The Rift Walker (23 page)

“Thank you, Colonel. We will serve you”—Hariri touched his heart, lips, and head—”until the end.”

Anhalt clapped a grateful hand on the captain's shoulder. “I can certainly use you during this trying time.”

“I should tell you that I heard in Djibouti that all manner of men and ships are about, searching for your princess. The Equatorians put out the call, and every vessel flying is traveling under letters of marque hoping to lay hands on her and make their fortune from the court.”

“I have no doubt you can avoid them all.”

Hariri chuckled. “But of course. Now, may I ask you a question?”

“Certainly.”

“Tell me about this Greyfriar fellow. What do you make of him? He's the talk of the ship. We've heard the stories, but you've seen him in action, yes?”

Anhalt shook his head. “I've seen little enough action from him, aside from
rescuing
Princess Adele from her otherwise orderly wedding. He's an enigma to me. I too have heard amazing stories, primarily from Princess Adele. From all accounts, he's quite the wonder worker.” Anhalt left unsaid that although he would never believe Adele was the type to succumb to the mythmaking that surrounded the swordsman, some of her tales of adventures in France and Britain belied reason. He needed more evidence that this mystery man deserved such adoration. Anhalt couldn't stop the hateful ache in his chest created by the dread that he was watching the world's greatest empire dragged down by a romantic fake.

“You should get some rest, Colonel,” came a soft voice.

Anhalt turned with a start to see Princess Adele standing close, buffeted by the wind, with Greyfriar as her ever-present reflection. The colonel looked at the deck, embarrassed by his thoughts.

Captain Hariri took Anhalt's empty coffee cup and retreated.

“I will, Highness” the colonel replied sheepishly to Adele. “I was taking one last turn about deck. Double-checking supplies.”

“Is Katanga within our safe reach?” She pulled her cloak tight to ward off the cold.

“I believe so. In another three or four days we should reach Bunia, Msiri's northern capital. As long as the winds hold and the weather doesn't turn too dear, and the ship stays together, we should have food and water for the trip.”

The activity around them abruptly heightened. Men clambered into the tops. Adele wondered if it was just a change of morning watch, but somehow this felt different. The intensity was very high. Storm clouds rumbled beneath them, though she had thought they were out of the thunderheads' reach. She and Colonel Anhalt both turned to the quarterdeck, where Captain Hariri now stood at the rail with a spyglass to his eye.

Anhalt pulled out his own glass as Adele tapped Greyfriar, who was already scanning the sky with his preternatural vision. He saw two ships in the distance with gunports along the hulls to demonstrate they weren't merchant vessels. Their sails were full.

“They're flying Equatorian flags,” Anhalt announced. “A forty-eight and a twenty-four. Hmm. The frigate isn't Imperial Navy. She's a privateer.”

“Have they seen us?” Adele asked.

Before he could answer, Captain Hariri leaned over the rail from the quarterdeck with a stern visage. “They have and are in hot pursuit.”

“How could they know I'm on board?”

“Likely they don't, but I imagine their orders are to intercept any ship that appears suspicious, at the captain's discretion. We are not on a common flight path, and we are a brig of war flying a merchant flag. So we are, therefore, suspicious.”

“Can we outrun them, Captain?”

“Let us hope so, Your Highness. We are crowding on all sail she will bear.”

White canvas soon cracked from every yardarm. The minutes of frantic activity passed slowly. Adele moved to pace the quarterdeck, watching the imperial pursuers astern, trying to pretend they weren't growing larger in the sky. But they were. After an hour of the chase, it was clear they were gaining on
Edinburgh.

There was a distant boom, and Adele saw smoke belch from the bow of the Equatorian cruiser.

“Are they firing on us?” she asked in alarm.

“A warning shot,” Hariri responded. “They are politely requesting us to heave to. Soon they will shoot for our yards—our sails—if they have the gunners for it.”

“What are our chances in a fight?”

