On Discord Isle (20 page)

Those who weren’t staring at the counting house on the far side of the deck ran over. Andrea, Rastalak, Sarah Lome, Tricia, Fat Thomlin, and Reaver Jane all appeared. Reaver Jane drew a pistol after a glance at the Bluecoat.

“Put that away!” ordered Sarah Lome. “He’s not given the alarm yet. A shot from you and we’re sure to be noticed.”

Reaver Jane glared furiously at her. “You daft bint, he’s about to sound that damned bell. Do you have some better idea?”

Sarah pursed her lips. “That doesn’t matter. It’s not like you could even hit him at this distance.”

Jane bared her teeth. “I’m a better shot than you are, you homely ogre.”

The gunnery mistress stepped up to Jane, forcing the other committee-member back. “Say that again,” said Sarah Lome.

“Officers,” said Ryan, voice taut and face wary at the conflict brewing before them. “He’s getting away.”

Lina glanced back. The Bluecoat was dashing up the parapet walkway for the bell tower at the center of the Armory roof. He wasn’t yelling, but soon the whole city would know they were there.

“Well, do something, then!” snarled Reaver Jane.

Lina grabbed for the wrench in Allen’s hands. She missed, snagging the still uncracked rockfruit instead. It felt like a chunk of red stone.
Why not?
she wondered. Lina reared back, took aim, and let fly at the Bluecoat.

The rockfruit sailed through the air in a long parabolic arc.
Please make it,
she prayed. The fruit flew farther than she would have thought, given its heft. Just before the marine could reach the bell tower, it connected with his head in a thump that echoed up to the airship. The marine crumpled to the rooftop battlement.

Her crewmates all fell silent. Runt chirped in surprise. “I would have bet anything that you would have missed that throw,” said Tricia in an awed voice.

Everyone watched to see if the Bluecoat would get back up. Lina winced, hoping that she hadn’t killed the man.

“All right,” said Reaver Jane and Sarah Lome, both at the same time. “Everyone back to your posts,” they said again in tandem. Each glared at the other, then they turned away. The crowd dispersed, sensing the off mood of the committee-members. Lina and Allen watched them go.

“Huh,” said the Mechanist after a moment. He shook his head and then looked back to Lina slyly. “You know, I’ve got some more of those down below,” he said. “And a half a bottle of wine I saved from dinner last night.”

Lina rolled her eyes. Runt chirped and wriggled on her shoulder.

The rest of the flight through the city was tense, but quiet. Lina didn’t hear any more Bluecoat raids, and by the grace of the Goddess no other watchmen seemed to notice them. She relaxed a little once they’d reached the edge of the colony. Sarah Lome and Reaver Jane were still ignoring each other. And they
were
in the Yulan now.

Things were more rural at this end of the city. The carefully constructed Perinese architecture gave way to more practical considerations. Also, the buildings were built farther apart, with much more greenery between them. It was hard to tell in the pre-dawn gloom, but Lina thought she saw fields of sugarcane and ordered orchards of tropical fruit. To either side, north and south, climbed the Stormwall.

The perpetual storm roiled. Lightning flashed in its depths and high up near its summit. For all its rage, though, the Stormwall was tamed here in the Breach. A gentle breeze played about the deck of the airship, and did little else.

She peered south, marveling at its size. It seemed deeper now, thicker, than the last time they’d passed through. Too deep, in fact. It was taking much longer to pass through than it should. Lina frowned and looked over the gunwales to the plantations below.
Hang on, we’re stopping. What’s going on?

Allen coughed. Lina looked up just in time to see a sack flying through the air at her head. She caught it at the last second, falling back a bit at its weight. Runt chirruped in irritation. When she wrestled the thing away from her face, she saw Lucian smiling down at her.

“What was that for?” she asked.

“Clothes,” Lucian replied. “Part two of my new Plan. Found them down below a bit ago, in the silks we’d taken from that last merchant.”

“All right?” Lina didn’t like where this was heading.

The committee-member gestured at the stern, and the colony at their back. “I’ve decided that some of us need to go into the city, make sure things are quiet, and check out the counting house before we strike it tomorrow night.”

His plan came to her in an instant. Lina looked at him sideways. “You want me to dress like the locals, sneak into the city, and spend all day watching over the counting house? By myself?”

