“You what?” Joslan’s face flushed a deep shade of crimson.
“I said, Admiral Joslan, that if you arrest me, and keep me from doing what I returned to this island to do, I will exert every effort afforded me by my rank, my fortune and my very last breath, to destroy your career, sir.” Norris glared into the man’s piggish eyes. As a diplomat he usually tried to maintain a placid mien, but he was sick and tired of this blowhard; he mustered every ounce of malice he could dredge from the darkest depths of his soul and concentrated it into his stare.
“You dare to threaten me?” The admiral’s hand clenched the hilt of his sword. “Are you mad?”
“I am beyond mad, sir; I have returned here to rescue the woman I love. At this moment, she is locked in the dungeons of this very keep, where, unbeknownst to me, she retreated to prevent herself from being taken by the pirates who attacked us here.”
The lieutenant and his marines faltered. Caught off guard by this incredible statement, their military training failed them.
“This is preposterous!” the admiral bellowed. He turned to a fellow behind him who was scribbling furiously in a ledger. “Are you getting all of this?”
“Every word, sir,” the man said meekly, backing up a step in the face of the admiral’s wrath.
“This may very well sound preposterous, Admiral, but it is true nonetheless. I am talking about Lady Camilla, the woman who killed the pirate lord Captain Bloodwind with her very own hand. She saved the lives of myself and everyone else on this island at the cost of her own safety. She is owed at least this modicum of effort to save her life!”
The admiral’s eyes narrowed. “And why didn’t you make this request previously, before you set sail for Tsing?”
“I didn’t know of it then, sir,” Emil said, fighting to keep his face neutral. Telling the admiral the truth about how he’d learned the location of the pirates’ lair would put Tipos and his crew at risk. He would have to choose his words carefully. “After Tim and I left the Lady Gwen, we learned the location of the pirates’ lair. The information about Lady Camilla’s imprisonment comes directly from the captain of the corsair that led the assault on this keep. It was he who locked her in there, and this is the key.” He proffered the key from his pocket, but snatched it away when the lieutenant stretched out his hand as if to take it.
The admiral scoffed. “And you believed him? A pirate?”
“We had good reason to trust his sincerity,” Norris said dispassionately, hoping the admiral wouldn’t press for details. “Admiral, all you need do is allow us to search the dungeons of this keep. If I am wrong, and she is not there, feel free to have me arrested. I will not resist, and promise there will be no repercussions. But I swear by every God of Light that if you impede me here, my wrath will destroy you!”
Admiral Joslan glared at him, and Norris could see the man struggling with his decision. In the end, he must have decided that either it was not such a great request, or that Norris was serious about his threat and capable of carrying it out, both of which were true. Norris had served the emperor for many long years, and his personal fortune was not inconsiderable; if he chose to destroy the admiral’s career, he could do so.
“All right, we will check. Bring them,” Joslan ordered.
“Uh, with or without the clapping in irons part, sir?” the lieutenant asked. A few poorly disguised coughs of laughter rose from the marine contingent.
“Without, for now, Lieutenant, “Joslan said, turning to glare once more at the count. “But bring them along. We may need them.”
Norris bowed curtly and followed the admiral to the keep. The trek seemed to take forever. He clenched his hands to keep them from shaking, but even so, when they reached the door to the dungeons, he fumbled the key so badly that he could not fit it into the lock.
“Please, sir,” Huffington said, easing the key from his grasp, “let me.”
“Thank you,” Norris said, backing away.
The large padlock clicked open. Huffington threw the hasp and lifted the bar, but before he could pull the door open, Admiral Joslan stepped forward.
“Hold there,” the admiral said, placing one hand on the door. “I mistrust this. We could be walking into a trap. We are exploring a dungeon at the behest of a pirate. Lieutenant, you will take the fore with the marines.”
