The Assassin and the Pirate Lord (7 page)

Celaena sighed, stepping farther into the chamber, and some of the wild-eyed mountain-men murmured to each other. While they might have only recently declared themselves Adarlan's enemies, the people of the White Fang Mountains had long been known for their unyielding love of violence. If she were to meet with any trouble in here, it would be from them. “Where is Dia?” she asked more loudly.

A trembling voice came from the back of the cargo area. “Here.” Her eyes strained in the darkness to see his narrow, fine features. “I'm here.”

She strode carefully through the crowded darkness. They were so close together that there was no room to move, and hardly any air to breathe. No wonder seven had died on the voyage here.

She took out Captain Fairview's key and freed the shackles at Dia's feet, then his manacles, before offering him a hand up. “You're going to translate for me.” The mountain-folk and whoever else didn't speak either the common tongue or Eyllwe could figure out enough on their own.

Dia rubbed his wrists, which were bleeding and scabbed in places. “Who are you?”

Celaena unlocked the chains of the too-thin woman beside Dia, then held out the keys in her direction. “A friend,” she said. “Tell her to unlock everyone, but tell them
not
to leave this room.”

Dia nodded, and spoke in Eyllwe. The woman, mouth slightly open, looked at Celaena, then took the keys. Without a word, she set about freeing her companions. Dia then addressed the entire cargo bay, his voice soft but fierce.

“The guards are unconscious,” she said. Dia translated. “The captain has been locked in the brig, and tomorrow, should you choose to act, he will guide you through the Dead Islands and to safety. He knows that the penalty for bad information is death.”

Dia translated, his eyes growing wider and wider. Somewhere near the back, one of the mountain-men began translating. And then two others translated, too—one in the language of Melisande, and another in a language she didn't recognize. Had it been clever or cowardly of them not to speak up last night when she asked who spoke the common tongue?

“When I am done explaining our plan of action,” she said, her hands shaking a bit as she suddenly recalled what, exactly, lay before them, “you may leave this room, but do not set foot on the decks. There are guards in the watchtower, and guards monitoring this ship from land. If they see you on the deck, they will warn everyone.”

She let Dia and the others finish before going on.

“My colleague is already aboard the
Loveless
, another slave ship set to sail tomorrow.” She swallowed hard. “When I am done here, he and I will return to the town and create a distraction large enough that when the dawn breaks, you will have enough time to sail out of the harbor. You need the full day to sail out of the Dead Islands before dark—or else you'll be caught in their labyrinth.”

Dia translated, but a voice spoke from nearby. A woman. Dia frowned as he turned to Celaena. “She has two questions. What of the chain at the entrance to the bay? And how will we sail the ship?”

Celaena nodded. “Leave the chain to us. We'll have it down before you reach it.”

When Dia and the others translated, murmurs broke out. Shackles were still thudding to the ground as slave after slave was unlocked.

“As for sailing the ship,” she went on above the noise, “are any of you sailors? Fishermen?”

Some hands went up. “Captain Fairview will give you specific instructions. You'll have to row out of the bay, though. Everyone who has the strength will be needed on the oars, or you won't have a shot of outrunning Rolfe's ships.”

“What of his fleet?” another man asked.

“Leave it to me.” Sam was probably already rowing over to the
Golden Wolf
. They had to get back to shore
now
. “No matter if the chain is still up, no matter what might be happening in town, the moment the sun slips over the horizon, you start rowing like hell.”

A few voices objected to Dia's translation, and he gave a sharp, short reply before turning to her. “We will sort out specifics on our own.”

She lifted her chin. “Discuss it among yourselves. Your fate is yours to decide. But no matter what plan you choose, I
will
have the chain down, and will try to buy you as much time as I can at dawn.”

She bowed her head in farewell as she left the cargo hold, beckoning Dia along with her. Discussion started behind them—muffled, at least.

In the hallway, she could see how thin he was, how filthy. She pointed down the hall. “That is where the brig is; there you'll find Captain Fairview. Get him out before dawn, and don't be afraid to bloody him up a bit if he refuses to talk. There are three unconscious guards tied up on the deck, a guard outside Fairview's quarters, and the two here. Do whatever you want with them; the choice is yours.”

