On Discord Isle (The Dawnhawk Trilogy)

by Burgess, Jonathon

  “Oh, such a shame,” said Bumquist.

  A deep, rattling groan escaped from the apothecary. He moved for what Lina swore was the first time, eyes rolling down to the bottles at his side.

  “Oh, that’s excellent!” exclaimed Madam Bumquist. “He’s responding to me, Omari.” She shook her hand in front of the apothecary. “Hello, Mr. Gravelin!”

  Omari froze momentarily. Then she smiled warmly at her customer. “It’s no wonder, of course. You brighten up the room wherever you go, Madam Bumquist. You’ll simply have to come by more often.”

  Lina stared as it came to her. The apothecary had taken a breath before groaning. It was the only one she’d seen since walking in here. That and his glassy eyes, the horrible waxy pallor of his skin, the strong embalming-fluid stink in the room....She was certain that Mr. Gravelin was dead.

  Worse than that, he was a Revenant.

  A gasp left her lips unbidden. Bumquist frowned at the noise. She peered down her nose at Lina, noticing her for the first time. Then she gave a gasp of her own.

  “Oh my word,” said Madam Bumquist. “Well. I thought this was a respectable establishment, Omari.” The woman’s pinched face looked incredibly affronted.

  “What?” The apothecary’s assistant looked up from her work in confusion.

  “Really,” said Bumquist to Lina. “It’s guttertrash floozies like you, young woman, that corrode the moral fiber of the good people of this city. Perhaps if you wore more clothing, we wouldn’t be suffering from this accursed, mistaken occupation.”

  “Maybe if you wore a little less,” replied Lina automatically, “the men might not hunt so hard for somewhere else to stick their nethers.”

  Madam Bumquist colored. Her nostrils flared, and she quivered with suppressed anger. Then she turned up her nose and strode past for the door. Lina watched her go with indifference. Her response had been reflexive; she had bigger things to worry about.

  Omari gave a curse and came around the counter after Bumquist. “Wait,” she said, shaking a dark bottle. “Madam, don’t go. This girl isn’t a customer here. She just came in to get out of the rain. I’ve filled your order—”

  The front door slammed shut. Omari fell silent. When she looked back to Lina her face was tight with anger. “See! Why did you say that? That’s exactly the kind of thing that I’m talking about. Now, get out!”

  Lina certainly had no desire to stay here any longer. In all the stories she’d heard, Revenants hated the living, and craved their flesh. Though Mr. Gravelin didn’t seem particularly threatening at the moment, merely playing with the bottles Omari had brought out. Still, it wasn’t a risk she wanted to take. But if I leave now, there’s still Gregory to deal with. For the hundredth time, she cursed Lucian.

  “Omari,” Lina said. “Believe me, I am absolutely happy to leave. But if I could just use the back door?”

  Something moved on the floor between them. It was the mouse, scurrying out from under the table the cat had crawled beneath earlier. The creature tottered on its three legs without much aim or purpose. It wasn’t bleeding, even though the missing leg showed dark meat and bone.

  Cubbins, the orange tabby cat, leapt out from the shadows at the undead rodent. It landed with a pounce, then batted its prize around. It pulled back to let it totter back and forth before leaping again.

  Omari reached down, lightning-quick, and grabbed up the cat by the scruff of its neck. Then she stomped on the corpse of the mouse, kicked it across the room into the fireplace, and pointed sharply at the door. “Out!” she yelled at Lina.

  Lina stared. “Right,” she said. “Right. That’s…that’s probably wise.” Holding tightly onto Runt, she fled the Apothecarium.

  Outside, the street was clad in shadow as day fell into twilight. People locked their shops and hurried homeward as the lamplighters moved about their task. Lina barely noticed. She stared back at the building over her shoulder, one hand on Runt for comfort. What in all the Realms Above was going on in there?

  “So, is your headache better?”

  Lina looked back to see Gregory. She gave a smile as brittle as she felt. I could just sic Runt on him. No one would convict me. Lina opened her mouth to tell Gregory exactly what she thought of him, then paused as a squad of five blue-coated Perinese marines trooped past, marching in perfect lockstep formation, their eyes cold and hard.

  No. Drawing any attention to herself right now was still a bad idea.

