Taking a deep breath, she looked up and down the sleeping figure of her childhood love before shrugging, bending and thrusting the knife to the hilt in his back. The blade rasped as it slid between ribs, making her shudder as the reverberation ran up her arm. As she dealt the blow, her other hand went straight around to the mouth, clamping over it to keep her victim quiet.
Ghassan’s eyes opened wide, the shock of the sudden, incredibly forceful wound filling him. Asima yanked the knife back out, blood spattering both her and the floor as she did so, and raised her blood-soaked finger to her lips in a silencing motion.
“Shhhh.”
As her childhood friend’s eyes blinked and his face went white, she turned him gently onto his back, her hand still over his mouth, and leaned forward, placing the tip of the blade on his throat beneath his ear, ready to finish the job.
And that’s when it all went wrong. He should have been too panicked and weak; paralysed. He certainly shouldn’t have the strength or presence of mind for this. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut against the intense pain as Ghassan bit down hard on the hand over his mouth, his incisors meeting in the heel of her hand. She reeled, a chunk of flesh an inch across missing from her palm as Ghassan spat it out, his eyes filling with fury.
This wasn’t possible. He should be dying. He was dying, but refusing to lie down and take it. He still hadn’t cried out, though, and, despite the agony in her hand, neither had she, so there was still a chance. Gritting her teeth and ignoring the throbbing hand by her side, she reached in with the knife once again to go for the throat.
But Ghassan was already struggling to rise and, as she leaned forward, his arm came up like lightning, shaped into something resembling a claw, and delivered a sharp, precise blow to her neck, just below the jaw.
Asima was already unconscious when she hit the floor, the knife skittering away from her grasp. Ghassan stared and tried to rise from the bed. The agony in his chest and back was unbelievable and threatened to drain the consciousness from him. He tried to pull himself upright again and, instead, slid sideways and fell to the floor of the cabin, face down, his body shuddering and his legs flopping around.
Could this be it? Had Asima actually done for him? Had she already got to Samir?
His eyesight was already dimming.
“Samir!” he bellowed once before unconsciousness took him and he lay, motionless, next to the prone form of Asima.
In which the aftermath occurs
Samir noted with dismay the slick crimson coating of the doctor’s hands and forearms as he entered the captain’s cabin, one of the crewmen opening and closing the door for him. The man’s face was unreadable, but that meant nothing. Samir had known him long enough now to know Cale had seen enough horror that his face had long since given up expressing his emotions.
“Yes?”
The doctor reached down for the damp cloth at his belt and began to wipe the excess gore from his hands. Without looking up, he talked as he worked at his cleaning.
“The important thing is: he’ll almost certainly live.”
“I don’t like the ‘almost’…”
The doctor shrugged.
“I’m not about to give you any guarantee, captain. The next twenty four hours will be very telling, though. We were very lucky that you found him when you did; he’d have bled out in minutes longer. As it is, there’s barely enough blood left in him to keep him going.”
“But blood heals, though, yes?”
The doctor’s mouth curled up at the corner.
“It replenishes, yes. The big problem your brother had was not the loss of blood, but where the knife went in. Had he not been so weak and short of blood, I would have opened him up to check his organs.”
“His organs? Forgive me doctor… my medical knowledge is scant at best.”
The doctor sighed.
“His heart and his lungs. I’m fairly sure they’re unharmed. His breathing is surprising strong, given the state he’s in and his heartbeat is slow and measured, so I don’t believe they’ve been harmed by the wound. This in itself is miraculous, as the blow was as precise as any assassin could achieve. The blade should have gone into his heart and he should, by all rights, be dead.”
Samir frowned.
“So why…”
“I’m not sure,” the doctor interrupted, “but a Pelasian surgeon called Passides wrote a text on organs in which he noted discovering in his long career several people whose organs were not quite in the regular position. Without opening your brother up, I can’t confirm it, but that’s simply the only explanation I can think of. The knife went in between the fifth and sixth rib and was angled just right. Your brother is either very, very lucky or one of the Gods has a vested interest in him.”
Samir nodded, images of the cult statue of BelaPraxis flashing across his vision.
“So he should be alright?”
“I’m pretty certain that’s the case. There is the faintest possibility that the edge of the knife caught the cable down his back that the Pelasians call a ‘spinal nerve’. If that’s the case then he may lose the use of his legs, but that’s a small possibility, so I wouldn’t worry unduly about that until he’s awake.”
Samir slumped back in his seat and let out an explosive breath.
“And when will that be?”
Again the doctor shrugged.
“I wouldn’t expect him even to wake today. Tomorrow he might, but only for brief periods. He’ll be very weak and very tired and his blood is so low that he’s almost white. He may not be up and about for weeks.”
“I think Ghassan might surprise you on that. Can I see him?”
The doctor shook his head.
“Absolutely not. He is staying alone and undisturbed at least until the first time he wakes. I have my assistant sitting with him constantly. He’s fine, but I don’t want any disturbance for him.”
Samir nodded.
“Take good care of him, doctor, and thank you for all your efforts.”
“Now I may catch up on missed sleep and I suggest that you do the same, captain.”
