Authors: Graeme Ing
"What're you doing?" said a gruff voice
behind her. "That's salt, not sweet-crystals."
She froze, staring into the bucket.
"Is it?" she murmured, keeping her back to
him.
"Of course it is, you idiot. Show your face
so I can get a good look at you."
Still on her knees, she shuffled around,
hoping her cap hid her face as he towered above her. It was Yat,
the fattest of the sailors. The sword tucked through his belt
glinted evilly in the globelight.
"Do as you’re told, boy."
Sweat poured down her face. Maybe he wouldn't
recognize her. She tipped her head back and looked up at him. His
deep-set eyes widened and his mouth made an O-shape. He stepped
into the room.
"What're you doing here?" he whispered. "You
went with the cap'n. Is he back on board?"
He crouched before her.
"No." She cringed.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I'm
not one of Farq's men. Do you understand?"
Was he lying, trying to get information? No,
for that he would drag her before Farq.
"The captain?" he hissed. He extended a hand
as if to shake her and then withdrew it, holding his palm
outward.
"He's still on the island," she said. "I have
to destroy that pipe thing so we can rescue him. Can you help me?
Help the captain?"
"I'll do all I can." He glanced at the bucket
of salt. "What're you doing?"
"I don't think Farq's weapon will work with
salt instead of sweet-crystals. I'm hoping they won't notice."
He grinned a mouth full of black teeth.
"That's not a bad idea, but take more care. I'm not the only one
who'll see through your disguise. Look, we'll take up a bucket
each, then you slip sway and hide."
When she climbed onto the outer deck, Tarba,
one of the officers, glared at her. Lowering her gaze, the same
thought played over and over in her mind:
walk like a boy, walk
like a boy
. She set her bucket down and stepped backward into
Farq.
"Get out of my way," he roared, and
backhanded her so hard she flew across the deck to land in a heap
by the infirmary stairs. She rolled into the shadows. Yat was
right, she was out of her depth trying to sneak about. She pulled
herself up and tiptoed up the stairs toward the navigator’s
cabin.
"Load it again," Farq barked. "Aim it beyond
that headland. They fled in that direction."
"We're reaching the extent of its range,"
Tarba replied.
"Prepare to move the ship," Farq said. "I'll
burn down the whole island if I have to."
The men picked up her bucket of salt. She
crouched in the shadows. Salt was noticeably finer than
sweet-crystals. Would they notice? Her pulse quickened. They poured
a generous measure into the pipe and jumped clear. It shuddered
violently, accompanied by a gurgling noise, and then a sticky,
purple and white speckled soup dribbled out of the pipe onto the
deck, where it bubbled and sparked feebly.
Farq roared in anger. He grabbed the
bucket-man by the throat and lifted him off his feet. "What did you
do?"
The man gagged and fought for breath. "Same
as... I been doing... all night, sir."
Lissa fled into the navigator’s cabin and
flung herself on to the cot bed. It swung back and forth on the
long chains that suspended it from hooks in the ceiling. She
giggled and thumped the hard bedding. Her plan had worked!
Hopefully they wouldn't be able to fix it, or realize what she'd
done. She rubbed her hands together and sat up, and then her smile
faded. Where was the navigator?
"Search the ship for that Lyndon boy," Farq
screamed. "Bring him to me."
Boots thundered on the stairs. She leaped off
the bed and spun around, peering at every nook and cranny in the
room. There was no cover under the desk. The men were sure to
search the balcony. Her gaze settled on the bed. It hung low to the
floor, with enough space to crawl under, so she wriggled in and
squeezed against the wall. Her back was jammed against the wooden
bed frame.
The door sprang open and she prayed the
navigator had returned to protect her, but two sets of bare feet
entered the room. She held her breath, not daring to move in case
she rocked the bed. The dust on the floor tickled her nose.
"Look outside," a gruff voice said, and one
pair of feet crossed the room to the balcony. The other man knelt
to peer under the desk, moving the chair for a better look. She
stifled a gasp with her hand. It was Blab, the man who had murdered
Mampalo.
"Look," he said, and stood. "On the bed."