“I'll have someone take them to the brig,” Dia said quickly. He rubbed at the stubble on his face. “How much time will we have to get away? How long before the pirates notice?”

“I don't know. I'll try to disable their ships, which might slow them down.” They reached the narrow stairs that led to the upper decks. “There's one thing I need you to do,” she continued, and he looked up at her, his eyes bright. “My colleague doesn't speak Eyllwe. I need you to take a rowboat to the other ship and tell them all that I've told you, and unlock their chains. We have to return to shore now, so you'll have to go alone.”

Dia sucked in a breath, but nodded. “I will.”

After Dia told the people in the cargo bay to take the unconscious guards to the brig, he crept with Celaena onto the empty deck. He cringed at the sight of the unconscious guards, but didn't object when she swept Jon's cloak over his shoulders and concealed his face in the folds of the cloak. Or when she gave him Jon's sword and dagger.

Sam was already waiting at the side of the ship, hidden from the far-seeing eyes of the watchtower. He helped Dia into the first rowboat before climbing into the second and waiting for Celaena to get aboard.

Blood gleamed on Sam's dark tunic. They'd both packed a change of clothes. Silently, Sam picked up the oars, but Celaena cleared her throat. Dia turned back to her.

She inclined her head east, toward the mouth of the bay. “Remember: you
must
start rowing at sunrise, even if the chain is up. Every moment you delay means losing the tide.”

Dia grasped the oars. “We will be ready.”

“Then good luck,” she said. Without another word, Dia began rowing to the other ship, his strokes a bit too loud for her liking, but not loud enough to be detected.

Sam, too, started rowing, slipping around the curve of the prow and heading toward the docks at a casual, unsuspicious pace.

“Nervous?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the steady slice of his oars through the calm bay.

“No,” she lied.

“Me, too.”

Ahead of them were the golden lights of Skull's Bay. Hoots and cheers echoed across the water. Word had certainly spread about the free ale.

She smiled slightly. “Get ready to unleash hell.”

Though the chant of the crowd roared around them, Rolfe and Sam had their eyes closed in concentration as their throats moved up and down, down and up, chugging their mugs of cold ale. And Celaena, watching it from behind her mask, could not stop laughing.

It wasn't that hard to pretend Sam was drunk and they were having the grandest time in the world. Mostly because of her mask, but also because Sam played the part very, very well.

Rolfe slammed his mug on the table, letting out a satisfied “Ah!” and wiping his wet mouth on his sleeve as the gathered crowd cheered. Celaena cackled, her masked face oozing sweat. Like everyplace else on this island, the tavern was suffocatingly hot, and the odor of ale and unwashed bodies poured from every crevice and stone.

It was packed to capacity. A three-man ensemble made up of an accordion, a fiddle, and a tambourine played raucously in the corner by the hearth. Pirates swapped stories and called for their favorite songs. Peasants and lowlifes drank themselves into oblivion and gambled on rigged games of chance. Harlots patrolled the room, milling around tables and sitting on laps.

Across from her, Rolfe grinned, and Sam drained the last from his mug. Or so Rolfe thought. Given how often drinks were spilled and splashed, no one really noticed the constant puddle around Sam's mug, and the hole he'd drilled into the bottom of it was too small to detect.

The crowd dispersed, and Celaena laughed as she raised her hand. “Another round, gentlemen?” she cried, signaling for the barmaid.

“Well,” Rolfe said, “I think it's safe to say that I like you much better like this than when we're discussing business.”

Sam leaned in, a conspirator's grin on his face. “Oh, I do, too. She's horrible most of the time.”

Celaena kicked him—hard enough, because she knew it wasn't entirely a lie—and Sam yelped. Rolfe chuckled.

She flipped the barmaid a copper as the woman refilled Rolfe's and Sam's mugs.

