On Discord Isle (The Dawnhawk Trilogy)

by Burgess, Jonathon

  Admiral Wintermourn raised an eyebrow at Lucian. He was older, stately and middle-aged, with a commanding presence that Fengel would envy. “I do not quite believe what I am seeing,” he said slowly. “Are you honest-to-the-Goddess pirates? Here? In the middle of Breachtown?” He shook his head. “Will wonders never cease.”

  Lucian grinned. “We’re wondrous folk, us pirates.”

  “Mayhap,” harrumphed the Admiral. “But I’m afraid your little lark has come to an end. Surrender now, and, we’ll give you a trial before we hang you.”

  The committee-member gestured at their captives. “I’m afraid we can’t be doing that, sir. And I don’t think you should try and force the issue. We’ve a pair of your men here, see?”

  At his signal both Reaver Jane and Ryan Gae lifted blades to the necks of their captives. The man Andrews, wide awake now, stared at the cutlass before him, pop-eyed. Michael Hockton only gave a measured swallow.

  “Ah,” said Admiral Wintermourn. “I was just thinking about those two.” He looked to the ranks of soldiers kneeling before him. “Sergeant Lanters!”

  One of the Bluecoats stood to attention. “Sir!”

  “Prepare the men to fire.”

  The sergeant nodded. He barked a command, and the marines unshouldered their muskets to line up shots at the pirates.

  “Wait,” said Lucian. “We’ve got your men here—”

  “Indeed,” said Admiral Wintermourn. “And they are guilty of leaving their post. The penalty for such an infraction is death, to be carried out on the spot.” Wintermourn gave a careless flourish with the tip of his saber that nicked the ear of a soldier kneeling before him, who flinched away with a low cry.

  Andrews jerked forward against the knife at his throat. “Wait!” he cried. “Sir, please, we were captured!”

  Reaver Jane nodded furiously. “Yes! Captured! Right here!”

  “Two birds, as they say,” remarked Wintermourn. “Men? Fire.”

  The gun line obeyed and an instant stormcloud burst into life as plumes of gunsmoke erupted out toward the pirates. The staccato thunder of the volley followed an eyeblink after, echoing around the interior of the counting house.

  A hail of musket balls fell upon the crewmen of the Dawnhawk. Andersen, the captive Bluecoat, jerked violently as one found his head, exiting out the back and splattering Reaver Jane in gore. She cried in shock and pain at the glancing blow, dropping the corpse to the ground and ducking for cover as she went. The railing before them splintered, showering Lucian Thorne and Sarah Lome with a rain of jagged slivers. Rastalak let out a hiss as a ball grazed his shoulder, twisting him away. Ryan Gae crumpled, grabbing for support at the railing and those beside him.

  Lina fell to the ground, half tripping, half diving for cover. Bodies toppled beside her, some howling in pain, some already lifeless. Michael Hockton flailed where he’d landed beside her, tearing at the ropes around his wrists with his teeth. Her eyes met his while Runt panicked, hissing and spitting and, trying to take flight.

  “We have to get out of here!” he cried. “Wintermourn’s an evil bastard who solves every problem with an execution. He doesn’t care about prisoners!”

  “You think?” Lina shouted back, hating the note of hysteria that colored her voice.

  “Look, I’m a dead man anyway. I just want to get away! Help me, and I can get us out of this.”

  “How?”

  “There’s a side door.” Hockton jerked his head off to the right. “It’s locked from this side, but there’s a key in my right pocket.”

  Lina risked lifting her head up past the groaning bulk of a pirate. The ex-Bluecoat was correct; along the wall off to their right stood a heavy door, hidden from view earlier by a row of wooden filing cabinets.

  No time like the present. She grabbed Runt with one hand and scrabbled atop Hockton. At the front of the room, she heard the sharp commands of the Perinese sergeant as he ordered the second rank to take aim, and for the first to affix bayonets.

  Her fingers skittered over the unfamiliar cut of Hockton’s coat. He twisted, trying to help her as he climbed to his feet. Finding his pocket, Lina pulled forth a half-eaten orange and a small brass skeleton key.

  “It was a snack,” said Hockton. “Now, come on!”