  But she wasn’t going to hang around any longer. Lina decided to get her real clothes back, and make her way out of the city to where the Dawnhawk had gone to anchorage. It shouldn’t be that hard to find.

  If the fat bastard in front of her wouldn’t leave her alone, she would make him.

  “No,” she replied. “Just go. Go away.”

  Gregory frowned petulantly. “Hey. I’m a paying customer. You have to give me service.” His hands wrapped into flabby fists. “I take care of Mother, and she finally took her laudanum and went to sleep, and I’ve been looking forward to this for months and saving my allowance and I even took a bath. Now you have to give me service.”

  He panted, glaring at her with piggy, selfish eyes. Lina only stared at him, stunned by his petulance, struck by an awareness that there’d been a time when he would have been right. Goddess, I’m so glad to be a pirate now. At least piracy only got you hanged, in the end.

  She shook her head with a weary smile. “Sod off, you silly bastard. You’re not getting anything from me. And you never will.” Lina pushed past as Gregory sputtered and fumed. She crossed the street to the alley she’d spent all day occupying. The narrow passage enclosed her like a maw made out of shadow. Lina ignored the gloom and marched ahead. From behind came the sound of Gregory’s rustling waddle. She had just reached the pile of old boxes and crates, when his hand fell upon her shoulder.

  That was it, the last straw. Lina whirled, dropping her weight and balling her hands up into fists. Runt sensed her tension and rumbled in warning.

  “You can’t talk to me like that,” said Gregory. His double chin wobbled in anger. “You’re just a—”

  Lina slugged him hard in the gut. It was like hitting a cloth sack full of pudding. Gregory yelped, more in surprise than pain. Lina hit him again, a left jab followed by a right cross against his chin. The fat man fell back with another cry. Lina lifted her shoulder and pointed at him. “Runt!” she growled. “Kill!”

  The scryn reared up from her shoulders and spread himself wide. A lurid red glow bathed Gregory, illuminating the alley. Her pet hissed, poisonous spittle spattering to the ground.

  Something snarled from the shadows at all three of them. Runt squawked in surprise and took flight. Gregory flinched, throwing up his hands with a cry. Lina whirled to face the threat, darting out of the way as a reptilian creature leapt suddenly from out behind a crate, both arms raised and long talons gleaming. It landed before Gregory and hissed. The monster was surprisingly short.

  That didn’t matter to Gregory. The fat man screamed as he ran out the alley. “Help!” he cried. “Monsters! Monsters and dangerous whores!”

  Lina glared after him flatly.

  Rastalak snickered as Gregory careened away. He stood up straighter and shot her a look. “Are you all right?” he hissed.

  Lina gave a weary sigh. Finally, you show up. She had worked so hard to avoid trouble. “I was taking care of it myself, but yes, thanks. Where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting all day for someone to come meet me.” And why did they send you? Rastalak was a great friend, but the pygmy Draykin could hardly blend in with the locals.

  He made a small shrug. “Apologies. Committee-Member Lucian directed me to meet you at the park with the big statue, earlier. I could not tell the buildings apart, but found the park. Eventually I realized that our target, this Breachtown Counting House, was not there. I heard again from Committee-Member Lucian and came to find you.” He reached back into the shadows and pulled out what looked like the carcass of a fat bird,
hastily plucked and roasted.

  Lina blinked. “And what, you picked up a chicken along the way?” Figures that he’d hear from Lucian and the others. They couldn’t be bothered to find me.

  Rastalak appeared pleased. “The people here are polite. A human woman gave it to me.”

  “Really?”

  Her crewmate shrugged. “She screamed, then threw it at me. I have decided that she wanted me to have it. It is impolite, not to accept a gift.”

  Lina sighed. And then you stopped somewhere to cook it. “Look, let’s just get going. That fat bastard is sure to call the Bluecoaties with his bleating. We’d better get moving.”

  The little Draykin nodded agreement. Lina retrieved her gear from under a pile of boards and led Rastalak deeper along the alley to where it met with another back lane. When they’d moved several buildings away, Lina paused to change behind a large rain barrel. Rastalak put his back to her and kept an eye out, noisily devouring his prize.

