Wolf Captured (6 page)

“Seasick,” Derian said in revelation. “High Stepping Horse, you’re seasick!”

Firekeeper groaned. “If giving word makes so, then is. When sea moves, I am sick.”

Derian felt cautiously down his chain. Firekeeper had increased the gap, but not enough for him to slip the link free from the whole.

“Does this mean our escape plan is off?” he asked.

“No,” Firekeeper replied sternly. “Now that gut is empty, I am a little better. I can finish chain.”

She did, though the effort took her much of the night and she vomited more than once. The last time nothing more than sour bile came up, and Derian held her head and eased a bit of water into her. Her breath smelled foul and he almost wished Harjeedian would come. The man was strange and uncomfortable to be around, but there was no doubt he knew the medical arts. He might well know some trick to ease seasickness.

The worst of the storm ceased by morning. Though the boat still moved enough to make Firekeeper uncomfortable, she was clearheaded enough to offer a plan.

“Blind Seer’s cage is closest to trapdoor. They see you, too. Me not so easily. We bundle straw and clothing into me and put in cage. You say I feel sick.”

Derian manufactured a grin, knowing Firekeeper would see it in the traces of dawn light.

“That will be easy enough to make them believe. Even with Blind Seer’s ministrations this compartment stinks.”

“Blind Seer agree,” Firekeeper replied, not sounding amused. “Now, I take bar from my cage. We hope they not notice. From where they hang lantern, light not reach good there. You take chain. They not think odd if you clank.”

“And where will you be?” Derian asked. “Since your clothing will be standing in for you in your cage, I assume you plan to be elsewhere.”

He caught the wolfish flash of Firekeeper’s teeth in the grey light. It was not a friendly expression.

“I stand in shadow behind ladder. I watch before. They not look there. Busy with carrying things, they face other way. When they are down and lantern hung, I strike.”

“And if you don’t get that much time?”

“I strike,” came the simple reply.

Derian nodded. “While I do my part from this side. What about Blind Seer?”

“His bars only look like they is in. We check and he can take out not too hardly.”

“Without too much difficulty?”

“So I say.”

Firekeeper’s voice was tight and underscored with a growl. Derian realized the wolf-woman must still be fighting nausea and was in no mood to be teased.

“Let’s be about it, then,” Derian said. “Hand me your clothing and I’ll stuff it. Good thing you were wearing a gown. It’ll be easier to make look like a sick woman lying on her stomach.”

Firekeeper stripped, still as completely shameless about nudity as she had been when Derian had first met her. She liked clothing, but as protection and sometimes ornamentation, not because she was uncomfortable in her skin.

Derian tried to match her ease with her nudity, but even in his current condition it was tough. Firekeeper was a whole lot more filled out than she had been two years before, and even the plethora of scars that adorned her every limb couldn’t detract from his awareness of her small, firm breasts, topped by dark nipples, erect from the chill in the compartment.

Firekeeper handed him her underwear along with her gown, and he forced himself to look away from her slim torso, the hips slightly curving, the legs long and muscular.

“Use these clothes to make something to seem like head, maybe?” she said. “I rub boat dirt into skin so I not so bright.”

She meant the grime from the boards, none of which were new or in the best condition. Derian had already guessed that the sailors had bought or stolen an older riverboat for their venture, probably the former since they wouldn’t want anyone looking for the missing vessel. The condition of what he could see of the boat argued against it being taken out very far into the rougher waters of the ocean.

If this escape doesn’t work,
Derian thought,
maybe we can try again then. They’ll probably work the switch some night at Port Haven.

But he knew this attempt had better work. They were not likely to get another chance.

Firekeeper had just finished arranging the straw-stuffed gown into some semblance of a woman sleeping with one arm thrown up around her head when they heard the now familiar sound of feet on the deck above.

Firekeeper lifted the iron bar from where she had left it. Derian adjusted the length of chain, keeping his hands in the straw bedding, hoping if either Shelby or Rarby noticed, they would think he was easing the weight on his ankle.

As she glided into the shadows behind the ladder, Firekeeper’s seasickness seemed gone. Derian almost fancied he could see the gleam of her eyes, dark stars amid greater darkness. Then the hatchway was unbolted and swung back, and he had attention for nothing but their bid for freedom.

III

FIREKEEPER TRIED TO IGNORE THE COLD air against her skin, but with her innards still shaking from repeated bouts of vomiting, she didn’t find this at all easy. She distracted herself by testing the weight of the iron bar in her hands and mentally reviewing her plan.

Let both of the men down—all three if Harjeedian is with them. Hit the last one in line. Hope Derian can handle the one in front. Head for the upper deck, leaving the others to clear up below.

The first scent the wind carried down to her was that of horseflesh slightly spoiling, mingled with more of the seafood stew. Her gut twisted, and she had to fight the urge to vomit. This wasn’t good.

Next she saw heavy boots on the ladder, facing forward. She admired the agility of the sailors on these narrow steps. It was as if their feet had eyes. A ring of light accompanied the booted feet, and she knew that Rarby carried the lantern with him. Two more sets of feet waited above.

So Harjeedian come, too,
she thought.

Rarby carried not only the lantern, but two full water bottles slung over his shoulders. He sniffed as soon as his head was fully in the compartment.

“Whew!” he said. “What a reek!”

“Lady Blysse,” Derian replied. “Seasick as a squirrel on a mill wheel. Where were you last night?”

Derian sounded indignant, not scared, and Firekeeper felt a warm surge of admiration for him.

