The Farthest Shore (Eden Series Book 3) (26 page)

He just wished he could be a little more resigned to the prospect of drowning in his barred-up room.

The footsteps in the dining room outside were quiet, but with no sound in the cabin except for the sough of the waves, he heard them easily, especially when broken glass clinked. His fingers clenched despite the painful cut on his hand.

The scratching at the door took him by surprise, and the muffled sound turned into a soft creak. Moving silently, he got off the bunk and skimmed his palms over the door. The point of a nail pricked his skin and then was gone as someone on the other side of the door pulled the nail free.

Alyster backed away, hope leaping despite his usual caution. That couldn’t be the Tureans, because they wouldn’t have been so furtive, but then… Miri, it had to be Miri. No matter what favors or inducements the Tureans had used on her, he knew her honesty and idealism—which sometimes annoyed him with its impracticality but which made her determined to do what was right.

The last nail rasped free of the wood and the door opened. “Captain?” a man said.

Alyster had very little time to be disappointed, because he recognized the voice at once. “Kovir. Come in, quick. Where were you?”

“I left when they took over the ship.”

Sensible. Unity alone knew what they would have done to someone from Seawatch. Alyster shut the door, though it wouldn’t fool anyone who saw the nails had been removed. The only good thing about being nailed alive into a coffin had been that none of the Tureans could have burst in to take him by surprise. Now he locked the door and put his back to it while he told Kovir what had happened.

He had never felt particularly at ease with Seawatch operatives—few people did, except for other Seawatch operatives—because they responded to everything the same way, with a glacial demeanor that suggested they were almost as far removed from mere mortals as the Unity was. But for once, he found it comforting to know that nothing he said would be received with either shock or rage. He was more than angry enough for both of them, anyway.

“What are you going to do?” Kovir said.

On the other hand, that wasn’t much better. Alyster had rather hoped for a little help.

“Can you bring word of this to
Wrack
?” he said.

“No, sir. After I left, I went in search of
Wrack
, but she was foundering. She must have been more damaged by the kraken than we realized, and she’s probably sunk by now.”

Oh, this is just wonderful
. Alyster knew Lera’s crew would have had enough time to escape in boats, but if they made their way to the coast and saw
Checkmate
…

No, with her mast snapped, they would be warned off. Still, he couldn’t expect any help from that quarter, and the thought of
Wrack
sinking made him feel as though he was far too close to the water as she did so, caught in the suction as water rushed in.
Wrack
had been the oldest of the ships in the race, her hull not even coppered like
Checkmate
’s, but she had been sound enough before the kraken’s attack.

“Then we’re on our own,” he said.

“Yes. And I have the impression we’re running out of time.”

Oh yes
. He knew exactly why they weren’t moving, why the usual rumble of combustion, boiling, piston propulsion and paddlewheel—the beating heart of the ship—had fallen silent, because the engineers had their orders just as he did, and Miri’s delaying the pirates had given them that much more time to carry those orders out. On the other hand, the pirates weren’t likely to tolerate a delay for long, especially when they had hostages to use as leverage.

He also knew he couldn’t expect anything of Kovir if it came to a battle on board, and chances were a guard was stationed near the officers’ quarters. But he had something else in mind.

“If I lower myself out of the window, could you take me to the prow?” he asked.

“Are you bleeding?”

“Not any more.”

“Then we can take you anywhere. Try not to show you’re afraid.”

After what the Tureans had done to the crew and the ship, being in the water with a shark didn’t seem all that frightening. Though that reminded him of what else might be in the water.

“There’s one last thing,” he said. “I think whichever pirate is controlling the kraken is doing so from inside a submersible that’s…fused with the creature somehow, melded to its back.” He didn’t know how to explain it further and half-expected a skeptical question about how anyone inside such a submersible could breathe.

Instead Kovir said, “I see. Then if the kraken is killed, whoever’s in the submersible should sink with it.”

“I suppose so, but…you’re not planning to go hunting for it, are you?” It hadn’t occurred to him that he would be abandoned to deal with a shipful of pirates by himself.

