by Colin Taber
“Good,” Fel whispered, as he carefully pulled in the oars and let their boat drift towards the Sidian’s emerging bow.
They drifted alongside the hull, closing the gap, the black wood of the ship only paces away. Then, as quickly as the lamplight had arrived it was gone, cut off by the bulk of the ship that loomed above them, leaving their little boat enveloped in shadow.
Sef could see that the Sidian was at anchor, the line just visible, as it reached down into the gently rolling waters of the sound. Half lost in the fog and dark, it’d provide a way onto the ship.
Anton’s liberation was coming!
Their boat closed in, gliding along with the last of the momentum of Fel’s oar strokes. As it did, coming in at an angle towards the bow, Sef and Fel reached out to slow themselves and bring their boat in without hitting the Sidian’s timbers.
Once there, Fel tied a rope around the Sidian’s anchorline while Sef looked up to search the fog illuminated by the glow of the ship’s two deck lamps. One of them lit the middle of the ship, the other the stern.
Through the soft glow, Sef couldn’t see any hint of the crew or hear anything but the rhythmic roll and strain of the ship as it gently moved on the swell. While tense, he was relieved that they’d at least got this far undetected.
Fel whispered, “We’re tied up, so it’s time to board.”
Sef nodded. “No sign of any watch, but there must be one.”
“And you said that you’d expect it to be of two crew?”
“Yes, and on deck or with a view of it. They’re not going to waste their people having them watch over Anton himself. They’ll have him locked up in one of the cells they’ve got down in the hold.”
They both looked to the dark wood of the hull beside them, realising that Anton was not just close by, but could very well be just an arm’s length away.
Galvanised, Sef went to scale the anchorline, but even as he reached for it, Fel grabbed at it and began to pull himself up. The Lae Velsanan used his feet to support himself against the hull while his thick arms dragged his weight upwards. Sef moved back to let him go, noting how the Lae Velsanan moved to minimise the impact of his body against the ship. He made it look so easy.
In a few moments, Fel had his head up to the deck where he peered between the railings to check for any crew. After a pause, he let go of the anchorline and grabbed at the railing as he pulled himself up and over.
Sef reached for the anchorline and got ready to follow. The rope was chill and slick because of the heavy fog. Even as he gripped it and prepared to begin his ascent, he realised he was going to struggle. His imprisonment and advancing years meant that whatever fitness he’d once had was now well on the wane. Taking a deep breath, he tightened his grip and began, knowing that while he’d give a much more awkward display than Fel, he’d be happy just to make it – and to do it half as quietly.
Hand over hand, Sef started with a struggle, but as he got the hang of it, began to improve. His arms burned with the strain, his muscles bulging. Moment by moment, he got closer to the deck and found that he was doing a reasonable job of keeping quiet. But, with only an arm length to go, he found his strength failing.
He locked his arms around the rope and took a deep breath. And then, with one last effort, he reached the railing and got himself over. His landing wasn’t graceful, but mostly silenced by the coil of rope he landed in.
Sef sighed with relief, as he looked out over the deck – and froze.
Only ten paces away, an old crewman with a pipe in his mouth was turning at the dying sound of Sef’s landing.
The old man’s eyes were already opened wide, him stepping forward to confirm the movement he’d seen at the edge of the lamp’s light. As he did, he was lifting a hand to take the pipe from his mouth.
He was going to raise the alarm!
Sef knew he’d never make it across in time to silence him. On reflex, through years of practice from a past life, he reached for a knife from his belt, raised it and threw it.
The blade spun over and over, glinting as it caught the light from the closest lamp. As it rushed towards the crewman, the sailor took in a breath and began to raise his voice, unaware of the coming threat.
At the same moment, Fel appeared from the fog to the sailor’s left.
Sef tensed, hoping the Lae Velsanan knew that a blade was in play.
The knife flew as the crewman’s rough old voice began to rise.
And then, with a meaty thud, the knife found the old sailor’s throat, seeing him silenced.
