‘I didn’t...’ Trafyn protested. ‘It wasn’t...’
The big Utlander nudged Garzik. ‘Set him free, then take your turn in the crow’s nest. Watch for wyverns. Blood attracts them, so wash first.’
Garzik scrambled to obey him. As he released Trafyn, he warned, ‘Say nothing of our plans.’
‘As if I would,’ Trafyn sneered.
Then Garzik doused himself in seawater and scrambled up to the lookout.
While the Utlanders dealt with their dead and injured on the deck below, he scanned the horizon. Night had fallen. The sky was awash with a froth of stars and the other ship was a dark silhouette in the distance. No doubt they were counting themselves lucky.
What was Byren doing on a ship headed for Rolencia? Had he been to Ostron Isle? He couldn’t have been to Merofynia, not when they were at war.
It was frustrating to have come so close, only to miss his chance. At least he knew Byren still lived.
THE MOMENT THE Utlanders began to retreat, Byren ran to the ship’s side. He could see nothing in the dark sea other than the ship’s wake glowing on the wave crests behind them. Cupping his mouth, he shouted for all he was worth. ‘Orrie! Orrie, hold on. I’m coming for you.’
No answer. The waves were so deep a man could be lost a stone’s throw away.
Byren swung around, grabbing the boatswain.
‘I didn’t know the cap’n meant to sell you to Cobalt,’ the old sailor protested.
‘You’re captain now.’ Byren had no time for this. He’d been lucky that the Utlanders had struck when they did. ‘Turn back. Find my friend.’
The newly appointed captain’s expression told Byren he did not to hold out much hope, but he ordered the ship to change tack.
Byren rolled Talltrees’s body over and retrieved the farseer. He ran up the steps to the high foredeck, to search the sea.
Sylion’s Luck. It was too dark. He raked the sea, searching... searching. Behind him he heard the new captain yell orders. The dead Utlanders were to be thrown overboard. The crew’s dead were sewn into shrouds and buried at sea.
All this was done, and still Byren searched without success.
He lowered the farseer and beckoned the captain. ‘We’ve gone past the point where my friend was thrown overboard, haven’t we?’
He nodded.
‘Which way would the current carry him?’
The old sailor glanced to one side.
‘Then that’s the way we go. We’ll quarter the sea until we find him.’
The captain didn’t talk about the cold, or the sea’s predators. His expression was far more eloquent.
Byren cursed. Why hadn’t he moved faster? Why hadn’t he suspected Talltrees of treachery? Come to think of it, why hadn’t the captain gotten rid of Orrade earlier?
Because they’d needed him to nurse Byren back to health. Cobalt needed Byren alive so he could hold a trial and destroy his reputation before executing him. And he only needed to do this if there were Rolencians who still believed in Byren.
But that was cold comfort right now.
No time for doubts. He would save Orrie.
He would never give up.
Chapter Eight
JUDGING THE MOMENT right, Piro slipped out of the passage onto the middeck. Keeping close to the wall, she remained out of sight of those on the reardeck. A quick glance told her they were preoccupied.
It had taken time to turn the vessel. Now they were only a bowshot behind the abandoned merchant ship and gaining rapidly.
Jakulos waited with several sailors, all carrying grappling hooks and ropes. A thrill ran through Piro. This was how the sea-hounds tackled Utland ships.
‘I’ll go first,’ Siordun said, coming down the steps. ‘Board on my signal.’
Piro held her breath, but he hadn’t seen her. The rest of the sea-hounds clustered along the side of the ship as they approached the merchant vessel.
‘A light!’ Runt cried, pointing.
Piro darted over. She was in time to see a boy of about ten come out of the merchant ship’s cabins with a lantern. He was followed by a white-whiskered man swinging a cleaver and a lad of about fourteen with a large wooden carpenter’s mallet. All three had bandages wrapped around their heads, and they searched the deck as if they were after small but dangerous creatures.
So preoccupied were the merchant ship’s crew, they didn’t notice the Wyvern’s Whelp.
The youth pointed and all three charged across the deck towards the mainmast.
At the same moment, four grown men climbed out of the hold. Like the others, their heads were bandaged. One carried a lantern, the second a net, the third a shovel and the fourth a wooden bucket with a lid.
