The press cleared. The defenders fell back and spread out, no longer united, two-dozen individual duels springing up as they fought for their lives. Mordecai moved to a free part of the deck and took a moment to search for the leaders. Fengel, Lome, Smalls, Maxim: none of them did he see about the deck. Only Lucian, at the far end of the ship now, barking out commands and holding his own against two other men.
Mordecai frowned. Where in the Realms Below are they? Without the others in the fight, things were going poorly. Fengel's men fought well, but Natasha's Reavers were angry, and desperate, and bloodthirsty.
Time to end this. If Lucian was the only one in command, then that was where he needed to be. Mordecai moved to make his way down the deck.
A short, boyish form landed right before him on the deck. It was a girl, a waif with blond knife-hacked hair, ill-fitting clothing, and leather gloves. She'd leapt out from one fight to his left, ducking under someone's legs, and rolled to a stop. She looked up at him in surprise. Mordecai recognized her. She was the one who had cut the rope he was climbing back near the Albatross.
He narrowed his eyes. "You," he snarled.
"Oh, no," she said. "You."
Mordecai raised his cutlass. But the waif was quick. She was on her feet as the blade came down at her. She backed away, bare inches from the edge, and brought a single heavy dagger up to guard herself with.
Mordecai advanced. He lashed out again, testing her. The young woman yelped and threw her weapon up to block the blow. His heavy blade crashed into it and sent her back. Mordecai brought his cutlass back into guard and raised an eyebrow at her.
Something dark flew at his head, screaming. Mordecai ducked and drew back. Raising his eyes he saw a wide, serpentine shape winding through the air, red light emanating from its belly to reflect upon the deck. To his amazement, the scryn circled around and landed on the waif, who held up her now-empty arm to it. The creature landed and wrapped itself around her shoulders.
"Chirr!"
"No! Not now Runt. Get off, you're too heavy!" She struggled with the thing, trying to dislodge it. For its own part, the scryn didn't want to be removed, and used its muscular length to grip onto her even tighter.
Mordecai stared a moment, then shook his head. He wasn't the sort to give up an opportunity. He raised his blade and stepped forward.
The waif looked up at him, eyes wide. She threw out one scryn-wrapped arm at him. "Runt! Kill!"
The creature turned to him, rising up. It flared its body wide, shining hellish red light at him. The scryn opened its jaws, mandibles flexing, and hissed. Poisoned spittle flew everywhere.
Mordecai raised his blade instinctively and fell back. The poison spattered across his arm and blade. Where it touched his bared wrist the skin instantly went numb. Thankfully, though, he'd been quick enough, and his face was unmarred.
Some sixth sense warned him just in time. He ducked, and the scryn flew overhead, tail whipping down to jab its stinger at his eyes. It missed by a hair's breadth. Mordecai cursed and leapt forward, hacking with his sword. He had to keep the waif on the defensive, before she could use the distraction for those knives, or before her pet could wheel back around.
The blade passed through empty air. He glanced up; she was gone, running away towards the starboard gunwales. Mordecai leapt after her with a snarl.
She heard him. Reaching the rail and the exhaust-pipe there, she wheeled around to face him, half-stumbling on a coil of rope tied to a stanchion up on the rail. Her eyes were wide and uncertain, though she did not appear frightened. For some reason, that angered him.
"Nowhere to go, girl," he said, slowing. "Now I'm going to—"
Her eyes warned him. He turned and punched out with the basket hilt of his sword. It caught the scryn in mid-flight. He felt its muscular, ropy body impact and deflect, knocked away and back into the melee.
"Runt!" the young woman yelled.
Mordecai turned back to her, an ugly smile on his lips. She looked left and right for help. None was coming. She was trapped. Mordecai decided he would take his time finishing her; he owed her a debt from the scene at the beach.
"Don't think I'll give you quarter, girl," he said.
She narrowed her eyes and sheathed the dagger on her hip. "I wasn't about to ask you for it," she said.
Quick as a cat she grabbed up the coil of rope at her feet and threw it overboard. Then she danced up the exhaust-pipe, took some of the length in her hands, and jumped overboard.