Fel looked over his shoulder, taking Sef in at a glance. A moment later he was facing the slumping sailor, wrapping his arms about him to catch his frame. He moved with the dying man’s momentum, lowering him to the deck. The only thing to sound was the pipe, which fell from the sailor’s twitching hand, the noise light and brief. Then it was over.
Sef sprang forward, his aching arms forgotten along with the climb. In a moment, he was beside Fel who remained hunched over the body, working to pull free the knife.
“A good shot,” Fel whispered.
“Good enough. Is there anyone else around?”
“No, not up here, but I’ve heard movement below. I’ve done a lap of the deck, and was just trying to get on this man’s blind side.”
“What shall we do with him?”
“Let’s send him back to his mistress, the sea.”
Sef nodded.
They used the coil of rope from the deck to lower the body quietly into the waters of the sound.
Fel said, “There really doesn’t seem to be anyone else on watch?”
“No, we’ve been lucky. So, I suppose it’s time to get Anton?”
“Yes, but before we do let me send out the help I brought along. You might not like this, but trust me, it’s the best way of us getting in and out unscathed,” as he spoke, he pulled something dark out of the pouch hooked on his belt.
“What is it?”
“Don’t ask, but it’ll block any who try and stop us.”
Sef looked at what was in Fel’s hand, watching him remove a covering cloth. The motion revealed a small cube of latticed ironwork that encased a glowing sphere of blue. “Naskae?”
“Altered and bound for service.” Fel pulled a small key out of a pocket and then turned the cube until he revealed a lock. “It’ll watch over us. Don’t be unnerved by it, just know that I like it as little as you, but it’ll help us get Anton.”
Sef gave a nod, them both lit by the naskae’s eerie blue glow.
Fel put the key in the lock and turned it, seeing the cube of ironwork spring open. Almost at once the blue sphere started to fade, breaking apart as if caught like smoke on a breeze. The smouldering naskae darkened as it drifted about them, hissing and chill. In a few heartbeats, nothing remained but the collapsed metalwork and the key. “It already knows what to do, my ship’s cabalist set it.”
“And what’s that?”
“To watch for trouble, to distract and nullify, and if we’re threatened, to attack. It’s a shade. A kind of bound guardian.”
“Alright,” Sef said uneasily, “if it helps free Anton.”
Fel nodded. “Lead the way.”
Sef strode towards the ship’s stern, where he knew a steep set ladder led down below deck and eventually to the hold. The ladder was set in a wall between two doors, one going to a set of cabins for Louis and the Sidian’s captain, the other to the ship’s chapel.
-
Sef took the path he knew from his time previously spent on the ship. It would take them to the hold by way of the one small corridor on the ship likely to have crew in it at this time of night, as it linked the ladders, the galley and the crew’s quarters.
He stepped over the raised rail that bordered the entrance to below, and with a quick look to Fel, grabbed at the guiding rails and began his descent.
A lamp lit the area that they first reached. There, a corridor led down towards the stern, off it were entrances to the galley
, stores, and further on the crew’s quarters. The ladder itself continued below. Nearby, another ladder descended from above; from the officers’ cabins and chapel, where the captain and Louis would be sleeping.
Sef and Fel continued down with little pause. There was the odd murmur from the lit galley accompanied by the sounds of drinking, but little to see, while the rough song of snoring escaped from the darkened crew’s quarters. The only odd thing Sef noticed was an insubstantial shadow by the galley’s entrance; the shade Fel had released.
Down below, the hold wasn’t lit, but Sef and Fel welcomed the gloom. Sef reached the last step and moved aside to make room for Fel. A moment later, with a quick pat on the shoulder, he whispered, “It’s over here.” And led him to a solid wood-barred door.
Sef lifted the bar and opened the door, letting them into a room only lit by traces of light spilling in from where they’d just come.
The room took up a sizeable area at the stern of the ship. It held a small table and some stools, and the very back wall was studded with hooks and bolts from which dangled manacles. To one side, and a good two arm lengths away, hung an assortment of knives and other instruments of pain. They could see all this in the gloom, yet the light was still dim enough to shield them from a much darker truth.
