“Cannibals?” The captain presented himself with a short, stiff bow, as warranted by Norris’ rank and office. “Good gods, man. How did you escape alive?”
“We hid, Captain. Dozens sacrificed themselves so that our lives could be spared, but, as I said, many were taken. If we act quickly, we can rescue them.” Norris realized that he was speaking fast and his tone was nearing an hysterical pitch. He stepped forward and gripped Donnely’s shoulder. “There is not a moment to lose! I must speak to Admiral Joslan immediately, sir.”
“I will arrange a launch to take you to the
Indomitable
, Milord Count, as soon as this place is secure.” The captain looked pointedly at the count’s hand until Emil removed it, then turned to bark orders to his officers. File after file of marines left the ship and formed into precise lines, then advanced down the pier toward the keep.
“Secure?” Norris barked a harsh laugh. “The pirates are
gone
, and no one is—”
“Father!” Norris spun around to see Tim running toward the pier from the keep. The marines took defensive positions and Norris’ heart leapt into his throat.
“That’s my son!” he yelled. “Let him alone!”
“Stand down!” called Donnely, and the marines sheathed their weapons. Tim deftly sidestepped the troops and dashed down the pier. Here, however, the captain’s guard stood firm, intercepting his advance.
Tim stopped, his face set with urgency. “Father!”
“Please, Captain Donnely, my son is no threat to you or your officers. He has just searched the keep, and may bear news.”
“Let the boy through, Sergeant,” the captain said, though he raised an eyebrow at the sword on the boy’s hip. “Your son, Count Norris? I didn’t know you had family here.”
“Neither did I, Captain. Not until very recently. But my son he is, and I need to—”
“Father, I can’t find her!” Tim said. He grabbed Norris’ sleeve, his eyes feverish. “She’s not anywhere, and all her things—dresses, jewelry,
everything
—are gone!”
“Everything?” Emil’s mind raced. Why would they take Camilla’s dresses unless…they took her, too? “Gone, Tim, or destroyed?” he asked, though he was afraid that he already knew the answer; his own clothes had been pulled out and left, neither taken nor destroyed. “We have to know if they’ve taken her.”
“Excuse me, sir, but I thought you said the seamage left before the attack,” the bewildered captain said, his brow furrowing. “Now you say she’s been taken.”
“No, Captain, not the seamage. The seamage’s confidant, Miss Camilla, a…a dear friend of ours. She must have been taken.” His mind raced with the dreadful possibilities. “Tim, search the fires for any scraps of material that might have been her dresses. If her dresses were taken, it may be that she coerced them into believing her tale, and has gone with them for our sakes.”
“Yes, Father! Oh, and Father, we should send someone up to the peak with a glass. We might be able to see where they’re going.”
“Of course! Ask Paska for someone with sharp eyes! Go now, Tim.” Tim dashed off, and for a moment Emil marveled at the boy’s stoicism. Then he turned back to the captain of the
Cape Storm
.
“Captain, I must see the admiral directly. Lives depend on it.”
“You will see the admiral, Milord Count, when I deem that this place is secure, and not before,” the captain said curtly. He squared his shoulders, seeming offended at being ordered about by a civilian, albeit a count. “Is that understood?”
Emil opened his mouth to fire a volley of his own ire, then thought better of it. He was at the mercy of these military menials for the moment.
But later
, he vowed,
there will be a reckoning
.
≈
“Keep all hands at stations and alert, Horace,” Feldrin commanded. He levered himself up onto the low stone pier. Four of his stoutest sailors, all armed to the teeth, followed him, but Horace remained in the launch. “The fish folk are patrollin’ the harbor, an’ Cyn said they’ll give us warnin’ if there’s an attack from below, but I don’t trust ‘em.”
“Aye, sir. I know I said it before, but I don’t like this.” Horace waved a meaty arm at the circular harbor and the relatively narrow gate leading to the open sea. “No room to maneuver in here, no wind, no bloody tide even! It’s like bein’ stuck in a bottle.”
Orin’s Pride
floated at the center of the harbor, her anchor firmly planted in the deep sand there—a clever addition by the city’s builders, Ghelfan had surmised, to accommodate more ships than could fit at the dock.
Peggy’s Dream
was tied to one of the stone piers some distance away. Feldrin had insisted that the ships be kept separate so that any attackers would have to split their forces.
“Aye, I agree.” Feldrin looked around the empty harbor. Above the piers, the city’s towers glared down at them, gray stone streaked with guano, like the tear-streaked skeletons of the elves that had built it. Though life still thrived here—weeds and ivy grew rampant along the walls, fish swam in the waters around the coral-crusted shore, and the raucous cries of gulls filled the sky—the lack of people lent the city a distinctly haunted air. Surreptitiously, he made a gesture, the sailors’ ward against evil. “Keep the launches ready. We got enough muscle aboard to haul the ships out of here by force if need be.”
