“Ahoy?” Tim muttered with a grin, wondering at such simple sailor’s jargon from Count Emil Norris’ mouth. “Does he see you, Father?”
“Yes, I think he does!”
“Good. Now please sit down before you tip us over.”
“Oh! Sorry. Yes. I got a bit carried away, but they’re coming toward us, and I can see Tipos clearly now.” He shaded his eyes and squinted, then said, “And there’s someone else aboard besides his two crew. Holy Gods of Light, it’s Huffington! Huffington! Here!”
The smack came up into the wind and hove to right before them, and Tim rowed the jollyboat alongside to leeward. There was so much shouting and laughing and hands grasping that he almost could not tell who was who as they were hauled bodily over the side. Tim’s father clasped hands with his man Huffington, and the two went below, leaving Tim in the cockpit with the three natives.
“Young Tim!” Tipos clapped him on the shoulder and grinned, then hauled on
Flothrindel’s
tiller to point them south while one of his crew tended the sheets and the other paid out a long painter to trail the jollyboat behind. “What’re ya doin’ here, lad?”
“Pirates attacked Plume Isle, Tipos,” he said, his elation suddenly deflated. “They had a ship full of cannibals with them.”
“Cannibals! Bloody hells!” Tawah exclaimed.
“What happened, Tim? Tell us everyt’in’,” Tipos insisted, his brow furrowed. “We’re headin’ back dat way on His Emperor’s very own orders, so let us know what we’re up against.”
Tim filled them in, near tears at times, but he managed to not skip anything. He finished his tale with his account of watching the pirate ships sail away, the galleon and
Manta
to the south, and the corsair
Cutthroat
to the north.
“A big galleon, you say? T’ree-master wit’ gold trim and a black hull?” Tipos looked to his two companions. “Dat sound familiar, lads?”
“Familiar? What do you mean, Tipos?”
“I mean we seen a big galleon just like dat one anchored in a cove in Middle Cay on our way up north, and we wondered if dey might be pirates. I guess we was right.”
“Middle Cay! That must be where they are!” Tim turned and shouted down the companionway. “Father! I know where they took Camilla! I know where the pirates are!”
≈
Camilla woke in pain, and with it came the memory of Parek.
Where…
Her thoughts were muddled, thick, and her eyes and mouth were glued shut for lack of moisture.
Did he catch me?
she wondered, trying to remember.
Am I being tortured?
She tried to think, tried to stir her torpid mind.
The pain in her shoulders, back and buttocks was from underneath her, as if she lay on a field of stones, or upon a stair. A fleeting memory of her foot slipping on a step…Had she fallen? She shifted, and the pain eased, only to be renewed in new spots. She raised a hand—incredibly heavy—and rubbed her eyes until she could open them. A crimson blur…stone…a cave…
Hydra’s lair
.
The realization brought a surge of fear, and with it her memories. She was safe.
She breathed slowly, the air thick and warm as the breath of a deep-dwelling monster. From the feel of the stone under her, the rough hewn steps, she knew exactly where she was. The worn column of stone above her head was Hydra’s pool, where the demon-witch had performed her profane magics with blood and water.
Water
…
She had checked the other pools, the ones back in the corner, but they were all seawater. She had not tasted the pool atop the pedestal above her head, not with the memories of blood swirling in crimson eddies and dripping from the crone’s hooked nails so vivid in her mind.
She watched the ruddy light pulse on the cavern wall, and she wondered. She wondered how long she had slept, and how long it would be before she slept never to wake. She listened to the water lapping over the rims of the other pools; the grottos were open to the sea, and the water rose and fell with the tide. She would have laughed if she had the strength, thinking that if she only had gills, she could escape.
Her hunger had faded, as she knew it would, but her thirst…her every waking thought was about water. The smell of water, the sound of a stream, laughing with Emil in a bath, drinking a cool glass of watered wine…water…
Camilla snapped her eyes open and blinked, afraid to sleep now for fear that Emil would find her desiccated corpse propped against this pedestal days or weeks from now. She tried to moisten her parched lips, but her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, dry as old slate.
Getting close to the end, now
. She wondered if she had the strength to make her way back up to the door and rattle the bar until Parek, or someone—anyone—opened it. She shifted again, painfully stiff, all vigor leached out of her for lack of water.
No hope, now…maybe just a few drops, just enough to moisten my mouth.
