“We are not making this decision, Count Norris. I am!” The admiral cast down his napkin and glared across the desk, his face flushing dangerously. “You say there were hundreds of cannibals, and you would have us venture into their territory where there could be hundreds more, as well as unknown deployment, fortifications and terrain. Such an exercise would be costly, and as much as it pains me to say it, I believe it would be more costly than is warranted by the lives of a few natives.”
“Not only natives were taken, Admiral,” Norris argued. “The shipwright’s assistant, Miss Dura, was taken by the cannibals. She is a dwarf of renown in shipbuilding circles. And Miss Camilla, the seamage’s confidant and business partner, was almost surely kidnapped by the pirates who sailed north. Only through her courageous actions were the rest of us saved!”
“I am sorry, Milord Count, truly, but you’ll not sway my thinking.” The admiral stood, his broad fists firm on the desk top. “My orders are to secure Plume Isle and neutralize the seamage threat, which has now become a pyromage threat, too. We will fortify our position here and await their return, if they return. Splitting my force to search for pirates and cannibals is not, in my opinion, wise or warranted.”
“Admiral Joslan, I—”
“My decision is final. Once we have dealt with the seamage and pyromage, we will consider exploring the rest of the Shattered Isles. You, Milord Count, will sail north immediately aboard the Lady Gwen. I’m sure the emperor will be interested in your account of the situation.”
Emil clenched his fists to stop his hands from trembling—or throttling the bull-headed man before him—and tried one last plea. “Please, Admiral, for the sake of those abducted, at least loan Paska and the other natives a sailing skiff so they can reconnoiter the southern islands. They may be able to—”
“So they can rally their friends and attack? I think not!” Admiral Joslan tugged his uniform into taut lines. “Milord Count, I will dispatch no imperial vessel to search for the captives. My answer is no.”
≈
Dura woke to a throbbing head and the stench of blood, vomit and human waste. Bile burned her throat, but she swallowed hard and focused her mind until the nausea receded. When she tried to move, pain in her wrists and ankles jolted her more fully awake. She moaned and opened her eyes.
“Quiet!” a voice said from close by. It was dark enough that Dura had to squint to see who spoke, though she could discern shapes.
“Wh—” She choked on her parched throat, and tried again. “Where are we?”
“We’re still in de hold of dere ship. Keep your voice low.” The man next to her moved, and she could tell that he was bound as well. “Dey been arguin’, and dey run de ship aground twice. I t’ink dey tryin’ ta get her into a lagoon or an inlet, but I can’t hear…”
His voice faded as a bout of shouting broke out over their heads, dull through the thick timbers of the deck. Rattling chain and a splash from forward signified that the anchor had been dropped. The ship lurched and heeled, and more shouting rang out.
“The buggers don’t know much ‘bout anchorin’ a ship, do they?” Dura muttered, shifting to try to alleviate some of her aches and pains. She managed to sit up, but her wrists and ankles were bound tightly with thin cords fastened, in turn, to a support timber. From the darkness, she guessed that she and the other prisoners were in the lower hold, well below the waterline. There were two decks above them and only the bilge below, which explained the smell. “Nor much about cleanin’ one out proper.”
“Nor much ‘bout sailin’,” her companion agreed.
Squinting into the darkness, Dura was able to discern more prisoners, perhaps two dozen in all, also bound to the ship’s timbers. Some were sitting up, others were lying motionless: either sleeping, unconscious, or dead. The dead are gonna be the lucky ones, she thought, flexing her numb fingers to restore some feeling. The motion of the ship settled, and there were several loud thuds from overhead. Voices were closer now, a harsh gibberish that she could not understand, though it sounded vaguely like the language of the other natives.
“Can ye understand any o’ that gobbledygook?” she asked her companion as she felt the bindings on her wrists for a knot.
“Some,” her companion admitted, his voice despondent. “Ya don’t wanna know.”
“Oh, I know we’re in a pickle, lad,” she mumbled, working at the bindings with her teeth. The cord was too tough to chew through, but if she could just find a knot... “It’s plain enough that they mean ta eat us, but they took us alive fer a reason, too. Ach, the bloody buggers know a bit about tyin’ knots, don’t they.”
