Below his angry eyes, Bast's lips were pulled back in a snarl. If he could have worked his way loose, he would have gone for me, not for them. The secret of gunpowder was the great treasure of the Engineer, and I had just given it away.
Well, my life and the lives of my friends were the great treasure of me, and I was hoping that I had just bought a better chance of survival for all of us. Neither of them would trust me, and Erol Lyneian now knew too much, as did all of his men.
But he wouldn't have to face that intellectually, not yet. Lord Daeran had three functioning soldiers aboard the Delenia, all of them with naked weapons, and Erol Lyneian had only his five crewmen, none of them visibly armed, all of them on deck. Erol Lyneian and his men could win a fight, probably, but only an extended one. He couldn't count on taking out all of Daeran's people before reinforcements arrived.
Daeran forced the mouth of the corn whiskey flask between my lips.
I took a large mouthful before he wrested it away. Last drink for the condemned man, and all that.
"Too eager, you are," he said. "I think you may be bluffing again. We'll wait and see what the effect is."
It wasn't going to work. I didn't have enough leverage to play Erol Lyneian off against Daeran. All I was doing was buying time. For what?
Maybe Tennetty could work her way free.
She clearly didn't understand the situation; she was smiling. Crazy, idiot bitch. Didn't she know how badly she had been cut, didn't she know that we were all dead, that I was just buying us some time for a miracle, and that it wouldn't come?
Jason started smiling, too. Imbecile.
Look, I don't mind people being heroic, but this was ridiculous.
Ahira was dead, we all were as good as dead, and the fucking idiot was grinning—
It was then that I felt the blunt fingers behind me, working on my knots.
* * *
Daeran saw something in my eyes, I guess. His brow furrowed, and he took a step forward.
I spat blood on the deck. Blood always makes a good distraction.
"Healing draughts," I said. "No more until I get them, for me and my friends."
"We'll see about it, after the details," Daeran said.
"Now," I said. "Or I bite my tongue off and you never know what the secret procedure is."
The secret procedure wasn't much—grind each ingredient separately, toss in a barrel, then wet it down with water (good), urine (better) or wine (best), then stir, stir, stir, until your arm feels like it's going to fall off. Then stir some more. Push the mixture, now vaguely dough-like, through a wire mesh to mix it more—it's called corning. Repeat, dry very carefully, and there you have it. It's dangerous—kids, don't try this at home—but it's not complicated.
"You're bluffing. Again," Daeran said.
"Try me," I said, bluffing.
He didn't quite sigh. "Not this time, I think. This time, I'll let you win." He took a step toward me.
Behind me, the fingers went away. Ahira, somehow clinging to the side of the ship, probably standing on top of the molding surrounding a porthole or something, had ducked down.
"No, them first." I nodded at the others. They needed it worse than I did, Tennetty and Jason in particular, and I needed my hands free.
Daeran had decided to control his temper. There would be enough time shortly to punish me for my insolence, and just because he'd fed them healing draughts, it didn't mean he couldn't kill them later.
"Very well." He moved over to where Tennetty was bound, and brought the bottle of healing draughts to her lips.
The fingers behind me returned, and finished their work, then pressed a knife hilt into my hands, but the hilt was withdrawn. The fingers put leather thongs into my hands and closed my fingers around the thongs, giving my hand a final quick pat before the blunt fingers went away.
Thanks a fucking lot, Ahira.
It was him. There was no question of it. I knew the touch of that hand, and I don't look a gift horse in the mouth, not when it's the only ride out of town. My best friend was alive, and operating independently, and—
Of course. Sometimes I'm such an idiot—he wasn't teasing me. He had just given me the inventory of our weapons, and assigned me the one he thought suited our situation best, trusting me to read his mind.
We had leather thongs—the ones that had bound my wrists, no doubt—and we had a knife.
Okay; that was a start.
The knife would go to Tennetty, and Ahira would try to work his way around, clinging to the side of the ship, trying to stay out of sight. No. He wouldn't. If he fell again, he might not be able to make his way up out of the water. He would stay right where he was, perched on top of the rudder or whatever. He would free me, Tennetty and Jason, and then expect me to start things off.
