by E. C. Jarvis
Imago reminded her of his presence, as one of the open books had developed a distinct cat-butt-shaped crinkle in the page, and a comforting purring noise emerged from thin air. How he managed to physically manifest in such a way when he was technically without form, she’d never know.
A knock on the door drew her attention away, and Cid entered carrying a tray of food. Her stomach growled the moment she laid eyes on it. He placed it on the floor beside her, along with an overly large tankard. “It’s only water in there. Thought you wouldn’t appreciate getting drunk when you’re doing…whatever this is.” He frowned down at the mess of papers and books, then turned to leave.
“Thank you, Cid. Stay for a bit, will you?”
His shoulders slumped, but his face seemed neutral as he turned and sat on the floor.
“How’s the engine coming?” she said, hoping that starting with his favourite subject—besides Elena—would be a good approach. He was clearly not happy about being there, even more so than usual.
“I’m making progress. Should have it ready in a couple days. Don’t fancy flying fitting it in the rain, though.”
“It’s still raining?” She hadn’t noticed. The gentle sound of rainfall had blended into the background noise in the cabin hours ago. Perhaps a trip up on deck for some fresh air would be beneficial, she mused.
“I’m sorry,” Cid said, dropping his gaze to a spot on the floor somewhere between his legs.
“Whatever for?”
“Holt. I didn’t know. Bloody idiot just came ranting at me about the Anthonium and gave no good reason for it. How was I to know he was dying?”
“Oh. That’s all right, Cid. I’m sure he doesn’t hold a grudge. Hopefully, we’ll have enough for the engine and to keep him going for as long as possible.” She put down the chunk of bread she’d been gnawing on, suddenly losing her appetite at the thought of how fragile Holt truly was and how none of them knew how much longer he could survive. A day? A month? Whatever the answer, it wouldn’t be long enough to be fair.
“What’s all this nonsense, then?” Cid asked, changing the subject and shoving a book across the floor with the heel of his boot.
“Precisely that. Nonsense. It seems my father was fond of making lists and babbling about ancient customs. Sadly, there is nothing in any of these that explains about Anthonium poisoning or anything else of use. I fear all the helpful books were destroyed in the volcano.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“How so?”
“Because if they weren’t destroyed, I know a certain someone who would make us fly all the way back there to pick them up. Even if it meant risking the ire of the Empress.”
“I can’t think who you would be talking about, Cid.”
“Your father’s handwriting is even worse than mine,” Cid said.
“Hmm. You know, I don’t even know my own father’s real name. I don’t even know my own true name, presuming Professor Ronald Markus is as much an alias as Solomon Covelle. So where does that leave me?”
“Buggered if I know. He certainly has a penchant for lists.”
“Lists…” Larissa chewed on her lip.
“That’s what I said.”
“No, I mean, maybe that’s where I should start. With a list.”
“A list for what?”
“A list of things we want to achieve. If you’re going to make a plan, you have to start by knowing precisely what it is you want to do, right?”
“Makes sense.”
“Good.” She stood up, stretching her back straight and picking up a book with a few blank pages in the back.
“I’ll leave you in peace,” Cid said as she enthusiastically dug out the quill and inkpot from the desk drawer. She barely noticed him leave as she sat down to make a start.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Saunders couldn’t feel his feet anymore. It was no wonder, since he was knee-deep in icy-cold seawater, making a desperate attempt to hammer rusty nails into rotten planks of wood in the hope of patching up one of the numerous cannonball-sized holes in the base of their ship. The rate at which the water gushed in each time the ship pitched and rolled in the ocean gave an alarming jolt to his stomach. Though it seemed a pointless task, he, Simms, and Eddy continued patching up regardless. When the only other option was to just admit defeat and wait to drown, this seemed like a better way to pass the time, at the least.
