On Discord Isle (9 page)

“I didn’t have much choice!” she replied. Lina glanced down at the marine she’d hit. The man wasn’t moving. “Anyway, we’ve got bigger problems to worry about. Look!”

She pointed out the colonel and his men up on the sterncastle deck. The colonel himself still called out imperiously, ordering his men like pieces on a chessboard. The Bluecoat with the swivel gun was almost finished loading it, running a rammer down the barrel and priming the guncock mechanism at the same time.

Reaver Jane understood immediately. She snatched a pistol from her belt, took aim, and fired.

The ball went wide. It sparked off the barrel of the swivel gun and ricocheted back into the face of the Bluecoat priming it. The man fell back without even a cry and dropped lifelessly to the deck.

Lina raised an eyebrow. “Good shot.”

“I was aiming for that colonel,” said Jane. “Here, I’ll clear us a path. You go overboard and scurry up channels on the side. Take that gun. I’ll go the direct route. Bluecoaties can’t think a single thought on their own. If we can take care of that powder-covered popinjay up there, we can end this.”

Lina opened her mouth to object, but the piratess was already away. She charged with a wild cry at the port-side sterncastle stair, lashing out at any marines she could along the way. They reacted, opening a small hole in the fighting between Lina and the starboard side of the ship.

Lina swallowed and darted for the railing. She slipped on blood and bodies and collided with the rail. Ducking a wild slash, she rolled over it and threw a prayer to the Goddess that she didn’t fly off into the ocean.

Her feet caught on the channel boards anchoring the rigging from the deck up to the mast. They were barely wide enough to stand on, a ledge stretching back sternward that jutted out over the churning ocean just a dozen feet below. She crept along it with both hands gripping the ship’s railing from the wrong side.

A pistol ball hit the railing above her head. Lina ducked as splinters rained down onto her shoulders. She moved a few more feet and froze as two struggling men slammed into the rail. Both of their swords went flying, missing the top of her head by inches and clattering across the channel board before dropping into the sea. They cursed and lashed at each other, a Bluecoat marine and one of her own crewmates, Jonas Wiley. The Bluecoat threw a punch that folded Wiley over, then drew a dagger from his belt. But a fume enveloped him as he went for the killing blow, like heat-haze on a hot summer’s day. He fell to the deck, screaming.

Lina blanched and glanced back up at the
Dawnhawk
. Just as she’d suspected, Maxim and Konrad both were hanging over the gunwales, casting aetherite spells where they could to assist. Lina didn’t know, and didn’t want to know, the specifics of their power, though Maxim had told her that each Working was bartered at dear cost from their daemon familiars. Their efforts might help buy time, though it wouldn’t change the outcome in the end. Lina still had to reach the sterncastle.

Somehow she made it. The sterncastle deck appeared on her right just as the channel came to an end and a long window into the captain’s cabin appeared. Another gunshot rang out nearby and she heard Jane’s wild battle cry, followed by the clatter of swordplay.

The sterncastle railing was only a few feet above her. As well, the swivel gun. Lina took a breath and placed the tip of her boots on the bare lip of the window frame. She grabbed the base of the railing and strained to lift herself. Slowly she rose up, once again able to see and hear the battle. Lina expected a stray bullet or blow from a sword to take her head off at any moment. Amazingly, none did.

The colonel and his man stood at the port-side stair down to the deck. Reaver Jane was only a few feet below, making up for her lack of advantage with sheer ferocity and bloody-mindedness. The third man was on his back, a bloody hole in his forehead where Jane’s ricochet had taken him.

Lina got her leg up to the sterncastle and scrabbled upright. She grabbed the broom-handle haft of the swivel gun and pulled it around to face the colonel. The cocking mechanism was already primed, and the flint-headed hammer was up.

“Hey arseholes!” she cried. “Leave off if you don’t want to be chumming the waters with yer innards!”

The colonel glanced over his shoulder. He stared at her, the tip of his blade dropping in surprise. The man at his side gave a yell and collapsed as Jane slipped in a blow at his shins. She quickly moved up the ladder and held her blade to the colonel’s throat. He started in surprise, then threw his weapon down in disgust.