“Aye, sir,” Horace said, frowning. But worry was a first mate’s job, just as much as a captain’s, and Horace took his job seriously.
“Ready, Feldrin?”
He turned toward Cynthia’s voice and knew instantly that she was even less happy than his first mate. He regretted their recent argument, but on this point, he would not back down. After destroying the reef that blocked the harbor entrance, Cynthia had come aboard
Orin’s Pride
, looking more animated than she had in days. Physically, she was still wan and weary, but her eyes shone with a hard light when she told him her plan. Ghelfan had stressed that they should seek out the Chamber of Life, the place where the seamage was magically joined with the city. She wanted to double their efforts in the search for this chamber by splitting into two groups: Feldrin and the others would explore the upper, while she and the mer explored the lower.
“Absolutely not!” He’d been aghast that she’d even consider it. “You already said that your fish friends smelled some kind of…of…critter near abouts; somethin’ that even
they
don’t like.”
“That’s why I have to go with them,” she insisted, “Nothing can hurt me! I can use the sea to—”
“They knocked you on the head easy enough once, Cyn. You’re not invulnerable, and I’ll not have you taken from me again. If I have to lock you in my cabin and row these bloody ships all the way home, I will, but I’ll not lose you again!”
Finally—thankfully—she had relented, though she would not meet his eyes as she left the ship to tell the mer to guard the harbor and give warning should an attack come from the water. She looked sternly at him now, but at least she was looking at him. He could live with that.
“Aye, we’re ready.” He nodded at the throng of armed men and women crowding the pier around her. They had left enough men on the ships to defend in the event of attack; everyone else would help search the city, including Mouse, who hovered over Cynthia’s shoulder, his tiny rapier strapped to his hip, his face as grim as Feldrin had ever seen it. “They know their jobs?”
“Yes. I’ve organized search parties. They’ll head out in different directions, marking and mapping as they go.”
“And him?” Feldrin asked, nodding toward Edan, who stood nervously shifting from foot to foot. The young pyromage sported a wide leather belt that the sailors had fashioned to hold several bottles and flasks; his arsenal of combustible liquids. Flicker perched on his shoulder, her flaming hair blazing. “He knows
his
job?”
“He does. He’ll go with Ghelfan’s group at first. We’re both more comfortable with some distance between us.”
“So long as he also knows we’re his only ride home.” He noticed her hands fidgeting with the clasp of her belt, and said, “And you, lass? Are you all right?”
“I’m
fine
, Feldrin.” Her hands clenched into fists and her posture stiffened. She put on a good front, but Feldrin could see her anxiety and fatigue, and wondered how long she could keep going on nerve and will alone.
“Fine, then.” He moved next to her. “Shall we?”
“Yes.” She pointed to an archway leading into the bowels of the dead city. “That way.”
“Bloody fine.” He reached out and took her hand then, and her eyes snapped to his, a flicker of suspicion in them. He refused to let go, and finally felt her relax. “Let’s go then.”
≈
“You sent for me, Your Majesty?” Huffington bowed low as he entered the small sitting room. The emperor once again sat behind a large desk. His secretary and Lady von Camwynn were the only others present. Huffington straightened and stood.
“We did, Mister Huffington.” The emperor looked at him steadily, one finger tapping the desk top in a slow cadence. Huffington dared not move under that piercing gaze, hardly dared to breathe. He fixed his eyes on the drumming finger and thought suddenly that he knew now what a slave must feel on the auction block under the eye of prospective masters, his life in someone else’s hands. He suppressed a start when the emperor finally spoke.
“We belatedly read the report of your counsel regarding the seamage Cynthia Flaxal, which you provided after Count Norris’ first diplomatic visit to Plume Isle. We regret that it was not given more consideration prior to the sailing of
Clairissa
. We thank you for your honesty and insight.”
The emperor paused, then nodded to his secretary, who bent to lift a heavy leather satchel and place it upon the desk.
“Unfortunately, the situation is now changed, and We daresay all will tread more cautiously in the future.” He gestured to the satchel, which was closed with a hasp and a small brass lock. Beside it he placed a tiny key on a golden chain, which he then pushed across the polished wood toward Huffington. “We have prepared a valise for you. In it, you will find sealed folders for Admiral Joslan and Master Upton. You will deliver them into their hands.”
Huffington breathed deep with relief. He was not to be censured for his previous impertinence of bypassing Count Norris to deliver his own opinion. As to being a messenger, it would suit until he could return to the count’s service. He reached for the key and satchel.
