The sandy-haired fellow nodded. He produced a deck of cards. Cumbers took them and dealt out hands for a game. They proceeded to play before the younger one looked up again. “Sergeant...you think we’re going to be able to fight off the Salomcani? That we’ll get home?”
Sergeant Cumbers made a dismissive gesture. “Pshaw. Course we are. You saw how they ran from us after that last action. Goliath is a trim ship. If we hadn’t run aground on...whatever that is down there, we’d have chased the Salmalin down and finished her off by now. She was taking on water last we saw: she’s somewhere else on the island. No, Simon, me lad, once Commander Coppertree is better, we’ll track down that floating barge of theirs and clean it of their backward kind, get what we need to patch up, and be steaming on home.”
The younger Bluecoat, Simon, licked his lips nervously. “Commander’s gonna be okay, though, right? Only, he don’t look so good. And next down the chain is Hayes.”
Cumbers grunted. He paused in dealing out the next hand of cards. “That, the commander does not. Hadn’t seen him since we landed here, actually. He’s definitely looking the worse for wear. But he’s made of iron, our commander. And he’s got Mr. Dawkins with him; aetherite’ll keep him going.” The soldier pointed a finger at his friend. “And let me tell you, don’t be worrying about Hayes. Ain’t a true Kingdom marine going to follow that oily bastard should it come to it. No matter if he’s next in line. I watch after you boys, and I aim to see you get proper treatment.”
Fengel cocked his head. So that’s it. There’s a hole gaping in the chain of command. He glanced back at the knothole, narrowed his eyes, then scooted closer to his guards, up against the front bars to the cell.
“Excuse me,” Fengel said. “I couldn’t help but overhear. What’s wrong with your commander?”
Both guards looked back at him. “Shut it, you,” said Simon. “Yer bound for a noose and that’s that.”
Fengel raised an eyebrow. “My word. I was simply curious. There’s no need for rudeness.”
The men stared at him. Then Sergeant Cumbers barked out a laugh. “Listen to you. Not a quarter-glass ago, you an’ yer girl were fit to tear each other apart. No need for rudeness. Ha!”
The mention of Natasha made his gorge rise. “Alas,” he said with deepest loathing, “I have the unfortunate luck to be married to that abominable creature.”
“Huh,” grunted Cumbers. “She’s easy on the eyes, at least.”
“Let me assure you, good fellow, that it is not worth the price I’ve paid. I would be much obliged if you would put a bullet in her heart. Preferably silver, and blessed by a priest.”
The guards stared at him. Then Cumbers chuckled. Simon joined in, and Fengel smiled. “Heh,” replied the scarred Bluecoat after a moment. “I think I said just the same thing about my own fourth wife, that harpy.” He sobered. “But don’t think that’ll get you any closer to freedom.”
Fengel waved a dismissive hand. “Perish the thought. I was simply curious. You appear to have had a rather rough time of it, was all.”
Cumbers nodded. “Aye. Had a three-day running fight with those Salomcani raiders. Took our fair share of knocking about, but drove them down to this little spit o’ land. Before we can track them to the far side of the island, though, we run aground. Damnedest thing too, from what the ship’s craftsmen tells me. Salomcani trap or something weirder.”
“Oh yeah,” said the other guard. “Big hunk of brass poking through our hold. I saw it, the other day. Hayes sent me down there to help out. Huge bloody hole in the hull. I think it’s Voornish!”
“Voornish?” mused Sergeant Cumbers. “Now there’s a thought. Anyway, just as we’re about to set out, Commander comes down with something awful. S’keeping him laid up, like you saw. Aetherite’s keeping him steady so he can recover. If you trust that witchery.”
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Fengel.
“Oh, all sorts. Bleeding from the ears, nose, mouth, other places what don’t bear thinking on. Can’t breath easy either, or get enough water from what I hear. That’s sore going: we haven’t found a spring on this island yet.” The soldier looked away, hiding the uncertainty in his face.
It came to Fengel in a flash. “Gimbal’s Flux,” he said. No wonder the Commander’s symptoms had seemed familiar. During his first trip to the equator years ago he’d contracted it. It was an obnoxious and awful disease that he’d never heard of before that point. And there we have our final opportunity, he thought.