  The Perinese captive sprinted for the side of the room, stepping over the groaning, startled pirates. Lina hurled the orange at the Bluecoats and ran after him, one hand to Runt, who hugged her shoulders and hissed protectively. Out the corner of her eye, she spied Lucian clambering up from where he lay as he called out a garbled question.

  “Side door!” cried Lina as she ran. “There’s a way out—”

  The rest of her directions were lost in the second volley from the Bluecoats. Again, thunder boomed within the confines of the counting house, followed by the whip-hiss of hot lead sent hunting. Fortunately, most of her crewmates had already fallen, either injured or diving for cover. The musket fire flew past them to ricochet against the backdrop of the barred cell at the rear of the room.

  Lina felt a musket ball pass within a hair’s breadth of her face. She cursed and threw herself forward to slam against the wooden panel beside the side door. Michael Hockton was already there, ducking behind one of the filing cabinets and frantically rubbing the rope around his wrists against its edge.

  She fumbled at the door, hunting for the lock. It was heavy, made of some dark wood reinforced by iron. The handle was black iron, and in the shadows she couldn’t make out the keyhole.

  More of her crewmates appeared beside her. Sarah Lome held Ryan Gae up in one arm, while he fired a pistol over Hockton’s head back at the Bluecoats. Reaver Jane appeared, along with Allen the Mechanist, his face covered in blood. A glance told Lina that the men and women of the Dawnhawk were in full flight, waiting only for her to continue their escape.

  From the front of the building came a roar as Admiral Wintermourn barked a command and the Bluecoats charged. They came with bayonet-tipped muskets raised like spears. The last few pirates scrabbled to get out of the way, using what feeble cover the shattered rail provided. Heartbreakingly, Lina spied Tricia, Jonas Wiley, and Lucian Thorne, all lying injured or too slow to get away from the coming assault.

  Glass shattered overhead. It fell in a sharp-edged rain that shimmered in the feeble lantern light. The Bluecoat charge faltered as a heavy crate slammed into the floor before them, throwing soldiers every which way as it exploded to reveal a collection of burned rugs.

  A shape moved in the sky beyond the counting house dome. It was the Dawnhawk, the smooth pumpkin-seed hull clear to Lina even half-occluded as it was by the roof. Thin figures that had to be Henry Smalls and the others who’d stayed aboard moved frantically alongside the port gunwales, dropping another bit of their plundered cargo as a makeshift grenado. It tumbled through the opening in the dome, falling and further driving the Perinese marines into disarray. Lucian and the others made good use of the interruption to clamber to their feet and run for the crowd surrounding Lina, though they left far too many friends unconscious or dead upon the counting house floor.

  Come on, come on. Lina felt the head of the key skitter along the lock plate. She ignored the desperate cries, orders, and suggestions that the others shouted her way. Admiral Wintermourn’s strident commands reached her, though, and as soon as the head of the key slid inside the door, she twisted it, along with the handle, yanking the portal open. The press of the pirates pushed her outward, and she left the Breachtown Counting House for the alley outside.

  Cold night air washed over her, almost shocking after the gunpowder stink and violence of the building at her back. Lina now stood in an alleyway between the counting house and Gravelin’s Apothecarium. Up above floated the prow of the Dawnhawk. To the right ended the alley at a high brick wall. At her left the alley mouth opened onto the main thoroughfare before the counting house. It was no longer empty and quiet, though. Bluecoats clutched their muskets and peered about, curious at the noise caused by
their compatriots inside. Directly ahead of her, another servants’ door led into the Apothecarium, a simple wooden entryway recessed slightly and set above a stoop.

  Michael Hockton leapt across the alley and rammed the servants’ door with his shoulder. He bounced away with a curse, then looked back at Lina. “Come on!” he cried.

  She joined him, running full tilt at the closed doorway. Lina bent her shoulder and gritted her teeth; still, the impact jarred her, bouncing her back into the alleyway, slightly dazed.

  A cry came from the mouth of the alley, followed by a gunshot that puffed up a small cloud of brick dust from the wall of the Apothecarium. The ball ricocheted back and forth, raining grit on the pirates. Lina clambered to her feet. Distantly, she realized that Runt still hissed and spat, casting lurid red light from his belly at the door before them. Michael Hockton tried to ram open the door again, and failed. Lina joined him as Perinese shouts echoed closer, both from the mouth of the alley and the interior of the counting house.

