“She’ll kill you,” Ludo replied simply. “She works well off your tail. Don’t yank on her mouth. Ride with a loop in the rein and give her her head.”
“So she can bite off mine,” Astrid muttered.
“Don’t forget to give her plenty of chances to get air,” Ludo instructed. “Untack her at night and let her roam. When you get to the border, take the saddle and bit off her, give her a slap on the tail, and tell her to go home. She’ll know what to do,” he said.
He looped the reins over the whale’s head, eased the bit into her mouth, and fastened the bridle. Then he attached the panniers to the saddle. When he was satisfied that every piece of tack was secure, he pulled the reins back over Elskan’s head and handed them to Astrid.
“Your orca,” he said.
Astrid took a deep breath, then led Elskan out of her stall, through the stables, to a pair of large iron doors. She knew they led directly to the open water.
“Once I open these, she’s out of here,” Ludo cautioned. “So get on and get ready.”
“Uncle Ludo…” Desiderio said.
Ludo turned to him.
“What will you say when Rylka learns that we’re gone, and Elskan is, too? You need to stay out of the dungeons. You need to get Astrid’s bloodsongs to Ragnar.”
“I’ll tell her you held a speargun on me.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Astrid asked, knowing full well how Rylka treated anyone who crossed her.
“Don’t worry about me,” Ludo said. “Get yourselves to the Kargjord. Help Sera.”
“Uncle Ludo…”
“Yes, Desiderio?”
“Thank you.”
Ludo nodded.
“Come on, Desiderio,” Astrid called. She was already in the saddle, Elskan’s reins in her hands.
The orca, sensing the open water, started to rear.
“Let’s go,” Astrid said, trying to keep her under control.
Desiderio swam up to Astrid and settled himself behind her.
“What do I hold on to?” he asked.
“Me,” Astrid said. “Ready?”
“No,” Des replied, wrapping his arms around her waist.
The sensation of a handsome merman’s arms around her was new and disconcerting. She didn’t need to be disconcerted right now. Not with two and a half tons of killer whale at the end of her reins.
And then a sudden pounding, loud and ferocious, erased all thoughts of Desiderio.
“Ludovico di Merrovingia! Open up!”
Astrid’s head whipped around. Tauno was on the other side of the stables’ front doors. Luckily, Ludo had locked them after the three of them had swum inside.
Elskan, spooked by the loud noise, started to spin in circles.
“Let us out! Now, Ludo!” Astrid shouted.
“Astrid Kolfinnsdottir, we know you’re in there! You’re under arrest!” Tauno ordered.
Ludo gave the outside doors a shove and they swung open. Elskan whinnied and shot through them.
“Hang on, Des!” Astrid shouted.
And then the world turned into a blur as Astrid learned what it felt like to ride a bolt of lightning.
LING COUGHED. She took a deep breath and coughed again, wheezing for effect. Then she returned to her task—counting out arrow shafts and putting them in boxes.
She passed a full box to the prisoner across from her—Bai—whose job it was to fletch the shafts with gull feathers.
As she reached for another box, Ling hacked again. She shook her head and wiped her brow with the back of her hand.
“The current here is so warm tonight,” she whispered, even though it wasn’t.
Bai’s eyes darted from the arrow in his hands to Ling’s face. Worry creased his brow.
Ling counted out more arrows. She coughed again, grimacing this time, then pretended to steady herself against the work table.
“Bai…help me,” she whispered. The rooms spinning!”
Before Bai could react, she slumped to the floor where she lay gasping. Then she stopped breathing, hoping her face would turn a sickly shade of violet-blue. It did.
“Purple fever!” Bai shouted, backing away from her.
“Purple fever! Purple fever!” Panicked whispers spread through the warehouse like a red tide. Prisoners seated near Ling shot away and huddled at a distance.
A guard pushed his way through them. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
One of the prisoners pointed at Ling, now writhing on the warehouse floor.
The guard swam to her. He whacked her hard with his tail fins. Ling groaned in pain. That wasn’t an act; the slap really hurt. What she did next, however, was. She pushed herself off the floor and made as if she was trying to get up, but sank again, and faked another coughing fit.
