by Martha Wells
She glanced back at Ilias as he reached the top of the stairs behind her. He still looked like someone who was being dragged to his execution, but while she groped for a reassuring comment, Florian said seriously, “Tremaine, I can’t do that kind of etheric math in my head. Maybe on paper, but not off the cuff when I’m panicking because we’re about to be attacked by a ... whatever that was. I’d need references and charts and .. . more confidence.”
“Well...” Tremaine began, then couldn’t think of a way to finish that sentence. She shrugged and pointed for Florian to go on inside. “We’ll figure it out later.”
Florian pulled an electric torch out of the sphere’s leather carrying case and switched it on, lighting their way down the short black corridor through the ship’s hull. Tremaine followed hurriedly; it was a relief to get out of the wind and off the rickety stairs.
The passage opened into a big room, silent and lit sporadically by little round emergency battery lights set high in the walls. The group of people just ahead of them were across the room, their torches flashing around as they tried to decide which corridor to take. Tremaine knew this was the Cabin Class Entrance Hall, but it was hard to make out any detail as they crossed the tile floor. The place had the slightly dusty, temporarily deserted air of a large hotel late at night. Florian flicked the torch over the signs next to the corridor entrances, finding the right one.
As they went down the wood-paneled hallway Tremaine could feel the ship coming to life around them, though the rooms they passed were still dark. The crew members who weren’t helping out on the dock would all be belowdecks, spread out among the boilers, the engine rooms and the generating stations. Somewhere in the bowels of the ship a head of steam was being raised and extra turbines run up, ready to take the additional electrical load once they got under way.
She realized Ilias hadn’t said anything for a while and looked back. He was following them, head down, hands jammed into the pockets of his coat, the set of his shoulders conveying tension. She remembered what he had said about the bareness of the Gardier quarters, how sterile and alien it had felt, and wondered if the ship struck him the same way.
“Hey, look at this.” Tremaine stopped in a doorway and felt for the light switch. Ilias stepped up beside her, curious and wary. The overheads buzzed, flickered and came to life, revealing what the discreet panel on the door claimed was the Cabin Class reading lounge. Most of the furniture was missing, but the walls were covered with wood burnished until its grain was like watered silk. The crystalline fixtures softened the electric light and it played over a patterned carpet in soft reds and golds and a marble mantel with a carved mural of leaping deer above it.
Ilias leaned on the doorframe and whistled softly in wonder. He glanced at her. “Is it all like this?”
She explained, “They were supposed to take out all the fancy bits when they made it into a troop ship, but there was never time. And most of the navy was destroyed, and there was nowhere to send troops.”
He nodded, stepping back from the door. “I can see why you wanted to steal her.”
“I didn’t steal her.” She flipped the lights off, not sure if they needed to conserve electricity or not.
“What?” Florian had come back to look for them, her torch playing along the carpet. “Who did Tremaine steal?” she demanded.
“Nothing,” Tremaine told her hurriedly in Rienish. “He’s overreacting.”
“That paper she brought back from the city that said we could use the ship didn’t come from a lawgiver; she got some old man to write it for her,” Ilias explained matter-of-factly to Florian.
“Oh my God.” Wide-eyed, Florian stepped forward and shined the light in Tremaine’s face. “Is that true? What were you thinking?”
“Hey!” Wincing, Tremaine pushed the torch away. She turned to Ilias, saying in exasperation, “Didn’t I ask you not to tell anyone?”
“No,” he said, and added with devastating candor, “you were counting on me not being able to speak your language.”
Florian gestured helplessly. “Tremaine!”
“What, so I’ll get in trouble?” Annoyed, she shrugged and moved on up the corridor. “Maybe they’ll force me to go to another world and fight heavily armed sorcerers who— Oh, wait, we’re doing that already.”
“Tremaine . . .” Shaking her head in consternation but obviously at a loss for what to say, Florian followed.
