Scimitar's Heir (32 page)

“Ready!” Horace raised his hand, drawing all eyes toward him, and muttered a short apology to his captain; if this went awry,
Orin’s Pride
would burn. “On three, lads! One, two, three!”

Four casks arched into the air and splashed into the water about fifteen feet from the hull. He watched them sink.

“Pull your cords and duck for cover on my mark! Ready…” he watched the squirming shapes move around the sinking barrels, curious about their contents, no doubt. Well, the casks were filled with hell itself, and they were about to find out. “Mark!”

The four sailors yanked their cords, and the sea around
Orin’s Pride
erupted in a boiling hell of fire and steam. The hull shook, but there wasn’t much concussion in the explosions, only fire. Burning streamers of white lit the sea brighter than daylight, bubbling and frothing. Dozens of the eel-like creatures floated up, dead or writhing in agony, burning and thrashing. More retreated from the burning streamers that hovered in the water before sinking slowly. Horace peered down through the haze of bubbles, blood, floating corpses and burning motes of white, but he could not tell if all of the creatures had been driven off.

“Ready four more, lads, and stand by. Lookouts aloft! I want to know what’s happening around the ship, and have a look at the
Dream
, too. They’ve got none of these fire casks aboard, so we may have to lend ‘em a hand.” Horace looked around, and found a ship’s boy standing by the mainmast, looking terrified. “Go below, Tipa, and find out if there’re still noises comin’ from the hull, and where. We gotta know if them critters are still chewin’ on us down there.”

“Aye, sir!” The boy snapped a salute and scampered below, quick as a cat and better off for having something to do.

“Sir!” the lookout cried from the foremast top. “Sir, the
Dream’s
in trouble! They’re listing to starboard! Looks like they’re takin’ on water!”

“Bloody hells!” Horace swore. He looked aloft and glared at the flagging pennant at the maintop. No wind; if he couldn’t maneuver the ship, he couldn’t get close enough to help them.

“Sir!” Tipa shouted from the companionway. “Sir, dey say all quiet below! No leakin’, and no sound of dem scratchin’.”

“Good, lad. Very good.” Horace surveyed the nervous crew, and made a decision. “We’ve run ‘em off for now, lads, so we gotta help
Peggy’s Dream
do the same. I need volunteers to go over in a launch.”

The sailors gaped at him, some looking away, some looking toward
Peggy’s Dream
and muttering oaths. No one stepped forward. He could not blame them; it would take a launch with a full crew only a few minutes to row over, but with the sea full of those creatures, those would be a few very long minutes, and little chance of actually making it. He could not go himself, so he was faced with the choice of doing nothing, or picking which men to send to their deaths.

“Never wanted to be bloody captain in the first place,” he muttered, glancing over the side, then at the limp pennant high aloft, then at
Peggy’s Dream
, assessing the distance between the two ships. If he could just get close enough, he might be able to lob a weighted fire cask into the water near the beleaguered ship to run off the critters, but how could he move
Orin’s Pride
with no wind? If they had the time they could fashion some makeshift sweeps, but that would take hours. His eyes raked the deck, and he saw the catapult on the foredeck; it was wound back, but not loaded.
Maybe
…

“Cut the anchor rode and rig the two light kedges with short lengths of chain and the lightest rode we’ve got! Quick now!” Men scattered at his orders. Some, those who had discerned his intentions, smiled, while the others simply looked at him as if he was mad.

Horace wondered that, himself, as he ordered them to load the anchor and chain into the catapult.

≈

“Seal de hatch!” Chula cried, wiping the slime from his hand. He wished he could wipe the image of Cookie being torn apart from his mind.

The sailors with him flung the hatch closed and threw the latch just as a tentacled maw slammed into it from the other side. Cries from the mess hall announced additional breaches. The creatures were boring unfettered into the hull, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. The deck began to list to starboard as the sea flooded the bilges. Chula considered setting men to the bilge pumps, but there was no way they could keep up with this much flooding. The best he could hope for was to keep the ship afloat until Cynthia returned, hopefully without losing half his crew in the process.

“Pile somet’in heavy on dat hatch. We’ll try to keep ‘em in de bilges. Anyt’in’ starts to chew a hole in de deck gets a boardin’ pike down de throat!”

“Aye, sir.” The sailor and his mate started ripping the big butcher block from its mountings to throw over on top of the hatch.