“Dey talkin’ ‘bout de ship, arguin’ ‘bout it, what to do wit’ it. Dere’s no argument ‘bout what dey gonna do wit’ us. Dey brought us back fer sport, not just food.”
“Ah, well that’s somethin’ anyway. Might be good, and might be bad.”
The deck shook as the hatches above were thrown open, and a sliver of light stabbed down through the darkness; their captors were opening up the hold. Another loud thud sounded, then rapid footsteps on the deck above. Dura cursed silently; they didn’t have much time. “One thing, lads; if ye get the chance, a quick crack on the noggin or a blade across the throat fer me. I’d rather die quick than as some plaything fer the likes of these butchers.”
Mutters of agreement swept through the bound prisoners as the hatch over their heads was lifted and light poured in, but the illumination offered little hope. Their captors descended and began methodically preparing them to be taken off the ship, Dura gritted her teeth and stiffened her resolve. Getting out of this alive seemed unlikely, but she might just be able to fight her way to a quick death.
≈
*We have found it!* Eelback swam into the chamber, Redtail, as always, at his side. Eelback’s colors shifted in waves, so great was his excitement.
The wake of their entrance rocked Fah, rousing her from her invocation-induced stupor. With a flip of her tail, the dolphin shot out of the chamber, trailing a stream of thick white milk. Kelpie signed a curse and slashed her tail in agitation. It was hard enough to coax Fah into the chamber, much less into relaxing enough to provide the milk. Then the priestess had to get the baby to ingest the milk. It was a losing battle, and Cynthia’s baby was the victim; the infant looked thinner than it had immediately after birth, and she was afraid that soon it would perish. The rest of the mer in the chamber ignored her outburst.
*Found what?* Slickfin signed, flipping her tail to propel herself to Eelback’s side.
*The Chamber of Life!* he replied. *The seamage has not yet reached it, and when she does, we will be waiting for her!*
Kelpie’s signs were sharp and quick. *There you will tell her that if she agrees to enter the Chamber of Life, you will let her child live.*
Eelback’s gills fluttered in laughter. *So, you finally figured it out?* Slickfin and the others echoed his mirth. *When the seamage nears the chamber, you, Kelpie, will use Odea’s blessings to allow me to breathe air, and I will bargain with the seamage for the life of her child.*
The priestess’ heart sank; she had been foolish in hoping to foster discontent by revealing Eelback’s treachery. Of course the others already knew his plan. Only she had been kept in the dark. She restoked her anger and turned again to Eelback, flipping her fins in contempt. *And if I refuse to do as you ask?*
*Then we will all die,* he signed, his humor dissolving into cold anger. *There is no going back to Trident Holder Broadtail’s school; we are outcasts now, including you. If you refuse to do as I say, then everyone dies: you, me, the seamage and her child, even Tailwalker. Without the protection of a living Akrotia, the myxine will see to that.*
*You have already sealed the deaths of all of the landwalkers, including this child!* She turned to the rest of their school. *Why do you not see that he will betray
you? He will betray anyone if it serves his purpose! He spent Sharkbite’s life just to trick me into subduing Seamage Flaxal. Do you think he will stop at sacrificing any of you, all of you, to further his ends?*
*I did not sacrifice Sharkbite!* Eelback signed, flushing dark with rage. *The seamage killed him!*
*Just like you knew she would,* she signed, leveling a glare at him. *I saw you promise the myxine the landwalkers on the seamage’s ships, and the mer that swim with them; your own school! Why do you do this, Eelback? Why murder them like this?*
*Because I know the landwalkers,* he signed. *If they are allowed to go, they will be back, and they will bring their warships, and they will destroy us. You sign of betrayal; the landwalkers know naught but betrayal. They betrayed the mer so many seasons ago, when they rejected the mer request for more grottos in Akrotia for our finlings. And again, when Akrotia died and they refused to bring it back. They have betrayed us at every turn, and will continue to do so. So we must take what we want. Akrotia will be ours, Kelpie. Ours alone! We will not share it with the landwalkers and allow them to betray us again.*
Kelpie had never been so angry. She swelled her chest, ready to call Odea’s curse down on Eelback…then realized that if she did, his school would kill her…the baby…Tailwalker. She deflated and made her decision, the one she had been struggling with for days: if she could not save all her friends, she could at least save one.
