“Very well, Lieutenant. Sound all hands to haul anchor and make sail. We’ll go out to intercept, and see if we can learn what is afoot here.” He raised the glass and scanned the horizon as Tanner relayed his orders, but saw nothing but white-capped swells.
“Mister Tanner, send a message ashore to let Lieutenant Parks know our intentions.” Donnely scanned the heavily wooded mountains of Vulture Isle, and wondered how the patrols fared. His first mate and half of his marines were ashore, hacking through the jungle with the island natives in search of the cannibal tribe that lived in the northeast highlands. “We should be back before evening.”
“Aye, sir!” Tanner relayed the order, and a skiff manned with a stout crew and an ensign skimmed away.
“Let’s haul anchor, Mister Tanner. Jibs and tris’ls to bear her away from the reef. The deck is yours.” He lowered the viewing glass, snapped it closed and handed it back to the lieutenant. “I’ll be in my cabin. Call me up when we’re in hailing distance of the boats.”
≈
Sailing was one of Mouse’s favorite things in the world; higher on the list even than rum and food. Well, higher than food, anyway, and a lot higher than the food he’d been eating the last few days. This sailing, however, was the second worst sailing he’d ever experienced, the worst having been experienced from the inside of a footlocker, stuffed under a load of dirty socks. It was so bad, in fact—bad food, bad beds, no light and that nasty guard always pointing that stupid crossbow at him—that he was trying to figure out a way to coax Cynthia into an escape.
He knew she could do it if she really wanted to, but she didn’t seem to want to do anything. All she did was sleep and talk with Feldrin, then feed the baby and sleep some more. The longer they sat in this smelly, dark windowless cell, the less likely it seemed that they would ever get out.
He sighed and cuddled with Kloe, which was just about the only bright spot of this whole trip. Babies were right up there with rum and good sailing in Mouse’s book, and Kloe was a good baby. He did make a mess every once in a while, but what went in had to come out one way or another, and with Cynthia doing all the feeding, the messes really weren’t that bad. Mouse fluttered his wings, which stirred the stale air enough to flutter the downy wisps of baby hair and dry the light sheen of perspiration on Kloe’s brow. The baby smiled up at him, and he smiled back. He could already tell that they were going to be good friends. And one day, Mouse just knew that Kloe would be a seamage like Cynthia, though then Mouse would have a decision to make, one that he didn’t really want to think about.
But that wouldn’t be for years, at least, so like most things Mouse didn’t like, he ignored it. Now, if he ignored that big ugly guy in the corner with the crossbow, maybe he’d go away, too.
≈
“Stow those boats forward, Mister Tanner. A round of grog for these men; they look as if they could use it.”
“Thank you, Captain Donnely,” Jundis said as he collapsed onto a hatch cover. He had seen his crew safely aboard Cape Storm before finally climbing the boarding ladder himself; it was what Captain Pendergast would have done, he was sure. The lieutenant looked proudly at his men. There wasn’t a slack heart in the bunch; even Ensign Twyne had bucked up. They had rowed and sailed three hundred sea miles, by his calculations, and were ready to do three hundred more if necessary. But the sight of Cape Storm’s billowing sails had been sweet, and the grog he gulped down was even sweeter. After a healthy draught, he stood, saluted sharply, and delivered the bad news. “Captain, I regret to report the destruction of His Majesty’s Ship Iron Drake. All hands not present, including Captain Pendergast, were lost.”
“Destroyed?” the captain cried, gaping at him in shock. “How, Mister Jundis? What in the Nine Hells happened?”
“We found the floating city, Captain Donnely, sir. Or rather, it found us.” Jundis met Donnely’s glare and struggled to maintain a stiff mien as the emotion of that night swept over him once again. He gave a detailed account of the events as best he remembered them, as the captain looked more and more incredulous with each passing moment. “Then Akrotia used the wind to pull Iron Drake toward it, and swallowed it up in a ball of fire, sir. There was no chance of survivors.”
