Fengel clambered up the wrecked pipeworks and through the breach back outside. He pushed through a cloud of jetting steam to see the Gasworks exterior and a small courtyard built onto the boardwalk, just as Harland had said. It lay snug up against the face of the cliff and the external wall of the facility. The accident had exposed it, however, revealing the rooftops of the Waterdocks through a hole blown through the wall. Thin, rickety-looking metal stairways ran up along the cliff, still intact, leading up to the airship platform and other parts near the top of the facility.
In the center of the courtyard, among piles of rubble, sat the shackle. It looked like nothing more than the top of a thick iron spike surrounded by a ring of toothed gears biting down upon it. Ominous black explosive charges covered the gears, and the boardwalk they stood upon was warped, the boards slanting towards the shackle as if under great pressure.
There. That’s it. Fengel opened the satchel at his side and lifted out Imogen’s bomb. He eyed the fuse at the top, then he swore.
He didn’t have any way to light it.
Henry. Henry smokes—he’ll have one of those new lighters. Or Gunney Lome, she’ll know a way to jury-rig this thing. If Imogen can get them up here.
He stopped as an armored ovoid emblazoned with a sunburst appeared above the Waterdocks. It was that Perinese airship, the Glory. The vessel was swinging around into view, a whole complement of Bluecoat marines crowding her gunwales.
Coming right for him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lina slipped down the aft hatchway stair. The cutlass in her hands was a heavy thing, far more unwieldy than her lost daggers.
She was angry about that, more so at the Castaway who’d fallen overboard with them buried in his spine. As for the smoke rising dead ahead from Haventown, she tried not to think on that—or how half of her home port seemed to be...flying. Those were problems for later. Instead, she shifted her grip on the stolen sword and carefully descended down below the decks of the Dawnhawk.
Oscar Pleasant, I’m going to cut your Goddess-damned head off.
The fight had been furious from the start. Caught off guard and outnumbered by just a few, her crewmates rallied. It wasn’t like they hadn’t beaten these curs off once already. The Castaways had the twin advantages of numbers and surprise, though. Worse, they’d rearmed themselves. Properly equipped from the Dawnhawk’s own stores, Euron’s abandoned crewmen seemed like a different group altogether.
As if that weren’t enough, the Dray Engine was almost fully awake again. It roared and flailed within its bonds, shaking the whole airship with its gyrations. The deck pitched and yawed while they fought as if in a storm. The ancient Voorn monster was going to free itself, of that Lina was certain. It was only a question of when.
So there had been battle aboard the Dawnhawk for the second time today. Natasha met Morgan One-Eye head on, with Reaver Jane coming to her aid. Etarin and Farouk fought back to back against their geriatric assailants while the aetherite Omari protested her neutrality vociferously. At least, until a Castaway devoted himself to taking her head off, forcing her to flee.
Rastalak and Michael Hockton worked together until the crate containing Runt’s scrynlings went sliding madly for the breach in the gunwales. Then her lovely soldier pitched himself across the deck, catching it before it could fall overboard. Lina loved him for that.
For her own part, Lina tried repeatedly to get to Oscar Pleasant. The traitor needed to die for his numerous betrayals—screaming, if possible. For all his tough talk, though, he’d backed firmly out of the melee, maneuvering away, keeping a flailing Allen as hostage the entire time.
Then the Dray Engine gave a particularly violent jerk, pitching the Dawnhawk’s decks so that not even Rastalak could keep his footing. Lina recovered just in time to see the rat-faced bastard slip belowdecks via the aft hatchway.
So now she hunted.
Lina crept down the hatchway stair, moving as quickly and quietly as she could down the creaking boards. She reached the landing of the captain’s cabin, then down to the crew deck where the stair opened onto a hall. Off to her left, the hall opened onto the quarterdeck, where a single open porthole provided illumination. To the right, the hall continued down to the engine rooms and the Mechanist’s domain, as well as to the stores and the stair that led to the cargo.
Which way did you go, you bastard?
The deck pitched wildly beneath her feet. Lina fell hard, dropping her cutlass, which clattered against the stair behind her. She cursed as the Dray Engine gave a thunderous roar outside, loud enough that she felt it through the planks more than heard it. The mechanical monster thrashed again, tilting the airship madly about.