Chula left them to their work, intending to check the main hold next, when a sound like a great drum being struck reverberated through the hull. He cursed and dashed back up onto the deck. Strangely, things were comparatively calm there; all eyes were fixed on
Orin’s Pride
. At a glance, Chula knew what Horace had done.

“Dey’ve used de fire casks, sir,” a sailor said unnecessarily, pointing to the gouts of steam rising around the ship.

“I see dat.” He silently wished they had some of the devices aboard, remembering his reluctance to ship such dangerous cargo, and Cynthia’s assent. Now he regretted that decision. They’d rigged the ballistae to shoot down into the water, and were firing and reloading as fast as possible, but to little effect. The ship was down by at least a foot, and her dock lines were straining, which gave Chula an idea.

“Rig hawsers from de capstan to de bollards on shore, fore and aft!” he ordered, hefting one of the heavy, braided ropes himself. Several sailors had already traversed the gangplank to the quay, so he flung the wrist-thick line to one of them. The man threw a quick hitch over the massive iron bollard, and Chula heaved it taut and ran it back to the capstan. The stern line was also rigged, and they wound both around the huge hardwood drum. A team of four manned the spokes of the winch and wound the lines even tighter.
Peggy’s Dream
was snugged tight to the pier, her rub rails groaning in protest against the big hemp bumpers that kept the hull off the unforgiving stone.

“Hold dere!” Chula ordered, assessing the ship. The deck was still canted slightly to starboard, away from the pier, but they seemed to be holding steady, the dock lines and the two additional hawsers so tight that they looked ready to snap under the strain. “She’s steady! Rig more lines fore and aft to take up de strain!”

As sailors leapt to comply, he looked back to
Orin’s Pride
. They had cut their anchor rode, and sailors were working at the bow. Curious, he retrieved his glass from his belt and took a closer look. Several crew were working around the catapult, and they suddenly stepped back and jerked the release. To his astonishment, a light anchor and a length of chain soared through the air, trailing a thin line behind. The kedge splashed barely a boat-length from the
Pride’s
bowsprit, but as the line was drawn taut, the crew was already reloading the catapult with another kedge. Chula quickly discerned their plan; they were pulling the
Pride
closer, one throw at a time. All he had to do was make sure
Peggy’s Dream
was still afloat when they got here.

Cries from below caught his ear, and he cringed. Keeping the ship afloat might be easier than staying alive until rescue arrived.

Chapter 24

Love and Sorrow

Terror coursed through Edan in a paralyzing wave as his worst nightmare came true: the sea was pouring into the Chamber of Life.

How could everything go so wrong so fast? One moment he’d been enjoying the warm rush of his power, the unexpected warmth of watching Cynthia and Feldrin with their baby, and their glowing praise. Then came the shock of seeing Samantha, the horror of Ghelfan’s murder, and finally Samantha’s attack on Cynthia. And now the sea was rushing in to drown him.

The shipwright’s body was swept past him on the flood, the noble features frozen in death, and Edan choked back a sob. Ghelfan had befriended him as no one had before. An ear-splitting screech; the baby, still cradled in the Cynthia’s grasp, screamed as water flowed up around them. Feldrin knelt on the floor, clutching his dead wife in his arms, oblivious to the inrushing sea. Water flooded against Edan’s shins, and Flicker shrieked in his ear. He took an involuntary step up the dais, his eyes fixed upon the quickly rising deluge. Something grasped his wrist and he jumped.

Samantha.

She grinned at him, revealing teeth filed into points. Her eyes blazed in triumph, but he saw something else there, too…madness. Why else would she kill a good man in cold blood, then murder the one person who could get them safely out of this flooding hole?

“Come on!” she shouted over the rushing water. “We’ve got to go, Edan!”

He jerked his arm free and stared at her in horror. “Go where?” He flung out his arm, indicating the confines of the chamber. The water rose steadily, lapping at his feet. Flicker shrieked again in panic, tugging at her chain. He took another step back, away from the water climbing up the steps. “You’ve killed Cynthia!”

“I bloody hope so!” She reached for his wrist again, but he jerked away. “We can swim out, Edan. I made it in here, didn’t I? It’s not that far. Come on!”

“Swim? Are you crazy?” Edan pointed to the torrent of water pouring through the door. “We can’t swim against
that
!”

“When the room fills, the flow will slow and then we can swim out.” She snatched his wrist and held tight. “Trust me!”