Lucian shook his head. “Of course not. You’ll have Runt.” He looked at the expression on her face. “Oh, don’t be like that. I’ll send a few more folks in to help you this afternoon. Meet them at that big statue we saw in the park. They’ll have further orders, once I’ve thought up what we need to do next.”

“What park?” asked Lina, eyebrow raised.

“The big one we flew over,” he replied. “Right in front of the counting house. Can’t miss it.” Lucian moved past her to the gunwales. He picked up a rope ladder and tossed it over the side. “There you go,” he said. “Time to be off. Now remember, you need to blend in. There’s a disguise in the satchel. Rather clever of me, if I do say so myself.” He abruptly walked away, preventing any rebuttal.

Lina watched him go. She tried to think of something to say, to voice one of the many complaints she had. But her chance had passed; Lucian was already gone. She glanced at the crew. None of them were even looking at her, aside from Allen. The other committee-members were ignoring each other, and pretty much everything else now. Lina glanced down at the satchel in her hands, and felt her tension return.

“I could help, if you like,” said Allen, too helpfully, too quickly. “You know, with changing.” He winked.

Lina stared at him. Then she sighed and moved to the rope ladder dangling off the ship.

Chapter Twelve

Natasha pushed the frond of a thick green fern away from her face. She clambered over the plant, hurrying to keep up. Kalyon Mahmoud had few qualms about yanking the rope around her neck if he thought she wasn’t moving fast enough.

Her noose tightened as he did just that. She coughed and moved faster, tugging at the rope to keep from choking.
Soon enough,
she vowed at his back.
Soon enough. Just get us all back to your ship. Then I’ll show you whom you’ve crossed. Oh yes.

The Salomcani travelled through the morning jungle in a long column, aiming for the opposite side of the isle from the
Goliath,
likely where their own ship waited. These raiders were a ragged bunch. So far, she had counted twenty in all. They weren’t proper navy, though; the Sheikdom’s fleet was an undisciplined mob only one step up from the pirates and cutthroats of her own home port. Whether real sailors or merely licensed privateers, they were desperate, hurt, and afraid. Natasha read it in the way they clutched their stolen building supplies, in the glances they made over their shoulders back at the Perinese side of the isle.

To her great irritation, she’d been too exhausted from her swim to fight them off yesterday. Her father would have berated her for that. She should have been ready for them, should have met them on her feet. The raiders had quickly subdued her, though, bringing her along as they fled from the site of their raid. Eventually they stopped to rest for the night and their Kalyon, called Mahmoud, made all the usual intimidating noises at her. Natasha was their captive now, their prize. She would warm their beds for them and be glad for it. Etcetera.

Killing him would have been easy, but she restrained herself. Natasha decided to play along while the Salomcani slunk back through the jungle. There was weakness in the Kalyon. Fear. He blustered too hard and crowed too loudly to the dispirited crew about their recent victory over the Perinese. His grip on his men was tenuous, and he knew it. As soon as he showed Natasha his ship, she would kill him and bully those she could into place beneath her. It wouldn’t be hard. Mahmoud had left her hands free. He didn’t even watch her. As for the sailors, they’d be happy just to be led by someone with a spine. She was sure of it.

That
would show her idiot husband. She’d strand him here, then sail back home to teach the mutineers on the
Dawnhawk
what it meant to cross her.

The jungle they moved through was much like the rest of the island. Thick mangrove trees rose up overhead, their draping branches impeding her path while wide leaves filled the spaces in between. Already the air was muggy and thick, unpleasant after the clean ocean breeze of the beach. Sweat beaded her forehead, collected on her face, and ran down her neck in rivulets. Her blouse was soaked.

A faint tremor shook the earth. It sent the trees to shivering and the vines draping their branches to swaying between the shafts of morning sunlight. Natasha caught her balance on a young mangrove trunk to her left. The earthquakes had started late last night, but the tremors were still small and far apart, at least so far. They made the Salomcani uneasy, though so long as everything wasn’t falling on her head she didn’t care. She had more important things to worry about.

Like revenge.