‘Stop!’ the shovel-wielder yelled at the first three, who appeared to have something cornered between the mainmast and the water barrel.
Either the white-whiskered man didn’t hear him or he chose to ignore him as he raised the cleaver. The cabin boy yelped and jumped back, dropping the lantern. It smashed, spilling burning oil across the deck.
Instead of stamping out the fire, the sailors concentrated their efforts on the trapped creature. Piro didn’t understand. What could be more terrifying than fire on a ship?
Siordun cupped his hands and shouted across to the other ship. ‘Leave it alone. You’ll only make it defend itself.’
The fourteen-year-old screamed. Falling to the deck, he hugged his leg and rolled about. ‘Me foot! Me foot! Quick, cut it off!’
Siordun turned to Jakulos. ‘I need to board that ship.’
The boatswain flung the grappling hook, which connected with a satisfying thunk. Others followed. As the vessels drew closer, the lad kept begging them to cut off his foot.
‘Don’t do it!’ Siordun shouted. ‘I’m coming over. I can help.’
The lad had passed out. Just as well. Two of the men held his leg straight, while another raised the cleaver. Meanwhile, the remaining crew stamped out the flames. Piro assumed the creature had escaped in the confusion.
The vessels shuddered as their sides touched and the sea-hounds lashed them together. Startled, the other crew looked up, some reaching for weapons.
‘Captain Nefysto of the Wyvern’s Whelp, come to your aid,’ the captain yelled and gestured to Siordun. ‘We have a Power-worker and a ship’s surgeon.’
The white-whiskered man sprang to his feet, pulled the bandage off his head and took something out of both ears. ‘What?’
Nefysto repeated himself, adding, ‘Looks like you’re having trouble with an Affinity beast.’
‘Aye. Thanks to the spice merchant. A Power-worker, ye say? Come aboard.’
‘Don’t amputate the lad’s leg. Not yet, anyway.’ Siordun jumped onto the other deck. ‘Bring everyone up on deck. If you see the creatures, back off and let me know.’ He looked over his shoulder to the surgeon. ‘Wasilade?’
‘Coming.’ The surgeon pushed past Piro. ‘Where is that stupid boy? He should be back by now.’ He grabbed Runt’s arm. ‘Find my apprentice. I sent him below for my bag.’
Piro caught up with Runt at the hatch to the hold. ‘I’ll get him.’
Eager to stay and watch, Runt did not argue.
She headed for the surgeon’s workroom, where she found the apprentice holding a bag in one hand and a rolled-up leather apron in the other.
Seeing her, he jumped with fear and guilt.
‘The surgeon wants you,’ Piro told him. ‘They’re about to cut off the lad’s foot. Hurry or you’ll miss it.’
Etore went even paler, dumped the things on the work table, covered his mouth and ran out of the cabin. She heard him throwing up in the passage.
Piro smiled, grabbed the bag and the apron, and went up on deck. No one tried to stop her as she climbed onto the merchant ship’s deck.
The belligerent shovel-wielder and the white-whiskered man had gone, but the rest of the crew stood around watching the surgeon, who knelt by the side of the unconscious youth, listening to
his chest.
‘This is for Surgeon Wasilade.’ Piro handed the bag and apron to one of the men, then went around behind the group, trying to find a good vantage point.
‘He’s stopped breathing,’ the net-man told the surgeon. ‘Yer too late.’
‘Not if the Power-worker is right. A few drops of this under his tongue should...’ Wasilade opened a jar. ‘Hold the boy’s mouth open.’
Several men shook their heads. The net-man muttered, ‘I’m not touchin’—’
Piro shoved past them and did as instructed. The surgeon was focused on his patient and didn’t acknowledge her. She saw him dribble some of the liquid into the lad’s mouth.
‘Hold him.’
None of the men moved.
‘Hold him!’
The youth’s body arched and his heels drummed on the deck. The merchant sailors fought to hold his arms and legs down and Piro almost lost her grip on his head.
No one spoke until the seizures stopped.
Pale and still, the lad lay there with blood-flecked spittle dribbling from the side of his mouth. The sailors waited in silence as the surgeon tried to wake the youth. There was no reaction.