  Lina shucked off the hated dress as if it were on fire. She stripped away the stockings, pulling her old shirt and trousers back on. Then went the high-heeled shoes, replaced with her good, solid boots. She donned her ratty shirt, swearing at Runt, who didn’t want to move. Lastly, she pulled on her belt, the heavy daggers a comfortable weight against her hips. Lina gave a sigh of relief. It felt good to be wearing real clothing again. The horrible dress she’d worn all day went into the rain barrel, along with the rest of the outfit. She rejoined Rastalak, now licking grease from his claws. Runt weaved from her shoulders, begging for scraps.

  “Runt, you’ve already eaten. Now Rastalak, I’ve been watching the counting house all day. Noticed quite a few useful things about the place, for our purpose. Let’s get back to the Dawnhawk so I can give my report. We’ll have go carefully to get out of town; the sun’s going and there’s a curfew in effect, I’ve heard.”

  The little Draykin gave her an odd look. “We need not go so far.”

  Lina raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  Rastalak fell silent a moment. He shifted his weight back and forth then shook his head. “I do not understand the sense of it myself. But...you’ll see. Come.”

  Her crewmate skulked off into the gloom. Lina frowned and followed after.

  Twilight gave over to nightfall as they made their way through the city. The tightly spaced buildings provided plenty of alleyways and backstreet lanes to move between, complementary to the more major thoroughfares. A few seemed damaged from the recent fighting, either wrecked or burned-out shells. Most were simply quiet and unlit. Here and there they passed beneath a covered window, thick draperies occluding all but the faintest slivers of the light and life that moved behind it.

  The streets themselves were full of activity. Squads of Perinese Bluecoats deployed from the navy marched in lockstep, the echoes of their tromping boots resounding down the alleyways to reach Lina and her friend. Her day had been blessedly free of them so far, but now they were out on patrol, eyeing the locals and enforcing the curfew.

  A forest of bobbing lights appeared past the rooftops ahead. They were lanterns, hanging from the rigging of the warships in the harbor. Lina realized that Rastalak was taking them west, toward the waterfront. Wait, where are we going? The Dawnhawk had been anchored somewhere past the Stormwall, in the Yulan Interior to the east. What is going on?

  The two of them came to a major street at the end of their current alley. A richly built carriage rolled past, pulled by a pair of fine horses. Lina didn’t see the crest on the door, but a large group of fifteen Bluecoats trailed it. She knelt down in the shadows of her alley, yanking her crewmate along with her.

  “Rastalak,” she whispered. “Where are you taking me? We can’t keep running through the city. Look at all these patrols! Where is the Dawnhawk?”

  Her friend didn’t answer her immediately. She glanced away from the parade of soldiers in the street to see him looking at the ground, rocking back and forth on his heels, worried. He glanced up at her and gave a confused shrug. “The airship is still beyond the city. Mr. Henry Smalls will pilot it in at midnight, I am told.”

  Lina looked at him. “And?”

  “When the committee-member sent me to find you, he mentioned there was a change in plans.”

  “Find me?” Lina stared at him. “What, he’s here on the ground? I just thought you meant that the ship had sent you a message! What’s he doing in the city? And what do you mean, a change in the plan? I didn’t think he even had a plan yet!”

  Lina realized her voice was carrying out into the street. She froze. But all the marines were gone, having marched past after the carriage. Lina leaned out the alley mouth and spied them dimly down at the far end of the road.

  She glanced back to Rastalak, who just shook his head. “Come. I had best show you.”

  Before she could say anything, he darted out from the alley, through the street, and into an alley on the other side. Lina cursed and ran after him. She followed as he ran around a back-alley corner, then stumbled as she ran into his back.

  The dim alley before them was far from quiet, or even empty. It appeared to be the backside of a tavern, and the majority of the crew from the Dawnhawk lounged about, drinking foamy mugs of ale from a broached keg in the middle of the alley. Lucian stood with Sarah Lome and Reaver Jane in the back door of the tavern chatting amiably with the publican, who was busily pocketing a satchel of coins.

  “It is not just Committee-Member Lucian,” said Rastalak. “Almost everyone came down. They discussed things, and all wanted to drink before the raid.” He looked up at her. “I do not understand why the committee has allowed this. It seems counterproductive to our desire for stealth.”