“Trust
you
?” He almost laughed, but hysteria gripped his throat, choking him. He backed up, trying to stay ahead of the rising flood. Flicker’s shrieks and the baby’s screams threatened to split his eardrums, but over it all rose the roar of the rushing water. “I can’t
swim
!” Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Feldrin holding Cynthia and trying to keep the baby’s head above water. Samantha stood on the stair below him, refusing to relinquish her hold on his wrist, and still, inexorably, the water rose. He backed up again and stumbled; there was no higher step behind him. He stood atop the dais.

“I’ll swim for the both of us, Edan.” Samantha tugged at his wrist, but he resisted her pull. “You’ve
got
to come with me!”

“No! I
can’t
!” Edan backed away from her, struggling to free his wrist, feeling the cool water surround his calves and pin his pants tight against his legs. He backed into the crystalline wall of the Chamber of Life, reached back with his free hand to grasp the edge of the arched doorway, and held tight against Samantha’s pull.

“Edan, please! I came here for you! You’ve
got
to come with me! I need you!”

“No!” he shouted. “You’ve drowned us! We’re going to die here!” He looked around hysterically for an exit, some way out. But the doors were all underwater…all except one. He stepped into the chamber, looked around to see if there was a mechanism to close the doors and keep out the water that now had reached his knees.

He nearly cried out in relief as a sheer pane of crystal began to sweep closed across the portal, welcomed the screech of glass on glass that drowned out the roar of the murderous sea. He saw Samantha’s eyes widen in panic as the door closed. She tugged frantically at his arm, but Edan remained rooted to the spot, refusing to step out of the only refuge available. Just before the door scythed closed on her arm, she lunged through the narrowing gap into the chamber.

The gap closed before Edan realized that Flicker was fluttering about in a panic outside the chamber. The door slammed shut on the golden chain that connected them, and she screeched in horror. They stared at one another though the translucent barrier, Flicker tugging impotently on the chain.

With a tone like a crystal goblet being struck to shards, the doors sealed, the sea stopped rising, and light flared around them. The crystal walls shimmered as arcane patterns glowed within them, beautiful and hypnotic. A spider web of light shot through the rim of the floor, growing inward toward his feet as he watched in astonished awe.

He became aware of warm pressure on his wrist, and looked at Samantha, into her eyes. This was no longer the girl he had lain with, the girl with the soft skin and eager smile who had anticipated his needs and fulfilled his desires. Sam was a pirate, and she looked it: ragged clothing, livid scars, and vile pointed teeth. But her eyes frightened him most, for they revealed her madness with no uncertainty whatsoever.

“You’ve killed us,” he said with leaden certainty. Though the water no longer rose, they were trapped in the chamber. The room would flood, and they would never get out. He’d finally achieved his dream of becoming a pyromage and now he was going to die, trapped under the sea.

“Dying’s easy,” Sam said, lifting the black obsidian knife that had killed Ghelfan and holding it between them. She examined the serrated edge, and her mouth softened into a faint smile. She looked at him, and he saw tears brimming in those mad eyes. “It’s living that hurts.”

Pain lanced through Edan like a thousand crystal knives, and his ears rang with the echoes of his own scream.

≈

Mouse hovered over Cynthia’s slack face, his heart breaking, his tears of joy at the baby’s rescue transformed to tears of sorrow. He had tried and failed to parry the blade that impaled her, and the water swirled red with her blood. The baby was crying, Feldrin was calling Cynthia’s name over and over, and she just lay there, bleeding…dying…All his fault.

And the water kept rising.

He landed on Feldrin’s broad shoulder, sagged against his neck. Feldrin stood, bearing Cynthia and the baby up in his arms as the sea surged in, but soon it was deep enough that he merely supported her as she floated. Tears coursed down Feldrin’s dusky cheeks, scaring Mouse even more; he’d never seen the stolid captain cry.

Shouts rang out from atop the dais, and Mouse spared a glance. Edan struggled with the crazy girl who had killed Ghelfan. They were knee deep in water, even on the top step. If someone didn’t do something soon, all of them were going to need gills. He hopped down to Cynthia’s shoulder and tugged at her collar—he tried to ignore the icky sight of the sword sticking out of her—while simultaneously trying to soothe the crying babe. If he could just wake Cynthia up, maybe she could make all the water go away.