Mordecai stared. Then he leapt forward, lashing out with his blade. It missed, biting into the wood of the gunwale instead. He yanked it free and then bent out over the gunwale.
She was falling, halfway already to the green canopy of the jungle a dozen feet below her. He couldn't reach her. It might as well have been a hundred. She was escaping. The young woman looked up at him as her part of the rope went taut. Her eyes were merry and she laughed at him.
Mordecai growled. Oh, no you don't. He hefted his cutlass again and hacked out, this time at the knot around the metal stanchion on the gunwale. It parted and went flying away. He leaned out again over the rail just in time to see her plunge into the canopy, eyes wide in surprise and sudden fear. Mordecai leaned back with a smile, darkly amused.
He threw himself back into the fight, working his way back to the helm where Lucian fought with Natasha. They were evenly matched, the two of them. And just versed enough in dirty trickery enough to counter the other.
Lucian spied Mordecai's approach. He cursed and gave ground, trying to fight his duel and command the crew at the same time. Natasha pressed her attack and Mordecai moved in on her flank. I must have pleased someone. Things seem to be going my way today.
Fengel's first mate put up a valiant effort, but it wasn't enough. Mordecai put his counterpart's blade into a bind and then disarmed him, sending Lucian's sword flying away. He then punched the man with the hilt of his cutlass—Lucian, and satisfyingly, some of his teeth, went sprawling. He recovered quickly and made to stand, but paused when Natasha lowered the tip of her blade to his throat.
"What," asked Mordecai. "No clever escape this time?" He moved closer. "No witty repartee?" He felt pleasure at the dark glower of the other mate. How does it feel now, you little shit?
Lucian said nothing. He peered past his captors at the battle on the deck. Without his guidance, it was going poorly. He looked up at Natasha. "Spare the crew. I ask for quarter."
"Well, you're not going to get it," snarled Mordecai. "You and Fengel have been an irritant long enough—"
Natasha held out her free hand, cutting him off. Mordecai glanced up at her. His captain affected the cool amusement that was her usual attitude. "Mordecai's view has merit," she said. "But there's something I don't understand here. You will answer it for me." She leaned in a little, pressing her blade down to bite at his throat. "Where is Fengel? What happened here?"
Mordecai's curiosity quelled his irritation. If the missing pirates were still on the ship, they would have joined the fray by now.
Lucian licked his lips. "Will you give quarter?" he asked.
"It will be taken into consideration," replied Natasha. Behind her, two Reavers cut down one of Fengel's Men.
The first mate closed his eyes. "They're not on the ship. They're in the city below."
Natasha raised an eyebrow. She shared a questioning glance at Mordecai. "What? Why? Whatever is that fool doing now?"
Lucian grimaced. "We found the Governor's Lantern."
Mordecai blinked in surprise. "It wasn't in the treasure you'd stolen?"
Fengel's first mate shook his head, sandy hair swaying. "No. The ships log hinted that it had been taken from the Albatross before either of us had even gotten to these shores. We tracked it back here, to the city below. Captain's become obsessed with it. We didn't leave because there was trouble on the ground, just as you'd arrived."
Natasha looked bewildered. "But why? Why come here? Why not flee? You had to know we'd be coming after you. Why not make yo
ur escape? There's a fortune in the holds below already!"
Lucian looked up, held her gaze. "Because he wanted to make sure that you couldn't get the gem."
Mordecai's captain went very still. She didn't move, didn't speak, only stood there with the tip of her blade against Lucian's throat. Behind and around them came the cries of those still fighting, mixed in with gunshot reports and the groans of the wounded.
When she spoke her voice was low and dangerous. There was something in it that Mordecai couldn't identify. "Tell your crew to lay down arms."
"You'll give us quarter?"
"Tell your crew to lay down arms."
Lucian stared up at her a long moment, then turned his head to the side and called out. "Quarter! We ask for quarter! Stand down, Fengel's Men!"
He repeated the call a few times, and slowly, sporadically, the fighting slowed to a stop. Fengel's Men were quickly disarmed and herded into the middle of the deck.
"Excellent," said Mordecai. "Now we'll cut their throats and dump them over the side, and put this whole sorry mess behind us." He smiled.
Lucian started from the deck. Only the blade at his neck kept him from rising. "You can't! We've called for quarter, you miserable son of a bitch!"