“Slim. We are outgunned by a great margin. And I note the cruiser is armed with the newest azimuth guns, one-hundred-ten pounders with perfect balance. They can sweep the skies high and low. Lovely things.”

“And our guns?”

Hariri smirked. “We'll count ourselves lucky if they don't explode when we fire them.”

Colonel Anhalt said, “Highness, the danger is that those ships will fire on us, not knowing you are on board. You are in grave peril.”

“What would you have me do, Colonel? Surrender myself?”

“It would be safer. It will prevent you being injured, or worse.”

Captain Hariri nodded in agreement.

“And what of you, Colonel? Or Captain Hariri? Or Greyfriar? If I allow
Edinburgh
to fall under our pursuers' guns so that I may surrender myself, I will have no control over what becomes of everyone else. You said yourself that you are a deserter, as are your men, so you would fall under a court-martial. And let's face it, Captain Hariri would be viewed as a pirate. And Greyfriar kidnapped the imperial heir. Do you think I could convince my father or Senator Clark to go easy on him?”
To say nothing of the fact that he is a vampire
, Adele thought. “No, gentlemen, as far as I'm concerned, none of us is welcome in Equatoria. We shall live or die together.”

The pirate captain was about to speak when the sound of another distant
whoomp
froze the quarterdeck in anticipation. After several seconds, a topsail on the port side ripped and several yardarms cracked into splinters.

Hariri slapped his forehead in amazement. “Nice shot! Bad for us.” He turned to Adele. “We're coming into effective range. We can't stand under their guns. But I have an idea.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I won't like it, I'm sure. But do it.”

Hariri laughed. “Very well. You might wish to hold onto something sturdy.”

Adele seized the rail, while Greyfriar locked one arm around her and clasped a sturdy cable. As orders were shouted around the ship, the captain signaled to the binnacle. The air filled with the terrible roar of chemicals venting from the dirigible. The deck of
Edinburgh
dropped from beneath their feet. Adele felt air between her soles and the wood for a few seconds, but Greyfriar held her tight with steel-corded muscle. The ship plummeted as if the cables connecting the hull to the zeppelin had been cut. The wind tore through the sails, canvas ripping and yards bending with pressure.

They were crashing! Adele panicked. Anxious memories of plummeting to the earth on
Ptolemy
crowded her thoughts.

Suddenly they were surrounded by whiteness. Mist. Clouds. The air was wet, and the sky around them crackled with bursts of phosphor. A jagged trail of light struck a mast and traveled to the hull of the ship. Above their heads, the metal cage enclosing the dirigible sparkled with fairy fire.

Over the bellowing wind, Adele heard Greyfriar laughing. His cloak swirled about both of them and he stared upward. He seemed perfectly at home in the chaos. His utter lack of fear was both disturbing and calming.

Then
Edinburgh
dropped below the clouds. Rain and marbles of ice pelted the ship. Greyfriar pulled Adele back against him and wrapped his fluttering cape about her. Lightning slashed above them. The air below was grayish green and had a strange rolling texture. Then Adele realized she was looking at the tops of trees. A vast carpet of forest, unbroken for miles around.

Over the drumming rain and wind came the roar of buoyant pumps refilling the dirigible. But the ship still dropped. The rain seemed to push it down toward the featureless green. Sails flapped loose, torn and tattered. Men shouted. Adele pulled up wildly on the rail as if that would help keep the ship aloft.

Edinburgh
shuddered with a great scraping and rustling, and many crewmen were knocked off their feet. It was only Greyfriar's strong embrace that prevented Adele from falling, but still they knocked into the rail and back again. Incredibly, lush green foliage reared up above the rail. She gasped. It was as if the trees had seized the ship and were dragging it down to consume it. They waited for the sound of the hull being crushed by the remorseless forest.

Then the treetops fell back, snapping branches and dropping a carpet of leaves across the deck. The ship rose awkwardly back into the driving rain. They were flying free again.

“Are you hurt?” Greyfriar asked, finally releasing his steadfast hold.

