Chasing the Lantern (38 page)

The lizard-creature scrabbled up the incline to a wide hole in one wall. Lina stopped, nonplussed. She tried to think of something to say in reply, then cast the thought aside as Rastalak gestured at the hole. She moved up to the wall and peered out. Then she caught her breath.

This side of the ruin looked out onto the pyramid at the center of the city, as well as the wide Plaza of the Gods that it dominated. Hundreds and hundreds of the Draykin were gathered below the temple steps, focused not on that building, but on the
Dawnhawk
hanging low in the skies above. They pointed and hooted at each other, watching the strangeness of the show.

The airship was blanketed. A writhing black cloud of scryn swooped in and out, driven to frenzy by something aboard. Pistol shots and battle-cries echoed down from the vessel. Ghastly red light set the deck and the gas-bag frame aglow.

"That is new."

Lina followed the pointing finger of the creature. It gestured at the high temple steps. There, a small procession of guards were carrying something. A woman, bound. She kicked and screamed and even over the din of the conflict above Lina recognized the voice.

Natasha. Lina felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. If she was here, then the ship above must have been under her command. Except...what was she doing down here, and not up above?

She turned to face the Draykin beside her. "There has to be something we can do," said Lina.

Rastalak raised its hands. "I can think of nothing simple," it replied.

Lina shook her head. "I don't care how brazen, how unlikely. I have to rescue my captain." And then maybe he could get them all out of this mess.

The Draykin eyed her. It stopped, as if caught by an idea. "There may be something that we can do," it said slowly. Then it gestured all around them. "I did not choose this ruin at random. Before my exile, I was Lorekeeper-in-training. The Lorekeepers are given to study the holy secrets that the Great Ones left behind. But what I have in mind may not be enough."

"You let me worry about that," said Lina. "Just tell me what you're thinking."

Rastalak told her its plan.

Lina decided she needed to worry about it.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Fengel examined his fingernails. They were getting rather long.

"Mister Smalls," he said. "Lend me your knife."

The little steward glanced up from the corner of their cage he was sawing at. Henry looked perplexed. The Draykin had taken all their weapons, but Henry had managed to keep a little paring knife hidden in the waistband of his trousers. Wordlessly, he handed it up. Fengel took the blade and trimmed his index nails, then handed it back. His steward gave him a flat look before bending back to his task.

Their cage was surprisingly spacious. Twenty paces by twenty, and a full ten feet high. Its bars were formed of some dense native wood, bound by gut and twine. The right and rear sides were flush up against the stone walls of this corner of the temple. Beneath the bars under their feet was a flat, stone surface. All of his crew were here; Sarah Lome, Maxim, Henry Smalls, Oscar Pleasant, and Geoffrey Lords. Each were either tending to their wounds or working on some method of escape. Fengel stood in the middle of the cage, supervising.

The great temple-manse was mostly hollow. In its depths a pool of lava seethed, overheating the air and illuminating the interior with a lurid red glow. The entryway high above led onto a wide ledge only a few dozen feet below the roof of the great space. Stairways at either side led down to a catwalk ledge on a lower level that extended all the way around the interior, meeting with the ledge on its opposite side.

It was at this lower level that Fengel and his crew were caged. At regular places the walk widened out from the wall to support more of the strange stone idols he'd seen throughout the city. From the four widest spaces extended a rope bridge with wooden slats. These connected to the large structure at the center of the pyramid, a spiraling tower of stone rising up from the molten depths below.

Wide stairs were carved into the tower. They circled upward from where the rope-bridges were anchored, to a wide platform at the top. There, on an altar carved like a pair of stone hands, sat the Governor's Lantern.

 Strangely, Fengel felt a little underwhelmed by the gem. The Lantern was a luminescent orb maybe a little larger than his fist. From where it was ensconced up above it shone with a shifting, opalescent brilliance, like a tiny multicolored star. It was
pretty
, that much was certain. But after all the fuss and fury, it didn't seem to live up to its reputation. He felt no waves of madness, nor any immaterial sense of power. He still wanted it, very, very badly. But that felt like nothing more than simple greed, and the desire to tweak his wife a little further. He certainly felt no sense of devotion toward the thing, unlike the Draykin who had genuflected on the platform before it. The guards and their chieftain had returned outside a short time ago, just as a great racket rose up. Fengel was curious about that. The noise sounded like pistol shots.