A more human cry of pain reached her, along with a snarl for quiet. Lina narrowed her eyes. It had come from off to the right, up from the stairwell that led down to the hold.
There.
But why would Oscar go that far down? If he’d been hiding onboard since Haventown, he had to know about all the Revenants they’d put in the hold after the fight with the Glory.
Lina swallowed her discomfort. He’s trapped. There’s only one way out of that hold. And the Revenants are harmless enough, if you don’t attack them. At least, that’s what Omari always says.
Which seemed true enough. The things had never run amuck or done any of the things that the penny-papers always seemed to go on about.
Still, the soldiers had been trying to kill her when they died. And Goddess in the Realms Above, do they stink.
Allen gave a startled yell. This time Oscar said nothing, though she heard the thump of a blow. A low groan echoed up the stairwell.
Enough. Lina grabbed up her cutlass again. She slipped down the hall to the hold stairwell and made her way down. What little ambient light there’d been disappeared completely. The stair was dark and close. It seemed to swallow her up, like she was descending into a wooden grave.
The cargo hold of the Dawnhawk opened up at the bottom of the stair, a wide, airy space meant for packing away all the illicit booty that Fengel and Natasha could steal. Both captains had emptied it earlier that morning, leaving only a single oil lantern dangling from a chain overhead. That lantern was freshly lit, and it swung back and forth now, casting long, mad shadows from the dozen corpses rising to stand. Their stink filled the air, a perfume of dead flesh and congealed blood.
Allen knelt in the middle of the room beneath the lantern. He clutched one arm to his chest and sobbed openly.
Lina forced herself to ignore the undead. She stepped into the room, cutlass hefted. “Allen!” she hissed. “Allen, are you all right? Where’s Oscar?”
The apprentice Mechanist glanced up at her, eyes wide. “Lina, don’t!” he croaked. “It’s a trap!”
Someone moved in the gloom to her left, faster and with more purpose than a Revenant. Lina threw herself to the right, hitting the deck and rolling as the pistol went off. The crack and flash was brilliant. But the ball went wide, splintering the bulkhead behind her.
“Of course it’s a trap!” she snapped, rising back to her feet.
Oscar Pleasant stepped out from the corner. In the faint lighting, his features appeared even more ratlike, exaggerated. He tossed the emptied pistol aside to clatter on the boards, then drew a cutlass.
“I don’t even know why anyone bothers with those things,” he growled. “Has anyone ever hit anything with them? Even once?”
Lina backed away as the Revenants rose up between them. They groaned and rasped. A dead Bluecoat from the Glory’s crew reached out to her, bringing up her gorge as she ducked away.
“Captain Blackheart shot an ape once,” she said.
Oscar snorted. “She couldn’t miss!” A Revenant lurched his way, and he dodged it, sticking out a leg. The corpse tripped with a loud thump, and its groans turned strident and angry. “Natasha Blackheart is the worst shot on the Atalian Sea,” continued Oscar. “Decent with a blade but downright hazardous to everything around her with a firearm.�
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Lina thought back to all the near misses that she’d had around the captain. Intentional or not, it seemed Captain Blackheart was always trying to kill someone. “That’s neither here nor there,” she said as she wove around behind an undead Nate Wiley. The Revenant looked past her, hunting for his brother, probably. Lina tried not to focus on how that made her feel. “Why are you doing this, Oscar? You’ve always been an absolute shit, but mutiny? Helping out the Perinese against the whole town?”
Oscar Pleasant snarled. He leaped past dead Nate Wiley, lashing out at her with his cutlass. She parried, feeling the shock of the blow run down her blade and up her arms. It forced her back and off-balance. Lina snarled, threw her weight back against the sword, and shoved it forward again. Her opponent bent to the side and let her go past as their blades slid against each other, sending sparks up to flash and die in the air between them.
“Why I did this?” asked Oscar. “I had no damned choice! You all left me behind! Months ago, when we threw Fengel and his bitch out on that deserted island. I got knocked cold when we attacked the Kingfisher, and you left me behind! It was the Perinese who picked me up, and they were going to hang me!”