“We know a great deal about your past, Mister Huffington,” the emperor continued. Huffington froze, a sudden chill running up his spine and invading his bones. “Master Upton compiled a dossier, quite detailed. Your history and your repertoire of skills are quite…impressive. This is why We are recruiting you into Our service. In the satchel you will also find several items for your own attention: instructions, a writ of Imperial Sanction, gold, and the…tools you will need to carry out Our assignment.”
Huffington swallowed and withdrew his hand. “May I ask, Your Majesty, what that assignment might be?”
“You shall read it for yourself once you are underway to the Shattered Isles.” The sovereign eyed him with an unreadable expression, but his eyes glinted like twin diamonds. “Rest assured; the task is well within your…abilities.”
He nudged the key a bit farther toward the edge of the table.
Huffington took a slow, deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. He knew very well what skills the emperor alluded to, and had a good idea what the assignment might be.
I’ve tried so hard
, he thought heavily,
to distance myself, but my past continues to haunt me
. He saw from the emperor’s stony gaze that he had no choice in the matter.
“So, am I now solely in Your Majesty’s service, or do I still serve as Count Norris’ man?”
“Your service to Us takes precedence. However, when you have completed this assignment, you may return to Count Norris.” The emperor’s lips pursed for a moment, then relaxed into their former neutral line. “Take the key, Mister Huffington.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Huffington took the key from the table, though he would much rather have picked up a live asp. “Has my transport back to the isles already been arranged, Your Majesty?”
“The seamage’s fellow, Tipos, has agreed to take you back to Plume Isle. And We daresay, his vessel is faster than any We could supply. We have given him missives for the seamage and Count Norris, which he has agreed to deliver.”
“Does Tipos know of my instructions, Majesty?”
“He does
not
, Mister Huffington. As far as anyone else is concerned, your mission for Us is to carry dispatches to Admiral Joslan and Master Upton. Is that understood?”
“What of Master Upton, Your Majesty? Am I to keep my purpose from him also?”
“Master Upton will know your orders. If you need his assistance, you may ask for it.”
“Very well, Your Majesty.” Huffington bowed deeply. He was well and truly cornered, and he resented it, but he kept his mien carefully neutral. If anything, he was a master of dissembling.
“Take the satchel, Mister Huffington,” the emperor commanded.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, and hefted the heavy leather case to his shoulder. He didn’t even have to put the key into the tiny lock to know what was inside. The only question was: who was going to die?
≈
Camilla woke with a start, blinked in panic, then remembered the darkness.
She was safe.
A deep calming breath brought the musty smell of the long-disused chambers that lay below. She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d sealed the door, but if her thirst and hunger were any indication, it must have been hours. She sat for a few more moments, her head resting against the iron-bound oak, before she gathered the strength to move.
Surely the pirates have gone by now
, she thought, forcing herself to her feet. She nearly cried out as the aches and pains of the last two days awoke, intensified by the time spent sitting on a stone floor. Clutching the wall, she stretched and twisted to loosen her aching muscles. The sting of the abrasions, especially the rope burns around her wrists, would take longer to fade, but they would heal with time. Everything healed with time.
Camilla leaned heavily against the door, felt the bar that kept it locked…kept her safe. The image of Parek’s rage revisited her; were they still out there waiting for her?
Surely they’ll have gone by now
, she thought. She reached for the bar, then hesitated: What if they hadn’t gone? What if Parek waited on the other side of the door, like a spider waits for prey to enter its web? How long would he wait? How badly did he want to punish her for deceiving him?
Very badly
, she thought, again remembering his thunderous expression as she’d ducked through the gap and slammed the door in his face. And if he did get her back, she knew what her fate would be. She’d seen it before, when she belonged to Bloodwind: women who didn’t cooperate were given to a pirate crew for play. Some survived, but none wished they had. Her hand eased away from the bar, and she scrubbed her sweaty palm on her dress.
“How long?” she asked, startled to hear herself speak aloud. Her voice seemed to echo in the darkness, and she wondered if anyone had heard; if perhaps someone stood just on the other side of the door, listening.
She pressed her ear to the door and listened for a long while, but all she heard was the sound of her own heartbeat. She remembered how thick the door was, how heavy as she pushed it shut, built solid and closely fit so that Bloodwind wouldn’t be disturbed by the screams of the prisoners and Hydra’s prey. Likely, she wouldn’t hear the pirates even if they were singing drunken chanties right outside.
I can’t be sure
, she thought.
They could be still out there, waiting for me.
She could stay a bit longer without undue discomfort. Hunger was not an issue; she was familiar with hunger, knew how to ignore it. Water was the problem; she couldn’t survive more than a few days with nothing to drink. She’d seen Bloodwind with prisoners, driving them to desperation by withholding water, then tricking them into drinking seawater, and laughing as they died in convulsions.