Fengel shrugged and turned away. He moved to where Sarah Lome was watching over Maxim. The aetherite had not reawakened after their imprisonment. That was worrying. His magic would be undoubtedly helpful. More than that though, he was a crew member.

"How is he?" asked Fengel.

Lome looked up at him. She shrugged, her broad, placid face giving nothing away. "Can't say, Captain. He took a good hard knock during that ambush. Ain't bleeding anymore. Pulse feels strong."

Fengel frowned. He leaned down to look his navigator over. The aetherite was pallid and his skin waxy with perspiration. His dark hair lay in a tangled cloud beneath his head. Minor cuts and bruises covered him, but nothing serious. Fengel reached out to feel his brow. It wasn't aflame, there was no fever. "Maybe I can beg some medicine from our captors." They still didn't know what the Draykin proposed to do with them. The cage was obviously a general-use item, not intended specifically for pirates.

Lome gave him a flat look. "Captain. Maybe someone else should handle any negotiating?"

Fengel raised an eyebrow at her. "Gunny Lome. While our initial diplomatic endeavors did not turn out as best could be hoped, I strongly feel that I've the beginnings of a rapport with their chieftain. Shaman. Whatever."

Sarah Lome blinked. She opened her mouth to reply.

"Let me go, you cockless eunuchs! I've eaten snake and lizard before, don't think that I won't do the same to you. Unhand me!"

The voice was shrill and high pitched. It came from another human captive supported between ten Draykin guards. The chieftain walked behind them, glowering. It was missing its headdress.

The captive was a woman, that much was obvious. But Fengel knew who it was before she was hauled close enough to their cage to see. Only one person could hit those high, ear-shattering notes with her voice alone. Only one person possessed such a library of the basest and vilest insults known to man, ogre, and dragon alike. Only one person set his teeth on edge whenever she walked into the room.

His wife.

The Draykin hauled their captive kicking, screaming, and biting up to the cage. One of their number opened it. Fengel caught glances from his Men, wanting to know if this was their chance, if they should try to free themselves. He didn't respond to them, one way or the other, only glared in irritation and frustration at their newest companion.

Natasha was thrown into the cage. She landed hard on the wooden slats, bouncing back to her feet to throw herself at the opening. The Draykin slammed the cage door shut in the pirate princess's face. She fell back with a curse and one of the guards made a strange croaking sound, what must have been a laugh. Fengel knew how he felt.

The Draykin chieftain returned to his platform at the center of the temple. The guards moved to stand before the doorways, two of them close enough to watch the prisoners. Natasha yelled at them for awhile before pausing to catch her breath. She seemed to wilt. Her hands gripped the wooden bars of the door high up to support her weight. But her knuckles were white. She took a deep breath, stood, and turned to face her fellow captives.

Even in defeat Natasha looked as she always did. Stunning. There was nothing elegant or refined about her, however. She wasn't lovely or picturesque. Instead she was sensual, vibrant. His wife always reminded Fengel of a panther or some other great cat. Nervous anticipation twisted his stomach even now at the sight of her crooked smile, just like when she'd taken the
Dawnhawk
back, just like when he'd seen her in the Bleeding Teeth at the start of all this. His heart always ignored his head and the many other, extremely negative, emotions she woke in him.

"Well," said the pirate princess. "Fancy meeting you lot here."

Not really
.
I'm right where I want to be. You're just bad luck.
Fengel went over the insult a few times and found it lacking. Then the moment had passed.
Ah well
. He turned and faced his crew, who were all glaring at Natasha with undisguised loathing.

"Headcount," he said. "What's our status?"

Henry Smalls coughed. "Back hurts from that scratch," he said. "But I'm good. Sorry, sir, this knife isn't doing much. Maybe if we're here awhile."

"I'm fine," grunted Gunny Lome. "Was doing better, until that batty whore showed up."

"Oh," sighed Natasha sarcastically. "Why, I do believe I've been insulted. By a seven foot cow with no neck and wrists bigger than her teats."