“What?” asked the guard. “What’re you on about?”
“It sounds like Gimbal’s Flux,” repeated Fengel. “I had it several years ago. A lot like the scurvy, really. It’s lethal if not treated right. A fairly simple thing to do, though.”
The guards looks at each other. “This ain’t some joke,” said Cumbers. Any nascent friendliness evaporated.
Fengel raised his hands innocently. “Dear fellow, I wasn’t pretending it was one. But all your commander needs is a strong dose of lemon juice, as much as he can take, for the next three days. That, fresh air, clean, boiled water and fish liver squeezings will put him right as rain. A perfectly harmless treatment for a sick man or a healthy one.” He waited a moment and cocked his head. “Haven’t you a surgeon on board?”
The men digested this. Cumbers stood abruptly. “No. Fellow took a scimitar to the gut during the last boarding action.” He looked to his fellow. “Mr. Dawkins needs to hear about this.” He turned back to Fengel. “And if you’re lying, we’ll string you up ourselves, bounty be damned.”
Fengel spread his hands again. “Believe me, sir, I’ve nothing to gain at all. But, as I said before, I am a gentleman.”
The guards stared at him a long moment. Fengel held their gazes. Cumbers nodded, then took his fellow away to the upper decks. Fengel watched them go, then stood and checked the bars of the cage.
It was locked tight and without weakness, as he’d expected. Ah well. He looked around the deck, peering outside through the porthole, then up at the knothole.
Fengel grabbed the ribbing of the bulkhead wall of the brig. He lifted himself up until he could place his head reasonably near the hole.
“I know you heard all of that,” he said harshly. “So, hear this too. You thought that if you moved quickly enough, forcefully enough, that you would succeed with only a simple trick. Well, you failed, because you are not clever, you are not patient. Now watch and learn, you horrible bitch. I’ll show you how a real leader reverses his circumstances. I did it once before, and I can do it here too. And when I’m on top, the only things you’ll get will be what I give you. I’ll say yes and let you have whatever you want. But only when you ask me. And you’ll know each and every time that what you have is only what I choose to bestow you.”
Her answering stomp sent dust through the hole. Fengel jerked his head to one side. He lowered himself back down to the floor and sat. Then he waited for his guards to return.
Fengel smiled.
Chapter Eight
“I’m gonna buy a man,” said Andrea Holt
Lina stared at her friend.
“Now, what’s that look for?” Andrea shook a piece of rope at her. “Don’t you be judging me, ‘Miss I-left-the-cathouse-to-be-a-pirate.’”
“No, not that.” Lina shook her head. “I just always thought you and Ryan were a couple.”
Both of them sat on the upper deck of the Dawnhawk, where the starboard exhaust pipe emerged. It ran down along the gunwales and out past the stern, puffing steam in a thick white contrail, the impermanent footprint of the airship upon the sky. Lina preferred this spot when she had nothing pressing to do, as it was always warm and gave cover against the weather if she sat down behind it. On a clear night like tonight, it was the perfect place to finish simple tasks.
“On and off,” agreed Andrea. “But you’ve got me to thinking, lately. Why should I let myself get tied down? Besides, I’ve got to spend my share of the loot on something. Three raids in as many days
! If we keep getting this lucky, we won’t have to hit Breachtown at all.”
Lina rolled her eyes. “It’s not luck.”
And it wasn’t. At least, not entirely. They’d taken surprisingly few casualties during the Kingfisher raid, along with a nice bit of loot for the hold. But the Royal Marines had been a nasty surprise, one that had made the crew more cautious. The pair of stray merchant freighters they’d found afterward had been hit quickly and efficiently along their way to Breachtown.
Andrea waved the subject away. “Anyway. I told you what I’m gonna get. What about you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Lina dropped the old rope they were working on unraveling, still mostly in one piece. She reached up and scratched Runt where he coiled atop the exhaust pipe. The scryn made a soft chirrup, contented. “Clothes and whatnot, a bit of drink for Runt. Maybe a new knife. It’s nice just to have it, y’know? I like coming back to port and having Mr. Grey show me my account. And this next time, it’s gonna be fat.”
