Oberon's Dreams (6 page)

One glance showed Corin how much ground he’d lost. How? How had Blake won their hearts? He’d played to their fears. It would be easy enough for Corin to play along—to leave the books undisturbed and come back alone in the future. But he would have no future. Fear gripped the crew right now, but it would evaporate beneath the desert sun, and only gold would tame them then.

He knew all those things in the space of one angry grumble, and he answered with an unaccustomed show of emotion. He threw the book down on the dusty street. He stomped it underfoot. “Shall we leave empty-handed, then? That is what he recommends!”

“I recommend we refrain from robbing graves,” Blake answered, all cool calm.

“This is no grave!” Corin cried. “This is a town. You see with your own eyes. These are stock houses full of goods, all of it ours for the taking.”

“Dusty parchment and faded leather,” Blake sneered. “No more than I’d expect to find in a forgotten catacomb.”

Corin sniffed. “I’ll swear it is as good as gold. Sleepy Jim! You remember when we robbed the scholar’s ship?”

He nodded. “Aye, aye, we ransomed the boy for three hundred crowns.”

Corin spread his arms. “And then we ransomed him his books for three hundred more.”

That drew another murmur from the men. Enough of them recalled that little coup. Corin stooped to grab the book. He made a show of dusting off the print his boot had left, then folded back the cover and riffled through the pages with a silk-soft whisper that seemed to hang in the air.

Hope and greed alike shone in the pirates’ eyes. Corin smiled. “You hear that? An ancient artifact in such condition. You know enough to guess how much it’s worth.”

“It’s sacrilege,” the first mate screamed again, but he was frantic now.

Corin turned to him. “Sacrilege? What sacrilege? It is a book well made.” He riffled the pages again. Again they whispered to the cavern’s heart, speaking of opulence and opportunity.

Corin smiled straight at Blake. “Don’t you hear that? They want to be read. The true sacrilege is leaving them buried.”

Blake opened his mouth to object again, but Corin silenced him with the barest rustle of paper. Smooth and soft as a lover’s whisper, it spoke in every ear. Corin smiled his victory. He snapped the book shut with a clap like thunder. “Gentlemen!” he cried, ready to order them to the pillage.

But the whisper still hung in the air. The pages were still trapped, but a breathy voice spoke from nowhere. “Vennngeance.”

Corin’s blood went cold. Every face arrayed before him turned pale. They all had heard it, too. An echoed whisper, “Revenge.” And louder, “Revenge!” And now more whispers overlapping. “Revenge! Revenge! Revenge!”

Every eye was on the black-clad captain, but he had no words at all. He felt the book within his hands, small and ordinary, but all around him spectral whispers screamed throughout the tomb.

Blake recovered first. “Burn the books!” He bellowed the command with a nobleman’s arrogant authority, and the common souls of Corin’s crewmen obeyed him in their fear. Oil-soaked torches flew at every open door.

Corin screamed in rage. “No, you fools!”

A thousand whispers answered him. “You fools! You fools! You fools!”

He ignored the whispers now. He’d given years to find this place. He dove to catch the nearest torch as it flew, but it tumbled past his grasp, rolled on the stone floor inside the nearest shop, and fire flickered up the stack of books. His effort mattered little anyway. Another dozen torches found other open doors, and all around them books as dry as tinder caught the flame.

He ran toward an open door, then fell away as fire blossomed in the neat, tall piles. The next shop wasn’t burning yet, and he reached desperately for the books atop one stack. Someone behind him grabbed his shoulder, but Corin shook free.

“Run, Captain! We must flee!” Sleepy Jim caught at him again, and Corin allowed himself to be dragged from the building just as flames began to lick the outer wall.

Fire, red like blood, washed down the lane. Corin blinked against the acrid smoke and stared at all the storefronts now ablaze. All the books. All the treasures in this place on fire.