How the hell had he gotten out of the water? I had seen him hit the water, and seen him sink like a stone.
Later, Walter, later.
And what had taken him so long?
Andrea, Jason, and Tennetty had been treated with the healing draughts; it was my turn.
Lord Daeran knelt in front of me. "Your healing draughts. Then you will talk. I promise you, you will talk." He brought the warm lip of the bottle to my mouth, banging it hard against my teeth.
I didn't care. The too-sweet taste of the healing draughts washed the blood from my mouth, my aches and pains becoming distant and vague.
No time to enjoy that now. I tied a loop in one end of the leather thong, and slipped the other end through it.
Lord Daeran's eyes went wide as I whipped the loop over his head and drew it tight around his neck.
* * *
"Now," I said, probably redundantly.
No time to finish him off—I kicked him aside then went low, toward our gear. Tennetty, the knife held in her outstretched hand, went high above me, bowling herself into a soldier who was reacting just a little too slow. I think she gutted him; his scream rang in my ears.
No time to think, either; I would have to do it all right, and by instinct.
I slid a sword hilt-first toward Jason, then tackled the soldier above Andy hard enough to have satisfied even Coach Fusco. Sonofabitch always thought I took it too easy on quarterbacks. Fuck him.
And to hell with the soldier, too—my rush carried him back to where the rail caught him across the kidneys. His arms flew apart as the tetanic shock hit him hard.
We were still overmatched, and even with Ahira back in action we wouldn't have had a chance unless . . . first, I'd have to get Andy free, and she would have to . . .
Of course. Trust your friends. I could see the boom out of the corner of my eye, and hear Ahira laughing about it in the corner of my mind.
"Tennetty, Jason—down," I shouted. The dark shadow swept toward me; I ducked under it and went for Andy as the boom, propelled by impossibly strong dwarf muscles, swept hard across the deck, bowling over soldiers, the sailors reflexively ducking.
I scooped up a knife and reached Andy's side. A slice and a twist and she was free, fingers already clawing at her gag; a leg-sweep knocked down the soldier who had been lunging at her.
Her arms spread wide, she rose to her feet, uttering just one syllable.
Daylight reddened and dimmed, and the sky went dark above us.
Time slowed. I'd been hearing my heart thumping hard and fast, but now with each beat was a slow double moan.
Gwa-thunnnnnk.
Long pause.
Gwa-thunnnnnk.
I could still think, I could still see, but I couldn't even fall fast. We were all stuck in the same clear molasses: Tennetty, her knife rising, unable to see the saber inches from her back, about to skewer her; Ahira, one hand clamped on a bloody mess that had been the face of a soldier, his other arm squeezing another's chest further than bones could give; Jason, in full lunge through the belly of the largest of the soldiers, his face grim as he saw another blade descending toward him.
We were all trapped in the red time. Except for An
dy.
Leaning hard, like she was walking against a strong but steady wind, she walked smoothly across the deck, pushing up on the saber menacing Tennetty as she passed.
She reached her son's side, and brushed the attacking blade aside, then set one finger on either side of the soldier's head, muttering a word I could not have remembered even if I'd heard it.
Sparks leisurely leapt from finger to finger, strengthening as they did. Her mouth was moving, but I couldn't make out what she was saying. The sparks became a flow, and the flow became lightning, jagged forks piercing the soldier's head until a cloud of smoke gathered about his forehead and ears.
Slowly, gracefully, she turned toward me and smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile.
Over to you, she mouthed.
As the light blued again, and time returned to normal, Ahira had retrieved his axe from our pile.
There were only two soldiers left alive on deck. Tennetty had snaked her arm around the throat of one, and Jason, his sword shining in the light, had squared off against the other.
All that left was Lord Daeran, lying on the deck, loosening the garrotte that I clearly hadn't quite tightened enough.
Hey, I was in a hurry.
Ahira raised his axe.