Given another moment or perhaps a little more light, and it would have registered with Sef. Instead, for now, he remained ignorant of the small lumps that lay on the tabletop and the dark liquid pooled about them. He’d been distracted by the sight of two solid doors with small barred windows; the holding cells.
Sef rushed to the cells and hissed, “Anton?”
Fel closed the room’s door, plunging them into the dark. A moment later, he revealed a soft blue light; another naskae, this one uncaged and held high as he followed Sef.
A voice came from one of the cells, pained and weak, “Sef?”
“Anton, I’m here!”
Fel joined Sef at the nearest cell door, the two of them looking into the dark beyond. He held the naskae aloft to spill some light through the simple cross of iron bars that blocked the small window. “I’m here, too. We’ll get you out.”
Anton asked, his voice fragile, “Who’s that?”
The big Flet said, “Fel’s here, and we’re going to get you away.”
“Sef, you shouldn’t have come.”
“I couldn’t leave you...” but his voice broke, growing hoarse.
He could smell blood...
Fel put the naskae into Sef’s hands, freeing himself up to dig through a pouch using what light came his way. Meanwhile, Sef stared into the cell, watching his friend struggle up from the floor, cradling one of his hands which was wrapped in dark stained rags.
Fel pulled a tool out of his pouch and went for the padlock on the door. “Move aside, let’s get him out.”
Anton reached the window. “I can’t believe you came!”
“I couldn’t leave you here!”
Fel hissed, “Keep it down!” And then tripped the lock.
Sef opened the door as Fel stood back.
Anton loomed there, deathly pale, bathed in the naskae’s blue light. After a moment, he toppled forward.
Sef caught him. “What’ve the bastards done to you?”
Fel grabbed the naskae, letting Sef focus on his battered friend.
In the next moment, as Anton stood pulling away from Sef, the truth was revealed: The former inquisitor’s right hand ended in a bloody bandage which covered the wounds caused by two missing fingers.
Sef gasped. “They’ve taken your fingers!”
Fel cursed, “Enough noise, we have to go!”
The boards of the deck above groaned as something moved.
Fel led them to the door and whispered, “I’ll go first. Wait for me to signal and then Sef is to follow, whilst Anton comes last. If we’re not interrupted, I’ll stay mid-deck, while Sef goes to the upper-deck followed by Anton. Sef, when you get to the top, you need to check again for crew. Do you understand?”
Sef nodded, lit by the naskae’s cold blue light amidst the gloom.
The Lae Velsanan went on, “Anton, quiet is what’s got us this far. Just try and maintain that silence as best you can. Also, be aware I have a shade out there watching over us. It’ll not allow you to be harmed.”
“Yes, Felmaradis.”
“Sef, when you know the deck is clear get Anton to the bow. Keep to the shadows and wait. If I’m delayed, get over the rail and into the boat.”
They both nodded.
Fel stowed the naskae back in its pouch, stifling the light. He then opened the door to the dim world of the hold and led them out. With only a quick glance back, he began to climb the ladder. After he reached the next deck, he stood there with two drawn knives and waited for Sef. He wasn’t kept waiting.
Sef went straight up, spotting the shade still standing in place by the galley. The insubstantial form shifted, as if woven of restless smoke. After a moment, Sef understood why; there seemed to be movement in the galley.
Fel, with a flick of his knives, indicated for Sef to continue up. After a brief hesitation he did, followed by Anton.
The Heletian moved slower. A sheen of sweat coated his skin, already coming to soak his bloodied shirt, something stained by wounds as yet unrevealed. After a moment’s pause, he continued.
The big Flet reached down for his friend’s maimed arm, grabbing him at the elbow to help him up. Somewhere in that movement, a step or board shifted, letting out a distinct squeak.
A voice sounded in the galley amidst the sound of boots on wood.