“Aye sir.” The lieutenant drew his cutlass and nodded to the marine corporal in charge of the contingent. “Right, then. Swords if you please, gentlemen. Ready?” The marines muttered in the affirmative, weapons bristling. The lieutenant tugged on the door.
Nothing happened.
He tugged again, harder, and when that yielded no better results, he sheathed his sword and applied both hands to the handle, pulling with all of his formidable strength. Still, nothing happened.
“Stuck, sir. Or bolted from inside.”
“The pirate captain said she bolted it,” Norris offered.
“Break it down,” the admiral commanded.
“Axes and sledges, Corporal, and a cold chisel for the hinges,” the lieutenant said. “And torches would be welcome, as well. Go!”
“Aye, sir!” The marine turned to go, but Huffington interceded.
“If I may, sir; a brace and bit, and some thin bar stock might make an easier job of it, and a lot less fuss. I may be able to trip the bar.”
“As he said, corporal,” the lieutenant said with a nod, “but bring the rest, too, just in case.”
The corporal dashed off, and in short order a team of sailors returned with an array of tools. Huffington drilled a hole near the latch, bent the bar stock in an arc that would fit through the hole, and, with some effort, levered the inside bar out of its cradle.
“There you go, sirs,” he said, stepping back. “These things are usually simple, though there could have been another lock on the inside.”
“Thank you, Mister Huffington. Lieutenant, the van is yours.” The admiral drew his own sword.
“Aye, sir.” The lieutenant put his hand on the latch and nodded to the corporal.
The marines formed up, and everyone else backed away. The door swung outward with a squeal of corroded hinges, but beyond loomed only the empty, dark stair leading down into the bowels of the mountain. Huffington sniffed, and muttered something that Norris couldn’t make out. The marines advanced in close order, and the rest followed behind, torches held high. The stair ended in a platform with two open doors, left and right.
“Count Norris?” The admiral’s features were unreadable in the flickering torchlight, though Norris could hear his apprehension. “Would you happen to know which way?”
“Sir, I—”
“The left is the dungeon, Admiral,” Tim said. “The right leads down to Bloodwind’s old witch’s lair.”
“Very well.” The admiral eyed the two passages dubiously. “Leave two men here, Lieutenant. I don’t want any surprises.”
The lieutenant assigned two marines the duty of keeping watch, and the main party preceded through the left-hand door and down the stair. The dungeon was a simple corridor at the bottom with cells on both sides, rusty iron bars and a thick scent of decay prevalent throughout. They explored the rows of tiny cells quickly, but to no avail: no Camilla.
“Well, Count Norris, it seems that you were lied to. Not surprising, really, though I’m disappointed that you were duped so easily.” The admiral’s smug tone made Emil want to slap him; the man almost sounded pleased.
“Sir,” Huffington said. “The bar on the door above was thrown from the inside. Someone is down here, and we still have the other chamber to explore.”
Norris grasped Huffington’s shoulder in thanks, not trusting himself to speak. His nerves were in tatters, his hope waning. He knew that it had been too long for anyone to survive down here without water.
&nb
sp; “You think she would go down into a witch’s lair?” Joslan asked, his tone dubious.
“She might, sir,” Tim said, his voice cracking. “There might be water down there.”
“Very well, then,” Joslan conceded. He led them back up to the branching stairs, then nodded to the lieutenant to again take the forward position again.
They descended.
Torchlight flickered from the rough-hewn walls, the wavering flames causing the shadows to leap and jump. The stair curved, so their light only illuminated about ten feet in front of the leading rank of marines. When the stairs ended, however, the light of their torches faded with the vastness of the chamber beyond, and the echo of their footfalls was swallowed by the walls of the natural cavern.
Norris could not see ahead past the tight rank of marines, but he could see the rest of the cavern, and was awed. The ceiling arched high overhead, a confusion of stalactites wavering and leaping in the torchlight. The walls and floor were covered with moisture and a thin layer of slimy growth which gave him some slim hope; moisture meant water… He pushed forward, but Huffington put a hand on his arm.
