Chasing the Lantern (34 page)

Fengel glanced around at his Draykin captors.
Oh
. The reptilian pygmies were not the builders here.

The rest of the city was similar. Each building was a block all its own, separated by long, wide thoroughfares. These lanes were mosaics formed of polished white stones, the designs and mandalas they created too large and strange for him to identify from his vantage, though the heat they radiated made sweat pop out beneath his arms and across his brow.

The Draykin moved as a group. Of the three-score that had joined in the ambush, maybe twenty remained. They walked through the city with the pride of successful hunters, though, hissing and growling at each other in their savage tongue. As they moved Fengel spied others, carrying baskets, sharpening weapons, or simply sunning themselves on the steps of the low pyramids. He still couldn't tell their sex apart, but Fengel did see a child, no bigger than a dog. When the procession passed, some of these others ran up to query and chat with the hunters, falling in behind to peer at the captive pirates. Before long they had quite the escort.

I need to consider an escape plan
. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind. Ultimately, he simply needed to watch for the proper moment, and be ready to seize it. Weirdly, Fengel realized he wasn't afraid. Being captured was vexing, and the state of his crew was worrisome. But the Draykin had expended much effort to bring them all alive. And if Rastalak had been true, they were bringing him straight to the Governor's Lantern in the temple at the center of the city. He lay back, and decided to try and enjoy the ride.

The procession turned a corner. Fengel could only look up with any ease. Yet up above, just as they passed the curve of a spiraling tower, appeared a lumbering blimp-shape over the far western edge of the valley.

It was the
Copper Queen.

Euron's airship looked much the worse for wear. Worse even than the shape he'd left it in last. The gas-bag frame was broken and slumped, most of the light-air gas cells bulging out of the stern-end of the bag, distending it like fish eggs in a cloth sack. Below it the deck of the vessel itself pitched downward, the bowsprit poking down at the ground at almost forty-five degrees. The hull was blackened and scorched. Ratlines and support cables dangled free. No cannons poked their fat noses out from the gunwales.

The angle was such that Fengel couldn't see well onto the deck; his captors and the cityscape got in the way. He didn't see any movement, though. And if the ship were crewed then there should have been the lithe shapes of the lookouts atop the gas-bag, if nothing else.

Some of the Draykin in the streets called out and pointed to the flying wreck. The procession slowed as others noticed, gabbling amongst themselves.

"Mister Smalls?" Fengel called.

"Aye, sir?" replied the steward.

"I can see the
Queen
. She looks abandoned. What do you think she's doing up here?"

"We left her drifting, sir. It's possible, I suppose, that she's here coincidentally. But I doubt it, were I being honest."

"And you are the soul of honesty indeed.”
Too far, too fast
. Natasha had to be involved. "Can you see the
Dawnhawk
anywhere?"

"Aye sir, just a moment ago. The northern edge of the valley."

"Curious and more curious," he muttered to himself. "I sincerely hope that Lucian hasn't—"

He was interrupted by a massive explosion that flared into the life above them. The noise deafened him, echoing and reverberating down the city streets. His captors yowled in surprise and dropped him. Fengel landed with a grunt on the paved stones of the wide street beneath them. He rolled back to look, still tied to the long pole they carried him upon. Up above, the
Copper Queen
was gone. Where it had floated, a cloud of spreading debris rained down onto the city.

He stared. Only one thing could have happened. It was every sailor's fear, sea-borne and sky.

Fengel glanced back at the procession. His crew had been similarly dropped, the Draykin all cowering and gabbing at each other for the moment. Henry, Sarah, Oscar, and Geoffrey were all awake and looking around. Even Maxim stirred a bit, for which Fengel was thankful. Unfortunately, their bonds were still tight; now was not the time to escape.

He caught his steward's eye. "Powder magazine," he said.

Smalls nodded. "Or the gas-bag. Captain, I saw a rope, I think. Hanging off the bow. You don't think Natasha..." He trailed off, and Fengel understood his fear.