He held a fortune in his arms, but there were kingdoms to be had! And Blake had set it all on fire to win himself a boat. Blake! Where had the wretched man gone? Corin spun, straining his watering eyes against the smoke to find the first mate.

But Blake was just where Corin had known he had to be. He stood beyond the fire’s reach, twenty paces from the storefronts’ end, where Jim and all the rest had dumped their books. All the other men had fled the cavern, but Blake and big Dave Taker stood over the tiny hoard and stared at Corin and Sleepy Jim.

Blake’s wrists were bound tight, but Dave Taker held a knife in his right hand. In his left he held a blazing torch. Corin broke into a sprint, but even as he moved, Dave Taker slashed the first mate’s bonds.

Corin raced toward them, fire raging on his heels. “Protect those books!” Corin screamed. “They’re all we have left now. Don’t let him burn those books!”

Dave raised his eyes to Corin once again, uncomprehending, but Blake understood the stakes. His only hope among these men was to destroy the captain. He shook his bindings free, ripped the torch from Dave’s hand, and plunged its flames into the pile.

“Revenge!” the whispers screamed.

Corin skidded to a stop next to the growing fire. He kicked desperately at the books, trying to scatter them, but Blake struck him a vicious backhand blow that sent the captain reeling. “See how he serves the ghosts?”

“The gold!” Corin shouted. The forge-hot blaze began to roar behind him, and Corin bent to grab one untouched tome. “You dogs, save something!”

But while he was bent, Blake brought an elbow slamming down against the back of Corin’s neck. The captain sprawled, and before he could fight back, Blake planted a polished boot between his shoulders and stepped down.

Sleepy Jim shoved a hand hard against the first mate’s chest, but it wasn’t enough to dislodge him. “What are you doing?”

Blake held his voice level. “Corin awakened something evil here. A price must be paid.”

Before Jim could have answered, a thousand ghostly voices clamored over each other. “A price must be paid!”

Corin struggled, but Blake stamped down harder and drove all the air from the captain’s lungs. The air burned hot as an oven, and sweat shone on every face, but Blake seemed unconcerned with the fire. His attention was wholly on Sleepy Jim, who alone seemed prepared to stand up for the captain.

Dave Taker loomed close behind Blake, his eyes sometimes darting to the dancing flames, sometimes darting to the exit. Blake only held Jim’s nervous gaze, his eyes as hard as steel. Seconds burned away like coals inside the roaring blaze, and then at last Sleepy Jim lowered his eyes in shame. He stepped past the united mutineers and fled the burning cavern.

Blake turned a grin to Dave Taker. “Back to the ships, and we’ll be proper pirates once again!”

Corin struggled weakly, still woozy from the blows, but the motion caught Dave Taker’s eye. “And what of him?”

“He is far too clever to leave alive.” Blake’s fingers traced the hilt of his cutlass, but he shook his head. “It’s not my way to kill a helpless man. Pick him up.”

He moved his boot, and Dave hauled Corin to his feet. The captain spat a mouthful of blood. “What have you done? You’ve burned it all.”

Blake shrugged. “There are books enough in my father’s library.”

“Your father! He was searching for this place. How could you destroy it?”

“I’ve learned to like the pirate’s life. All I needed was a solid crew. And now you’ve given me one.”

“They will not follow you!”

“They will when they see your great project has left us empty-handed.”

“Because you set our treasure to the torch!”

Blake waved that away. “What is one treasure to a lifetime of command?”

Corin strained to meet Dave Taker’s eyes. “And what of you, who’ve heard that confession? You’ll stand with him?”

Blake’s smile glowed in red reflection. “I’ve named him my first mate.”

Corin fought Dave Taker’s grip, but the huge man would not relent. “That’s it? That’s all he had to offer?”

Behind him, Dave moved his grizzled mouth up close to the captain’s ear. “It’s more’n you,” he growled. “You’ve passed me over twice. I’d let you burn for no reward at all.”