Mahmoud cursed. Natasha looked at him just as the rope leash around her neck went taut, jerking her forward. She stumbled over a log hidden beneath the foliage and windmilled just to keep from falling, as he had. A small mangrove bole rose to her left. Natasha grabbed at it, just managing to avoid joining her captor face-down on the loamy earth.

“Eyes of the Goddess!” cursed Mahmoud aloud in his native tongue. Natasha spoke fluent Salomcani, yet hid that fact for now. She watched him clamber back up to his feet and face her. “Move faster, wench,” he said in broken Perinese.

Wench?
Natasha glared at him. “Watch your damned footing.” She was rapidly losing patience. It wasn’t that big an island. She could just kill him now and find the
Salmalin
herself.

“Idiot woman,” growled Mahmoud, red beard quavering. He shook a fist in her face. “You dare speak to me so? I am Kalyon of the
Salmalin
!”

Natasha gave a shrug. “I don’t give half a damn for the Perinese, but at least they don’t use brain-dead harem boys to run their ships. I’ll talk however I—”

Something wet splattered on her forehead. Natasha blinked, pulling back in surprise. She wiped her sleeve against her face. What came away was white, sticky and rank.

“Is this...
pfaugh!
Is this bird shit?”

A flash of color blurred past. It landed on a high branch of the mangrove to her left. The parrot was garish, with a butter-yellow beak, stumpy orange legs, and brilliant rainbow feathers. It was missing a few feathers from its coat, as if someone had struck it. The parrot glared down at her with smug malevolence.

Natasha stared at the thing. “
You
!” she hissed in horror and rage. “You obnoxious piece of filth. You dare stick that ugly beak before me again? Come down here! I’m going to wring your neck and
eat
you this time!”

“Ha!” laughed Mahmoud. “There is some perfume for you.” he shook his head and chuckled. “Be thankful this amuses me.”

“Shut up,” she snarled at him. “I’ll finish you after I’m done with
that.
”

Mahmoud blinked. “What, the parrot?”

It screamed mockingly at them both. Natasha flinched at the noise. Mahmoud staggered back a step.

“Yes, the damned parrot!”

Natasha knelt, grabbing for a fallen branch.
I’m going to knock you into next week,
she vowed. Then the rope around her neck closed like a noose. Her feet flew out as she was yanked forward. Natasha collapsed to the ground, choking, clutching at her leash.

The parrot screamed repeatedly at her. It almost seemed to be laughing.

Mahmoud shook his head. “Enough games, woman.” He held her leash with both hands, smiling faintly. When she caught his eye though, the smile faded and he looked away first.

Natasha pulled the noose loose enough that she could breath.
Enough. I was going to wait, but enough and more than enough. It is time for you to die, Mahmoud.
Movement up above caught her eye. Blinking slowly, the parrot almost seemed to wink at her.
And you. You go next, bird.

Natasha grabbed up a rock and leapt at the Kalyon. Mahmoud saw too late. He cursed, falling back while awkwardly trying to draw the blade at his side.

She tripped over the log.

Natasha crashed onto the loamy earth. The taste of dirt and mulched leaves filled her mouth. Dimly she heard the ring of drawn steel and the shouts of Mahmoud and his Salomcani.

Two pairs of hands grabbed her arms, hauling her upright. Natasha spat dirt and tried to swing the rock out blindly. It missed.

Another tremor shook the earth. This one was bigger, uglier. It threatened to pitch Natasha and her captors over. Leaves, branches and coconuts fell all around them. She froze, fighting for her balance. In a moment it passed, though she had dropped her rock.

Mahmoud rose from his crouch, eyes wild and worried. “Enough of this,” he said, switching back to Salomcani. He pointed at Natasha with a quivery, worried finger. “Farouk, Etarin, keep ahold of this madwoman. I will, I will discipline her when we get back to the
Salmalin
. Yes.” He straightened, brushing off his pant legs. “I dislike these temblors. We must head back on the move, all of you!”

The Kalyon tossed her makeshift leash at one of the men restraining her, then stalked off ahead into the jungle. Natasha glanced at the pair of them. The one at her left was tall and broad, though he seemed to hunch a little, with a well-groomed black beard. He had deep-brown eyes and small nose. The other was short and stout, older, with a lighter beard and green eyes. Both of them were shirtless, revealing saggy skin and numerous bandages, many of which were older than yesterday’s raid.