‘I told yer...’ the net-man muttered.
‘His heart beats,’ Wasilade said. ‘If you believe in a god or goddess, now is the time to pray.’
Piro went to find Siordun. She heard angry shouting, interspersed with Siordun’s measured tones, and slipped into the passage where she found the cabin boy listening at a partially open door. Piro joined him and they peeped into the captain’s cabin. The white-whiskered man sat behind the desk and the belligerent man still held his shovel, which he shook to emphasise what he was saying. ‘...and I’m telling you, this is all legal and above board. Lord Cobalt relaxed the laws on importing Affinity beasts and products, and Merchant Yarraskem brought the cargo on Ostron Isle. I have the papers to prove it. It’s none of your business what my master imports.’
‘Don’t tell me what’s legal, Nikoforus,’ Siordun said. ‘I’m talking about what’s right. And it’ll be everyone’s business if your master brings dangerous Affinity creatures into Rolencia.’
‘Niko told me they were safe,’ the white-whiskered captain said.
‘Affinity beasts are never “safe,”’ Siordun said, turning to the merchant’s agent. ‘They can never be truly tamed.’
He was wrong. Piro knew her foenix loved her.
‘Affinity beasts are safe if they haven’t hatched,’ Nikoforus argued. ‘What’s safer than an egg? And if yon silly cabin boy hadn’t opened the box to take a look—’
‘But they had hatched. Miron heard them crying,’ the captain countered. ‘You told me they wouldn’t hatch until after we made port. You told me they were to be sold as pets for rich men’s wives and children. You told me they were pretty little winged creatures, which sang sweet songs. You—’
‘And so they are, if they’re looked after proper. But your crazy cook took to them with a cleaver. No wonder they’re frightened.’
‘My cook and boatswain are both dead. These—’
‘What kind of Affinity beasts are they?’ Siordun asked the merchant’s agent.
‘You won’t have heard of them,’ Nikoforus told him. ‘They’re a new crossbreed, kresatrices. Kressies for short. Bred to be pets.’
‘Next you’ll be telling me you got them for a good price,’ Siordun said. ‘Keeping Affinity beast as pets has gone out of fashion on Ostron Isle. I bet the breeder was glad to be rid of them. How big did you say they were?’
‘Big as a half-grown cat.’
‘And how big are they supposed to grow?’
‘He said knee high...’ But now Nikoforus sounded uneasy.
‘If the hatchlings’ bites can kill a man, what do you think they’ll do when they are mature?’
Piro suspected the men were going to argue all night. Meanwhile the Affinity creatures roamed the ship. She turned to the boy. ‘You’re Miron?’
He nodded. ‘I didn’t know they’d turn nasty. They looked so sweet and frightened, but when I tried to give them a bowl of milk and honey they swarmed all over me.’
Piro nodded. ‘Kresatrices...’ She supposed they were a mix between a cockatrice and a kresillum. A full grown male cockatrice stood taller than a man, with razor sharp leg spurs, wings and a serpent’s tail. It could spit deadly poison, accurate up to two body-lengths. The feathers of a cockatrice were fine as fur and highly prized, but the beasts were not something you’d keep as a pet. The kresillum, on the other hand, was the size of a cat. Its hard shell protected it from predators, and if that failed it would sing so sweetly that the predator forgot everything. They weren’t poisonous, but if someone had been cross-breeding the two, who knew what the result would be?
The spice merchant’s agent was right about one thing—the creatures had been defending themselves. If she left it up to the captain, he’d catch them and kill them. If she left it up to the merchant, he’d sell them. She would have to catch the frightened hatchlings herself.
FLORIN AND VARUSKA left the betrothal celebrations early. Florin felt weary as she helped the false-Piro strip off her finery. So much had happened since they’d both entered the castle this morning.
‘This is your chance,’ Varuska whispered. She stood by the fire, wearing one of Piro’s nightgowns. Stray wisps of her long hair rose in the hot drafts coming from the flames. ‘Go find my sister now.’
‘As soon as you’re in bed.’
Varuska climbed in and pulled up the covers. ‘Give her my bundle. Anatoley can wear my things.’
Florin nodded.