  Lina worked her jaw for something to say. The words wouldn’t come. Suddenly, acutely, Lina wished very much that Captain Fengel were here.

  She’d even take Natasha.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Natasha peered into the tunnel. It led deeper into the mountain where a pinprick of red light glimmered up ahead. At her back waited the Salomcani, their angry voices mixing with the rush of the stream into an echoing cacophony. She ignored them, focused instead on her quarry.

  Her father would have warned caution. What is that light? Some trick? A trick was certainly possible. It’s what she would have relied on, if she’d been forced to flee.

  Natasha glanced back at her crew. Though wounded and tired, the fight outside the tunnel had galvanized them. Hounded by the Perinese for days now, the chance at revenge was proving sweet. They’d been ready and willing when she’d come across the men of the Goliath in that stream, and she’d orchestrated the fight as well as any in recent memory, hitting the oblivious sailors hard. Her new crew had even managed to divert Fengel when she’d called for it, keeping him busy long enough that even his peerless swordsmanship couldn’t turn the tables. Now her raiders stood ready to finish their foes, hefting weapons and muttering curses as they waited for their Kalyon to lead them on again.

  Not everyone appeared so eager, however. Both Etarin and Jahmal, her two makeshift officers, exchanged worried glances. Tall Farouk seemed oblivious, staring around at the tunnel in curiosity, and tentatively touching the deep bruise across his cheek that Fengel had left him.

  Natasha snorted. Realms Below with it. Best get this lot moving again.

  “All right,” she growled. “They’re limping and bloodied. Let’s finish them off.”

  “My fingers!” wailed a crewman whose name Natasha hadn’t bothered to learn. The man was short and wiry, and clutched a bloody rag around one hand. “That one with the monocle took two of my fingers!”

  Natasha sighed. It was true. Not only had Fengel been in the gully, he hadn’t been bound as a prisoner. He’d been armed, and shouting orders. Her incompetent, infuriating, lackwit husband had somehow finagled his way into leading the Perinese.

  Just like he’d said he would.

  I’ll show him. She’d put his dupes to the sword and prove once and for all just
which one of them was more capable, which one of them was the better captain.

  “Walk it off,” she snarled at the injured sailor. “And remember, golden sovereigns for the one who brings me Captain Fengel alive!”

  Jahmal looked uneasily at her. “Kalyon....”

  “What?”

  “Shouldn’t we be making for the Goliath?”

  Natasha paused. What was left of the Perinese had been with Fengel, for some reason. Now they were all stuck up a tunnel leading who-knew-where, leaving their steamship behind them, lightly defended if at all.

  Chasing down and thrashing her husband would be satisfying. But she’d risen to control over the crew of the Salmalin by more than personal force. She’d also promised a solution to their troubles. The wise move would be to retreat, take the Goliath, and then strand Fengel by sailing away.

  But that wasn’t good enough.

  “Dog!” she shouted, slapping the man with her free hand. He flinched and gave a yelp. Natasha gestured down the tunnel with her sword. “The Perinese are backed into a corner here. We crush them, and then we’ll take their ship. Now, forward!”

  Etarin wiped more blood from his face and shared another look with Jahmal. Natasha ignored it, deciding to deal with them later. She raised her scimitar and led the way down the tunnel. The crew roared and followed after, sloshing through the stream deeper into the heart of the mountain.

  Tiny rivulets and waterfalls appeared along the sides of the tunnel, combining together to form the stream flowing back outside. That was strange, but Natasha ignored the feature to focus instead on the sanguine light that grew with every step she took. It resolved into an opening, where the tunnel widened. Natasha steeled herself and plunged through, ready again for the fray.

  The tunnel opened into a massive chamber formed of smoothly polished brass. Four walls of the same material rose up and outward, like the inside of an inverted pyramid. Natasha found herself standing in the middle of a platform dais raised several feet above a perfectly flat, square floor. A low, waist-high wall rose from the lip of the platform, smooth and unbroken but for a pair of wide stairs. One was directly ahead, leading down to the floor. Another ascended on her right, up to a causeway. That causeway spanned the length of the room to a similar stair and platform against the far opposite wall. Below it an arched opening led deeper into the mountain.