“Swallowed it up?” Donnely glared at the lieutenant as if he were the cause of this catastrophe, not simply the bearer of bad news. “Explain that, if you please.”
“Sir,” Jundis said, appalled to hear his voice crack. “We were about half a mile away when a big gate opened up. The captain ordered me to take the ship’s books and as many men as we could fit in the boats. After we rowed away, Iron Drake turned toward the city. I think they fired a broadside, but I didn’t see if it did any damage. Then the whole ship just went up in flames.” He tapped the teakwood box Pendergast had entrusted him with. “I took the liberty of appending Captain Pendergast’s log with as accurate an account as I could remember, sir. It’s all in there.”
“By the Nine Hells!” Donnely swore, looking sternly into Jundis’ face, then lifting his gaze to stare off to the south. “Where and when did this occur, Lieutenant?”
“Two nights ago in the midwatch, about three hundred miles south, sir. We made good time once we got into the trades, sir, averaging about five knots. I made some calculations, and figured that Akrotia was making about three knots when last we saw it. If it maintains that speed, we’ve got about forty hours until it’s here. Less if it can use the trade winds to move itself faster.”
“You think it’s coming here? Why would it do that?”
“I don’t know, sir, except to say that it was well north of its reported position when we encountered it, and was on the same course as we were until it finally fell out of sight behind us. And, sir...” Jundis downed the rest of his grog. “You don’t want to be here when it arrives.”
≈
“Father!” Tim burst into the small hut, breathless and flushed.
Emil opened his eyes—he had been dozing—and sat up gingerly. His back ached from the mat-covered ground, and he had to roll his head around to loosen the muscles in his neck. Holding up a hand to forestall his son, he peered at Camilla, but saw no change. Her eyes fluttered but remained closed, and he could see her pupils darting about beneath her eyelids. She was dreaming, had been dreaming constantly since the night they had rescued her. He had also dreamed since that terrible night, and prayed to the Gods of Light that her dreams were not as horrific as his own.
Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wet it in a gourd of herb-laced water that the native healer had provided, and swabbed Camilla’s pale brow. He’d kept vigil over her since their return to Vulture Isle. Though he had managed to get her to take some water by pouring a little in her mouth and massaging her throat, as the native healer had taught him, she remained unresponsive to any other stimuli. He sighed in frustration and turned to Tim.
“What is it?”
“We’ve got to get aboard the ship,” Tim said. He looked upset. “I didn’t want to disturb you before now, but Captain Donnely’s given the order.”
“Why the rush?” Emil asked as he rose.
“I don’t know, but Huffington’s trying to find out.” Tim held aside the woven mat that served as a door, and they stepped into the early evening air.
It was obvious that something serious was happening. Imperial sailors and marines hurried toward the beach with armfuls of weapons and foodstuffs. Many of the natives looked on in amusement, while others seemed concerned and a few even argued. Huffington, his head still wrapped in a thick bandage, finished speaking with a naval officer, then approached Emil and Tim.
Emil gestured at the rushing soldiers. “What’s going on?”
“Milord, the Iron Drake’s been lost. It was…” Huffington looked conflicted, as if he didn’t believe his own words, “destroyed by Akrotia.”
“Destroye
d by Akrotia?” Emil rubbed his eyes, worried that fatigue was affecting him. “What do you mean, destroyed?”
“Burned,” Huffington answered, “by the pyromage. Remember, milord, the seamage said that the city had been reanimated with fire magic. Apparently, it’s heading in this direction. Donnely’s not taking any chances. He sent the senior surviving officer from Iron Drake to Plume Isle on Flothrindel with Tawah and Keyloo to inform the admiral. Cape Storm will leave as soon as Donnely can recall the patrols sent out to the northeast highlands.”
“What do the natives think about this?” Emil wondered.
“Some of them don’t believe it, but others are frightened and want to go with Donnely. The officer I spoke with says that they’ve some room…”
“…but not enough for everyone,” finished Emil. “Well, this is an island. I mean, it can’t burn the whole thing. How long do they estimate before it gets here?”