Making their way further into the ship, they found more of the corridor lights lit and started to hear voices and see civilian sailors, military personnel and Institute members hurrying by. They found the steward’s office open and empty and dropped the bags there, then located Niles, deep in conversation with Averi near the head of a stairwell. Averi had his usual thunderous expression and Niles looked harassed and desperate. “Good, you’re here,” he said hurriedly. “We’re almost ready to cast off.”
“Are we?” Florian asked, startled. “I thought there’d be more people coming with us.”
Averi shook his head. “Most of the military and Viller Institute personnel agreed to come, especially those who still have families here and had no other way to evacuate them. We sent out a quick general call, but very few of the people still left in Rel wanted to risk it.”
“Can we watch the ship cast off? You don’t need us yet, do you?” Tremaine interjected, wanting to offer Florian a distraction so the alleged theft of the Ravenna wouldn’t suddenly come up in conversation. Ilias, worried about his friends and impatient to get on with this, looked like he was badly in need of a distraction too.
It became rapidly clear that Niles and Averi didn’t care what anyone did as long as it didn’t bother them now. Tremaine found the way up the metal stairwells to the deck and as soon as Ilias pushed open the hatch, it became obvious that the Ravenna’s bulk had been shielding them from the worst of the weather. The cold damp wind tore at them and pushed them toward the bulkhead. They were up near the bow, on the main deck, and there was a fine view of the bay, the waves rolling in up the white beach, the darkened port and the hotel above it. The air flickered, seeming alternately thick with a misty distortion, then clear. “That’s the wards.” Florian raised her voice to be heard over the wind. “The ones that keep the ship from being visible from above are tied to the hull so they’ll follow us out.”
Ilias squinted up into the dark air somewhat warily. Tremaine impatiently led the way toward the front of the ship, where they could look down on the decks extending out from the bow and the ocean dock far below. She could hear a few shouts and bangs that must be accompanying the closing of the shipside door. They would be casting off the moorings now. Her stomach tightened and she sympathized with Florian’s nerves; only a little while now.
The wind made it more comfortable for both women to huddle next to Ilias, for the warmth and the security against being swept off the deck by a gust. Below in the dark choppy water, they could see a tug edging itself into position and a gentle thrumming was beginning to issue from somewhere deep within the bowels of the ship.
Tremaine looked up to see a cloud of released steam puff up from the giant stack looming above them. Her chest felt tight for some reason, and it wasn’t nerves from thinking about returning to the island or her anxiety for Gerard and Giliead and the others. The Ravenna, languishing in dock for so long, a virtual prisoner of the Gardier, was stretching her legs. Tremaine was anything but an optimist, but this just had to be good. “We’re nearly ready ...” She trailed off, staring down at the dock that seemed to be rapidly rolling away below. Then she realized the ship was already moving. She saw the tug cross the bow again, its running lights revealing frantic activity aboard.
“We’re going to hit that building,” Florian pointed out, sounding a little alarmed.
The bow seemed to be angling toward a three-story warehouse on the end of the pier. Tremaine nodded, fascinated. “Looks like it.”
Ilias craned his neck, trying unsuccessfully to see over the bulk of the b
ow deck below this level. “And she’s going to shear off the end of the dock.” He sounded impressed.
“I don’t think it’ll hurt the hull.” Tremaine’s brows lifted as the warehouse’s rounded metal roof suddenly crumpled and slid out of sight. If a tremor had passed through the great ship, she hadn’t felt it. It had crushed the building with as little effort as a truck rolling over a tin cup. The shriek of tearing wood and metal followed them as the Ravenna steamed out into the bay toward the dark horizon of the open ocean, gathering speed. They were high above the water but she could still feel the deck sway under her feet; it was a strange sensation, different from any smaller ship she had ever been on. It was as if the great vessel’s weight was making the whole earth move. We’re making our secret escape in the biggest boat in this hemisphere, she thought, admiring the irony.
