far side of the chamber, a gray reflection of the wan daylight outside. She pointed. “There! See it?”
“Ah, yes.” Gerard waved the light back to life, the white glow washing over the dark stone again. “If we can jump to that broken column there at the bottom of the steps, we can reach the top of that wall.” Briskly he added, “Come along.”
They climbed cautiously down wide steps streaked with damp muck and managed the first jump to the broken column that poked up above the dark water.