Lina rounded on him. “You should have let them,” she panted, swinging for his knees. The cutlass was heavy.
Oscar danced back, then came forward with an overhand chop. Lina parried and leaned, letting his blow slide aside. A dead Bluecoat reached out for her—it seemed to remember her as an enemy. Lina ducked its outstretched arms and darted around behind it, appearing on the opposite side and lifting her blade up at Oscar.
The traitorous pirate parried her blow and shoved her back. Then he cursed as the Bluecoat reached for him. They separated, circling around, avoiding the Revenants excited by their fight.
“That’s a stupid weapon for you, girlie. If you keep swinging it around, you’re going to get tired.”
Lina tried to respond through her panting. The cutlass was heavy and big and not at all what she usually used. But it would serve. It would have to.
They came together again. She hacked out at him twice, which he parried aside before slugging her in the gut with his off hand. Her breath rushed out, and pain filled her belly. She barely pulled away as his own blade splintered into the wood of the hold at their feet.
Lina readied herself again, struggling for air. Something was wrong. Why am I so tired? The sword was big for her—but not that big.
“Getting tired yet?” mocked Oscar. A Bluecoat clambered to its feet in front of him and he shoved it contemptuously aside.
There was something in his voice. Lina narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?” she demanded.
Oscar laughed. He turned to face her, cutlass held lazily at his side. With his other hand he reached into his shirt. “Remember this?” he asked, pulling something up to dangle in the lantern light.
Lina stared. It was a long braid of golden hair, tied together at each end. Beads and charms dangled along its length. Even a year later, Lina still recognized the tresses that she’d cut away.
“You’ve still got my hair?” she said.
“Oh yes,” laughed Oscar. “Thought you’d recognize it. I kept it this whole time, waiting to teach you a lesson. Saved up my shares and took it to an aetherite down on Flophouse Terrace. You really shouldn’t have just given it away. That Salomcani sorcerer said that made it extra potent.”
“Salomcani...” Lina blinked. She stepped aside as a dead Jahmal lurched her way, one hand to a lethal chest wound, the other out for succor. “You mean Xavier Ravalan? You gave my hair to Xavier Ravalan to make a Worked charm? That fool isn’t even a real aetherite!”
Oscar rocked back. “Yes, he is!”
“No,” said Lina. “He’s not. He just wears a turban and talks in that ridiculous accent!” She panted, fighting for breath.
The deck of the cargo hold shifted abruptly. Lina jammed her cutlass into the planks beneath her feet and held on. All about her, the Revenants toppled. Even Allen went tumbling, clutching his arm and crying out in pain. A high-pitched ringing sounded somewhere outside past the bulkheads—the chains and cables restraining the Dray Engine were tearing apart.
The cargo deck rocked back the other way. Lina held on to the cutlass, trying not to fall. Something slammed into the hull beneath them—a dreadful, resounding impact that echoed about the space. Wood crunched and snapped; it was one of the most sinister things Lina had ever heard.
Amazingly, Oscar Pleasant still stood. He crouched around his sword, just as she did, and held the Worked braid of hair in his other hand. When the airship stilled again, he looked about, ratlike in the swaying light. His gaze fell again on her, and he stood with a wordless snarl.
“Liar,” he hissed. “I can see it. You’re tiring, and fast. The charm works. In just a minute, you’re not going to even be able to move.”
It...it can’t be true, can it? She was tired. She felt exhausted. But that had to have been the long night and the longer day. Lina pulled the heavy blade from where it stuck, then lifted it up in guard. It felt like a bar of solid iron.
Oscar made to pull his cutlass from the planks of the cargo floor. It was stuck tight, though, lodged deeper than he’d meant to send it. He scowled and tried again. The sword barely budged.
The traitorous pirate wrapped his hand again around the hilt, glared at Lina, and then pulled up as he kicked down at the boards holding his blade. He kicked a second time and then a third, each blow a resounding knock that echoed throughout the cargo hold.
Finally, he yanked the blade free. Oscar snarled and raised it high, preparing to charge. Lina fought a wave of weariness, trying to anticipate Oscar’s blow.