All four feet faced the cot, inches from her
face. She stared at the dust, dirt and dead skin plastered between
their hairy toes. Her stomach heaved.
"These are that serving girl's clothes," the
other man said. "The one we captured. You think the navigator-?
"None of our business," Blab snapped.
"Well she ain't 'ere. What should we do?"
"Show 'em to Farq."
There was a rustle of clothing, and the men
left the cabin. She tapped her knuckles against her forehead. Why
hadn't she hidden her clothes? The dust made her sneeze, so she
rolled to one side and rested her face on one arm. What was keeping
the navigator? Had Farq caught him and locked him up? She slowed
her rapid breathing. Why hadn't she thought further ahead than
disabling the weapon?
"Girl!" Farq's shout was loud and clear.
She jerked her head up, smashing it on the
frame of the bed.
"Get out here," he called, "before my men
find you and drag you by your feet."
She slithered from her hiding place and
hurried for the balcony.
"Right now," he yelled, loud enough to wake
the dead. "Or I start hurting the Valinese brat."
She froze, her breath caught in her throat,
her heart racing, and her mind spinning.
"No," she whimpered. Her whole body fell
limp, helpless.
"Lissa." It was the first time she had ever
heard the physiker shout. "He's got Branda."
Chapter 28 - The Battle for Branda
"He's not playing games," the physiker said.
"You'd better give yourself up."
Like an automaton, head down, shoulders
slumped, Lissa crossed the room and stepped out to the railing.
Branda stood in the center of the main deck below, between Farq and
the navigator, her hands tied by a rope held by Nib. A dozen armed
men crowded the deck, but the physiker hung back by the rail.
Farq's head jerked up to see Lissa. His lips
quivered and his forehead furrowed. He grunted, and every one of
the men followed his gaze. Tears dripped from her eyes and
splattered on her shoe.
"Clever disguise," he snarled. "I hope you
enjoyed making a fool of me because your little game is over. I
win. Get down here."
The crowd held its breath. The only sounds
were her feet, heavy on each step, and Branda's sniffling. Lissa
scanned the crew’s faces. No sympathy, just contempt and smugness.
Was this how condemned men felt walking to their execution?
"'Ere's the troublemaker," one man
murmured.
"She's a clever one, for a girl," another
said.
"She don't look so clever now."
Lissa stepped off the bottom step and glanced
at the navigator and the physiker, but could read nothing from
their blank faces and they didn't even acknowledge her. Had her
friends deserted her?
Farq's lips curled into a grin. His
unblinking stare bored into her.
"String the little one up," he said over his
shoulder. Nib slipped a coarse rope noose around Branda's neck.
Branda's bloodshot, dull and lifeless eyes
met Lissa's. "I... I sorry."
"Stop it," Lissa cried. "Punish me, not her.
She hasn't done anything."
Farq shook his head slowly, and his grin
widened. Nib tossed the rope across an overhead beam.
She crumpled to her knees at Farq's feet, and
then uttered such a haunting, keening howl that the men edged away,
muttering prayers of protection, and the livestock belowdecks
bellowed and squealed in reply.
"You win," she said, voice barely audible.
"Stop, I beg you. I'll tell you whatever you need to know."
"Yes, you will or she hangs. Her life is in
your hands." He tugged on the rope, pulling it tight around
Branda's doll-like neck. Branda snapped her mouth closed, and
seemed determined not to cry out.
He searched the ship with his gaze. "Where's
the captain hiding?"
"He's on the island. Only I came back to the
ship."
"I don't believe you." He towered above her.
"How did you get here? I don't see a boat."
"I swam."
He kicked her in the belly and she sprawled
backwards, clutching her body and groaning.
"Liar! Don't try my dwindling patience," he
barked, and pulled the rope tighter. Branda stood on tiptoes, her
head high in the air.
"I'm not lying," she said, rolling to a
sitting position with a grimace. "The Klynaks helped me."
She glanced at the navigator, who rolled his
eyes.
"I can't prove it, but I have no boat. It's
how I got here. You have to believe me."
"I don't," Farq replied. "I'll ask again,
where is the captain? If he's on the island, where?"
"A cave two bays from here. In the rocks
halfway down the beach."
