by Rachel Caine
Anit led her off to the large cabin she occupied on the ship, and as she opened cabinets and took down a box of menstrual pads, she said, "So what is it you really want to talk about?"
"Oh, I do need these--believe me. I have no doubt I'll be bleeding in a day or so. But you're right: I also needed to talk about our situation."
"Situation." Anit found a small canvas bag and began to load it up. "I've doubled the supplies. You can share with Glain." There was a small hesitation in her voice, something that set Khalila on alert. She put her hand lightly on Anit's arm and felt the girl tense. Careful, she told herself. She could easily turn this wrong.
"Why did you change your mind?"
Anit's hands suddenly stilled, and she looked up at Khalila. For a moment, Khalila was sure the girl would answer, but then her look flattened, darkened, and she thrust the bag into Khalila's hands. "You should go."
"Anit . . ." Khalila took a deep breath. "I understand that your father ordered you to change our agreement. No one blames you. I don't blame you. But it's clear you're taking us to Alexandria. You know what will happen to us."
"You should go," Anit said. "Now."
"Not until I know what he threatened to make you betray your agreement. I know your word means everything to you."
"I can have you removed."
"Yes. You can call your sailors. You can lock us in our rooms. Drop me overboard, should you wish--" The flinch and widened eyes from Anit made Khalila press on. "Are those your father's orders? To put us over the side?"
"Not all of you," Anit said. "Only the one with no value to the Archivist."
"You mean Glain."
"Yes."
"When is it to happen?"
"I have my orders, Khalila."
"I'm not asking you to go against them. I'm asking you to tell me when they plan to kill her so we can come to her defense. That leaves you entirely out of it."
Anit looked away and said, "I didn't want this. We had an agreement. But . . . my father has made promises, important promises. I can't go against him on this."
"I understand," Khalila said. "When will they take Glain?"
Anit didn't meet her eyes. "Tonight. They'll drug your food and drink so there's no interference."
"Will they drug all of us? Or only Glain and myself, since we share the cabin?"
"Just the two of you," Anit admitted. "But if you don't eat it, they'll know I warned you."
Khalila nodded. "I'll eat it. But all the same, the others might accidentally see it happen and come to her rescue."
"They'd best be prepared to fight," Anit said.
"Which among us is the most valuable?"
"Thomas. And Captain Santi."
Khalila cocked her head and frowned. "Santi? I'd have thought he'd have gone over the side with Glain. He's no one to ransom him. What use does he have of value to the Archivist?"
"It isn't about ransom," Anit said. This time, she did meet Khalila's eyes, but only for an instant, and then she turned away and wrapped both arms around herself, as if feeling the chill. "The Archivist wants to punish Wolfe. He can use Santi to hurt him."
The depth of depravity in that made Khalila feel sick. That someone so powerful should use that power so cruelly . . . and so randomly. There was a deep, personal anger there, one that she was glad she couldn't understand. "All right," she said. "Thank you for these. I appreciate the kindness."
"We must all be kind," Anit said. "While we're still able. Khalila? I never wanted any of this."
Khalila knew she shouldn't ask, but she had to. "Will you help us?"
"No," Anit said, and smiled. "But somehow, I know that won't stop you."
Khalila left and was glad of the strong blast of wind on the deck, even as it bleached the heat out of her. She needed to feel something bracing. She'd been ready to take Anit hostage, if need be, but she thought Anit wanted to help. And under just the right circumstances, she might be free to do so.
All that remained was to work out how those circumstances needed to occur.
But first, they'd need to save Glain's life.
* * *
She remembered little of the evening. Eating the drugged meal had been hard, but the worst had been watching Glain consume it, too, all unknowing. Out of an abundance of caution, Santi and Thomas had elected not to eat or drink at all, though they made a good simulation of it.
Glain hadn't noticed.
By the time the meal was done, Khalila already felt the drag of the medications and sent Thomas a half-panicked look as Glain yawned. Dario had eaten only a little of his own food, probably because of his still-unsteady stomach, but he also yawned. It was hard to say whether it was a sympathetic response or the drugs at work in him, too. Did Anit lie to me? Did she tell them to drug us all? At least Santi and Thomas will still be effective.