“I surrender,” he said sourly.

“Lucky for you, you son of a bitch, we’re actually taking it today.” Reaver Jane narrowed her eyes. “Call off your men.” The Perinese soldier frowned, but raised his voice to comply. One by one, the small struggles died down on the deck below them.

No one threatens my ship,
Lina thought savagely.

Overhead, Runt screeched their victory.

Chapter Six

The parrot was screaming again.

Natasha rolled over to glare at it. The motion made her shirt bunch uncomfortably between her body and the dusty earth. A root now stabbed at her ribs. She ignored these to focus her hate on the obnoxious avian above her.

Die, damn you
.

The creature was colorful. Its stumpy legs were a bright orange. The great oversized beak was a soft, butter-yellow. Whenever it stretched, brilliant plumage stood out in a vibrant explosion made all the more intense by the soft green backdrop of the foliage.

But the bird was also loud.

It had a raucous, piercing cry that shattered any sense of peace in the jungle about her. Since just before dawn when she’d finally fallen asleep, it had sat in the canopy above Natasha’s head. Periodically it broke out into a harsh, ear-splitting racket, no doubt attempting to attract some tone-deaf mate.

Natasha fumbled for something to throw at the bird, fingers searching across the ash-dusted earth and finding nothing that she could use. Irritated, she rolled back over and glanced around her encampment. It was small and mean, positioned under the spreading branches of an ancient baobab. The tree had outfought all competitors, leaving the ground beneath it a bare clearing covered with deadfall and surrounded by the thick green jungle. Directly above, the branches were burned and bare of leaves. A slant of early morning light filtered in through this hole to brighten the space.

She grimaced as she took in the damage. Trying to make a fire had
seemed
like a good idea last night, in the dark and in the cold. How was she supposed to know that a bigger pile of wood would burn hotter, not longer?

Her unused tent lay against the base of the tree trunk. It had collapsed again, an ugly and misshapen thing she’d gotten fed up with trying to fix sometime after midnight. Seeing it in the daylight just stoked her anger. A tent shouldn’t have been
that
hard to throw together, not with the cloth and twine left behind by her rebellious crew. Just before the cobbled-together thing lay her ill-conceived fire pit, an ash-covered scar she’d failed to dig nearly deep enough. Amazingly, when things had spiraled out of control, the tent had not caught fire.

Other bits scavenged from the beach lay about the clearing. Most were garbage now, trod into the ashy dirt and broken, burned or inedible. After putting out the blaze, she’d not bothered to reclaim them before collapsing to the dirt in exhaustion.

Her eye landed on a piece of hardtack biscuit only a few feet away. Natasha grabbed it up and looked back to the parrot, invoking a prayer of pain and spite as she threw.

She missed. She could almost hear the voice of old Euron, her father, berating her for it. The parrot ignored her missile and puffed itself up into a riotous ball of color. Then it shrieked in indignation. Natasha winced at the sound. A small lizard fell from some upper branch to land in the dirt, stunned.

Goddess on high, I need a drink
. Natasha cursed the bird silently, then pulled herself up to sit cross-legged. Her tongue felt swollen. It tasted like something had crawled down her throat and died. Her neck was still sore from yesterday’s argument with Fengel. Every inch of her back ached from sleeping on the ground. The leaves and dirt in her hair made it a tangled mass.

Sitting up hadn’t helped. A dull throbbing began at her temples and it grew with every passing moment. Natasha pulled up a hand to rub the headache away, then stopped. Her whole arm shook with a slight tremor.

Natasha closed her eyes.
I just need a drink.

The parrot screamed again.

“Would you just shut up and die?” she snarled.

It stopped and looked around. Then it squawked and flew off. Natasha blinked in surprise, then sighed in relief. Now maybe she could get some peace.

Another sound broke the silence. Something crashed through the jungle underbrush. It was large and getting closer, no mere parrot. Natasha looked about for a stray branch to use as a weapon. She found nothing; all of the deadfall had been burned last night in that bonfire. Instead, she took a breath and scrabbled to her feet. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t find her unawares. Her father always said to meet trouble standing. She hated to admit it, but he had a point.