Andrea blinked at her. “You leave your stash with Grey?”
“Sure. Safer than a bank. He’s with the Sindicato, right? Who’s going to cross them?”
Her friend touched Lina’s forearm gently. “Lina, dearest. The Sindicato are thieves.”
“Well, yeah, sure. But they’re all about business,” she replied. “You know, profitability. Taking a cut of what I deposit makes more money over the long run than just taking what I give them. I’d never come back again if they nicked it all once, right?”
Her friend looked out over the deck. The Wiley twins were fooling around on the rigging opposite, illuminated by moonlight. Nate, the injured one, laughed at something his brother did. “I suppose that makes sense.” she said after a moment.
Lina bulled on. “Look. Where are you keeping your sovereigns? The rings I see, that’s a classic, but let me guess, the rest is in your kit bag, right? In the bottom rolled up in a kerchief or a stocking?”
Andrea started. “How did you know that?”
Lina gave her a dry look. “Please. It’s the same thing I did at first. It’s what all the sailors I used to know did, back in Triskelion. A ship’s a ship. None of us have any private space. We don’t even keep the same hammocks. What’s to stop someone like Oscar Pleasant from taking my stash when I’m not looking?” She shook her head. “No, deposit with the Sindicato has worked well, when I’ve actually got something for them to hold. You should give it some thought.”
Andrea rubbed her chin. “I dunno. At least I know where my money is, and anyone that touches it is going to suffer…but I suppose it’s worth thinking about.”
They went back to unraveling the rope. Lina kept her face still, hoping her argument had been convincing. She’d practiced the pitch quietly to herself often enough, but this was her first attempt on another person. Need to tighten it before I talk to the others, she thought. At least, if I want that finder’s fee from Grey. Hmm. Who next? Maxim? Or would an aetherite just trust to his spells to keep his things safe?
Tromping footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Lina looked up to see Allen stalking up the deck. In his goggles and buttoned greatcoat, he almost looked like the Mechanist that he strived to be. But only almost. The coat was a little too large for him, and he fought constantly with the goggles.
Allen stopped in front of them. He bowed low with one hand behind his back. “Fairest Lina,” he said, voice muffled through the collar of his greatcoat. “Your radiance shines brighter than the jewels for which your forebears were named.”
Lina stared at him silently. Andrea covered her mouth and tried not to laugh. She failed.
“‘Stone’ is a common name in Triskelion,” Lina replied flatly. “Like ‘Smith’ in Perinault. As for my parents, my mother left me on the poorhouse step when I was a babe. The matron there sold me off to a bordello as soon as I had my first blood. How does that reflect on my forebears?”
Allen stared at her through his goggles, uncertain. “Um,” he mumbled.
Lina rolled her eyes. “Was there something you needed to tell me?”
He started. “Oh. Oh yes. Committee-Member Thorne sent me up to get you, said he wanted you present for a meeting in the ship’s galley.”
So that’s where Sarah Lome disappeared to. Lina groaned. She was starting to regret ever suggesting the idea of the committee. The crew were working well together when Lucian was in charge and there was plunder to be had. But otherwise, everyone just kind of...dithered. Nothing ever got done in the committee meetings.
She dropped the rope and climbed to her feet. “All right then.” She turned to Andrea. “I might not be back for a while.”
Her friend shrugged, still amused over Allen’s flattery.
Lina held out an arm toward the exhaust pipe. “Runt? You coming?”
The scryn opened one sleepy eyelid. The secondary membrane slid back more slowly. “Chirr,” he said in disinterest.
“Suit yourself,” she replied, feeling just a little betrayed. Not even her pet wanted to be involved in the meetings anymore. Lina looked back to Allen. “I assume you’ve some excuse for walking me belowdecks? Supplies that need checking or some such?”
Allen looked away and shuffled his feet. “Need to grease the lift from the coal stores to the engine room.”
Lina nodded. “I thought so. Let’s be off then.”