*It is time for you to agree to my bargain, Eelback,* she signed, flaring her fins defiantly. *I will do as you ask, but only if you vow, before all of your people here, that you will allow me to take Tailwalker away when I have done this thing for you.*
Eelback glared at her, his eyes narrowing dangerously. All looked to him, some of them with indecision plain in their shifting coloration. Her mention of Sharkbite’s suspicious death had shaken their faith in him. Kelpie knew that if Eelback hoped to keep their loyalty, he would have to keep his promise to her.
*Agreed,* he finally signed, his coloration fading to more sedate hues. *I promise to you, Kelpie, that when you do these things I have asked, you and Tailwalker will swim free.*
Kelpie closed her eyes and nodded. She and Tailwalker would leave Akrotia alive, but she wondered if she would ever be able to live with herself after keeping her end of such a promise.
≈
Huffington carefully reread the paper in his hands. This, his third pass through the document, revealed nothing new. The orders were plain enough: kill the seamage if she refused to come to Tsing to answer charges. Kill the pyromage…period, no options.
His gut clenched when he considered the task. It wasn’t the thought of facing magic that really bothered him; even a mage succumbs to a knife slipped between the ribs. Truly, it wasn’t even the killing—he had grown up in the downwind streets of Tsing, where one killed to survive. It was killing at someone else’s order that twisted his gut. It had always bothered him. It was a part of his life was that he had tried very hard to put behind him. The tasks he performed for Count Norris were one thing; a little theft, some covert listening, occasionally a bit of sabotage…just tools in the repertoire of diplomacy. Taking a life at the whim of another, even an emperor, was what Huffington loathed.
Frowning, he re-rolled the paper and held the end over the chimney of the lantern. It smoldered, then burst into flame, not unlike the emperor’s flagship had done. A bloody pyromage, he thought as the flames consumed the document. Only when the heat touched his fingertips did he drop the last burning scrap into the chamber pot at his feet.
He delved into the satchel again to see what “tools” had been provided for his task. The array of vials was impressive, if somewhat depressing, each with its own tiny instruction printed on a paper label: Morphia—five drops imbibed for unconsciousness. Curare—four drops allowed to dry on dart or blade for paralysis. Arsenic—two drops imbibed for death… Most of the names of the substances were familiar, but some were new. He sighed; he’d hoped to never see, let alone use, anything like them again, but he knew their uses well enough.
At the emperor’s command… he thought grimly.
There was also a selection of implements for delivery of the poisons. Droppers and tiny darts, rings with needles set in them, tiny blades to be fitted to the toe of a boot, and even a complicated mechanism that strapped to the wrist and shot a small dart when triggered. Huffington smiled without humor at such an elaborate means for taking a life, when a simple blade in the right spot would do the trick. He wondered about the two people he had been ordered to kill, people labeled as “dangers to the Empire of Tsing.”
He wondered if he would ever earn that label.
He closed and locked the satchel, then wedged it under the tiny locker set into the forward section of the Flothrindel. Picking up the chamber pot, he worked his way aft and up the companionway steps into the cockpit. Tipos and his two friends saw what he was carrying and edged out of his way.
“Careful wit’ dat, Mista Huffington,” Tipos said with a grin. “And empty it downwind, if you be pleased.”
“Of course.” He leaned over the low bulwark and dumped the mess overboard, then dipped the pot into the rushing sea for a rinse, careful to keep a firm hold on the handle. When he was done, he sat down in the cockpit and placed the chamber pot aside. “Something I ate, I think. City food never did agree with me.”
The others chuckled and muttered their agreement. Tipos tugged on a line that trailed out in the Flothrindel’s wake. “Mayhap we’ll be catchin’ somethin’ dat’ll settle yer stomach, Mista Huffington. We got a spot o’ rum down below, too, if ya wish.”