She reached up; her hand a lead weight and her coordination poor, she fumbled at the edge of the pool. She heard a splash, felt the moisture, and brought her fingers to her lips. The cool dampness in her mouth was startling: sweet and fresh, with a mineral tang. It was not enough to wet her mouth fully, just enough to taste.
Maybe a bit more…
She reached up again, twisting her hand to cup a tiny bit of the water, if water it was, and bring it down to her lips. The moisture, barely a teaspoon, dribbled between her lips, and her mouth came alive. Her lips moistened and became full.
Yes…
Just a tiny bit had been so good, so reviving. Now she could rest some more.
But she was already reaching up for the pool’s rim again. This time she did not cup her hand, but turned and gripped the edge to pull herself up. Water lapped at her fingertips as she peered over the rim, the pool’s glow bright in her eyes. She could not tell where the glow came from, but surely it was from the stone, not from the water. For that matter, she could not tell where the water had come from. There was no opening in the bottom of the pool, and there was no drip from above that would fill it. Perhaps when it rained water fell from the cavern ceiling…
Shifting onto her knees, she submerged one hand in the water. She could see her fingers beneath the surface, her palm in shadow.
The glow must be coming from underneath, from the stone, to cast that shadow
, she reasoned. Magic, surely, but what kind, what source, and who or what put it there?
Camilla had seen Hydra use the pool for scrying, for seeing distant places or people, and for casting her magic from afar. Blood had been a crucial part of Hydra’s magic, but there would be no blood in the pool now, not after so long. The water did not taste stagnant or putrid, so a fresh flow must have somehow washed the corruption away.
“It’s just water,” she heard herself say, surprised that she could articulate words with her parched throat. If the water was tainted, what difference would it make? Dying from thirst could not be much better than dying from poisoned water, could it?
“Just a mouthful.” She lowered her hand into the water, let it fill her palm. She lifted her hand to her lips and drew the moisture in. Just a mouthful. Tangy, wet, and so sweet, the life-giving water flooded her mouth, and she savored it for a moment before swallowing. A drop lingered on her lip, and she flicked it in with her tongue.
So sweet
…she thought, lowering her hand again into the pool’s depths, letting her fingers play in the moisture.
Just water
… Camilla almost laughed at her self-imposed torture; sitting here for days, parched and dying of thirst, when cool, clean water stood waiting for her only inches away. She was a victim of her own fears, but it was time to stop being afraid. It was time to drink, to take life and drink of it.
She lowered her lips to the pool and drew the liquid into her mouth, slowly, tentatively, at first. Sweet water filled her, and she drank, closing her eyes in bliss. She opened her lips and drew in another glorious mouthful, and another. It was wonderful, the taste like fine wine, like an intoxicating liquor, like…
Blood.
Chapter 18
Unwelcome Guests
“Of all the terrible luck!” Emil Norris waded ashore, hauling on the jollyboat’s painter line until the little boat was high and dry. He looked back at the boat, where Tim was inspecting the damage an unseen coral head had done to the hull. Water was leaking out of a two-foot gash; they had made it through a gap in the reef easily enough, but a wave had pushed them into a lone coral head. Beyond the reef,
Flothrindel
was continuing her way south. “How bad is it?”
“Bad enough, Father,” Tim answered, reaching inside to retrieve the stolen sword. He wiped it on a dry portion of his shirt and handed it over. “I’m afraid we’ll need another boat, but this one wasn’t going to get us back to Plume Isle anyway. We should haul it up into the trees.”
“Right.” Emil grabbed one gunwale and Tim grabbed the other. The little boat was light enough that two could drag it easily, and they soon had it hidden in the deep foliage of the jungle. Tim recovered one of the oars, propped it carefully on a fallen log, then jumped on it, snapping off the blade. He picked up the shaft, drew his dagger and started sharpening the broken end.
While Emil used a palm frond to smooth over the sand where they’d dragged the boat—Tim’s precautionary directive—he considered his encounter with Huffington. He’d wanted the man to accompany them, but Huffington had explained that he was under an order from the emperor to deliver messages to Admiral Joslan and Master Upton. He had assured the count that, once he’d completed the task the emperor had assigned him, he would welcome reassuming his position as the count’s secretary.
All well and good
, the count thought, wondering why the emperor had chosen Huffington to deliver his messages,
but we could use someone with his skills along
.
“How long do you think it will take us to find the pirates?” Emil asked as Tim stood and hefted his newly fashioned spear. “Without food or water, we won’t last long.”