As Anton disappeared above, Fel began his own climb, watching as the shade stepped back from the galley. There was movement beyond. Just as he was about to lose sight of it, he saw a crewman step from the galley into the corridor with a bottle of drink in hand.
The crewman was a thickset man who met Fel’s gaze.
The Lae Velsanan didn’t dawdle, not eager to get into a fight. Besides, between them stood the insubstantial form of the shade.
With a flick of his wrist, Fel launched one of his blades at the crewman, more in an attempt to distract, while he made his escape.
A heartbeat later, with Fel’s vision now clearing the line of the deck, he heard his knife clatter off target. It was joined by the rough sounds of desperate movement, all of it followed by a rising voice, “Boarders!” Heavy steps thundered, as the deep tone repeated, “We’re boarded!” but the voice abruptly ended, overwhelmed by a heavy thump as the shade moved to intervene.
A heartbeat later, the light from downstairs faded.
Fel knew it was the shade stopping the crewman’s advance, the spectre blocking the way and killing the light. It was all they needed to complete their escape. So, he focussed on crossing the deck to the bow, the way still lit by two lamps. A moment later, he could see both Sef and Anton.
They’d made it!
He joined them. “The shade’s active, but won’t last for long.”
Other voices sounded from below, deep and urgent.
Sef straddled the railing and helped Anton over. The big Flet then gathered up some of the coiled rope that he’d earlier fallen on from where it lay on the deck. He looped it around the inquisitor’s chest, under his arms, and then braced himself, as he worked to lower Anton towards their waiting boat.
It was not a gentle ride and created too much noise, but now, so close to the end of their escape, such a thing didn’t matter. Anton soon reached the boat, and before he’d got the rope off, Sef was already lowering himself.
The big Flet reached the boat and called up, “Come on!”
Felmaradis needed no goading. In a fluid move, he slipped over the railing and slid down Sef’s rope. He wasn’t so much quiet as speedy. Without missing a beat, he landed heavily on the boat’s seat and began to work at the tie he’d put about the anchorline.
As he worked, they could hear voices and boots charge up from below deck. A few moments later, more voices sounded, and
amongst them came the light of fresh lamps.
With the boat untied, Fel leaned out and pushed off from the hull, sending them back into the damp embrace of the sound’s mist. Before long, all they could see of the ship was a yellowish glow cast by four lanterns amidst a chorus of fading voices.
Fel was already pulling on the oars and building a good rhythm.
In time, the gravel of a narrow beach and rock of the northern ridge came into view. Once they reached it, Fel bid them farewell and jumped from the boat to make his way back along the shoreline to Marco’s Ruin and his own ship.
And then, almost unbelievably, it was just Sef and Anton.
Again escaping in a boat!
Anton looked to Sef, and in the gloom shook his head. “I can’t believe you came! What a foolish risk!”
Sef would have laughed, except he wanted to hurry and get them to safety so he could check over Anton’s wounds. “Sit tight and let me get us out of here.”
Part III
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A City of Pain
Chapter 23
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Held to my Word
-
It was the middle of the night when I awoke in bed alone. A moment later, it all came rushing back to me, hitting hard like a veteran Kavist’s blow: I’d collapsed at my parting with Sef, no doubt filling him with worry, an extra burden that could only sap his strength – and all as he went to free Anton.
What had I done?
I’m ashamed to admit that only after a helping of self-pity did I finally begin to rouse. It was my concern for Sef that did it, eventually overwhelming my brewing self-loathing.
I resolved, despite such a bad parting, that I could still help: Just as my awareness of his planning for this raid had percolated through to me while I was unconscious, me seeing and hearing his earlier discussions with Fel via our bond, I likewise knew that the details of their success or failure would come later, when the knowledge had also had time to settle and my mind a chance to piece it together. That was one thing – of images and sound taken through Sef’s very senses – yet, I’d know immediately of the outcome through something much more primal; Sef’s surging emotions. The elating high of success would be clear enough, not needing time to be distilled, and of a different flavour to the angst, grief or pain of being foiled, injured or killed. One way or another, that illumination would be instant.