He ignored the voice at the back of his mind telling him that drowning wasn’t the only way to die out here, that he had a package of pills—a far swifter and less distressing method. Not to mention the pistols they had stashed on the upper deck, though with the relentless rain pouring in up top, the powder inside was probably sodden by now, rendering them useless. He ignored that voice, no matter how many times it repeated, partly because the voice sounded distinctly like General Gott, but mostly because they weren’t that desperate. Not yet.
He wiped a wet sleeve across his sweaty forehead, replacing the sweat with a drenching of seawater, and plucked another handful of nails from the bucket floating around in the water between the three of them.
“Fuck,” Eddy shouted as he caught the edge of his thumb with the hammer.
“Keep going,” Saunders said, the words coming out more like a barked order when he’d intended to sound calm and encouraging.
“I don’t want to die in this fucking bucket,” Eddy said, his words slightly garbled as he had a row of nails jammed between his teeth.
“Then keep working. Get those holes shored up.” Saunders positioned a plank over the last crack on his chosen hole and slammed a couple nails in as fast as possible. The next time they swirled over to the side, no more water sprang through. His heart gave a small bounce of happiness, but it was quickly replaced with a sinking sensation when he noticed the rest of the remaining holes. The water level was already biting at his family jewels.
“What’s going on down there?” Sandy called from up on deck as she wrestled with the wheel and the deflated canopy.
“Working,” Saunders yelled back, unable and unwilling to give her a running commentary on progress.
By the time all the holes were filled, the men were up to their shoulders in water. Begrudgingly, they headed up on deck, soaked, exhausted, and consumed by a silent acceptance of their fate. Despite having done as best they could, Saunders was sure water still seeped through some of the gaps in the wood below at a faster rate than they could scoop it out. It was only a matter of time before they sunk completely.
A sombre drizzle of rain still fell from the blanket of grey cloud shrouding the sky in all directions, not a glimmer of sunlight breaking through anywhere.
“I don’t know why I’m holding this wheel,” Sandy said. “The rudder is shot out and we don’t have any means of propulsion.”
Saunders eyed the deflated balloon haphazardly stuffed along one end of the deck, great swathes of it spilling over the side. There was no chance of getting back in the air, the furnace was flooded, and he wasn’t sure they had enough hydrogen on board to compensate for the tons of seawater they now carried.
“I think we’re indefinitely grounded, or sea-ridden, or whatever the nautical term is. We could try to construct some form of sail from the canopy and hope we catch a breeze towards land.” Even as he said the words, he knew it wouldn’t be enough. The sullen looks on the faces of his crew confirmed they knew he was manufacturing hope.
Simms headed to the stern to look out over the sea, slumping his head onto his arms. Eddy slapped Saunders on the back and made a futile attempt at lighting a sodden match to light an equally soggy cigar.
“You shouldn’t smoke,” Sandy said. “It’ll kill you.” Though she spoke to Eddy, she gave Saunders a crooked smile that didn’t reach her eyes. It was typical of her to make a joke in such a situation. Unfortunately, he didn’t share his cousin’s ability to make light of dire things, especially not now. He rested his forearms against the railing, turning away from them, wistfully staring out to s
ea.
“You really are worried for my health, aren’t you?” Eddy said. “Knew you’d warm up to me eventually.”
“Don’t be an idiot.”
“It’s all I know, sweetheart. Listen, seeing as we’re not likely to survive for long out here, would you be willing to, you know…engage in a spot of deep sea diving with me? A last hoorah, if you will?”
Saunders sank his forehead into his hands. He did not want to spend the last hours of his life listening to Eddy try to get into his cousin’s knickers.
“Deep sea diving? You really are an ass,” Sandy said, though her voice wasn’t as malicious as usual. “And where do you suggest we abscond to in order to engage in this last hoorah of yours? I’m not having sex in a room filled with seawater.”
“Good point. I suppose you wouldn’t do it up on deck?”
“We have company, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I’m sure Private Simms and LT will promise to close their eyes and put their fingers in their ears for a few hours if you ask nicely enough.”
