The angle was such that Fengel couldn't see well onto the deck; his captors and the cityscape got in the way. He didn't see any movement, though. And if the ship were crewed then there should have been the lithe shapes of the lookouts atop the gas-bag, if nothing else.
Some of the Draykin in the streets called out and pointed to the flying wreck. The procession slowed as others noticed, gabbling amongst themselves.
"Mister Smalls?" Fengel called.
"Aye, sir?" replied the steward.
"I can see the Queen. She looks abandoned. What do you think she's doing up here?"
"We left her drifting, sir. It's possible, I suppose, that she's here coincidentally. But I doubt it, were I being honest."
"And you are the soul of honesty indeed.” Too far, too fast. Natasha had to be involved. "Can you see the Dawnhawk anywhere?"
"Aye sir, just a moment ago. The northern edge of the valley."
"Curious and more curious," he muttered to himself. "I sincerely hope that Lucian hasn't—"
He was interrupted by a massive explosion that flared into the life above them. The noise deafened him, echoing and reverberating down the city streets. His captors yowled in surprise and dropped him. Fengel landed with a grunt on the paved stones of the wide street beneath them. He rolled back to look, still tied to the long pole they carried him upon. Up above, the Copper Queen was gone. Where it had floated, a cloud of spreading debris rained down onto the city.
He stared. Only one thing could have happened. It was every sailor's fear, sea-borne and sky.
Fengel glanced back at the procession. His crew had been similarly dropped, the Draykin all cowering and gabbing at each other for the moment. Henry, Sarah, Oscar, and Geoffrey were all awake and looking around. Even Maxim stirred a bit, for which Fengel was thankful. Unfortunately, their bonds were still tight; now was not the time to escape.
He caught his steward's eye. "Powder magazine," he said.
Smalls nodded. "Or the gas-bag. Captain, I saw a rope, I think. Hanging off the bow. You don't think Natasha..." He trailed off, and Fengel understood his fear.
Their captors recovered from their surprise. They hoisted the sky-pirates and again moved on their way, if a little slower and more distracted than before. Up above, the explosion of the Queen had disturbed the nesting birds and sky-creatures that lived in the ruined upper towers. They soared and flew, calling out to each other in raucous, screeching cries.
As they moved along, Fengel came to a realization that knocked him out of his worries. Those are scryn. More took to the skies with every passing moment. Whole flocks of the repulsive creatures roosted in the upper bounds of the city. Fengel shuddered, glad that they didn't seem interested in coming below to harry the Draykin.
The street opened onto a wide plaza, the massive temple-manse they'd seen at its center. The building was huge, like almost everything else here. Unlike the others, it bore the marks of both the old style of architecture and the newer, more primitive ones. It seemed almost remade, or repurposed. The stair-step pyramid shape was evident in its lines, but more elegantly constructed than the others in Yrinium. Replicas, Fengel realized. The smaller pyramids were of Draykin construction; this was what they were copying.
The pyramid was at least ten stories tall. Its peak was a sharp point, sloping down to the next terrace, which stretched, then sloped down to the terrace below it. At its apex, an archway opened into the interior, and a long, wide stair was carved up the side of the structure to meet it. Strange, crude statues carved by the Draykin dotted each terrace, and were spaced through most of the plaza below.
Fengel eyed a few of these as they moved past. Larger and heavier than a man, they depicted humanoid figures, different from the Draykin. Their clothing and dress was certainly odd. But they almost appeared human, otherwise.
Their captors brought the pirates to the temple. Fengel watched as the Draykin hauled them up the stair, climbing up above the city to the entrance of the massive pyramid. Trepidation filled him, paired with the cold uncertainty about his crew, and what had happened with the Copper Queen. The Draykin had wanted them alive, and he was about to find out why.
The stair ended at a wide landing. Behind it the archway entrance to the temple yawned, a gaping mouth of stone. To either side stood a pair of metal braziers, burning brightly even at noonday.
A single Draykin stood in the middle of the landing. It was older, its scales dulled, its posture stooped. It wore a headdress of gold and precious gemstones that Fengel recognized from the statues below. The creature leaned on a staff of pale wood topped in wrought gold.