“Someone needs to and I don’t see you volunteering. Don’t worry, Captain. Something that large which is bleeding should attract a lot of Dagran sharks, so it might not notice one more arrival until it’s too late.”

That’s not what I was worried about
, Alyster thought, but he had nothing else to say. Once a man was drawn into the downward vortex of a whirlpool, the only way out was to go with it, as deep as possible and then deeper. He opened the bedroom door and froze where he stood.

He’d heard the noise outside after he’d been shut and nailed up—the crash of wood, the high-pitched splintering of glass—but for the first time in his life he’d been struggling with a fear of small enclosed spaces, forcing himself to take slow steady breaths so he didn’t suffocate in his own bedroom and spare the pirates the trouble. Whatever was happening outside the door hadn’t seemed as important.

Now he saw it all in the moonlight from the broken windows. Frostlike fragments of glass lay across the floor, covered with snow that was fluff and feathers from the ripped-open cushions. The painting hung in tatters. A lump of crushed wood and broken strings had been thrown in a corner. He knelt by it and touched what was left of the smooth satinwood, remembering the day his father had given him that kithar.

“Captain?” Kovir said quietly.

Alyster straightened up, telling himself that if the pirates hadn’t done everything they could to ruin his possessions, he would not be free now. The windows of his cabin were always latched from the inside. Kovir might have pulled himself up to them with a mooring rope, but if they hadn’t been broken, he could never have let himself in.

“Let’s go,” he said, but Kovir paused to replace the length of wood in the door, fitting the nails back as he did so. Then he drew his knife and cut the length of rope he’d used to climb up to the window before he dropped smoothly into the water.

Alyster glanced out. There was enough moonlight for him to see the shark moving in wide lazy circles through the waves. He sat on the ledge, swung his legs out and let go.

He went deep, over his head, and came up gasping. The shark had turned and was heading back towards him, but thankfully he didn’t need to try to climb onto her back. A wave pushed him to one side as if the sea itself was trying to get him out of the shark’s way, but Kovir tossed the length of rope to him and Alyster caught it.

Then he was being towed through the waves, foam spattering in his face until they reached the prow. There were no convenient mooring ropes anywhere in sight there, of course, but the figurehead was only seven feet above his head.

“I’ll need to stand on her back,” he whispered. “And give me your knife.”

Kovir handed it to him. “She won’t like holding still, because she can’t breathe unless she’s swimming. And when she stops swimming, she’ll start to sink. So I’m going to lock with her and you’d better do it quickly. Now.”

Alyster had thought the shark would be slimy, but she felt smooth instead, which didn’t give him much purchase either. Though her skin turned rougher than sandpaper when he pushed against it as though stroking a cat in the wrong way. That was enough for him to scramble on to her back and leap for the figurehead. Half of it had been blasted away by
Enlightenment
’s cannons, but there was enough for him to cling on to.

He felt for toeholds and climbed slowly; better to take his time than to slip, fall and not be able to reach the figurehead again because Kovir had gone. His arms ached, but the rail was within reach and he closed a hand around it. If he could just reach the deck without alerting any Turean sentries, he would be safe. He pulled himself up until he could look over the rail.

Two of them stood only a dozen feet away, clearly visible in the light of a lantern on one of the water casks. The Turean who had almost opened his throat earlier faced away from him, but Miri stood beside the man, her elbows braced on the rail. Her gaze went to him and she looked away at once.

Alyster climbed onto the deck. If the Turean turned, he was going to attack whether that raised all hell or not, whether that killed him or not, because no one would hold him hostage again. But Miri said something too quietly to make out the words, and as the Turean replied, Alyster crossed the deck, hoping the faint sounds of his soaked-through shoes didn’t carry. He slipped behind a funnel.

Footsteps moved closer, and he tensed, fingers tightening around the knife’s hilt.

“I need a drink,” Miri said, and a tin pail clattered against the rail before it struck the waves. Water sloshed inside it as she hauled it up again, breathing audibly with the effort before she exclaimed in distress. The pail struck the deck, water spilling everywhere.