"What . . . are you?" the lord asked.
If it had been me, I would have been tempted to make a speech, about how Mikyn was one of ours, and if he needed stopping, we would stop him, and no locals need apply, and about how putting friends and associates of ours to death for unwittingly helping Mikyn was just plain wrong, and wasn't going to be tolerated.
But Ahira didn't make premature speeches.
The axe fell, and then he spoke.
"Justice, you son of a bitch," he said.
I guess, back in the old days, James Michael and I saw the same movies.
* * *
Soldiers at the dock were loading themselves into boats, and two of the small boats were already on their way toward us.
"Captain," I said, "do you want to try to explain it all right now, or shall we get out of here?"
Erol Lyneian smiled as he gestured his crew into motion. "We still have an agreement, Walter Slovotsky. The Delenia is to take you safely to where you wish to go; you are to give me the secret of making engineer gunpowder."
He wouldn't apologize for his having made a virtue of necessity earlier, for siding with the late Lord Daeran. Business, after all, was business.
Bast pushed himself forward, staggering, probably both from the rolling of the ship. "No. Don't tell them anything, don't let the secret out, don't—"
Tennetty caught his arm, twisted it up and around behind his back with an economical motion. "Not now. Later, if at all." She pushed him away, then drew her sword again and took up an en garde position next to me.
I nodded to Erol Lyneian. "We have a deal. Let's just move this ship, asshole."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Immediately After Which
I Strike My Forehead,
Quite Briskly, with My Open Palm
It ain't what a man don't know that makes him a fool, but what he does know that ain't so.
—JOSH BILLINGS
Sometimes, it's good to be wrong.
—WALTER SLOVOTSKY
There is a thing a friend of mine once labeled the "rhinoceros in the corner." Maybe she was just repeating it, but I always associate it with Peggy.
"The rhinoceros in the corner is the idea that hangs over a conversation," she said, "but that you don't talk about. You find them all over the place, in a lot of situations."
"Like, say, the first time you go to dinner with a girl?" I smiled. It was, of course, the first time we'd gone out to dinner.
"Woman."
"Woman." Fine.
"You talk about school," she said, "and about majors, and jobs, and movies, and politics—anything. But what you're both thinking about is whether or not you're going to bed together."
"Oh?"
"I mean, like, you're thinking about that, and she's thinking about that, but you don't talk about it."
"You mean like we're not?"
"Well . . ." She smiled and sipped at her beer. "Yeah."
* * *
Ahira didn't want to tell me how he had survived, not unless I asked; and I wasn't going to ask him. Just pure stubbornness on both of our parts, but it's a pattern we'd fallen into over all the years. Eventually, one of us would give in, but you wouldn't want to bet the farm on which.
Ahira and I stood in the spray on the foredeck, near the bow. He sat on the step next to the anchor, one arm hooked over a safety line as he honed the edge of his battle-axe; I leaned against the rail, doing nothing much.
Ahira whisked his stone smoothly against the edge of his axe. Fssssst. Fssssst. Fssssst. Fsssssst.
"You're going to get that sharp enough to shave with, if you keep at it," I said.
He shrugged. "No such thing as too sharp an axe." Yes, a too-thin edge could chip in a fight, but that wouldn't make much practical difference, not with Ahira's strength behind it.
At least Ahira was talking to me, even if the stubborn bastard wouldn't volunteer the information I wanted him to. I was persona non grata with Bast and Kenda, and Jason wasn't sure, yet, whether I had brilliantly bought us more time—thereby cleverly saving the day—or if I had cravenly sold out everything that Home stood for, and for no purpose. I would have given him an argument, but I'm not sure which side I'd have taken, so I had given it a pass. Andy was asleep in her bunk, Tennetty watching over her, Bast, and Kenda.
"Feels faster now than it was before we tacked," he said.
"I know," I said. "But it just feels that way."
Running with the wind is fast, but despite the name it's stuffy and no fun. The faster the sailboat, the less pleasant it is—the more efficient the boat is at using the wind, the less breeze you have. You carry your effluvium with you. It feels like you're not moving, like the rest of the universe is moving around you. Slowly, and stuffily.