“It’s purple fever, sir,” a prisoner said fearfully.
“Get her to the infirmary!” the guard ordered. When no one swam forward to do so, he grabbed two mermen by their necks and shoved them toward Ling. “Get her out of here!” he shouted.
The mermen picked Ling up by her arms and dragged her out of the warehouse. Ling let her body go limp and her head loll. She closed her eyes. That way no one could see the triumph in them.
So far, the plan was working. Her father had said he was going to start a rumor about purple fever. He would falsely diagnose it in every patient with weakness or a temperature. Judging from the reaction her performance just received, the rumor had spread. The prisoners, and the guards, were all terrified of catching the dread disease.
Ling’s coworkers brought her to the door of the infirmary, dumped her there, and sped back to the warehouse.
Ling moaned loudly. A few seconds later, Tung-Mei was at her side.
“Oh, Ling, not you!” she exclaimed sorrowfully.
Ling nodded. “I feel like I’m burning up. Please help me, Tung-Mei,” she rasped. She wished she could tell her friend the truth, but for Tung-Mei’s own safety, the less she knew, the better.
“Shan!” Tung-Mei shouted. “Come quick. We’ve got another fever patient!”
Ling gave no sign of knowing her father, and he was equally blank-faced as he wound her arm around his neck and helped her to the rear of the infirmary.
“I’m sorry, but all of our cots are full. I’m going to have to put you over here,” he said, propping Ling up against the back wall, away from everyone else. That was part of the plan, too. They could talk here without being overheard.
“The cart’s here,” her father whispered tersely, as he pretended to examine her. “I’m going to load some bodies, then I’ll come for you. Lie down and close your eyes. Don’t move.”
Ling nodded. Her father moved off to another patient, and she slowly lowered herself to the floor. The infirmary was so busy, no patient or guard would take any notice of one more prisoner quietly succumbing to fever. This was the easy part. As Ling lay there, she ran through the rest of the plan she and her father had devised.
“The cart driver comes at seven in the morning and again in the evening to haul away the dead. The death riders on gate duty are supposed to search the cart, and sometimes they do, but mostly they only glance at it,” her father had told her. “If someone could fake being dead—”
Ling had cut him off. “You want me to ride out of here in the death cart. Hidden among the bodies,” she had said. She’d shuddered at the thought, but had pushed her fear aside. She had to get away.
Shan had nodded. “Fake purple fever this coming Moonday evening. Right before dinner rations. You’ll ‘die’ just as the cart’s arriving. The driver will leave the cart to get his pay. By the time we’re done loading bodies, it’s usually eight o’clock. The dusk will give you cover. Wait until the cart passes through the gate. After fifteen minutes or so, you should be well into the hills. You can climb out then and swim off without being seen. It’s risky, but it’s the only way.”
“I can’t swim off,” Ling had said, shaking her head. “I need to get to Sera and the others,
but I have to find the puzzle ball first, while I’m still at the Abyss. It can’t fall into Orfeo’s hands. But how? The death riders are at the edge of it night and day. One of the Selects told Tung-Mei they’ve got the whole place lit up. They’ll see me.”
Shan had smiled. “No, they won’t. The death riders are looking in the area where I threw the talisman. What they haven’t figured out is that the Abyss has a slight current. I’d estimate that by now the talisman will have traveled about two leagues east. Another thing the death riders don’t know is how to speak with the creatures of the Abyss. But you do. Talk to them, Ling. One of them may’ve seen the puzzle ball. It could’ve landed on a ledge or in a hollow.”
“That’s the best-case scenario,” Ling had said. “It also could’ve fallen far into the Abyss. It could still be falling. Finding it will be like trying to find a minnow in a kelp forest.”
“You’ve got to try,” Shan had said.
“No, Dad,” Ling had said solemnly. “I’ve got to succeed.”
She’d spent a tense week waiting for today, hoping every morning at the Selection that Sergeant Feng wouldn’t suddenly decide that her cast should come off, hoping that nothing would happen to her father.