“We’d better go back in. They’ll be starting soon.” Flo-rian rubbed her arms briskly, looking back at the port. There was already little to see; few lights were lit and the wards along the dock caused a thickening in the air, as if the buildings were draped in mist. Rel seemed deserted already, a ghost town above an ancient ruined port. “I hope nobody was in that warehouse. Of course, you’d have to be crazy to be on the dock while this was going on,” Flo-rian added matter-of-factly, spoiling the poetic image Tremaine had been constructing.
Turning her head away from the battering wind and feeling her way along the rail, Tremaine felt oddly obligated to defend the Ravenna. “I heard they brought her into dock at Chaire once without using tugs.”
“I wish we had that captain on the tiller,” Ilias commented dryly, taking one last look back.
They met Niles again at the entrance to the Cabin Class ballroom. “Hurry,” he said, waving at them to come in. “They sent word from the bridge that we’re almost in position.”
It hadn’t taken very long, but the Ravenna’s engines were so powerful she moved at more than thirty knots under full steam. They would still be far from the Gardier blockade, but it was dangerous for the ship to remain in these waters too long, even with her camouflage paint and concealing wards.
The spell circle was in the main ballroom, one of the largest rooms in the ship. The circle was a much-expanded version of the one at the boathouse and had been permanently painted onto the marble tile. It enclosed most of the long rectangular room, leaving only a few feet of space along the walls. Little ward signs circled the enameled red support pillars to exclude them from transport when the spell was initiated.
From what Niles had said, taking the Ravenna through herself would be easier than sending a few people through at a time. Like the way they had used the boathouse circle to send the Pilot Boat through, it would only be a matter of adjusting the spell’s parameters outward slightly. If we don‘t fail, Tremaine reminded herself, feeling her stomach twist with nerves. If we don’t fail, the rest will be easy.
Most of the big room was unlit and the glimpses of dark wood paneling and red velvet drapes increased the atmosphere of a rich but shadowy vastness. There was a stage at the far end for use when the room doubled as a theater, and the remaining tables and chairs had been dragged out into the foyer. A few crystal sconces on the pillars were lit, providing enough light to move around in.
Ander and the other men who had volunteered for the mission were in the foyer, sealing up the last of the waterproofed wooden cases they were using to carry supplies and weapons. Among other things, they were taking a small portable wireless and a buoy that they could send back through the portal to let the Ravenna know if their mission was successful. The cases would also double as flotation devices, since they were going to land in the water again.
Dommen had admitted that their Gardier contact had seemed roughly able to detect when the Pilot Boat had passed through the portal. Niles was betting this was because of the disturbance in etheric vibrations caused by so large an object’s sudden appearance. His guess was that smaller disturbances, such as a few people passing through, wouldn’t cause detectable vibrations.
One of the men hurried up to Tremaine and Florian, carrying navy-issue life jackets. “Miss, what’s it like over there?” the man asked, handing one to Tremaine.
“Uh . . .” Tremaine remembered that his name was Rulan; she had noticed him because he was Parscian and had helped Stanis work on the Pilot Boat’s engine once. She groped for a way to describe it. “It’s nice, except for the Gardier.”
“It’s summer there,” Florian elaborated, distracted as she buckled herself into the jacket.
He didn’t look much enlightened by this description, but Tremaine was too busy to think of a better one. She pulled off her sweater and tossed it onto a chair as Rulan moved on.
Ilias was looking around at the preparations, practically twitching with impatience. He watched Tremaine and Flo-rian struggle into the life jackets as if he thought it was a strange and unlikely thing to do under the circumstances. “What are those?”
“They float, they’re to help you swim,” Florian explained, buckling her last strap. “You want one?”
He shook his head. “I don’t need help swimming.” He pulled off his coat and the sweater under it, revealing his Syprian clothes.
For a moment it was quiet as the other men moved around the shadowy room making last-minute checks of equipment, getting into life jackets.
“All right, everyone.” Ander stepped forward, his gaze serious. “We’re going to go in stages. Ilias, Florian and I will go first, then the rest of you in groups of three, then Tremaine last.”