“Patience, sir,” he murmured, and Norris reluctantly complied. Over the years, he had grown to trust Huffington’s judgment in such situations.
“Admiral!” The lieutenant’s voice froze everyone in their tracks, the light from his torch casting his face in shadow as he looked back to his commander. “There’s something…”
“What?” the admiral answered.
“I think we’re too late, sir.”
“No!” Emil shrugged off Huffington’s hand and shoved through the cordon of marines. “Let me through!”
The marines parted, even the admiral stepped aside, and Norris saw.
Camilla lay huddled at the base of a thick column of rock upon a row of low, uneven steps, the crimson silk of her dress spread out around her like a pool of blood. He rushed to her, heedless of the slippery steps, and collapsed to his knees beside her. Her hair hung over her face, and he could detect no motion, no rise and fall of breath. He clutched her hand, and it was cold to the touch. He was too late.
“Oh, gods, no!” He lifted her in his arms, brushing her hair away, his hand trembling, his heart breaking. His sob turned into a gasp of astonishment as he beheld her beautiful face, and her eyes fluttered open, then blinked.
“Emil?” Her voice was faint, a bare, hoarse whisper, but it grasped his heart from the depths of despair and sent it leaping into his throat.
“Thank the gods, you’re alive!” He heard cries from behind him, and felt the others rushing to his side, but he paid them no attention. Emil drew her close, and felt her hands clutch him weakly. “Bring water! Quickly!”
A marine pressed a bottle into his hand and he put it to her lips. She took a swallow, and another, then pushed the bottle away and took a deep breath.
“I’m all right, Emil,” she said, her voice stronger already. “Just weak.”
“It’s a wonder she’s alive at all!” Joslan said, his tone somewhat gentler.
“There was water in the pool. It kept me alive.” Camilla smiled up at Emil, her hand clasping his with surprising strength. “And I knew you’d come.”
He kissed her, right in front of the admiral, the marines and the blushing lieutenant. Then he lifted her in his arms, and with a beaming Tim beside him, carried her up out of Hydra’s lair and back into the light.
Chapter 29
No Release
“I can’t believe you let him live,” Camilla said. She clutched the blanket to her breast and looked at Emil as if he were a stranger, stunned with the news that he’d had Parek under the point of his blade and had not killed him.
Parek’s face had been haunting her dreams for days, along with vivid memories of cannibals dragging her friends away through a pall of smoke, their blood darkening the flagstones of the pier. She treasured Emil’s comfort when she woke crying or screaming in the night, but right now, she was having difficulty not thinking him a fool.
“We couldn’t simply murder him, Camilla,” Emil said, his brow furrowed. He took her hand and squeezed it, then cast a meaningful glance toward Tim, who sat on the other side of the bed. “It wouldn’t have been right. It would make us no better than him.”
He did it for Tim, she realized, and she knew instantly that he was right. She struggled to hide her frustration. She recalled Parek’s brutality, the pain he inflicted, the smug smile on his face at her feigned pleasure, and felt nauseous. Then she remembered the cold satisfaction of driving a dagger into Bloodwind’s heart, seeing the surprise in his eyes, feeling him die.
To the hells with “right.” She didn’t care about right anymore, she wanted Parek dead.
“Afta’ what he done, I’d a killed de basta’d,” Paska said, nipping a bite of biscuit from the untouched tray of food beside Camilla. “Start on dat food, Miss Camilla. You gotta eat.”
Camilla reluctantly picked up her knife and fork. She knew she should feel better—clean sheets, food and drink, her friends’ smiling faces at her bedside—but she didn’t. She still felt strange, as if she itched all over but couldn’t scratch. She speared a piece of sausage and nibbled. The meat tasted foul, as if it had been boiled in saltwater. She chewed and swallowed with distaste. Despite her enforced starvation, she had eaten sparingly; not for lack of appetite, but because the food tasted odd. She wondered if the water she drank in the cavern might have been tainted, though it had tasted sweet…so sweet.