“For the sake of the Gods! Tobin, can you promise me that when we drown, you’ll make sure this idiot doesn’t drown next to me?”
“Aw, you mean you don’t want our bodies to lie locked together at the bottom of the ocean for all eternity?”
“I’d prefer it if you drowned in an entirely different ocean from the one I drown in, on the other side of the world, perhaps.”
“Well, let me know if you change your mind. I’m very good once I get going. All my previous diving partners have complimented me on my technique.”
A retching sound disturbed the unsettling banter. Simms emptied his stomach contents over the side.
When the unpleasant seasickness subsided, Saunders called Simms over to regroup with the others. As uplifting as it was to listen to Eddy and Sandy banter back and forth, it wasn’t the time or the place. He had to be serious and to make sure they all understood the seriousness of the situation. He had to offer them an alternative, as distressing as it was.
“I’ve decided we’re going to try to make a sail out of the canopy, but the reality is that we have a ship full of water dragging us down and we’re hundreds of miles from land. I’ve failed you all. I’m sorry.”
“We knew this mission would be perilous, sir,” Simms said. Some concession that was. They’d assumed the peril would come once they’d crossed the ocean. He hadn’t even managed to do that successfully. It seemed General Gott would have a few less names to worry about knowing too many secrets.
With a heavy sigh, he pulled the box of pills out of his pocket and showed it to the others.
“Sir?”
“A gift from General Gott. They were supposed to be for if we were captured, much like the Eptorans do when we capture them.”
“Suicide pills,” Eddy said as he flicked his sodden cigar over the railing into the ocean.
“Gods,” Sandy said, her expression softening. It made Saunders’ heart ache. Why had he talked her into coming with him?
“We’re not through yet. I just wanted to make sure you all knew the option is there if…when the time comes.”
No one, not even loudmouth Sergeant Eddy Boswell, had a response to that.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
After spending an inordinate amount of time making lists and figuring things out, Larissa leaned back in the desk chair, tapping the quill on the arm. The chair was stained dark wood with odd burn marks all over the arms. She’d found similar marks across the desk, mostly on the tops of the drawers and even in other parts of the cabin. She wasn’t sure if her father was a smoker; there was no evidence of ash or the usual musty smell. Even if he was, it seemed odd that he would be so careless to frequently burn his own cabin. Another mystery she feared she would never solve.
With a languid yawn, she stood up, stretched her back, collected a coat from the wardrobe, and headed out of the cabin.
It was dark outside—she’d managed to spend the entire day below deck. Already, she missed the warmth of the Eptoran climate, which seemed to have disappeared the moment they crossed over the water. The rain remained, a constant drizzle filling the air, though the balloon canopy provided some level of protection from the elements. Holt was at the wheel. He’d turned the collar of the jacket up to protect his neck from the chilled breeze.
“Where’s Kerrigan?” she asked.
“You’d rather talk to him than me?”
“Not really, but I need to ask him some more questions. Unless you know the layout of the Presidential palace in detail?”
“I went there once or twice, but I only know the basics of the structure… Don’t tell me you’re planning on storming the palace?”
“Storming isn’t the word I’d use.”
“What word would you use?” Holt narrowed his eyes at her.
“Infiltrating.”
“You’re planning to tell Kerrigan that you want to infiltrate the palace to murder the President?”
“I wasn’t planning on putting it that way, no. I like to think I have more tact than that.”
“Maybe you should wait until tomorrow. He’s sleeping.”
Larissa let out a sigh. Though they had time, she felt antsy to get everything in place, for her own sanity if nothing else. She also knew that what she would be asking of everyone was dramatic to say the least; it would take work to convince them all to go along with her wishes, especially Kerrigan, and even Holt.
“You could practice,” Holt said, breaking her thoughts.
“Right now? I don’t feel like throwing knives at barrels right this minute.”
“I meant your speech. Whatever it was you were going to say to Kerrigan, say it to me. Besides, we don’t have any knives. The only sharp objects on board are those needles and you seem to have a good enough aim with them.”