Adele exhaled. “I'm fine now, but…two airship crashes in one year is enough to last me.”

Captain Hariri called out to his crew, sending them to inspect the damage. Men climbed along the yards, trying to manhandle rebellious sails in the tropical deluge. Others dove below to check the hull for breaches.

The captain crossed to Adele, accepting a passing backslap from Anhalt with a grin. “Now, that was an evasive maneuver.”

“Well done, Captain—” Adele suddenly froze midword as a bulk dropped into sight less than a mile astern. It was the privateer.

Hariri turned because of the princess's widening eyes. “No! That's impossible!”

And a mile farther back, an even larger shaped lowered into view, trailing clouds. The Equatorian cruiser. But its massive dirigible was a ball of green fire, a victim of the storm. It appeared as a bright glow in the slate rain before the fire was swallowed up by the forest, and the great ship was gone.

“My God,” Adele breathed. “All those men.”

Hariri was already at the binnacle shouting orders over the thunder.
Edinburgh
lurched forward, crippled and foundering. The battered privateer frigate swung its bow to bring its flank to bear.

Greyfriar grabbed Adele again and bore her to the deck before the distant broadside roared. Rails splintered, sails ripped, and masts shattered. The dirigible cage bent and cracked. Men screamed, torn by heavy shrapnel. The little brig's guns returned fire, sending smoke rising up and over the deck.

Hariri leapt to the ship's waist and shouted back to Colonel Anhalt, “I'm serving out weapons. We've no chance of escape. Prepare your men for hand-to-hand combat!”

“Go below, Your Highness,” Anhalt commanded Adele, and then he yelled to his men to fix bayonets.

Greyfriar grabbed Adele's arm and pulled her to the companionway. She fought back against his iron hand as he dragged her below.

“What are you doing?” she cried angrily. “I'm going to repel boarders with my men!”

Greyfriar thrust the princess inside her stern cabin and shut the door behind them. He ripped the scarf from his face, and unbuckled his gun belt and swords. “There won't be any boarders to repel, if I can help it.”

“What are you thinking? You're
not
thinking. You can't go out unmasked. What if you're seen?”

He flung his cloak away and unbuttoned his tunic, revealing a plain white shirt. Then he pulled off his gloves and flexed the claws from his fingertips. He went to the stern gallery as another wave of shells crashed into the ship, shaking the deck, sending dust and debris over their heads. He threw open the large window and turned back to a stunned Adele with cold blue eyes. Wind and rain poured over him.

“They won't have you today. I'll be back when their ship is crippled or there isn't a man left alive who will harm you.” He leapt into the storm, leaving Adele holding his hooded cloak.

Gareth dropped away from the stern. No one should be able see a single figure in the sky washed near black with rain. The wind was strong, almost too strong. He rode the updrafts toward the privateer airship, which vomited another wave of red cannon fire.
Edinburgh
shuddered. More masts snapped, and the dirigible cage shattered. The privateer turned its bow to close on the crippled brig.

In the strong wind, it was complicated for Gareth to reach the frigate. The sensation from the air that helped him navigate was almost overwhelming in his head. He didn't feel the wind so much as smell and taste it, sensing his way through the updrafts and avoiding the deadly wind shear. He could sense his location in relation to the ground far below and used that to focus his approach to the privateer.

The frigate had three masts extending from both sides of the dirigible. Gareth swept past the starboard side and caught hold of a topsail with his claws. He began to shred the canvas, letting the wind find the tears and rip them further; then he tore lines loose and sent sails flapping wildly.

Topmen moved unwillingly into the rain-soaked yards to attempt to repair the damage. They hadn't seen the lone figure slipping from one mast to the next. The privateer lost headway and slipped to starboard as damaged sails lost their bite.

Gareth vaulted from the foremast to the dirigible cage. He quickly crawled over the vast egg-shaped metal mesh to where he could spy the port side masts. Men were already aloft, trying to furl sails to balance the ship and let it gain way again.