“So, will I ever get to see the face behind the legendary Celaena Sardothien?” Rolfe leaned forward to rest his arms on the sodden table. The clock behind the bar read three thirty in the morning. They had to act soon. Given how crowded the tavern was, and how many of the pirates were already halfway unconscious, it was a miracle there was any ale left in Skull's Bay. If Arobynn and Rolfe didn't kill her for freeing the slaves, then Rolfe might very well murder her for starting a tab with not nearly enough money to pay for it all.

She leaned closer to Rolfe. “If you make my master and me as much money as you claim, I'll show you my face.”

Rolfe glanced at the tattooed map on his hands.

“Did you really sell your soul for that?” she asked.

“When you show me your face, I'll tell you the truth.”

She extended her hand. “Deal.” He shook it. Sam raised his mug—already drained half an inch from the small hole in the bottom—and saluted their promise before both men drank. She fished out a pack of cards from a cloak pocket. “Care for a game of kings?”

“If you aren't broke by the time this night is over,” Rolfe said, “then playing against me will guarantee it.”

She clicked her tongue. “Oh, I highly doubt that.” She broke and shuffled the deck three times, and dealt the cards.

The hours passed by in a series of clanking glasses and perfect card suites, group singing sessions and tales of lands far and near, and as the clock was silenced by the never-ending music,
Celaena found herself leaning into Sam's shoulder, laughing as Rolfe finished his crude and absurd story of the farmer's wife and her stallions.

She banged her fist on the table, howling—and that wasn't entirely an act, either. As Sam slipped a hand around her waist, his touch somehow sending a bright-hot flame through her, she had to wonder if he was still pretending, too.

In terms of cards, it turned out to be Sam who took them for everything they were worth, and by the time the clock hands pointed to five, Rolfe had shifted into a foul mood.

Unfortunately for him, that mood wasn't about to improve. Sam gave Celaena a nod, and she tripped a passing pirate, who spilled his drink on an already belligerent man, who in turn tried to punch him in the face but hit the man next to him instead. By luck, at that moment, a trick card fell out of a man's sleeve, a prostitute slapped a pirate wench, and the tavern exploded into a brawl.

People wrestled each other to the ground, some pirates drawing swords and daggers to try to duel their way across the floor. Others jumped from the mezzanine to join the fight, swinging themselves across the railing, either attempting to land on tables or aiming for the iron chandelier and missing badly.

The music still played, and the musicians rose and backed farther into the corner. Rolfe, half-standing, put a hand on his hilt. Celaena gave him a nod before drawing her sword and charging into the brawling crowd.

With deft flicks of her wrist, she cut someone's arm and ripped another's leg open, but didn't actually kill anyone. She just needed to keep the fight going—and escalate it enough—to keep all eyes on the town.

As she made to slip toward the exit, someone grabbed her around the waist and threw her into a wooden pillar so hard she knew she'd have a bruise. She squirmed in the red-faced pirate's grasp, nearly gagging as his sour breath seeped through her mask. She got her arm free enough to thrust the pommel of her sword between his legs. He dropped to the ground like a stone.

Celaena barely got a step away before a hairy fist slammed into her jaw. Pain blinded her like lightning, and she tasted blood in her mouth. She quickly felt her mask to ensure it wasn't cracked or about to fall off.

Dodging the next blow, she swept her foot behind the man's knee and sent him careening into a yowling cluster of harlots. She didn't know where Sam had gone, but if he was sticking to the plan, then she didn't need to worry about him. Weaving through the snarls of fighting pirates, Celaena headed toward the exit, clashing her blade against several unskilled swords.

A pirate with a frayed eye patch raised a clumsy hand to strike her, but Celaena caught it and kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying into another man. They both hit a table, flipped over it, and began fighting between themselves.
Animals.
Celaena stalked through the crowd and out the front door of the tavern.

To her delight, the streets weren't much better. The fight had spread with astonishing speed. Up and down the avenue, pouring out of the other taverns, pirates wrestled and dueled and rolled on the ground. Apparently, she hadn't been the only one eager for a fight.

Reveling in the mayhem, she was halfway down the street, headed toward the meet-up point with Sam, when Rolfe's voice boomed out from behind her.