  Then a boot appeared between them both, attached to the tree-trunk leg of Sarah Lome. The gunnery mistress kicked the servants’ door open with one blow, sending it all but flying inward. Hockton went first, and Lina followed him through the now-open portal.

  The room beyond was cozy and clean. It stank of medicinal herbs that hung drying from the rafters and fumes that rose from boiling alembics along the back wall. A curtained doorway on the left led to the front of the building, while a wide ladder ascended past the rafters to a room above. Mr. Gravelin, the undead apothecary, worked at the table with its alchemical devices. Off to the right, in a cozy chair beside a burning fireplace, sat Omari with a book in one hand.

  The dark-skinned woman stared at them in surprised outrage. “Who are you people?” She cried. “What are you doing here?” She put the book down and stood. “How dare you just barge in and—”

  Sarah Lome stalked over to confront the woman. “Which way to the roof?”

  Omari folded her arms. “What? I’m not telling you a thing. Now, get out!”

  The gunnery mistress gestured, and three of the pirates moved forward. Tricia and a heavily bleeding Jonas Wiley restrained Omari, who fought and cursed at them. Elly Minel grabbed Gravelin, yanking him from the table where he sat.

  “Um,” said Lina. “I don’t think that’s a good—”

  A cry from behind interrupted her. Lina turned to see that most of the pirates had moved inside the back room of the Apothecarium now. Lucian, Reaver Jane, and three others covered the rear, trying to shut the door. Bluecoats appeared in the alley, charging for the opening with sabers and muskets raised.

  They clashed in the doorway. Lucian parried a hacking blow, only to find the barrel of a pistol in his face. He ducked, and grizzled Jeremiah Frey took the ball meant for him in the neck. Reaver Jane snarled and fell on the shooter with her cutlass, cleaving through the Bluecoat’s collarbone down into his chest. The man died screaming, and Jane fell with him, trying to recover her sword. Someone leapt over her—Lanters, the Bluecoat sergeant who’d led the charge back in the counting house. He bowled into Charlie Green, knocking the man back with his fist, then gave a thrust with his saber that spit the pirate like a kebab. Sarah Lome appeared above the two, and picked up the sergeant with one hand. She proceeded to batter the fellow with her fists like he was a side of beef, and his cries of pain joined the cacophony of the struggle.

  “Oh no,” said Omari. “No! You can’t fight here! Not while I’m in here!”

  She jerked against the pirates who restrained her. Gravelin fought his captor as well, groaning and growling in such an inhuman tone that Elly Minel let him go. The Revenant tottered right back to his alembics and sat down to putter with a mortar and pestle, completely ignoring the chaos at his back.

  Omari spied Lina in the crowd. “You! You’re the harlot from earlier. You’ve got to get these people out of here!”

  Lina resented the accusation. She opened her mouth to reply, when Michael Hockton finally freed himself from the bindings around his wrists. He threw them away with a yell of relief, and then looked about for a weapon. At that point a mouse fell from above, landed on his shoulder, and fell into the breast pocket of his coat. Perturbed, he fished it out, revealing a tiny disemboweled mouse-corpse. It still moved, even without its guts and belly; the legs, tail and head twitched back and forth.

  The Bluecoat deserter stared at the thing in horror, when an orange ball of fur and teeth fell from the rafters and landed squarely on Hockton’s face. He screamed, and it yowled, and the both of them fell off to the side.

  As the Bluecoats pressed inside, Lina’s crewmates let go of Omari and drew their blades. One stared at the undead mouse where it crawled on the floor. The other threw himself into the fray. Lina tore her gaze from the scene to look at Omari. “Why?” she asked, throwing up her hands. “What are you doing here? Why are there so many dead things in here?”

  Omari looked pained. Behind them, Sarah Lome yelled and a man let out a scream.

  “It’s not my fault! Except that it somewhat is.” Omari shook her head. “Look, you can’t fight here, you’ll ruin everything I’ve built! The dead come back when I am around. I don’t know why, but they just...come back. You’ve got to stop fighting!”