“I’m beyond sleep now, Cale. Beside, the sun’s made an appearance now and things will require my attention. We’re nearing Lassos and things are afoot.”
The doctor shrugged and turned, approaching the door and banging on it with a clean elbow. A moment later it swung open and the man paused in the entrance for a moment.
“I’ll let you know as soon as he wakes, captain.”
As Samir nodded, the man disappeared down the passageway outside. The man by the door began to shut it, but Samir waved a hand at him.
“Patus… where is the lady Asima now?”
“She’s being held in the firepot locker, captain.”
“I trust you had the forethought to remove anything dangerous or useful from the room first?”
“It’s as empty as a Germallan’s head, sir” the man grinned.
Samir nodded “I’ve not known many Germallans but, for the sake of argument I will assume that means ‘yes’.”
“Do you want to see her, captain?”
“No, I don’t think so, Patus. If I meet her at the moment, I might just have to kill her out of hand and I made a vow to BelaPraxis concerning her. The Goddess may have closed another eye, but until the third shuts, I’ve my hands tied in Asima’s case. Has Ursa been taken care of?”
The smile slid from the man’s face. The first officer had been a popular man and the crew were taking his death hard. Samir had the suspicion that Asima’s ribs had probably met with a few boots during her apprehending and incarceration.
“His body’s been cleaned up and wrapped. We thought we’d let him go at the eighth bell if that’s alright with you, sir? He never liked being up early anyway.”
Samir gave a sad little smile.
“Agreed.”
“Anything else, sir?”
“No thank you. That’ll be all.”
The man saluted and closed the door to the cabin, leaving the Empress’ captain sitting silent and thoughtful in his chair. After a long pause spent staring at the desk, he turned and peered out of the window, past the great beam of the rudder and out to sea in the wake of the ship.
“BelaPraxis? I’m not much one for praying, as I expect you’ve noticed. You’ve put me in an uncomfortable position. I said in your name that I’d give her three chances to redeem herself. Right now, I’m tempted beyond reason just to go and do away with her, but would that anger you? After all, Ghassan’s life is also in your hands? Would it really piss you off that much if I got rid of her?”
He sighed.
“A deal’s a deal, I suppose. When I’m sure I can spend long enough in a room with her without strangling her, then I’ll give her another chance. But look after Ghassan.”
He sat quietly once more, pondering until a commotion on deck above caught his attention. Listening carefully, he heard someone calling about a sail. A sail on the horizon? And the footsteps were all above him, so they must be at the rear rail.
Frowning, he turned once more and peered out into the distance, squinting into the dark waters. The sun may be up, but only just and it wasn’t making much of a difference in the west yet.
Was there a sail? He wished fervently that Ghassan was here with his sharp eyes.
“Dammit.”
Grumbling, he pushed back his chair and strode across the room, pulling open the door and marching down the corridor to the open air. Turning, he climbed the stairs to the command deck and approached the knot of sailors standing at the rail.
“Nice to know that something important enough to drag you all from your positions is not important enough to send someone down to find me?”
The comment was only half-joking and the faces of the men fell.
“Sir, we thought you had enough on your plate until we were sure what it was.”
Samir brushed the matter aside and frowned.
“So? Talk to me.”
“The lookout reckons he saw a sail behind us, but we’re not sure. Can’t see anything now.”
Samir shrugged.
“Well? We’re not on that tight a schedule. Slow us up a little and we’ll see what we can see.”
The men nodded and ran off, furling one of the sails.
Samir leaned on the rear rail and watched the horizon intently as he felt the momentum of the vessel lessen very slightly. More and more the pace slowed, and gradually the men drifted back to join him at the stern.
“See anything yet, sir?”
“Not yet. Perhaps our lookout’s been dreaming.”
“What’s that?” someone said.
Samir peered into the dim distance, where the purple sky met the black sea in the strange dawn moment. Squinting, he concentrated.
“That, my friend, is a sail.”
There was light laughter around him.
“Erm… captain?”
“Yes?”
“That’s not a sail. That’s three sails.”
Samir peered into the distance and smiled.
“More than that” someone else added. “I can see at least two more.”
“Bloody hell, it’s a fleet!”
Samir grinned.
“Captain, why’re you laughing? They’re white sails and that means they’re navy ships!”
“Yes” he nodded. “And now that I can see them a little better, I note there are a couple of black sails in there too. On the assumption they’re not travelling with other pirates, I think our navy fleet out there has a few Pelasians in it too.”
He noted the uncertain faces of those around him.
“Do you trust me?”
“Of course, captain, but…”
“No ‘but’s, Mannius. Trust me. Everything is going according to plan. The governor is coming to see us and he’s brought a few friends. I wonder what decision he’s come to?”
“We can’t face that many alone, captain?”
Samir nodded and smiled.
“You’re absolutely right, my friend. All haste to Lassos, then. Get that sail back up and full of wind and let’s get to port.”
The deck around him burst into life as sailors went about their business, leaving the captain alone at the rear rail where he peered off into the distance at the pursing fleet.
“What have you decided, governor? What are you going to do?”
In which the Empress goes home
“Back away from the door. If you’re within reach when I open it, I’ll break whatever I can touch!”