“I don’t want to practice what I’m going to say to Kerrigan on you. I want to practice something else.”
“Oh?” Holt’s eyebrows raised and his eyes twinkled.
“Not that. I need to convince a certain someone to use his newfound powers of invisibility when we get to the capital.”
Holt stared down at her. It was a long, laboured stare. Though his expression didn’t change, she could tell he was working through a number of responses, trying to find the appropriate one. She doubted he would simply say, Yes, of course, that’s a great idea, just let me know when. Nothing was ever that simple.
“It’s not something I’ve mastered,” he said finally, switching his attention back to the horizon.
“There’s time to practice.”
“I can’t really control it. Besides, it takes a lot of energy. Energy that I don’t have and am unlikely to have if I even make it all that way. You would be wise to think up an alternative to whatever part of the plan involved me strolling through walls and garrotting the President in his sleep.”
“That wasn’t what I was going to ask you to do.”
“No? Because you wouldn’t need to talk me into agreeing to that.”
“It’s a shame you let the Cleric die. He could have made some more of those stones to let us all slip past the guards.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t look too bad now. Not like earlier when I thought you were about to die. Maybe you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”
“It may have been the water.”
“What water?”
“When I came out of the volcano, I was tracking Covelle across the desert and I came across a filtration facility, only I didn’t know it was that at the time. I drank a good amount of lake water laced with Anthonium. Perhaps it helped.”
“That’s good.”
“It will still only prolong the inevitable. I’m not lucky enough to have had a father who injected himself with the stuff before conceiving me, thus rendering me immune to the poison.” He reached out and grabbed her arm, drawing her close, looping one arm around her shoulder while he kept hold of the wheel with the
other. “You know I’ll do whatever I can when the time comes. I’ll only disappear when you ask me to, not of my own accord.”
“Are we talking about you physically disappearing, or simply walking away?” she asked as she snuggled up to his chest, hoping to all the Gods that someone else was due to take a turn at the helm soon so they could retire to the cabin for more intimate snuggling. Her chat with Kerrigan really could wait until morning.
“Either. Both.”
“Good. Isn’t it time someone else took a shift up here? I could use a nap.”
“Rest well,” he said, dropping his arm from her shoulder.
“I meant with you.”
“Ah. It’ll be a few more hours until Zeb takes over again.”
“Fine. I don’t mind snuggling you for a few hours up here.” She squeezed his torso and wriggled her neck against his arm, trying to get him to hold onto her again. Instead of pulling her close, she felt the muscles of his chest tighten as he went rigid.
“Take the wheel,” he instructed, pulling a spyglass from his pocket and heading to the side of the ship.
Larissa did as he asked, squinting into the darkness to see what had caused him to abandon the opportunity for more cuddling. No starlight penetrated the blanket of cloud in the night sky, so the black ocean below looked like nothing more than a squirming mass of dark liquid. Occasionally, a wave broke, sending a slightly lighter line of foaming water rolling over on itself, illuminating the raindrops pelting the surface before they dissipated. She scanned the surface over and over, trying to spot some small deviation until she noticed, in the farthest point on the horizon, a slight blob in the water.
“What is it?” she called to Holt.
He half-turned his face, making eye contact for only a brief moment, a pensive frown on his brow. Then he raised the spyglass again.
“Holt, I asked you a question.”
“People,” he said.
She dropped the wheel, heart racing as she headed to the rail. They couldn’t have caught up with the other pirate ship at their slow pace, and she was terrified by the thought of who else might be out here, in the middle of nowhere between two hostile countries. It didn’t matter if they were Eptoran or Daltonian, as the ship they were currently on—her father’s ship—was clearly a pirate ship. Either nation would likely attack first and ask questions later, and they had no means of defending themselves against such an attack. She grabbed the spyglass from Holt and peered through, trying to pinpoint the small blob on the horizon. When she found it, she let out a sigh of relief. It was not what she had expected to see.