“Look dead,” Shan whispered now. Ling closed her eyes and let her body go limp. She felt her father unlock the iron collar around her neck and heard a clink as he tossed it onto an evergrowing pile. With a glance around to make sure no one was watching him, he quickly cut her cast away with a small surgical saw. When they’d made their plan, Ling had asked him to get it off her before he carried her to the death cart. She knew it would only slow her down. A flex of her fingers brought pain, but not too much. Hopefully her bones had healed. Finally, Shan picked her up.
“Another one?” a voice shouted as Shan swam out of the infirmary.
Ling felt her father freeze. No one else was supposed to be near the cart. If whoever this was—a guard, another prisoner—took hold of her, he’d soon realize she was warm and very much alive.
“I’m afraid so. Purple fever. Keep back, Zhen,” Ling’s father warned.
Zhen. That was the driver. Ling felt relief wash over her.
“You don’t have to tell me, doc,” Zhen said. “I don’t want any part of it.”
It was hard to tell, but it sounded like—judging by the distance of the driver’s voice, and the snorts and whinnies of his hippokamps—that Zhen was in front of his cart.
“You’re not leaving yet, are you? I have more bodies to load,” Shan lied. His voice was steady, but Ling—who knew it so well—could hear the strain in it.
“No, not yet. Gotta see the sarge. You’ve plenty of time to pile ’em high.”
Zhen swam off. Shan exhaled loudly. Ling risked opening an eye. Her father’s face was white.
“Ling, maybe this isn’t—” he started to say.
She cut him off. “I can do this, Dad,” she said. She was determined to escape. Her friends, their quest, the fate of all the mer realms depended on her.
Her father searched her face, then nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I believe you can.”
Shan had left a space for her in the back of the cart. She instinctively shut her eyes as he gently laid her down between two cold bodies. Then, remembering that this might be her last glimpse of her father, she opened them to find him ripping out stitches at the edge of his tunic. He removed something small and gold—his wedding ring. He pulled a spool of surgical thread and a needle from his pocket. Then he turned up the edge of Ling’s tunic, held the ring against the cloth, and quickly stitched it into place.
“Give it to your mother,” he instructed as he sewed. “Tell her I love her even more now than I did the day she put this ring on my hand. Tell her I look forward to the day when this is over, and she can put it on my hand once again.”
Ling couldn’t speak. There was a lump in her throat.
“Tell your brothers to behave themselves, and Ling…”
“Yeah, Dad?”
“You’re very strong and that’s good. But never mistake kindness for weakness, no matter what Grandma Wen says.”
Ling nodded. At that moment, she didn’t feel strong and she hated herself for it. She tried for a brave smile, but instead, her face crumpled. She threw her arms around her father’s neck and hugged him tightly. A sob escaped her, and then another.
“Shh, bao bei, shh. The dead don’t cry,” he whispered.
“Come with me, Dad,” Ling said.
“It’s too dangerous. Zhen always checks with me before he leaves to make sure he’s got all the bodies. He’d think it was strange if I wasn’t here.” Shan kissed his daughter’s cheek, then released her. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Ling said, wiping her eyes.
“Okay, then. Now I have to”—he swallowed with difficulty—“I have to cover you with more bodies before Zhen comes back.”
Fear made Ling’s mouth go dry, too. She tried to imagine herself elsewhere. Anywhere but here.
Her father worked all around her first. When he started to ease a body directly on top of her, he lost his nerve.
“Do it,” Ling said, finding her strength again.
He nodded, and lowered the body. Suddenly Ling was completely surrounded. Her back was pressed against a merman’s cold, stiff chest. Her arms were pinned down by more dead flesh. The back of a lifeless young mermaid’s head covered Ling’s face. For a second, hysteria seized her. She wanted to scream and crawl out from the corpses. Instead, she dug her nails into her palms and the pain brought her back to her senses.
“Lie perfectly still,” her father whispered.
“I will, Dad. Go.”
Shan swam down off the cart and closed the back.
“That the last of ’em, doc?” a voice called out.
“That’s it,” Shan replied.