But that also might mean they'd be watched, and prevented from acting.
Glain collapsed into bed almost immediately when they reached their cabin, but Khalila tried hard to keep herself awake, hour after hour . . . pacing, praying, resorting to pinching herself when her legs failed to support her anymore. At the last, she crawled into her bed, and the drag on her eyelids became irresistible.
Khalila woke with a pounding headache, a dire thirst, and the ship tossing like a toy boat in the teeth of the storm . . . and when she crawled out of her bunk and checked, Glain was not there.
Glain was not there.
"No," Khalila whispered, and swept the covers aside, as if somehow the young Welsh woman could have been hiding underneath them. She dragged herself to her feet and threw on a fleece-lined robe that Anit had loaned her, cinched it tight, and staggered outside into the teeth of the wind. Her hijab nearly tore loose, but she clamped a hand to it as she tried to see what was happening.
The deck was nearly deserted, only a few sailors struggling about their tasks. She didn't see Glain.
She didn't see any of her friends.
Khalila ducked back into the shelter of the hall and hurried to the cabin that Thomas and Dario shared. Empty. She tried Captain Santi's room.
And found all of them gathered there.
Dario rose immediately and came to her as she stood panting and shaking, unexpectedly weak. He tucked a stray lock of hair that had come loose back under the cover of her hijab; she hugged him fiercely and felt such an intense relief that it made her knees threaten to buckle. She tried to speak, but tears choked the words. She lingered on every face, especially Glain's; the Welsh woman sat nursing a drink, paler than normal. She had a bandage around her head and another winding her forearm.
She wasn't the only one with injuries. Every one of them had visible bruises or bandages, or both. Dario winced when she squeezed too tightly, and she instantly released him and held him at arm's length to study him.
"I'm fine, madonna," he told her, and fitted his hand to her cheek in such a natural, gentle motion that she closed her eyes for a moment to control the racing of her heart. "We're all fine."
"Speak for yourself," Glain growled. "I've got a nasty hangover and my ears are still ringing from hitting the damned railing."
Khalila felt breathless. She knew the kind of fight each one of these people could put up, and the fact that they were all injured . . . it meant she had missed something truly violent.
Santi said, "Sit before you fall, Khalila." He moved a chair forward, and she gratefully took it. Dario's chair, she thought; he stayed on his feet. She wasn't certain that he'd conquered his seasickness, but at least he was able to stand upright and not look as though he might spew. Small victories.
"What happened?"
They told her in bursts. First Santi related watching their cabin, with Thomas as backup. The arrival of four sailors to retrieve Glain in the dark of night had been foiled, but more had come, and then others had joined the fight.
Glain had been dragged out by Anit's crew and towed toward the side. Dario had managed to grab Glain just as she'd been pushed over the raili
ng, limp and unconscious. He'd suffered bruised ribs while unable to fight back, but he'd grimly held on to her arm and kept her dangling above the waves, until Thomas's strength had come to save her.
Then they'd surrounded Glain, who'd begun to revive in the cold wind and rain, and kept her safe until Anit ordered the attack to stop, for fear of killing her father's valuable prisoners in order to dispose of a useless one.
"Useless." Santi shook his head. "Even half-unconscious, she fought like a devil. She's worth her weight in gold."
"Captain," Glain said. "I fought like a drunken rag doll. But thank you for the kindness."
"You've taken too much of Wolfe's judgment to heart. I've been a professional soldier all my life, and I can only think of half a dozen I'd pick to have by my side in a brawl. You're in that number."
Glain, Khalila thought, looked as though she'd been sweet-talked by a lover. Her eyes sparkled. Her cheeks blushed. She craved a good fight the way most yearned for love or money. "I'm honored," Glain said. "And thankful you all came to my defense. I'll return the favor, anytime."
"We know," Dario said. He looked at Santi. "Will they try it again?"