“You’re tired,” the Turean said. “Go get some sleep.”

Authoritarian bastard
, Alyster thought, but he was pleased. He knew exactly why Miri had spilled water across the deck—to hide the wet footprints he had left. She could always be counted on to think fast in a crisis.

Now what?
From his position he saw a few other Tureans sleeping at the stern—of course, they wanted to be on deck where they could make a quick escape if anything happened—but even if he took them by surprise, which was by no means a given, they outnumbered him. Better to get some of the crew, and only the engineers were likely not to have been nailed up in their quarters.

He crept to the hatch and hurried down the steps. His uniform coat was heavy with water, and he paused to peel it off so it didn’t restrict his arms. By then his eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and the lanternlight in the open engine room was visible from the foot of the steps. He heard sounds from inside, but the clink of tools and occasional whine of oiled mechanisms moving against each other sounded random and aimless. People who had some highly specialized skill could always pretend to do something important while they actually delayed and wasted time.

Just outside the engine room, he hesitated, guessing at least one Turean would be on guard inside. Probably with a wall to their backs. If he could alert the engineers somehow—

The ship rolled slightly. Normally Alyster wouldn’t have noticed that, but the floor was wet from his clothes and he stumbled as he tried to recover his balance. His shoulder thudded against the wall.

“What was that?” someone said. A Turean stepped out, axe in hand.

Alyster threw the coat at his head. The thick soaked fabric flopped over his face, and the startled instant before he could pull it off was enough. He flailed out with the axe but Alyster knocked his hand to one side and plunged the knife into the left side of his chest. The axe fell. Alyster flung himself forward, pushing the man up against the doorframe and driving the knife in deeper, his free hand clamping over the man’s covered face to stifle any sounds. Cold water and hot blood pooled at his feet.

He had expected the engineers to take advantage of the distraction, and he wasn’t disappointed. Someone gasped, the sound cut off by a heavy crunch, and a figure crumpled to the floor. The Turean had gone limp. Alyster lowered the corpse, a mixture of disbelief and regret filling him as he realized the second Turean was a woman who hadn’t even drawn the sword she carried. One of the engineers had smashed her in the head from behind with a wrench, and a dark finger of blood trickled through her hair. Her eyes were fixed and open, a look of shock in them.

“Was that necessary?” he said, though he knew it was. What other choice did they have—leave her alive to try to escape or raise the alarm? The Tureans had left
him
alive, after all, and he was now doing his damnedest to retake the ship.

The chief engineer prodded the woman’s cheek with the toe of his boot, as if to make sure she was dead. “War is war, sir. Besides, she claimed she was an engineer too. No telling what she might have learned just from watching us.”

True enough, and whether it was true or not, there was no time for regrets or recriminations. “Find somewhere to hide these bodies,” he said. “Then get the engine started. I want this ship moving as soon as possible.”

The chief engineer smiled. “With pleasure, sir.”

Kovir could be certain of only two things. The first was that if the kraken wasn’t dying already, he wouldn’t attack it. No matter what he might have said to Captain Juell, he wouldn’t risk his shark in a suicide mission unless Seawatch ordered him to.

Instead, he could hunt for the kraken and watch from a safe distance as it weakened, which it was likely to do before long. Tiny voracious fish would be widening its wounds, making them bleed further. And any injured, exhausted creature in the ocean, whether it was a man or a monster, would attract sharks from miles around.

The problem was that
Checkmate
didn’t have time, and neither did the other Denalait. That was the second thing he was sure of, that the kraken was being controlled by someone who should have been just as much a part of Seawatch as he was.

Captain Juell was convinced the kraken was being steered by a Turean, but Kovir had never heard of a Turean with that ability. It was too far-fetched, that a talent which was already rare in Denalaits should appear in a Turean. And the Tureans knew it as well as he did, so why would they bother testing all their children as Seawatch was legally authorized to do on the mainland?