“No, thank you,” he said. He was, truly, feeling a little off his norm, but he knew that it was just nerves. It would pass. It always had. He just wished that things had not come around in such a full circle; he already had enough blood on his hands for one lifetime.
≈
“Make her fast and fetch up some of that fancy grub we took from the sea witch, lads,” Parek ordered, thumbs in his belt as he strode Cutthroat’s deck among his cheering crew.
They were back in their hiding place in Middle Cay, safe and sound, moored fore and aft to the giant mangroves that hid them from curious eyes. They would wait here for Sam to return with Manta, and Farin with King Gull. They couldn’t go anywhere in Cutthroat; outfitted as she was, and laden with loot, she would be recognized as a corsair in any port in the realm. They needed the anonymity of King Gull to make port, sell their spoils, divvy up the profits, and disappear. When some of the men had grumbled about having to share the wealth with the pirates aboard Farin’s ship, Parek had reminded them of their oaths—loyal as one, or a watery grave.
“Besides,” he’d said, “you saw that chest of treasure. There’s enough for all.” Encouraging them to feast now would mollify them, make them think they’d got one up on the King Gull crew.
“And break out some of that fancy wine, too! We gotta get used to eating and drinking like rich men if we’re gonna fit in with the blue-blood crowd, ay boys!”
Cheering, the crew threw open the main hatch. The hold was chockablock with all manner of stores and finery plundered from the keep, but the booty had been stowed with care; perishables were within easy reach, and the crates of vintage wine were stacked at the edge of the main hatch coaming.
A crewman pulled a dark green bottle from a crate and tossed it to his captain. Parek laughed as he caught it in one hand, drew Bloodwind’s golden-hilted cutlass and broached the wine in true pirate fashion. The sword met the neck of the bottle, spraying the deck with broken glass and blood-red wine.
“There ya are, lads! Bring your tankards and taste what the finer folk drink!” He poured wine from the bottle’s broken neck into the offered cups until it ran dry, then broached two more to finish filling their mugs. “To the sea witch!” he called, raising his own pewter cup. “May we pu
t all her finery to good use!”
They cheered and drank the wine down like cheap grog, bottle after bottle. Shanks of beef and lamb were hauled up and put on the spit to roast, and hams and smoked fish were eaten cold. While the men feasted and drank, Parek retreated to his cabin. There he had set aside a few things for himself: a rare bottle of brandy, a roast fowl, several loaves of bread and a crock of butter. And pastries for dessert; he took a bite of a flaky crust and closed his eyes, savoring the flavors. He had tasted nothing so fine in more years than he could recall.
Parek swirled his brandy in a stolen snifter and considered the empty chair across the table. He had hoped to share this meal with a particular red-headed doxy, but that was not to be. He refused to bemoan his loss, though. He stretched out his legs under the table, propped his feet up on the coffers that had been set apart from the rest of the treasure. Camilla had helped him choose the best of the jewels from the sea witch’s hoard to fill these two small chests: one for her, one for him. Well, they were both his now. Once they made port, he would be a very rich man indeed. And that, he knew, would bring him all the feminine companionship he desired.
Chapter 16
A Light in the Dark
Luminous patterns came to life in the flickering torchlight, drawing Edan’s eyes to the gray walls of the corridor. For a moment, he had seen something there, peculiar symbols and lines, he was sure of it. He ran his hand over the smooth gray stone. Nothing. He frowned, then shrugged; it must have been a trick of the light. He kept his hand on the wall as they advanced, running his fingers along curves like flows of melted wax or the rolling swells of the sea, not a single sharp corner or edge in sight.
This was their third day exploring the depths of Akrotia, and Edan was finally becoming comfortable with its unusual architecture, though the fact that they were actually below sea level still made his blood run cold. He gripped his torch tightly, a warm, comfortable lifeline in a sea of cold stone surrounded by a smothering ocean. On the upper levels, sunlight had been caught and transmitted down the corridors by an ingenious network of strategically placed mirrors and crystal prisms. Down here, fire was their only light. Flicker hovered in the torch’s flame at the end of her golden chain, chittering nervous nonsense, as comforted by the flame as he.
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