I much prefer sailing close-hauled, close to the wind, the rush of air in my face, occasional jets of spray refreshing me.
Magic and madness were loose somewhere out in the night, and we were sailing off into it all.
We talked, and kept watch on the night. Not the worst thing to do. The night was clear, the sky bright diamonds displayed proudly on the blackest velvet. To port, beyond where the starlight capered across the gentle swells, dark land loomed threateningly below the starry sky, the blackness broken only occasionally by the flickering of lanterns or fireplaces in some window ashore.
Off to starboard the roiling surface of the water, dark and glossy, shimmered and shattered the starlight.
A sailor only sees the surface of the sea, always is left to wonder what may wait below the surface. There's a lot you never know.
I guess I'd never know what the right thing to do about Kirah was. But maybe I didn't have to decide on the right thing, not in terms of effects. Maybe what I ought to do was accept the principle that if I wanted things to work out for me and Kirah, just maybe running around the Eren regions wasn't the way to cure it, that maybe the reason things had gone okay during the years in Endell is that I'd been there.
Or maybe not. Maybe what both Kirah and I needed was a long time away from each other.
I could still remember her, though, her hair floating in the breeze, her body soft and warm. Too long ago.
There comes a time when you just make a decision, when you stop fooling around pretending that what you're doing is weighing and balancing and considering and trying to decide, and you just decide. Fine.
I'd decide. Enough trying, enough whining and wondering and whereforeing. When I got home, I'd make things work between Kirah and me. Period. Never mind how, never mind why. I'd just do it.
"What are you thinking about?" Ahira asked. Fssssst. Fssssst.
"Just thinking that it's getting cold out here."
Straight ahead, perhaps only a few hundred yards, pe
rhaps more than a few miles, a trio of faerie lights slowly circled each other as they pulsed gently through the progression of blues and greens. The tempo picked up, and the lights orbited faster around their invisible center, becoming all red and orange, the pace increasing still further as they circled each other faster and faster, tighter and tighter, until the circle could not hold. First one, then the other two shattered into a shower of fiery sparks that blued as they fell toward the dark waters below.
"Magic and madness are loose out in the night," I said.
"True enough."
"And we're sailing toward it."
"There is that." Fssssst. Fssssst. Fssssst. He raised his head. "Where would you rather be?"
"Here's fine, I guess." Some of the best times are when you just sit and talk and think.
Erol Lyneian was very much a neat freak: the anchor cable, of that strange Therranji construction that left a brass-and-iron cable as flexible as rope, had been carefully flemished against the deck, not simply coiled in a heap.
Ahead of us, starlight danced on the water; the water rushed against the fast-moving boat. Above us in the dark, the jib strained to catch every whisper of wind, looming above us like a large vague ghost.
One of the crewmen worked his way forward. Vertum Barr, his name was: a short, bony man well into his fifties, naturally so thin that you could see his ribs despite the small potbelly, dark and wrinkled like a dried mushroom—the sort of sailor you find working all over the Cirric, from boat to boat. He would never own more than he could carry in his seabag, but as long as he could work he would always have a bunk under which he could stow his bag.
"Carrying a bit of weather helm as the wind picks up, eh?" I asked.
His face split in a gap-toothed grin. "How did you know that?"
"Please. I do have an eye for the obvious: she's heeling a bit. Whoever is back at the tiller keeps having to bear away. Costing us speed."
"Hmmm . . . and what would you be doing about it, were it yours to do?"
I shrugged. "Is this a test? Your center of effort's too far back. Me, I'd just crank the traveler leeward—flatten out the mainsail. Or maybe I'd heave to and reef the mainsail some. But I'm a lazy man. A captain who prides himself on every breath of speed is either going to fly one of those loose-footed sails you're rigged for, or more likely going to put on a bigger jib."
Guardians of The Flame: To Home And Ehvenor (The Guardians of the Flame #06-07) Page 21