Fengel pushed out into the clearing. He stumbled a bit at the sudden lack of foliage and staggered to a halt. Regaining his balance, he glanced up and around. His eyes landed on Natasha.

He gave a disappointed sigh.

“I was afraid that was you,” he said tartly. “Even on a deserted jungle island, your screech could wake the dead.”

They’d only had their...
discussion...
on the beach yesterday afternoon, but Fengel looked far worse for wear than he should have. His clothing was torn in places, and there was a scratch on his monocle.

Of course. This is all I need today.
Their most recent argument had not been the worst they’d ever had, or the most violent. She still did not want to have to deal with him right now, though. “That was a bird,” she hissed. The pounding at her temples grew stronger. What was he even doing here?

“Yes, yes,” Fengel replied with disinterest. He glanced around the clearing. “Goddess above. What happened here?”

Embarrassment encroached on her irritation.
I’m a pirate captain, not a damned woodsman
. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She folded her arms.

Fengel gave her a vicious, mocking smile. “What I’m talking about is the utter devastation of this patch of woodlands. Almost like someone started a bonfire underneath a tree and didn’t think it through.”

“Like you could have done any better,” she replied through gritted teeth.

“I did just fine last night,” said Fengel. “Thank you very much.” Her husband straightened a little, tilting his head back.

She recognized the mannerism. He was lying. “Horseshit,” she said, breaking out into a wicked smile of her own. “You never could rub two sticks together to save your life, no matter how many times Lucian showed you.” Folding her arms, she rocked back on one heel. “Tell me, when did you slink back to the beach for the supplies you thought I’d have missed?”

Fengel flushed and looked away. “I was only going to watch you go through rum withdrawals, but it turns out you’d left. Along with pretty much everything that wasn’t ruined.” He looked pointedly around the clearing. “The tinderbox, at the very least, you found.” Fengel stared abruptly at something behind her. “Oh my goodness. What is
that
?”

He strode farther into the clearing. Natasha glanced over her shoulder. The only thing behind her was her tent.

“Is that…some sort of barbaric lean-to?” He grinned viciously back at her. “It must be. It’s got the blanket and twine from the crate.”

“It’s a tent,” she said flatly.

“Of course, of course,” he replied. “Only, it appears to have died of something. Some tropical disease, perhaps.” He rubbed his beard. It was scruffy and unkempt. “No, I revise my earlier statement. Its demise appears to be due to an acute case of incompetence.”

Natasha glared at him. “What are you even doing here?” she growled. “I thought you were going to ‘show them all.’ Shouldn’t you be dashing into the waves after our loving crew?” He looked back at her, startled embarrassment plain upon his face. “Oh, that’s right. It’s funny, how far the wind can carry things. ‘Lads, lads, come back.’“

Fengel flinched. He pretended to ignore her. “It just so happens,” he said after a moment, “that discovering you here is merely an unpleasant surprise, as any right-thinking person would expect. I have decided to explore the rest of the island. And the only pass through the ridge I can see is a hill in this direction.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to explore the island?”

“Yes. And thank you for reminding me of that. Cheerio.” He gave her a mock salute and crossed to the far side of the clearing. Without a backward glance, Fengel pushed into the greenery and was gone.

Natasha frowned. Something wasn’t right. Her barb hit home, that was obvious. Their abandonment had affected him deeply.
So why isn’t he sulking on the beach for another two days? Why this sudden urge to search the island? It’s not even noon yet, for Goddess’s sake.

That had been her own plan, after he’d strode off down the beach yesterday. Establish a camp and find something other than rocklike hardtack or murderous salted jerky to eat. There had to be fruit, or something here. But there wasn’t any reason, at least so far, to cover half the island for that.

Maybe he just can’t stand being stuck so close to me.
The thought was strangely angering. Well, fine, then. The farther away he was, the better. She’d do just fine on her own—

It came to her in a flash.
He
’
s thought of another way off the island!

Natasha dashed across the clearing and into the underbrush after her husband. Dense vines and thick ferns pushed her back. She fought them aside only to find more in her way. “Fengel!” she cried. “Get back here!”