Sarah Lome glared at her.

"I…I think I'm okay," said Oscar Pleasant. "But I haven't walked right since that Lina girl—"

"Geoffrey Lords?" interrupted Fengel.

The pirate spat, then grinned, revealing teeth filed down to points. Geoffrey rarely spoke. He looked up from where he'd been testing the strength of each bar. The grin meant that he hadn't found anything yet. Or that he was hungry. Or something. Fengel nodded in awkward reply.

"Well," said Fengel. "Nothing for it, then. Let's keep up our tasks. Once the moment strikes, we'll make our move. If only Maxim—"

"Here, sir," came a croak from the floor.

Fengel was there in an instant, Gunny Lome back to cradling their aetherite's head. Maxim looked terrible still, but his eyes were wide and peered at the cage around them.

"Hello, there," said Fengel. He grinned. "I worried that we were losing you."

"Shut up." Maxim groaned. Then he blinked at Fengel's face. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean you. Just him." He tipped his head toward his left shoulder. "My head pounds, but I am alive. Please help me up. Where are we?"

Fengel stood back to allow him room. Gunny Lome supported his weight, but Maxim got his own hands under himself and sat up. He looked around at his crewmates, the cage, and then Natasha. He blinked in surprise and narrowed his eyes. The aetherite opened his mouth to say something, then lowered his eyebrows, as if puzzled. He stared, gibbered a scream, and scuttled back away from the front of the cage, into Sarah's ample grasp. Maxim kicked and pushed and fought, desperate to get away from something near the cage door.

"Cute," said Natasha.

Fengel frowned. His navigator was terrified of something, and it wasn't his wife. He peered back out the cage. The temple had not changed. Some of the nearest guards watched them in interest, but had come no closer. The lava below was terrifying, yes, but it couldn't be seen directly from where they were kept prisoner. The only other thing of interest was the chieftain, near the Lantern atop its pillar.

He turned back to Maxim. "What's wrong? What are you seeing?" Aetherites could see the immaterial, daemons and the curving aetherlines of the world. "Is it a daemon?" Fengel remembered the creature at the eye of Engmann's Maelstrom. For him it had been invisible, unfelt. But it had deeply impacted Maxim.

"Oh, Goddess," said Maxim in an awful voice. "It's cursed.
Cursed
. It warps the very air. It tarnishes the aether with its very presence."

Fengel peered back at the center of the temple. "What, the chieftain?"

Maxim caught his gaze when he looked back at the aetherite. "No, Captain. The gemstone.  The Lantern. Oh, don't touch it. If we even just touch it we're doomed."

Fengel pursed his lips. Everyone and their brother had been trying to tell him the Lantern was cursed. And now it really was. That was quite vexing.

"Well," he said. "We'll just have to be careful. I seem to recall that in Breachtown they put it in a box. Maybe we can find a rope or something."

His crew were staring at him. Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise, and not a little admiration.

"Typical," said Natasha. "You come all this way, lose so much, for a Worked gemstone that just happens to be cursed."

Fengel didn't bother to reply. Henry Smalls did, however. "Why are you even here?" he asked, glaring at her.

Natasha glowered. "Really. Did you think I'd let you steal
my
ship? Again? And just get away scot-free?" She smiled and folded her arms. "I swore to make you pay for that little jape. And now I have. The
Dawnhawk
is mine again."

Dismay echoed around the cage. Fengel turned to face her, to demand answers. But the smugness on her lips was too much. He shut his mouth, teeth clicking audibly.

"You bitch," grunted Sarah Lome. She frowned. "Wait. But if that's so, why'd you get captured by yourself? Where's your lackey? That snake, Mordecai."

Natasha frowned. She looked away from the big gunnery mistress. "He's...occupied. Busy. We got separated." She set her shoulders and met their gazes. "My crew will come for me."

Footsteps and hissing growls interrupted them. Draykin were approaching the cage, a group of twelve. Half were guards, the others wore ornaments like the chieftain, his acolytes or under-priests. One carried cloth bundles in hand, and another a bowl filled with something that stank. Fengel caught his crew glancing at him, wondering if this was the time. He shook his head in negation. Their captors were watching carefully, and still had spears.