Mordecai smiled down at him. "We never said we'd give it."
Natasha pulled back her blade. "Have no fear, Mister Thorne. You'll have quarter."
Mordecai turned to frown at her. "This is foolish. Haven't you learned? They're all too dangerous to be left alive. Kill them and be done with it."
Natasha sheathed her cutlass. She tapped her chin thoughtfully, staring out past the deck of the ship, back toward the Copper Queen. "I think not." She caught Mordecai's gaze. "Round them up, tie them into a cargo net, and move them back to the Queen."
Mordecai stared. "Again? Again? This is madness! Euron never would have let this go on so long!"
He knew he'd gone too far. Natasha looked over at him with eyes like ice. She stepped up and slapped him. She wasn't some dockside prostitute or pampered mistress. The blow had the full force of her arm behind it, an arm that was used to wielding a sword. Mordecai reeled back, vision blurring.
"Tie Lucian and his crew up in a cargo net," she snarled. "Secure it tightly to somewhere on the Queen. Dump them over the bow and cut us free. Those are my orders. Will you obey them, or do I have to find someone who will?"
Mordecai flushed. He straightened and met her fierce gaze. "No. Captain."
"Good. Get moving. Once you're finished, come see me in the cabin. We need to go over that logbook, and prepare a shore party."
The first mate raised an eyebrow. "What? Why?"
"Because we are going to find the Lantern first."
She turned on her heel and stalked off. Mordecai stared at her in confusion. One of his nearby crewman coughed. He flushed as he realized that the whole scene had been public. Snarling, Mordecai gave the orders.
He saw Lucian and Fengel's Men bundled over to the Copper Queen. Lucian especially, he treated roughly, taking out his frustrations. The man took it all in good charm, smiling whenever he knew Mordecai was watching. It was infuriating.
It's a game, he realized. A cold shock ran through him at the epiphany. Fengel's Men were tied up in their cargo net, the latter being anchored to a stanchion on the deck of the Queen. A few crew he'd kept to this task. The rest were retaking the Dawnhawk and checking her over.
They hate each other, but never stopped caring, either. Mordecai's anger grew with each passing moment. That was why they danced around each other so, why Natasha refused to kill off her husband. The two played a constant game of one-upmanship, always seeking to come out on top. All other considerations were secondary.
Cold certainty mixed with his anger. He glanced back at the deck of the Dawnhawk. His captain was nowhere to be seen.
Guye Farrel trudged past with a length of rope. Mordecai reached out and caught him by the arm. "Come with me," he ordered. The other pirate winced at his voice, but nodded. The journey had not been kind to Farrel. His face was scarred and swollen and he had a limp.
Mordecai led the way belowdecks. Shortly they found themselves in the magazine. Though half-emptied, there were still enough casks of black powder left to do the job. I'm putting an end to this madness. He pulled down a cask and with Farrel's help breached it.
"There," he said. "Pour a trail back up to the deck. Be very careful that it is unbroken. Tell no one. Understand?"
The man nodded, eyes wide. Mordecai was certain that he'd make a trail. The bigger question was whether or not he could keep his mouth shut. If he didn't, however, he was easily dealt with. That was why Mordecai had chosen him, after all.
Mordecai returned to the deck and walked to the bow. There, his crew were herding Fengel's Men over the edge of the ship. Mordecai called a stop, then moved around to where Lucian stood within the net.
"Hello, Mordie," said Lucian cheerfully. "It appears that you got one over on me, finally. I suppose anything's possible in a world such as ours, yes?"
Mordecai met his smile with one of his own. "Keep thinking that," he said to the rogue. "Keep thinking that, after I send you off to the Realms Below."
Lucian lost his smile. Mordecai turned away. He ordered Fengel's Men pushed overboard. His crew complied, goading with cutlass and long knife. The net went over the edge, Fengel's surviving Men screaming. They fell until the anchor-rope went taut.
Mordecai ordered his crew back aboard the Dawnhawk. Then he waited. In a few minutes, Guye Farrel reappeared, and completed his trail. Mordecai ordered him aboard the other ship, walking over to the thick line of black powder.