"We're not giving them a chance, because we're going to take this ship." Santi unrolled a rough map, hand drawn but to Khalila's eye highly accurate; it showed the ocean, the coast of Spain, and the opposing coastline, with Alexandria marked by the Horus eye symbol of the Great Library. Cadiz, he'd marked with a star. "We're off the coast of Portugal now, making for the Strait of Gibraltar; the ship's sailing into the teeth of the storm because there's no alternative, and Anit's been given some deadline to meet. The storm helps us; it keeps the majority of her crew at their posts and makes communication more difficult. But she'll be on her guard for it, too. Anit's locked herself into the bridge with her captain and officers. They're armed, and we're not. In less than a day, we're sailing past Cadiz and headed for the entrance to the strait. We'll lose our opportunity."
"Weapons?" Glain asked.
"All the pistols and rifles are locked in a cabinet on the bridge."
"And the locks?" Dario asked.
"Jess might have been able to pick them, but I don't think any of us could. Morgan might have been able to do something with an Obscurist power, but we don't have that, either."
"Is there a workshop on this ship?" Thomas asked.
"I suppose. Why?"
"I can find us weapons," he said. "Nothing with bullets--they won't be so careless--but they will have other things I can adapt. Explosives, possibly. Welding tools. All these can be useful."
"Right," Santi said. "Dario, you go with--"
"I'm the only one uninjured," Khalila said. "I'll go with him. Together, we can work faster."
"My flower, do you know even the slightest thing about workshops?" Dario asked her, which was patronizing enough to make her send him a sharp, dangerous look.
"My uncle was a Library inventor for thirty years, and I apprenticed with him," she said. "When you call me flower, you imply I can't fight. We both know that's untrue. With a sword, I am far better than you."
Dario winced. Good. Knocking him back occasionally would keep him at least a little humbled. "I retract the insult, however I meant it," he said. "Though I'd feel better if I came with you."
"No. Glain?"
"Happy to assist," Glain said. "I was starting to feel useless sitting here. Besides, if you're making weapons, Thomas, best you have someone to test them out for you."
"No," Khalila said. "You're still at risk."
"And to take me, they'll need to overpower the two of you. Not bloody likely. Besides, I'm not drugged, and I'm not going down without taking them with me."
Thomas nodded. He didn't seem displeased. He usually didn't, when Glain was near. Khalila suspected he admired the young woman a great deal more than he was willing to show, especially considering that Glain herself showed no interest whatsoever in any romantic partners of any gender. In any case, they made a good team, the three of them.
That left only Dario and Santi together, which worried her; both could take care of themselves, of course, but Dario's ribs were bandaged, and the captain looked battered. She exchanged a look with him, but the captain only nodded. "Go," he said. "And, Scholar? We all need to agree on engagement rules."
"I think we know what they are," she said. "We are in this to the end now. There is only one engagement level, though I prefer not to use fatal force when less will do, and to use threats when force is not necessary. Diplomacy when that will suffice most of all. Agreed?"
"Agreed," he said, and smiled tightly.
It was only later that she wondered just when Santi--and all the others--had agreed that she was in charge. And when she had become so comfortable with the idea.
* * *
The workshop proved to be a toy box for Thomas, full of scrap metal he quickly sharpened for them into crude--but deadly--daggers and swords. "The edges won't last long," he warned them as they tested the balance and weight of the blades. "I could make properly done ones if we had a day or so. But they will do for short, dirty fighting."
"My favorite," Glain said, and slipped one of the daggers into her belt, then another into her boot. "Any chance of a projectile weapon?"
"No. Everything I could reconfigure would require smithing, and we don't have time. I considered the riveters, but they're too heavy for our purposes, and tethered with steam hoses."
"Still not impossible," Glain said, and tried the weight of the rivet driver. Khalila doubted she herself could have managed it, but in Glain's hands, it looked quite at home. "There were two connectors on the bulkhead outside of the bridge. One must be for steam. I'll chance it."