“The day after tomorrow.” Huffington said. “The natives have sent lookouts up to the southern peak, so we should have some warning.”
“If it’s burning like Cynthia said, it should be visible from a great distance,” Emil suggested.
Huffington was already shaking his head. “We should get Lady Camilla aboard Cape Storm as soon as possible in case the situation progresses more quickly than is expected. If we’re taken unaware, there could be problems.”
“Well…there’s no rush, Huffington. We can secure a berth and it’s better for Camilla to rest here than in a stuffy ship’s cabin.” Emil looked about and clenched his teeth. “As if we don’t have enough to worry about without this…this thing approaching.”
“It’s not a thing!” snapped Tim. Emil and Huffington were both taken aback. Tim had been quiet throughout the conversation, but now he stood with clenched fists, trembling. “Akrotia’s not a thing,” he repeated. “It’s Edan, and he was my friend. And it might be—” His words caught and he was silent for a moment before continuing, his voice soft and pained. “It might be Sam, too.”
Emil blanched. Oh, dear Gods of Light. Samantha… He remembered now Tim’s silent brooding when he’d related Cynthia’s tale of their encounter on Akrotia. With all of his concentration focused upon Camilla, he’d forgotten that Samantha might still possibly be alive, trapped with Edan. Though she had rejected him, he could not reject her—she was his daughter. But what could he do?
“You’re right, Tim. I hadn’t thought of that. I just don’t know what we can do to save her. Right now Camilla’s safety has to be our priority. Stay here with her, Tim. Huffington, speak to Donnely and secure space for us aboard Cape Storm. I’m going to talk to Whuafa and see what he thinks of the situation.”
“Yes, sir,” Tim said.
“Don’t worry, milord,” Huffington said. “We’ll get her out of here.” He turned and hurried toward the beach.
Norris ducked into the hut to check on Camilla and strap on his sword. It was a pitiful weapon against a vast, fiery, floating city, but it was comforting to have by his side in the event of a more imminent threat.
Chapter 17
Flight
“Easy, now! Easy there, lads,” Huffington cautioned the four burly sailors who carried Lady Camilla’s litter. The pearl-gray light filtering through the jungle canopy provided just enough illumination for them to walk without torchlight. As they emerged from the trees, he glanced up to where Cape Storm rode at anchor. Gods willing, they would be aboard very soon. Huffington looked south. Clouds towered over the ocean, looking for all the world like distant mountains, but one of the peaks wasn’t a cloud, and it wasn’t so distant. “Holy Gods of Light…”
Akrotia had been sighted during the night, its bulk visible under the sparse light of the new moon, earlier than Jundis predicted. Now it loomed only a few miles away, and with his first view of the vast city, Huffington was taken aback.
A lieutenant’s voice carried on the breeze as, all along the shore, marines piled into the launches, the last of the highland patrols being transported to Cape Storm. Captain Donnely had intended to board them at first light and leave somewhat later, but the arrival of Akrotia had hastened his schedule. In hindsight, Huffington wished they had boarded the ship the previous evening. Some of the villagers stood on the beach watching the imperials, but most were still abed.
Looking back at the trail into the jungle, Huffington wished Norris and Tim would hurry. The count had entrusted Camilla to Huffington’s care while he bid Whuafa goodbye. That had been twenty minutes ago. He sighed in relief as they loped down the beach.
“Is all in readiness?” the count asked as he stooped over Camilla and brushed a lock of hair back from her pale brow.
“Yes, milord,” Huffington replied. “Your gear is packed in the bow. We can board and leave immediately.”
“Do you think he’ll follow us?” Tim asked as he gazed south. Huffington understood; he meant Edan...Akrotia.
“Let’s hope not,” the secretary muttered. He had considered Edan’s internment within Akrotia as an end to the duty assigned to him by the emperor. But Akrotia had destroyed an imperial ship. The threat was renewed. He glanced at the satchel at his side, wondering what in there could possibly kill a thing like this.
Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet shook, and Huffington stumbled against the launch. Norris dropped to his knees and leaned over Camilla as if to protect her, and shouts rang out up and down the beach.
“An earthquake?” asked a wide-eyed Tim.
Huffington looked around. The sailors and marines looked at the ground in worry, but the natives looked up toward the island’s twin mountain peaks. A second, stronger, tremor shook the ground, and the natives bolted toward the trail into the jungle. From the village, cries could be heard. A cold cloak of dread settled over Huffington; he looked up.
Smoke spewed from island’s northern peak.
“In the boat, now!” he yelled, grabbing the count’s arm. Norris looked angry and opened his mouth to speak, but Tim called out first.
“It’s going to erupt!”
“Milord,” Huffington said through clenched teeth, “sit in the bottom of the boat, and I’ll hand Camilla to you.” His employer looked up at the mountain open-mouthed, then nodded and complied. With the help of the sailors, Huffington got Camilla settled with her head in the count’s lap, then leapt in himself. Tim helped the sailors shove the craft into the water, then scrambled aboard.
“The villagers!” gasped Count Norris. Huffington looked up to see dozens of the natives running down the shore toward the launches. Some carried babies, while others clutched bundles and baskets. They waved at the boats, calling out incomprehensible appeals.
“Father!” Tim interpreted. “The villagers don’t have enough boats for everyone. They’ll have to leave people behind!”
“Pull!” called the lieutenant in the next boat.
“Halt!” barked the count. He shifted Camilla to Tim’s care, then stood unsteadily and pointed back toward shore. “We cannot and will not leave these people to die!”
“Milord Count,” the lieutenant argued, “we cannot take them all. They’ll sink the boats.”
“We’ll take as many as we can safely fit. On my authority, Lieutenant, take us back to the beach. Any boat that leaves not completely full will answer to me!”
Huffington wasn’t surprised to see the boats still ashore hustling folk aboard, and those already bobbing in the surf halting their progress while natives splashed out to them. Count Norris in full diplomatic mode was a considerable force. They took people into their own boat, until the coxswain insisted that any more would be dangerous. Tremors continued to rock the island, sending ripples across the water. It took only a couple of minutes to fill all of the boats, then the sailors pulled strongly out to Cape Storm. Soon, both natives and imperials were clambering up the boarding ladders.<
br />
“What in the Nine Hells are these people doing here?” demanded Captain Donnely. The lieutenant in charge stepped forward, his face pale and grim, certain of his fate under the wrath of his superior officer, but Count Norris pushed forward and presented himself to the captain.
“Captain, I authorized this impromptu evacuation. As imperial representatives, we have a moral obligation to render assistance to these citizens. If you have not noticed, the island’s volcano is preparing to erupt.”
“Volcano?” Donnely looked at the count as if he were insane. “What volcano?”
Norris pointed to the smoldering peak. “That volcano, Captain.”
The captain turned and stared. “Oh, bloody bugger!”
The count blinked. “Captain, please!”
“In case you haven’t noticed, Count Norris, Akrotia is bearing down on us. I’ve been a little distracted!” Donnely frowned, the muscles in his jaw writhing like snakes. “Oh, just get everyone aboard!” He whirled away, shouting orders to set sail and haul anchor.
The count turned to Huffington and Tim, who had claimed Lady Camilla. Norris took her in his arms and nodded at his secretary. “Well, that went better than I expected,” he said.
“Just this way, milord,” Huffington said, suppressing a wry smile as he motioned them toward their cabin.
≈
“Master Whuafa! We gotta go!”
Whuafa looked up at his worried apprentice and smiled. He sat on the soft, warm sand, the tremors of the erupting mountain vibrating up his backside, the warm blue water of the lagoon before him, the cool green of the jungle at his back. This was his home. He had been born here, raised a family here, experienced much joy and pain here. How could he ever leave?
“I think,” he began, clearing his throat and leaning back against a driftwood log. “I think I will stay.”
Scimitar War Page 21