He drew a pistol and turned one last time to gaze about the floating wreck. I really hate this ship.
Mordecai knelt and cocked the empty weapon. He placed the pan next to the powder and pulled the trigger. The flintlock snapped close and sparks flew. Some landed on the dark line, instantly catching it. He walked briskly back to the Dawnhawk and boarded. At the snap of his fingers, crewmen cut the last line tethering the old airship to the new.
An order to Konrad and they were moving speedily away.
Chapter Nineteen
Lina hung upside down. She dangled, holding onto the branch with both feet, praying it was strong enough. It was a thin one though, and brittle. Lina didn't dare reach up to grab at it with her hands.
The jungle canopy was a world all its own, even viewed upside down. Long branches covered in thick green leaves surrounded her on every side. Both the dark ground and the blue sky were hidden by dancing foliage that shook with the wind and the passing of the lighter jungle creatures. Should Lina be set adrift to float free, like an airship, she thought she might quickly lose all sense of direction.
Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. The direction down was very emphatically insisting on its presence.
If I can just find a strong one. Lina glanced about slowly, carefully. There were a few branches within reach, but they seemed too supple to bear her weight.
She swayed. A crack sounded from above. Heart leaping in her breast, Lina glanced back up at the limb she hung from.
A monkey peered down at her from next to her boots. It was small and black, not even half of Runt's size, maybe as large as a parrot. The little creature watched her curiously, eyes black and beady in its wizened face.
Oh no, no, no. Get away you pest. Shoo! Even something as small as the monkey was already stressing her branch beyond its tolerance.
Lina waved her hand at it in a shooing gesture, trying to move as little as possible. The branch made another loud cracking sound. She froze.
The monkey peered at her curiously. Then it hooted and clapped its hands together. It made the shooing gesture at her in turn.
Lina wanted to throttle the thing. "No," she hissed. "Go away!"
The monkey shooed her again. Then it jumped, up and down in excitement.
The branched snapped clean in half. Lina yelled as she suddenly plummeted. The monkey
leapt away with a surprised scream.
Branches and leaves brushed her head, face, arms. She reached out with desperate hands, trying to grab onto something, anything that might save her or slow her descent. Lina caught a branch. It held for half a second, then snapped. Five feet down she hooked her leg around another... only for it to bend, creak, then snap.
Lina fell through the open air. The ground rushed up to meet her, dark, loamy earth dotted here and there by ferns and other undergrowth. Then she landed with a bone-jarring thump. Dimly, she felt the length of rope from the Dawnhawk land heavily on her back, knocking the wind out of her.
Sense came back. Lina gasped. She hurt, her left arm and shoulder especially. Also, her right foot was bare. She felt the rich, black dirt of the jungle between her toes. Great, she thought, groaning aloud. I've lost a boot. Gingerly, she checked to make sure nothing was broken. Lina reached back with her good arm and pulled the rope off her back. It twisted in her hands, strangely slick and smooth. She brought it around and found herself staring face-to-face with a long black snake.
The creature hissed and reared up. But before Lina could yell, or the serpent strike, something fell from above, clobbering it.
Her boot.
She threw the snake, forgetting her hurts for the moment. It landed a dozen paces away, a long black line at least four feet in length. It didn't move after landing. Lina watched it for a moment, then sat up. She quickly checked her arms, legs, and shoulder. Nothing was broken, thankfully, though she would hurt for awhile to come. That was lucky, she thought, looking up at the trees above. That last fall had been at least ten feet.
The jungle stretched out around her. It was strangely bare down at ground level. The underbrush was not thick, starved by the trees high above. She had no idea which direction was north, or which led back to the valley and its alien city.
I have to find the Captain. He's got to be told what happened. Though, last she'd seen, Fengel had had troubles of his own.
She'd been angry when Fengel sent her back to the Dawnhawk the night before. But over time worry and boredom dulled her irritation. She spent the night's shift drowsing and watching the jungle and the strange alien city of Yrinium. The inhabitants, these Draykin, lit fires all throughout the temples. It was amazing to see from the air. Only the depth of their valley kept the fires from being seen from hundreds of miles around.
Chasing the Lantern (The Dawnhawk Trilogy, Book One) Page 24