She sighed heavily. So much for trying to
impress the captain and save everyone, all she'd done is get caught
and betrayed him.
"Who's with him?"
"Jancid and Coy."
"And the others?"
"Sawall and Grad died."
"How?"
"A plant killed them." She formed a mental
picture of Farq tangled up in the killer vines.
His eyes narrowed. "A plant, you say? Does
the captain have weapons?"
"Two knives we found in the ruin."
"What're his plans?"
"To avoid being killed by the blue fire," she
snapped, tired of the interrogation. She gasped and glanced at
Branda. "I mean-"
Farq chuckled. "Good. Then what?"
"We planned to build a boat."
He snorted. "That's a stupid idea." He turned
to the navigator. "He can navigate, but he isn't flux-sensitive,
right?"
Oban shook his head.
She prayed neither of them would think to ask
how they'd gotten to the island. She didn't want Farq to know about
that. Let him think they'd simply gotten lucky.
"What else, girl?" Farq asked.
"That's all I know."
He dropped the rope and she sucked in her
breath sharply. Branda met her gaze.
"It better be. If I come back empty handed,
if you've been lying to me, your friend hangs and I'll make you
watch. Then you'll hang beside her." He addressed his men. "Tie
them both up."
Nib slammed Branda backward and secured her
to an equipment locker, leaving the now-slack noose around her
neck. Branda didn't resist, but she didn't cower either. Two men
yanked Lissa to her feet and pushed her against the mast. They
looped a rope around her waist several times, pulling it tight
enough to bite into her skin. A handful of men clambered over the
side of the ship. Polearms and swords were passed down to them.
"Nib, you're in charge," Farq said. "Sam,
with me."
He gestured to the blue fire device on the
platform above the deck. "No one touches that."
Then he turned to Lissa and made a gesture of
an imaginary hangman's noose above his head, before descending over
the side.
The end of a rope tap-tapped against her
palm, tied behind her back. It persisted until she grasped it.
"Don't pull it 'till the moment's right," Yat
whispered in her ear.
The rest of the crew remained on deck,
speculating wildly about the outcome of the night. Coins came out
and bets were taken about whether the captain was alive or dead,
would be captured or not, and whether Farq would kill him. She
stopped listening when they began collections about whether she and
Branda would hang. Her heart pounded. What did Yat mean by the
right moment?
She studied the navigator standing by the
rail. Had he betrayed her? He certainly hadn't stuck up for her,
but she reasoned that he might not want to tip his hand yet. She
shook her head and tried to stop thinking.
"All right," Nib yelled. "Get below most of
ye. Don't crowd the main deck."
Tarba made a hand signal to Yat. They rushed
Nib and knocked him to the floor, his sword sliding away with a
clatter.
"Attack," Nib cried. "Aid me."
He reached for his sword.
Yat stamped down on his hand, and bones
crunched. Nib howled with pain, stopping abruptly when Yat pressed
the blade of his halberd against Nib's neck. Yat addressed the crew
that edged forward, their swords raised.
"Stand down or he dies, and you are
next."
They continued to advance until Tarba swung
at them with his long, curved blade. Steel clashed upon steel.
Cries rang out above and belowdecks, and more men poured up out of
the hatches to join the fight. They ducked and weaved across the
gently rolling deck, advancing, falling back, lunging, kicking and
punching.
"Get the girl," Nib shouted above the clamor.
"She's the hostage."
Bardas, the brutish sailor with the snake
tattoo, ducked out of the fight and circled around the melee toward
her. His bulging eyes locked with hers and sparkled, and he tossed
his fighting knife from one hand to the other.
"Lissa," Branda screamed from across the
deck, straining at her bonds.
Lissa twisted her arm behind her back trying
to tug the rope in her hand.
Bardas leaped forward.
The ropes burned her wrists as she writhed.
Why wouldn't it come free?
He grabbed her shoulder and brought his blade
to her neck.
She gave an almighty tug on the rope, and it
became slack. She leaped aside and kicked him in the leg as hard as
she could. He didn't fall over, yet it was enough for her to break
out of his grip. Her hands were still tied behind her back, but she
was free.