The Draykin procession came to a halt before the older figure. They knelt before it, lowering Fengel and his crew to the ground. It was obviously a chieftain or priest, a figure of importance. Fengel assumed the former.
The old creature hissed something and two of Fengel's bearers stood. They cut him free of his bonds and stood him up roughly. Fengel resisted the urge to curse; blood pumped painfully back into his numbed fingers. His bearers each reached out to grab him. Fengel shook their grip away violently. They jumped back, immediately wary and on edge, moments away from grappling him.
Fengel forced himself to calm. Never let them see you stumble. He glanced back at the procession. All eyes were on him, though most still knelt. He and his crew were easily outnumbered fifty to one at this point, and he had no clue where their weapons were.
Still.
His crew watched in concern, still tied like hogs bound for the spit. Fengel winked at Henry Smalls and then slowly, carefully, reach up to replace his monocle. Before the guards could grab him again he moved forward to the chieftain, slowly and without threat.
The Dawnhawk came into view just above the temple. Its shadow cast the landing into darkness. The assembled Draykin gasped and muttered to themselves, pointing up at the sky-vessel. Fengel didn't know who was on board or in control, but they couldn't have appeared at a better time. Perfect.
He raised his most imperious eyebrow at the Draykin chieftain. Up close, he was easily two feet taller than the thing. "What," he demanded, "is the meaning of this?"
Gasps echoed from the landing behind him, the indrawn breath of his crew, and the startled hissing of the lizard-men.
"Sir," stage-whispered Smalls. "What are you doing?"
"Mind your tongue, Henry Smalls," he replied without glancing back. Fengel glowered at the chieftain. "Now. I believe I asked you a question."
The old Draykin stared back at him, eyes wide in surprise. Perfect, thought Fengel. He had the old lizard on the defensive.
"Ra," it said. "Stalki-haio."
"I," said Fengel, "do not care."
It seemed Rastalak, friend or foe, was unique. The chieftain didn't speak civilized Perinese, and from what he'd heard while moving through the city, neither did any of the other Draykin. Still, some things were universal. The body language of the lizard-men was easy enough to read. Fengel bulled onward.
"We have been rather rudely assailed," he said, slashing at the air. "Then captured, and paraded through the streets of your stinking city like hogs meant for a feast-day! I demand you answer me. What is your purpose? How dare you treat a noble group of civilized adventurers so?" He gestured up at the Dawnhawk above them. "My ship floats above, ready to deliver retribution upon your primitive heads at any moment. Now, I demand you answer for these...these insults!"
Fengel had let himself grow more incensed. He put years of authority and every pound of overwrought pomposity he could into each word, until the guards were standing back, and the chieftain stared wide-eyed and uncertain.
He pushed the advantage. "How dare you," Fengel hissed.
Smartly, Fengel stepped forward, lashing out. The chieftain's headdress went flying through the air. It landed with a clang, then skidded off the side of the pyramid. All assembled listened to it clatter down the side of the building.
The mood in the air changed. Surprise and awe evaporated, replaced by outrage.
The Chieftain narrowed its eyes. The Draykin around them hissed, low and angry.
Fengel reconsidered his position. "Mister Smalls," he said calmly.
"Yes, sir?"
"It appears that I might have been just a tad too bold."
His steward sighed. "I know, sir."
"Korvachi," shrieked the chieftain, spittle landing on the shirt of Fengel's breast. "Korvachi hailo!"
The two guards at his side leapt forward and seized him painfully. He tried to struggle, but they had him in grips of iron. Two more jumped forward to help subdue him.
"Te Salaas Voorn!" yelled the chieftain. It raised its staff up and pointed at the opening to the temple.
"Te Salaas Voorn!" echoed the guards. They hoisted Fengel and hauled him forward, the chieftain stepping aside. Others behind them took up the cry, until it echoed throughout the plaza. The Draykin hauled the sky-pirates into the dark of the ancient temple.
Through his panic and his fear, Fengel thought he spied a light in the depths ahead, burning like the glow of a lantern.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mordecai was getting angry.