Their captors recovered from their surprise. They hoisted the sky-pirates and again moved on their way, if a little slower and more distracted than before. Up above, the explosion of the
Queen
had disturbed the nesting birds and sky-creatures that lived in the ruined upper towers. They soared and flew, calling out to each other in raucous, screeching cries.

As they moved along, Fengel came to a realization that knocked him out of his worries.
Those are scryn
. More took to the skies with every passing moment. Whole flocks of the repulsive creatures roosted in the upper bounds of the city. Fengel shuddered, glad that they didn't seem interested in coming below to harry the Draykin.

The street opened onto a wide plaza, the massive temple-manse they'd seen at its center. The building was huge, like almost everything else here. Unlike the others, it bore the marks of both the old style of architecture and the newer, more primitive ones. It seemed almost remade, or repurposed. The stair-step pyramid shape was evident in its lines, but more elegantly constructed than the others in Yrinium.
Replicas
, Fengel realized. The smaller pyramids were of Draykin construction; this was what they were copying.

The pyramid was at least ten stories tall. Its peak was a sharp point, sloping down to the next terrace, which stretched, then sloped down to the terrace below it. At its apex, an archway opened into the interior, and a long, wide stair was carved up the side of the structure to meet it. Strange, crude statues carved by the Draykin dotted each terrace, and were spaced through most of the plaza below.

Fengel eyed a few of these as they moved past. Larger and heavier than a man, they depicted humanoid figures, different from the Draykin. Their clothing and dress was certainly odd. But they almost appeared human, otherwise.

Their captors brought the pirates to the temple. Fengel watched as the Draykin hauled them up the stair, climbing up above the city to the entrance of the massive pyramid. Trepidation filled him, paired with the cold uncertainty about his crew, and what had happened with the
Copper Queen.
The Draykin had wanted them alive, and he was about to find out why.

The stair ended at a wide landing. Behind it the archway entrance to the temple yawned, a gaping mouth of stone. To either side stood a pair of metal braziers, burning brightly even at noonday.

A single Draykin stood in the middle of the landing. It was older, its scales dulled, its posture stooped. It wore a headdress of gold and precious gemstones that Fengel recognized from the statues below. The creature leaned on a staff of pale wood topped in wrought gold.

The Draykin procession came to a halt before the older figure. They knelt before it, lowering Fengel and his crew to the ground. It was obviously a chieftain or priest, a figure of importance. Fengel assumed the former.

The old creature hissed something and two of Fengel's bearers stood. They cut him free of his bonds and stood him up roughly. Fengel resisted the urge to curse; blood pumped painfully back into his numbed fingers. His bearers each reached out to grab him. Fengel shook their grip away violently. They jumped back, immediately wary and on edge, moments away from grappling him.

Fengel forced himself to calm.
Never let them see you stumble.
He glanced back at the procession. All eyes were on him, though most still knelt. He and his crew were easily outnumbered fifty to one at this point, and he had no clue where their weapons were.

Still.

His crew watched in concern, still tied like hogs bound for the spit. Fengel winked at Henry Smalls and then slowly, carefully, reach up to replace his monocle. Before the guards could grab him again he moved forward to the chieftain, slowly and without threat.

The
Dawnhawk
came into view just above the temple. Its shadow cast the landing into darkness. The assembled Draykin gasped and muttered to themselves, pointing up at the sky-vessel. Fengel didn't know who was on board or in control, but they couldn't have appeared at a better time.
Perfect.

He raised his most imperious eyebrow at the Draykin chieftain. Up close, he was easily two feet taller than the thing. "What," he demanded, "is the meaning of this?"

Gasps echoed from the landing behind him, the indrawn breath of his crew, and the startled hissing of the lizard-men.

"Sir," stage-whispered Smalls. "What are you doing?"

"Mind your tongue, Henry Smalls," he replied without glancing back. Fengel glowered at the chieftain. "Now. I believe I asked you a question."

The old Draykin stared back at him, eyes wide in surprise.
Perfect,
thought Fengel. He had the old lizard on the defensive.

"
Ra
," it said. "
Stalki-haio
."

"I," said Fengel, "do not care."