  Oh no. Lina looked back at the struggle in the doorway. The fighting had calmed, for the moment, with both sides withdrawing to rally and rearm. All three members of the committee held the interior of the portal, supported by her wounded crewmates. Outside stood Admiral Wintermourn with the now-battered sergeant, and three ranks of Royal Marines. In the doorway between them rose a waist-high pile of the dying and the dead. The door itself had been half-carved off its hinges, and would never close again.

  “Well done, you rogues,” said Wintermourn, voice light and airy. “You’ve had a good run. Short, but good. I commend you on your ferocity. However inept it is proving, in the end.”

  Lucian waved his saber at the man. The tip of it dipped slightly, and he supported the arm that held it with his other hand. Blood streamed down his face from half a dozen wounds. “Just come on in here and take us,” he said. “You can join your fellows in growing cold upon the stoop.”

  “That we will,” replied Wintermourn. “The alarm is out. I’ll have another eighty men here within moments.” The admiral paused to tap his chin. “However, it occurs to me that I should at least make the attempt to accept your surrender. You’ll still hang, of course. But one must observe tradition.” He folded his hands behind his back as the sergeant barked out a command. The two back rows of soldiers removed the bayonets from their muskets and began to reload.

  “It’s like talkin’ to that bloody mad captain of yours,” hissed Reaver Jane.

  Lucian shared a look with Sarah Lome. “Well,” he replied. “More like what Fengel always wanted to be.” He threw a glance at Lina, looking pointedly up the ladder toward the roof, before turning his attention back to the alley outside. “You can take your tradition and jam it up your backside,” he crowed. “We’re the men and women of the Dawnhawk, and surrender isn’t any kind of thing we know.”

  Lina rolled her eyes, even as she moved for the ladder.

  “Good,” said the Admiral. “I do so hate dealing with prisoners, even in the interim on their way to the gallows. Sergeant? If you please.”

  The sergeant nodded. He bellowed another order and the Bluecoats took aim.

  Then the corpses began to move. They lurched and groaned and shifted where they lay in the doorway, every last one of them suddenly crawling and trying to stand upright. The noises they made caused the hairs on the back of Lina’s neck to stand up straight.

  One of the Bluecoats panicked. His musket erupted with the sound of a thunderclap. The rest opened fire, and lead balls ripped through the mass of Revenants. Undead flesh stopped most of the shots, but a few flew past. Lina watched in horror as one took Elly Minel in the chest.

  Elly tottered backward with a cry of pain. She landed against
Gravelin’s table, knocking a whole array of bubbling glassware onto the floor. It shattered with a sound like a bomb, and Gravelin himself rose up, groaning angrily. The Revenant fell on the dying Jeremiah Frey, who gurgled and fought weakly back. In the doorway, several of the undead pirates tottered for the Bluecoats outside, while the undead soldiers in the same pile came for the crewmen of the Dawnhawk.

  The room descended into screaming anarchy. Runt launched himself from Lina’s shoulder and circled the room up near the rafters, spitting and hissing in distress. Someone knocked over a flask of some oil, which fell before the hearth, igniting instantly and spreading flames as it went.

  Lina shook herself and grabbed Omari by the shoulders. “The roof!” she cried. “The roof, damn it to the Realms Below! We just need to get to your roof!”

  Omari focused on her. She nodded twice and gestured at the ladder. “There’s a hatchway and another ladder in my room above!” A pistol went off by her head and she cursed. Lina glanced over to see Reaver Jane gun down an already-dead Bluecoat. Horribly, the corpse had merely been knocked down momentarily, even with a hole in its throat the size of a peach pit.

  Lina screamed to the room at large. “The ladder! Up the ladder to the rooftop!” Then she followed her own advice, pulling Omari up behind. To the Realms Below with this nightmare. It was well past time to leave.

  She ascended quickly through to another room. A soft-looking bed was set in one corner, piled high with pillows. Beside it stood a lady’s vanity. The wall opposite looked out onto the street before the shop. Next to the window was another ladder leading up to a small closed hatch set against the slanted interior of the roof.

  No sooner was she up than the others appeared as well. A panicked Reaver Jane and Lucian Thorne climbed up, only some of the blood covering them their own. Ryan Gae climbed up, grey-faced and clutching his chest, half-supported by Sarah Lome. More of her friends and crewmates ascended in an attempt to escape the chaos below.