‘Tell her I’m safe. Don’t tell her about...’ Varuska gestured to the chamber, her pretty face pinched with fear. ‘Granna mustn’t worry.’
Florin nodded.
Here she was, running messages for Piro’s imposter when she should have been assassinating Cobalt. But it was thanks to Varuska’s masquerade that Florin knew Cobalt’s manservant was really an Ostronite assassin. She would have to take Amil into consideration when she killed Cobalt.
Whatever happened, she was not going to put Varuska’s life in danger.
Florin closed the door to Piro’s chamber and backed into a man-at-arms. Fool, she should have anticipated Cobalt would set a guard.
‘Here, where are you off to?’ He steadied her. A gleam lit up his eyes. ‘Breeches, eh?’
Florin sent him a cold look. ‘I need my bundle.’
Just then two men came down the corridor carrying a blanket-wrapped body between them. In a castle this size, with its many servants and visitors, someone was always sick and dying.
After they’d gone, the man-at-arms was no longer interested in her breeches. ‘Fetch your bundle. An’ be quick about it.’
Florin nodded, heading off down the passage. With every step she took, a feeling of foreboding grew. From Byren’s description, Cobalt was not the benevolent kind. Now that she thought about it, Old Mirona and Anatoley would be better off leaving tonight before Cobalt could reconsider and give Amil different orders.
As Florin rounded the bend, she nearly bumped into a candle-trimmer. They both jumped. He was half her size and nervous as a mouse. She would have apologised, but he hurried away with his step-stool and candle snuffer.
Florin entered the female servants’ chamber to find it in darkness. Only a glimmer of light came through the high window. She collected Varuska’s bundle and felt her way towards the old woman’s pallet. ‘Mirona?’
No answer.
Of course, it had been her body the men had been carrying. Poor old thing...
Florin’s boot crunched on something underfoot. She tucked the bundle under her arm, knelt and felt for the object. Her fingers found the shattered goddess.
Old Mirona had not died of natural causes.
Florin had to find Anatoley before Cobalt’s thugs did. Sick with horror, she fled.
PIRO TURNED TO the cabin boy. ‘Show me where you were keeping the kresatrices.
’
‘We had them in the galley.’ Miron scurried along the hall and out onto the middeck, where the crew were still gathered around the injured youth. They crossed the deck unnoticed and climbed down the ladder.
The huge cast-iron stove, with its many warming plates and two ovens, stood amidst the chaos of copper pots, pans and food. Half-covered in debris, a large grey-haired man sprawled dead on the galley floor.
‘That’s Cookie. Staz is his apprentice.’ Miron saw she didn’t understand. Tears filled his eyes. ‘Staz got bitten. I shoulda—’
‘Couldn’t be helped.’ Piro squeezed his shoulder. It made sense to keep the Affinity beast eggs in the galley, where it was warm. ‘Bet Cookie didn’t like having Affinity cargo in his kitchen.’
‘How did you know?’
She knew cooks and she knew Affinity beasts. If she was lucky, she’d find the kresatrices curled up asleep in their nest. ‘Where were they kept?’
‘This way.’ Miron picked a path through the pots and pans, giving the dead cook a wide berth.
‘It must have been a terrible fight,’ Piro observed.
‘When they swarmed me, Cookie roared like a wyvern and swung his cleaver. He saved my life.’
‘How many kressies were there?’
‘Nine.’
‘All of them hatched?’
Miron nodded.
‘Did Cookie kill any?’
‘Just the one.’ Miron pointed to a large over-turned baking dish on the floor. ‘There.’
Piro lifted the dish gingerly. She needn’t have worried. The kresatrice was well and truly dead, its body hacked to bits.
Miron sniffed and hunkered down. ‘Poor kressie.’
Piro turned the little thing over. It had the hard plates of a kresillum, but with its lizard’s tail, legs and neck, it was most like a cockatrice. The small, feathered wings wouldn’t have been strong enough to lift it off the ground. The face was curiously sweet. Now dull in death, in life the large eyes would have been jewel-like, but that small snout contained...
‘Fangs.’ Piro pointed. ‘That’ll be how it injects poison. Wish I knew what the surgeon used to revive—’
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