It seemed Rastalak, friend or foe, was unique. The chieftain didn't speak civilized Perinese, and from what he'd heard while moving through the city, neither did any of the other Draykin. Still, some things were universal. The body language of the lizard-men was easy enough to read. Fengel bulled onward.

"We have been rather rudely assailed," he said, slashing at the air. "Then captured, and paraded through the streets of your stinking city like hogs meant for a feast-day! I demand you answer me. What is your purpose? How dare you treat a noble group of civilized adventurers so?" He gestured up at the
Dawnhawk
above them. "My ship floats above, ready to deliver retribution upon your primitive heads at any moment. Now, I demand you answer for these...these insults!"

Fengel had let himself grow more incensed. He put years of authority and every pound of overwrought pomposity he could into each word, until the guards were standing back, and the chieftain stared wide-eyed and uncertain.

He pushed the advantage. "How dare you," Fengel hissed.

Smartly, Fengel stepped forward, lashing out. The chieftain's headdress went flying through the air. It landed with a clang, then skidded off the side of the pyramid. All assembled listened to it clatter down the side of the building.

The mood in the air changed. Surprise and awe evaporated, replaced by outrage. The Chieftain narrowed its eyes. The Draykin around them hissed, low and angry.

Fengel reconsidered his position. "Mister Smalls," he said calmly.

"Yes, sir?"

"It appears that I might have been just a tad too bold."

His steward sighed. "I know, sir."

"
Korvachi
," shrieked the chieftain, spittle landing on the shirt of Fengel's breast. "
Korvachi hailo!
"

The two guards at his side leapt forward and seized him painfully. He tried to struggle, but they had him in grips of iron. Two more jumped forward to help subdue him.

"
Te Salaas Voorn!
" yelled the chieftain. It raised its staff up and pointed at the opening to the temple.

"
Te Salaas Voorn!
" echoed the guards. They hoisted Fengel and hauled him forward, the chieftain stepping aside. Others behind them took up the cry, until it echoed throughout the plaza. The Draykin hauled the sky-pirates into the dark of the ancient temple.

Through his panic and his fear, Fengel thought he spied a light in the depths ahead, burning like the glow of a lantern.

Chapter Twenty-One

Mordecai was getting angry.

"I specifically ordered you not to kill them!" shouted Natasha. Her golden eyes flashed.

"The ship exploded. You saw what condition it was in. It's a miracle it got this far. We stocked it far too full of powder before we set off on this little trip. It could have been anything. A leftover candle burning down in the magazine, or a spark in the gas-bag frame."

They hovered over the strange city of the lizard-men and the large temple in its central plaza. The inhabitants watched them float above in awe. Of far more concern to Mordecai were the swarms of scryn soaring about. The death of the
Copper Queen
had agitated them, revealing their presence. There were far more of the vermin in this city than Mordecai had thought even existed.

The crew were on edge. They had taken their airship back, but rather than fleeing with the treasure in their hold, they'd stayed. Now scryn surrounded them, hostile natives swarmed below, and their captain and first mate were arguing in the stern near the helm.

Mordecai thought he'd be able to convince Natasha to move on. Yet once they'd spied Fengel and the procession below, she'd ordered them to draw closer. Then the
Queen
had exploded. They had been arguing vehemently since.

"Do you think me a halfwit?" snarled his captain. Natasha narrowed her eyes and let her hand fall to her sword. She paced back and forth. "You wanted them all dead. Especially Lucian. You never quite got over what he did to you, and you finally broke rank to take your chance, deliberately ignoring my order!"

His composure evaporated. "That is
not
why I killed them!" Mordecai hissed. "You want the truth? Fine! I blew up the
Queen
. I had a long trail drawn back to the powder room and lit off as we departed. And you know what? I would do it again in a
heartbeat
."

Natasha grinned fiercely as she caught him out. Mordecai ignored it and went on, stabbing a finger at her to punctuate every sentence. "You should have dumped Fengel in the ocean the minute we got our ship back the first time. None of this ever would have happened then. But no. You had to get soft. You had to play
games
. I did what was necessary. I did what you should have done a week ago. You're soft around him, and it'll be the doom of us all!"