Wooden splinters exploded into the air as the boards of the Dawnhawk’s hull erupted beneath Oscar Pleasant. They peppered Lina, as massive brass talons scythed up all about her startled foe. He screamed as they closed tight, catching him in a crushing grip that clipped his left arm neatly off. Oscar flailed and fought, swinging away ineffectively at the Dray Engine’s claws with his cutlass, spraying blood all about him from his horrible wound. Reflected daylight shone up through the holes past the talons, illuminating him in full for a brief, awful moment.
Then the Dray Engine pulled away. It ripped open a breach in the hull, and Oscar Pleasant disappeared like a cork popped free from a wine bottle. His screams dopplered up from outside the airship’s hull for a few moments, then went ominously silent. There was silence, and then a victorious mechanical roar sounded from just outside.
Allen shuffled again to his knees. “It’s on the hull!” he shouted, his voice raw. “That monster has got ahold of the—”
He collapsed with a cry of pain, one arm holding the other, which hung at an unnatural angle; obviously, it had been broken by Oscar. Lina snapped her jaw shut. She dropped the cutlass and raced over to him.
“Allen!” she said. “Hey, Allen, don’t worry, I’m here.”
“My arm,” he whimpered. “It’s broken. And my ankle’s sprained. He yanked me around for ages during the fight.”
“I know. Hey? It’s fine now.”
“Oh, what do you know about it?” snarled the young apprentice Mechanist. “You’re flailing around just like you pirates always do. You never think of consequences.” Lina jerked back in surprise, but he shook his head. “Never mind. We’ve got to cut that monster free before it brings the whole ship down. Using it was a terrible idea!”
Lina felt a twinge of irritation. She had come down here to help him, hadn’t she? And to kill Oscar, of course. Lina shook her head. They had bigger things to worry about. She bent to help Allen stand. He did so with a cry of pain, then took her shoulder in support.
As they hobbled back to the stair above, her eyes alighted on her old braid. She stared at it for a long moment, then shook her head. It was nothing. Just hair. Oscar never could have afforded the services of an aetherite. She put it out of her mind, helping Allen to skirt the hole in the floor, and the groaning, flailing
Revenants.
Back up top, the fight with the Castaways was over. Bodies littered the deck, which was awash in blood that ran madly back and forth as the Dray Engine fought down below. Lina’s crewmates had won, it seemed. No one cheered, though. Everyone stood about in varying stages of shocked exhaustion. Natasha stood scowling amidships above the corpse of Morgan One-Eye, wrapping a rag around one bared, bloodied arm while a blood-spattered Butterbeak hunkered on her shoulder. Nearby, big Farouk knelt numbly over the corpse of his friend, Etarin. Young Paine hid behind the airship’s wheel, sobbing while Michael Hockton talked to him quietly. And up near the bow, her friend Andrea sat cradled in Ryan Gae’s lap.
Lina felt her heart catch in her chest. She wanted to go to them. Oh no. Please. I’ve lost so many friends already.
“Where in the Realms Below did you run off to?” snapped Natasha. “I needed your blades up here!”
Lina blinked back at her, but Allen spoke first. “Oscar Pleasant is dead,” he shouted, half-panicked, his voice raw with pain. “And that’s not important! We’ve got to cut the monster loose, or it’ll tear us apart!”
“I know!” said Natasha. “The deck is pitching and yawing like mad. You’d think it would have fallen free by now.”
Lina shook her head. “It’s on the hull,” she said. “It’s got at least one claw gripping the hull.”
Natasha stared at them. Then she spat. “Of course it does. Cut it free, then. Anyone who can still move! I’m going to try to shake it loose. The rest of you, cut it free!”
The captain ran back down the deck for the helm while Allen pointed with his good arm at a thick clump of hawsers tied around the starboard gunwales. Lina helped him over as Farouk, Michael, Reaver Jane, and Rastalak all sprang wearily back to action.
She led Allen up near the cleat anchoring the thick bundle of rope that went over the side. Then she tried to draw a dagger that wasn’t there. Damn it all. A sword. She needed a sword, a dagger, or a boarding hatchet.
Beneath a Burning Sky (The Dawnhawk Trilogy Book 3) Page 35