“There’s water here, Father,” Tim explained as he started into the jungle. “And there’s food, if you don’t mind coconuts and bananas. The good news is that we know where they are. Tipos said there’s only one spot through the reef deep enough for a ship, and that’s where they saw the galleon anchored. The bad news is that it’s at the other end of the island. I’d thought we would come in on this end to keep from being spotted and row through the lagoons, but then I holed the boat.” Tim shook his head, looking shamefaced.
Emil stretched out his hand to ruffle the boy’s hair, but thought better of it and clapped him on the shoulder instead. “It wasn’t your fault, Son. But it can’t be more than a few miles; we can be there before sunset.”
Tim quirked a rueful smile at him. “A few miles in this terrain can be impossible, Father. We can’t go along the shore without getting cut to pieces by the rocks, and there’s mangrove swamps, and quicksand. And we’ll have to be careful, which means slow. It’ll probably take a couple of days.”
“Days?” Emil started to remind Tim that every moment they were delayed was another moment that Camilla would suffer in the hands of the pirates, but then realized that, whereas he’d only known and loved Camilla for a few short weeks, Tim had known and loved her for two years. His son needed no reminder of the stakes here, but the thought of what the pirates might be doing to Camilla enraged Norris.
“Days…” He gripped the hilt of his stolen sword, and clenched so hard his knuckles whitened.
Tim stopped short, glanced at his father’s face, then down at the sword. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Father. Can you use that?”
“I am no fencing master, but I can use a blade. I have fought before, though more duels than battles.”
“And killing? Do you have a problem with that?”
Emil gaped at the question. He had to remind himself once again that Tim was older than his years, though the thought of what the boy had been through sent shivers down his spine. From Tim’s frank tone, he guessed that the boy would have no compunctions at all about killing. “I assure you, Tim, that I will have no qualms about killing the beasts that perpetrated such atrocities. Trust me.”
“Very well, Father.” Tim tested the tip of his makeshift spear and grinned in a manner that disturbed his father even more. “Let’s go, then.”
≈
“If we reduce the size of each party, we can explore a wider area.” Cynthia referred to the notes taken that day by one of the exploration parties, and drew careful lines on the map. She had to nudge Mouse aside from where he slept on the voluminous diagram. It now covered more than half of one of the long communal dining tables aboard
Peggy’s Dream
, and grew daily. The half-dozen levels they’d mapped looked like a convoluted maze to her, but Ghelfan insisted that the layout had a pattern. She pointed with her stylus. “We haven’t seen any hukkol above this level, so we can cut those parties in half, and double our effort there.”
“I’m okay with that,” Feldrin said sipping from a cup of watered ale and rubbing his eyes. It was late, and they were all tired. “If anyone runs into another nest of beasties, we’ll just have ‘em back out, then send Edan in to roast ‘em.”
“Good.” Cynthia sipped her blackbrew and continued transcribing notes into lines on the map. “I’ll let you change the patrol lists.”
“I think we should focus our efforts more centrally, and perhaps lower in the city,” Ghelfan suggested, indicating a blank area of the parchment. “This voided space may be a large chamber; it occurs on both of these levels, and is in the exact center of the structure. I have encountered several inscriptions that mention the Chamber of Life. They do not indicate an exact location, only that it is in the heart of the city.”
“You think that’s the Chamber of Life there, in the center?” Feldrin asked, leaning back to rub his thigh above the peg leg.
“It very well could be,” Ghelfan said, “but we do not know how deep it goes, or where the entrances are.”
“If that’s it, it’s big,” Cynthia said, trying to estimate how much water she would have to displace if it was completely flooded. She didn’t like the answer she came up with.
“The Chamber of Life is aptly named, Cynthia.” Ghelfan sipped his wine and sighed. “It is the very life-center of the city. My elvin ancestors tend, in my opinion, toward the grandiose in their architecture. Such a chamber could indeed be vast.”
“And it’ll be flooded,” Feldrin said, fixing Cynthia with a concerned look. “That’s a lot of water.”
“I’ll
deal
with the water, Feldrin,” Cynthia snapped, and immediately regretted her tone. She grabbed her mug, downed the rest of her blackbrew, and reached for the pot. Her head was abuzz from drinking so much, but it was the only way to keep her mind sharp. His huge hand settled on her wrist, and she met his dark eyes, ready for an argument.