"I specifically ordered you not to kill them!" shouted Natasha. Her golden eyes flashed.
"The ship exploded. You saw what condition it was in. It's a miracle it got this far. We stocked it far too full of powder before we set off on this little trip. It could have been anything. A leftover candle burning down in the magazine, or a spark in the gas-bag frame."
They hovered over the strange city of the lizard-men and the large temple in its central plaza. The inhabitants watched them float above in awe. Of far more concern to Mordecai were the swarms of scryn soaring about. The death of the Copper Queen had agitated them, revealing their presence. There were far more of the vermin in this city than Mordecai had thought even existed.
The crew were on edge. They had taken their airship back, but rather than fleeing with the treasure in their hold, they'd stayed. Now scryn surrounded them, hostile natives swarmed below, and their captain and first mate were arguing in the stern near the helm.
Mordecai thought he'd be able to convince Natasha to move on. Yet once they'd spied Fengel and the procession below, she'd ordered them to draw closer. Then the Queen had exploded. They had been arguing vehemently since.
"Do you think me a halfwit?" snarled his captain. Natasha narrowed her eyes and let her hand fall to her sword. She paced back and forth. "You wanted them all dead. Especially Lucian. You never quite got over what he did to you, and you finally broke rank to take your chance, deliberately ignoring my order!"
His composure evaporated. "That is not why I killed them!" Mordecai hissed. "You want the truth? Fine! I blew up the Queen. I had a long trail drawn back to the powder room and lit off as we departed. And you know what? I would do it again in a heartbeat."
Natasha grinned fiercely as she caught him out. Mordecai ignored it and went on, stabbing a finger at her to punctuate every sentence. "You should have dumped Fengel in the ocean the minute we got our ship back the first time. None of this ever would have happened then. But no. You had to get soft. You had to play games. I did what was necessary. I did what you should have done a week ago. You're soft around him, and it'll be the doom of us all!"
Mordecai quieted, panting. Natasha glowered, now outraged. "You forget your place, first mate," she hissed.
"No," he replied. "I know my duty. One of us has to think with something other than their loins."
Natasha glared daggers, then she smiled sweetly. "No worries there for you, eh Mordecai? Tell me, when was the last time you were able to hook up with someone you didn't pay?" She tapped a finger to her chin and glanced away, looking puzzled. "I truly can't remember."
Mordecai opened his mouth to reply. He shut it and turned to stalk up the deck. "You aren't a worthy captain," he snarled at her over his shoulder.
Konrad at the helm was staring resolutely ahead. The navigator wisely said nothing as he stalked past. Others in the crew close enough to overhear were abruptly busy elsewhere. Mordecai noted this distantly, and approved. They feared him, which was good. That they were wise enough to avoid him meant they'd grown some sense, against all odds. Which was also good. Mordecai wanted very badly to kill someone right now.
He stalked up to the bow, thoughts blacker than jet. Mordecai tried to think back to the first time he'd met Natasha. It was a number of years ago, just after old Euron had stepped down and given her a ship. Mordecai had served with the old pirate shortly before, and apparently the man had been impressed with his ruthlessness. Natasha asked for him by name, and after a short interview, he'd been given his posting.
At first he had been reticent. She'd seemed wild, chaotic, truly her father's daughter. Quickly enough he realized she had a hard edge to her, and was capable of surprising shrewdness. He'd thought that over time maybe he could channel or curb her worst excesses, which often threatened her, her crew, and everyone else around. Mordecai suspected that he had been wrong.
But what could he do? She was his captain, and he didn't dare quit his post. Once word got out, he'd be lucky to find another berth in Haventown at all, much less one on a skyship. Euron still had quite a bit of sway, and Natasha wasn't one to ever forgive a slight. Mordecai thought dark thoughts and watched the jungle horizon.
Boot steps brought him back to the present. Guye Farrel was approaching him rapidly. Mordecai felt a small moment of glee at the prospect; the greenhorn pirate was the perfect outlet for his frustrations. He turned to snarl at the man, and paused.
Farrel was a wreck. Bandages covered his neck and lower jaw. He moved with a limp. Hair was missing in rough patches and wherever skin showed, he was covered in bruises.