"And the charges?" Khalila asked. Thomas held up a small box in one hand and a quart-sized glass bottle full of green liquid in the other.
"The powder charge in this box will fuse the lock on one of the bridge doors so it can't open," he said. "The Greek fire will cut open the other."
"Careful with those," Glain said, and Khalila understood her nervousness. There was enough Greek fire in that glass to ignite half the ship. "You trip, and we all end this voyage on the bottom."
Thomas gave her a faint smile. "I'm large. Not lumbering."
No one had happened on them in the workshop, which was a bit of a miracle, but someone would surely notice Thomas--who was very noticeable--toting a bottle of Greek fire. Swords and daggers could be concealed, and Khalila now carried a belt full of blades beneath the fleece-lined robe, out of view. She sighed and hunted up another wooden box that fit the bottle, and padded it with rags. Thomas latched it shut and hefted it, along with the other items. It didn't look innocent, but at least it didn't look as openly guilty.
Glain didn't bother to conceal anything, and there wasn't much use arguing with her.
The first man to spot them in the corridor heading for the cabins was, happily, one of the sailors Khalila disliked the most; he'd threatened to disembowel Dario, for one thing. He seemed instantly suspicious and opened his mouth to say, "What do you think you're doing around--"
He never reached the end of that question, because Glain stepped forward and slipped a dagger neatly between his ribs. Khalila caught her breath, because every instinct in her shouted that it was unnecessary . . . but she knew better. They were outnumbered and about to enter a very dangerous fight--one that would determine more than just their own fates.
He could have given an alarm. Glain had stopped it.
The sailor was dead within seconds, and nearly silently. They dragged him into a storage locker, and they slipped quickly back to Santi's cabin, where the captain and Dario waited.
"About time," Dario said, and pulled them in. He checked the hall and closed the door. Khalila stumbled into him as the ship took a breathtaking lurch; the storm was worse again, though she couldn't imagine how much more violent it could possibly get. "Did you find anything?"
For answer, she unfastened her outer robe and began to remove swords a
nd daggers. A pair for each of them, and a few spares. She'd been clinking as she walked and gained almost half again her weight from all the metal. It was a relief to lay it down, except for the sword and dagger she kept. These, she belted on outside the fleeced robe this time. Let them notice. She no longer cared. They all looked warlike and piratical now, especially Dario, who seemed most suited to the occupation by looks. And Glain, toting the industrial rivet gun on her shoulder.
"Plans, Captain?" Khalila asked. He was looking thoughtfully at the weapons.
"Questions," he said. "No one found you in the workshop?"
"No one," Thomas said. "Lucky."
Santi didn't seem to believe it. "Even on such a stormy day, that seems odd."
"We did kill a man on the way back," Glain offered. "Quietly."
He nodded at the point but still looked troubled. "I don't know if this is some kind of trap, but we don't have much choice. If we wait, we'll be into the strait, well past our port."
Khalila said, "If we don't take action, Anit will simply carry on as her father commands. She has nothing to lose from it. But . . . I do believe she's hoping we will find a way. She may have even kept her crew away from the workshop. She's not a fool. She'd guess how we'd proceed."
"Agreed," Dario said. "That girl's a fiendishly good chess player."
"Then we move," Santi said. "Khalila, you have steady hands. Set the explosive charge to fuse the bridge door we don't intend to enter. When we hear the blast, we'll burn through the other side, quietly. Hopefully, the crew's attention will be drawn the wrong way."
"And what's she to do if it draws everyone straight to her?" Dario asked. "I'd better go with her."
"No," Santi said. "We'll need the four of us when that door does open, because even if Anit doesn't fight us, her captain and bridge crew will. There are seven of them. I can't spare you, Dario."
"I'll rejoin you as soon as I can," Khalila promised. "I'll be all right."
Thomas put the small box in her hands. "There's a small self-starting fuse," he said. "The charge will stick to the door; it's magnetic. Put it over the lock, just here--" He demonstrated on their cabin door. "Pull the tab to start the fuse. You can leave it to do its job then."