“Yeah, I coulda killed him,” Paska repeated. “Might not bring oua frien’s back, but it’d make me feel betta’.”
“Do you think they’re all dead?” Emil asked hesitantly. “The ones the cannibals took prisoner, I mean.”
“Prob’ly not,” Tipos said, his tone flat and hard. “At least, not yet. Tim here said dey took maybe two dozen, and it’s not been but twelve days. Dey won’t kill ‘em all so soon. Kill ‘em all at once, how you store de meat?” Paska swatted him and inclined her head toward Camilla, who was forcing down a second bite of sausage. Tipos had the grace to look abashed.
“Can’t we help them?” Camilla asked.
“The admiral has refused,” Norris said, the muscles of his jaw bunching. “His orders are to secure Plume Island and deal with Cynthia. He is determined not to be diverted from that, even if it means sitting here for weeks until Cynthia returns.”
“Aye,” Tipos agreed, clenching his fists at his side. “He’s got de men here ta do it, but he won’t.”
“But if we do nothing…”
“I agree with him on one point; attacking the cannibals on their own island would be costly.” Norris rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “He said he would lose more people than were taken.”
“He would if he’s an idiot,” Paska said, as grim as Tipos. “He won’t even let us take Flothrindel to get back to Vulture Islan’ and get help. Said he di’n’t trust us.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” Camilla said, putting her fork down and trying a sip of tea. It tasted sour, but she drank it, knowing she needed the fluids. “It’s not his boat, after all. It belongs to Ghelfan.”
“He confiscated it,” Tipos said. “It’s chained to de dock, locked up tight.”
“Confiscated!” Paska gave a snort of derision. “That’s Imperial Navy speak fer ‘stole it’.”
“Just like he’ll confiscate Mistress Flaxal’s ships when she comes back, I’ll wager,” Tipos added.
“Can he do that?” Camilla asked, looking to Emil for an answer. “Is that even legal?”
“The situation is complicated,” Emil said, refusing to meet her gaze. “The emperor sees Cynthia as a threat, and the admiral is under orders to deal with that threat. I think the losses of the Clairissa and Fire Drake have the admiral running scared. He is erring on the side of caution,
and the result is a heavy hand. He refuses to believe that the loss of the ships was not Cynthia’s doing, and won’t accept my word that her intentions are benign.”
“Perhaps I should talk to the admiral,” Camilla suggested. She put aside her knife and fork.
“It certainly couldn’t hurt, my dear,” Emil said. He smiled at her with such fondness that her heart swelled. The memory of his kind face had been the only thing that kept her going in the darkness of the cavern. “Your persuasive talents certainly won me over.”
She blushed as he kissed her, and Tipos, Paska and Tim burst into irrepressible snickers. She smiled, and it felt good. Honest. Something from her heart. She gripped his hand and squeezed it, willing its solidity to carry her through this. She had been many things in her life: a slave, a pirate’s woman, a lover and a captive. Now it was time for her to become something new.
She just wished she knew exactly what that was.
≈
“It’s time, Cyn,” Feldrin said as he entered the cabin wearing his blue captain’s coat. He had trimmed his beard, and someone had even managed to make him sit long enough to tolerate a haircut.
Cynthia stood and adjusted her dress, the only one she had aboard. It was sea-blue and matched his coat nicely. She stepped gratefully into his ready embrace. The solidity of him, steady as a mountain, gave her strength, and she would need all her strength.
“I’m ready,” she said, easing from his arms and lifting the baby from the bed. He was sleeping; fed, burped and changed, he was warm and content. As with her, food and rest had done wonders; he was pink and happy and gaining weight daily. Holding him in her arms, knowing what today would bring, she felt a wave of crushing guilt. Once again, Feldrin’s huge hands on her shoulders steadied her.
“Come on, lass.” He turned her to the door and followed her out of the cabin and up the companionway to the deck.
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