"What in the Realms Below happened to you?" asked Mordecai.
The other pirate paused to take a labored breath. "The white ape. We killed one, but there was another hiding inside the frame."
"And it got you before it died?"
Farrel shook his head. "No, it drove us away. It's moved in up there now. The lookout has some sort of truce with it. I think it's eating the seabirds that land atop the frame."
Mordecai growled in exasperation. "Well then, what are you doing down here? Get back up there with some men and kill the thing!"
Guye Farrel winced. "Sir, lookout sent me to ask you to the bow. Fengel and his Men are being hauled into that temple."
Mordecai blinked. And what in the Realms Below do I care? But no. He glanced back to the helm. Natasha had already received the message, and she was striding up to the bow. He had to check her, keep her from doing something ruinous.
"Fine, then," he growled. He stalked off, hoping to make his way to the vantage point first.
Natasha beat him to it. Cursing silently to himself, Mordecai moved up beside her and the lookout, Farrel limping behind.
The lizard-creatures still gathered in the plaza below to point and jabber at the Dawnhawk. Above them, on top of the temple stair, a few others were still gathered, though the procession was making its way inside. Mordecai caught a glance of only one of the prisoners, a huge woman that could only be Sarah Lome.
They watched the last of Fengel's Men disappear inside, along with their captors. A single lizard-pygmy ran after them, having gathered up a shining golden object from one of the temple terraces.
"Well," Mordecai said. "That's that, then." He felt a little relief. Out of sight, out of mind.
Natasha drummed her fingers on the rail. "We should do something."
Mordecai turned to stare at her. His captain looked pensive. She stared down at the entrance to the temple and the lizard-creatures there. A small frown twisted her lips. He knew the look; she felt guilty.
"We could drop a lit keg into the temple. Or some other distraction. That should be more than enough an opportunity for him and his crew to use. I don't want to have to mount a rescue. That would be going a little far."
"What?" said Mordecai, aghast. "What are you...why are you even considerin
g such actions?"
Natasha looked at him, almost surprised to find him there. Her face hardened, but the feelings underneath were visible. "Fengel knows where the Lantern is. If we leave him to his fate, we will never find the thing."
"To the Realms Below with the Governor's Lantern!" Mordecai almost yelled. "No. No! This is enough and more than enough! He's dead, or as good enough to us to be. Move on. Let's just go! Bury whatever wretched sensitivities you have for that fool and his stupid monocle, and just move on! We're pirates, after all!"
Natasha glared at him. "Mordecai. I have heard all that I care to hear from you. Go audit our food stores for the return trip."
"What? Don't be daft, woman—"
"I," she hissed, "am captain on this ship. I decide what ultimately needs to be done. Make yourself scarce, and that's an order. By the Goddess above, I'd be better served making that white ape first mate, I'm beginning to think."
Mordecai flushed. He stared at Natasha for a long moment. She met his gaze, daring him to defy her. "Very well, then," he said. Mordecai turned away woodenly, and strode down the deck.
She's well and truly gone. More than that, he could read the writing on the wall; he had no place at her side anymore.
The thought filled him with inchoate rage. Years, years he'd spent propping her up, slaying her foes, and maintaining her ship. The Dawnhawk, and the Cloud King before it. And just like that, it was at an end.
Or was it? Mordecai stopped halfway down the deck. A thought occurred to him. He had been willingly subversive for days now, always for the good of ship and crew. But why did they let Natasha lead them? Pirate crews were a mix of democracy and brute thuggery. Nominally, captains only held their position by confidence of the crew. In reality the most vicious, ruthless, capable people got voted up, and stayed up through both threats and persuasion. Natasha was capable enough, and the crew loyal, but her father's name put the most weight behind her. That was why she was always so desperate to be out from under the old man's shadow.
Mordecai looked around the deck of the ship. He looked to the crew at the bow, the stern, and those moving around on the gasbag frame above. The faces he saw were tired, and on edge. None of them wanted to be here.
Chasing the Lantern (The Dawnhawk Trilogy, Book One) Page 26