“Poor slobs,” Zhen said. “Well, at least they’re free of this place. Night, Shan.”
“Good night…” Shan said.
As the death cart lurched forward, Shan spoke again, but in a voice so low and soft that only Ling could hear it.
“…and godspeed.”
LING FELT THE DEATH CART SLOW.
“Stop, Zhen,” a lazy voice drawled.
“Why? You searching the cart tonight?” the driver asked.
“Not me. We got orders not to touch any fever bodies.”
Ling, who’d been rigid with fear, relaxed. The guards were no longer searching the carts. Thank the gods. Any second now, Zhen would crack his whip, and they’d be moving through the gates.
“So can I go?” Zhen asked impatiently. “I want to dump these stiffs and get home. My wife’s got a bowl of whelk stew waiting for me.”
“Hang on a minute, will you? We got a new system,” the death rider said.
“What is it? You poke ’em with spears or something?”
“No,” the guard said. “We use the sea wasps.”
“Ha!” said Zhen. “That’ll make sure there’re no live ones.”
Ling’s blood turned to ice in her veins. Sea wasp venom was one of the most lethal substances known to mer. If a tentacle found her, she wouldn’t last for more than a few seconds.
“Pull up here, Zhen. Right at the gate,” the guard said.
The cart lurched forward.
It was over. She was truly dead. She’d never find the puzzle ball, or help Sera and the others defeat Abbadon. She’d never get her father’s ring to her mother. Instead, she’d end up dumped in a common grave. No one would ever know what had become of her.
“I’m sorry, Sera,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Mom and Dad.”
She lay perfectly still, hands clenched, waiting for the pain. There was a body on top of her, and it was dark out, but the sea wasps were giving off so much light that Ling could see the faces of the dead on either side of her. Suddenly a movement to her right caught her eye. She held her breath. A tentacle—blue and quick—came toward her. It wound around the neck of the dead merman next to h
er, snaked over his face, and then stopped only inches from her own.
Another tentacle slithered over the head of the mermaid on top of her. A third coiled around the neck of the merman on her left.
Then a whistle was heard, and the tentacles were gone.
“Go on, Zhen. You’re good,” the guard shouted. “If anything was alive in there, it’s dead now!”
Ling exhaled. It was over. By some miracle, the tentacles had missed her. She’d survived.
And then everything went white.
The pain slammed into her as a tentacle slid across the bottom of her tail. Ling felt as if she’d bitten into an electric eel. She clamped down on a scream, gritting her teeth so hard, the cords stood out in her neck.
“Hey, Bella! Back in line!” the guard shouted. “Swear to gods, Zhen, these things are so damn mean, they’ll sting anything—a dead mer, a rock, even each other—just for the fun of it.”
As quickly as it had come, the tentacle was gone again. But the pain was not.
Ling’s heartbeat was a crazy staccato. Lights flashed behind her eyes. She dimly heard the guard wave the driver on. The cart lurched forward and picked up speed. She tried to remember how long she was supposed to wait…fifteen minutes? Fifteen seconds? She couldn’t think straight. It was as if the pain had shorted all the circuits in her brain. She started to convulse. The lights in her head turned into visions. On one side of her, the dead merman started to laugh. Snakes started twining through the hair of the mermaid above her. Terrified, Ling pushed her away. She pushed so hard, she flipped the body onto its side.
Have to get out! Ling’s mind screamed. She struggled to sit up, then pulled her tail free. Crawling over the bodies, she made her way to the edge of the cart, then tumbled over the side. She hit the seafloor with a thud and lay on her back, chest heaving, hands scrabbling in the silt.
Sight and sound blurred together inside her head, then broke apart.
Ling groaned in pain, then lost consciousness.
Only twenty yards from the camp.
“I DON’T LIKE THIS, LUCIA,” Bianca di Remora said, eyeing the decayed hulk looming above them.
HMS BRITANNIA was written on the ship’s prow. Rust had devoured some of the letters. “Then go back,” Lucia said crisply.
Waterfire Saga, Book Three: Dark Tide: A Deep Blue Novel Page 17