Tremaine didn’t care if she was last or not. She was ready to go.
This time they underestimated the distance. Tremaine had an instant’s view of a wall of blue-gray water and a heartbeat to realize it was all around her. Then the displaced sea rushed in with torrential force.
She surfaced, coughing, eyes and nose streaming. Florian bobbed next to her, clutching the sphere’s bag. “Little more altitude next time,” Tremaine told her, wiping salt water out of her eyes and taking a quick look around. Mist hung heavily overhead, blotting out the sun, and the sea moved in lazy swells. The water was cool but not bone-freezingly cold like the sea at Port Rel.
“There’s Ander,” Florian said, paddling with one arm. The others were treading water nearby, using the cases as floats. Ander twisted around with a frown, obviously doing a quick head count of the other men. They looked variously startled, shocked and amazed to be alive.
Tremaine paddled toward him, asking, “Where’s Ilias?”
“Scouting to make sure we’re in the right place,” he told her, turning his head away from the splash of her arrival. He gave Florian a hand as she drew closer, helping her grab hold of a floating case. “I don’t want to waste our strength swimming in the wrong direction.”
“Good, because—” Tremaine said just in time to catch a swell in the face. She coughed up water, gasping. “Never mind, it wasn’t important.”
Floating nearby, one of the men said tensely, “He’s coming back, Captain.” He was a hard-faced, wiry man whose name Tremaine thought was Basimi.
She looked and saw Ilias swimming toward them through the mist. He moved quickly, with a minimum of splashing. Still about ten yards away, he paused, treading water, and waved to Ander.
“Right.” Ander nodded, turning to tell the others, “Let’s go.”
The men swam awkwardly as they towed the cases, making Tremaine feel vulnerable and glad for the concealing mist. Giant black rocks loomed suddenly ahead of them, the water lapping at their rough surfaces. They made it past without the waves slamming anyone into the stone and Ilias swam back to report, “The cave mouth ahead leads to the inlet where the entrance is.”
As Ander translated for the others, Ilias turned to Tremaine. “Are you all right?”
“Why, do I look like I’m drowning?” she asked, right before another swell swamped her.
Ilias hauled her up by the collar and she shook the water out of her ears in time to hear Ander
say, “Tremaine, will you hold on to one of the goddamn cases?”
“We’re nearly there.” She kept swimming. She was going to do this on her own if she had to dog-paddle the whole way.
Dark cliffs draped with the sour-colored greenery materialized out of the drifting fog. They followed Ilias toward an opening tucked into a fold of the rock. Gray light inside showed the cave was open to the sky somewhere not far ahead. The waves grew rougher, buffeting them against the steep sides as they worked their way along. After much cursing, gasping and bruises the passage spilled abruptly into an open well with a little gravelly beach along the rough rock wall.
The men reached it first, hastily hauling the supply cases up onto the gritty sand. Tremaine felt for the bottom and found it, her feet slipping on the gravel. Florian, some paces ahead of her, stood up with an exclamation of relief. Rulan waded out to her to drag her case ashore.
Tremaine staggered up after them. Under the bulging folds of the cliff were the dark pockets of several cave mouths. One was larger than the others, leading back deep into the rock. The familiar smell of dank decay hung over the little inlet and the purplish plants clung to every crack.
“Here we go again,” Florian said under her breath, plopping down on the sand and pulling off her boots to dump out the water. Under Ander’s direction, the men pried open the waterproofed cases.
“I think we’re a little better prepared this time,” Ander commented, lifting one of the crossbows out and checking the stock and string for dampness. They had also brought brown coveralls, confiscated from an abandoned textile mill in Rel. Ander had pronounced them close enough in color and style to the Gardier uniforms and worker outfits to fool an observer at a distance or in bad light.
Sitting on his heels, Ilias leaned over to inspect the crossbow. He didn’t look impressed. “They’re small. They have good pull?”