She led the way down the mostly empty deck. It struck her then how strange that was. Quiet nights were just that. When there weren’t any pressing duties, Gunnery Mistress Lome usually gave out busy work, though sometimes she let them slack. Yet even when she did, the Dawnhawk was still occupied, the crew all near their stations and waiting until the change of watch at dawn. Now it was just...empty. Fat Thomlin and Tricia lounged up near the bow, playing dice. Andrea and Runt crouched against the starboard exhaust pipe. At the helm stood Maxim, lazily keeping their course true by himself.
That was an even stranger thing to see. The aetherite and his counterpart had been like two male cats ever since the merging of the crews. Both refused to give up their place at the helm. They spent their Workings and spells either harassing each other or keeping themselves awake for days at a time. Ever since dropping off the captains, however, they’d simply stopped. Neither had spoken about it to anyone else, or acted like anything was out of the ordinary. Now Konrad usually took the day-watch and Maxim the evening, with Henry Smalls taking over in between, as an aetherite was only needed for course correction along the curved aetherlines and to guide them through junctions where the pathways met. Lina, like everyone else, didn’t quite know what to make of the situation.
As she watched, Elly Minel passed by the helm, and Maxim waved cheerily at her, motioning the pirate woman over for a chat. Lina grimaced. Talking with Maxim was frustrating, and by the look on Elly’s face, she knew it; if he wasn’t about to pull some mean-spirited practical joke on you, then he would try to bore you with the mechanical details of his magic. The aetherite didn’t seem to realize that none of them wanted to know.
A hooting cry echoed across the airship. Lina looked over to the Wiley twins, clowning around in the starboard rigging. Nate Wiley, the injured one, stood atop the exhaust pipe there, his burned hands still wrapped in gauze. Jonas Wiley dangled out over the ocean, hanging upside-down from the rigging, facing inward at the deck.
What are those idiots on about now? she wondered.
Lina considered just ignoring them. Then she glanced around the deck. No. I’d better go see what they’re up to. Lina tried to share an exasperated look with Allen, but for once he wasn’t staring at her. She followed his gaze and then moved away from the hatch, walking over to the starboard side of the airship.
As she approached, Jonas took a deep breath and let go the rigging. He dropped several feet before catching himself in a rough handstand that set the rigging to stretching and shaking with the movement. His brother gave a laugh and clapped his burned hands together. Then he grimaced in pain.
Lina sig
hed. “What in the Realms Below are you two on about?” The Wiley twins weren’t her favorites. They were thuggish, crude, and violent. When Natasha wasn’t around, though, they seemed all right.
Nate Wiley turned around. “Heyo, Lina.”
“Miss Stone!” said Jonas. “Come on up here and give us a kiss, eh?” The big pirate’s face was flushed with all the blood running to his head.
“Not if you were the last man in the sky,” she replied.
“Jonas,” warned his brother. “She’s on the committee.”
“So? What’s that matter?”
Lina felt uncomfortable. She technically was, which had her feeling a lot more responsible of late. Unreasonably so, in her opinion. That’s probably why I’m over here right now. She shook her head. “Never mind that. What in the Realms Below are you doing?”
“Oh, just showing my brother here something he can’t do,” said Jonas. “Watch.”
He pushed up and let go, performing another handstand before dropping a few feet more down the rigging. Jonas caught himself again, but the rigging bounced violently with his movements.
“Eh?” he said. “How’s that?”
Lina stared. “That’s really, really stupid Jonas. You want to go for a midnight swim?”
“Oh, come off it, Lina. I know what I’m on about.”
He pushed up again as a gust of wind whipped past them all. Jonas flailed for the rigging, and missed. Lina watched in surprise as her crewmate plummeted out of sight.
“Jonas!” cried his brother.
Lina leapt up the exhaust pipe and to the gunwales. She pushed past Nate Wiley and grabbed the rigging, leaning out over the ship. Jonas Wiley wasn’t lost, just quite yet. The thuggish twin dangled from the airship, gripping one of the brass skysails folded up against the hull. The winglike armature stretched and bent as she watched. Far below churned the Atalian Sea, moonlight reflecting unsteadily from its waters.
On Discord Isle (The Dawnhawk Trilogy) Page 10