Corin thrashed and struggled, but he couldn’t break free. Before him, Blake began to back away, moving slowly to the exit’s mouth. He raised his voice so it would echo through the tunnel, to the frightened crew that must have been waiting at the other end.

“A price must be paid,” he shouted. “Let Corin answer for his crimes to those he’s wronged. But we have played no part in it, so we will wash our hands of him. We’ll give him nothing.”

Corin sagged in Taker’s grasp. Blake grinned and carried on. “Nothing! No punishment for what he’s done, but no share of this great treasure. No horse from our pickets. No water from our stores. No place among our tents. Let him find his own way from this place.”

Then he nodded to Dave Taker, and as casually as if he were tying knots, the big man shattered Corin’s ankle with one vicious kick. Corin tried to run, blind now to everything but pain and fear, but Dave caught him easily, one hand at his shoulder and one at his knee. The big man swung around in a tight circle and then let go, and Corin flew a dozen paces through the air.

The hateful flames reached out to him, still begging for revenge, and Corin disappeared within the fire.

Corin took another measured breath and winced at the bruises on his ribs and the agony around his broken ankle. He sucked in air, and it was sour in his mouth—not with the acrid sear of choking smoke, but with the smell of sweat and men and animals packed too close together.

He blinked three times against the light, then stared up at a bright-blue sky. A summer sun sat low and hot, wreathed with tiny wisps of woolly clouds. A four-wheeled cart rolled by, scant inches from his right hand, then a boot stamped down by his left shoulder. He bent his neck and saw a street alive with busy shoppers who crowded along the storefronts and now gathered around Corin.

He struggled up onto an elbow as questions rang inside his head.
What in Ephitel’s wretched name is happening? Where am I?

He looked up to find a stern-faced woman standing over him. She wore outlandish pants, the gray of ash and creased along a seam, and above them she wore a blouse of brilliant white. And above that, she wore an irritated scowl. “Find somewhere else to spill your sick, you worthless drunk, or I will bring the guards.”

Those last words cut through all the strangeness, all the impossibility, and moved Corin to motion. He raised his shoulders, and even that much exertion hurt. He groaned and reached to press a painful rib, then scooted back and heaved himself upright. It jostled his ankle, and he almost screamed.

That much of reality remained. The fire was gone. The cavern was gone. But broken bones were a familiar agony to a boy who’d learned to survive in Aepoli’s shady alleys, and Dave Taker’s vicious blow had left Corin crippled even in this…this dream? This waking madness? What was this place? Corin considered what he’d seen in the crowd around him. The busy street felt so familiar, but the clothes were strange—too bright, too clean, too neat of hem, even for the lords on Prince’s Way. What would a proud Vestossi pay for a single bolt of that strange cloth?

And the men were strange. They moved about their ordinary business just like ordinary folk, but nearly every one of them stood a full head taller than the people of Ithale. They wore a thousand shades of skin, but every one among them had the same basic build. Tall and thin, high cheekbones and narrow faces, flowing hair left loose. And men and women, old and young, on busy errands or at an idle stroll, these lords and ladies all moved with the easy, rolling grace of seafarers and soldiers.

Here and there among them, rare as the south wind, he spotted ordinary folks. They looked small and awkward in the crowd, and their tanned skin and dirty clothes named them all farmers, sailors, or servants. Every sign of wealth belonged to those elegant creatures, larger and sleeker and prettier than ordinary men, who so densely packed the streets. For just a moment, Corin recalled the ancient carvings on the sandstone cliffs, of Oberon and Ephitel and dozens more like them. This city was crowded with lords and ladies who looked like living gods.

Another wave of pain bent Corin double, his gut a knot of stabbing cramps. A groan escaped between his teeth, and then the angry woman was kneeling over him. She thumbed back his eyelids, staring close, then pressed a finger to his throat. She tried to help him up, but the agony in his ankle drew another cry, and she let go. Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment she just stared, then she rose again like a mainmast sail and grabbed two strong men from the curious crowd.