“Storm was bad enough we didn’t want to risk being swept over the side,” Rarby said, glancing over at Firekeeper’s cage as he hung up the lantern. “Didn’t figure you’d want a great wash of water down here either.”

Another set of boots were on the ladder now, the scent of horse meat and fish stew was stronger. Shelby, carrying the meat in a sack over one shoulder, the stew in a bucket.

Firekeeper listened. Yes. One more set of feet moved above. Rarby called back.

“Harjeedian, got anything in your bag for seasickness? Appears that Lady Blysse didn’t take well to last night’s storm.”

“I have something,” came the precisely enunciated words. “Don’t give her anything to eat until I look at her.”

Derian laughed dryly, a fairly natural sound except to one who knew him as well as did Firekeeper.

“I don’t think she’d eat anything anyhow.”

Firekeeper paused, reconsidering her plans. If she killed Harjeedian, she would also be killing the one person who might help her. Well, she hadn’t planned on killing Harjeedian—one of the first lessons Derian had drilled into her was that she must not kill humans except in times of great need—only disabling him. She must be careful how much force she put behind the iron bar.

Shelby was down now, setting the bucket on the shelf, looking over to Rarby.

“Shall I give this to the wolf?”

Rarby glanced over, noted that Blind Seer was standing away from the front of the cage.

“Sure. He seems to know the drill.”

Harjeedian’s feet, clad in neat shoes of a design somehow unfamiliar—though perfectly practical—were on the ladder now. Unlike the sailors, he did not trust his feet, but came down facing the ladder, both his hands on the rails, unbalanced slightly by a bag hanging from a loop at his waist.

Firekeeper made herself motionless, even to her breathing. Harjeedian’s attention was mostly for his feet, but if he looked through the treads, he might see her. She knew that motion rather than any actual image was what gave away one hidden in shadows, and Harjeedian’s eyes would be adjusted to the bright sunlight above, not the dim light shed by the single lantern. Still, best not to take chances.

Rarby had pulled out the wooden bowls. He glanced over at Firekeeper’s cage before beginning to ladle out the servings.

“She’s awfully quiet over there,” he said uneasily. “Could she have died? People sometimes choke.”

Derian shook his head.

“I don’t think so. I can’t believe the wolf would be so calm.”

“I’m going to take a look,” Rarby said. “Shel, take over dishing out the stew. When Harjeedian is off the ladder, go back up and get the bread.”

Harjeedian was three-quarters of the way down the ladder, and stopped at this implied criticism of his speed. He stared into nothing, apparently seeking to compose his expression, and looked directly into Firekeeper’s eyes.

He made a small sound of surprise, and Firekeeper lunged. Her free hand snaked through the steps of the ladder, pushing Harjeedian back and off balance. He fell heavily to the floor and she was around the ladder, prepared to hit him with the iron bar.

Derian had two potential targets, for both Shelby and Rarby were close to him. With an almost wolf-like sense of priorities, he went for Rarby, swinging the heavy weight of the iron chain at the other man’s ankles. Rarby went reeling, crashing into the bars of Firekeeper’s cage.

Shelby froze for a moment, ladle in hand, then went for Derian. The heavy metal bowl of the utensil glanced off Derian’s shoulder, making the redhead stagger and drop the end of the chain.

Off to one side, Firekeeper heard Blind Seer removing the loose bars from his own cage.

“This one!
” she howled.
“Let no one else down.”

The grey wolf howled in reply, and Firekeeper left Harjeedian and leapt at Shelby. Her iron bar caught him across the middle and he bent around the solid length, gasping for air. She jerked the bar free and brought the weight of it across Shelby’s upper back. With a yell of pain and surprise, he went down.

Derian had recovered from Shelby’s blow and was moving to secure Rarby. Rarby, however, had recovered from his shock and came around, catching Derian a solid fist into the gut. Derian came up from this, head-butting the other man in the hollow between his ribs. They grappled with each other, neither gaining ground, the heavy chain clanking beneath their feet.

Blind Seer had secured Harjeedian by the simple expedient of sitting on him and panting into his face. He didn’t need language to make the threat any more clear. The man lay still and when a clatter of boots on the upper deck announced that others had heard the commotions, Harjeedian shouted:

“Don’t come near the hatch. We’ll handle it.”

This hostage taking works both ways,
Firekeeper thought grimly, securing Shelby’s hands with a scrap of canvas torn from a meat sack.
I wonder how they like it?

Rarby had paused when Harjeedian had yelled, and in that moment Derian knocked him cold with a blow that left him shaking his hand and blowing on the fingers. Firekeeper noted that Derian had a loose link from the iron chain in his fist and smiled at her fried’s initiative. He must have worked it loose while she removed the bars from Blind Seer’s cage.

“We have you,” she said to the two who remained conscious. “Shelby, give me shirt.”

Shelby’s protest faded into silence when Blind Seer growled. His shirt was cotton with a long tail, and covered Firekeeper to the middle of her thighs. She borrowed Shelby’s belt so the fabric wouldn’t flap about, noting the sheathed knife with satisfaction. She had hated to be unarmed.

“Now we go above and take others. Derian, tie Rarby. I go up with Shelby and show the others we win.”

“And Harjeedian?” Derian asked.

“Blind Seer watch for now. Then you tie.”

Shelby cursed as she shoved him toward the ladder, but it was empty defiance. Whether Rarby was his brother or some other relation, they had him, and Harjeedian was clearly master of this expedition.

“Tell them,” Firekeeper said as they climbed, “to put down all weapons or we kill others.”

Shelby did so, adding of his own initiative, “They’re right mad and the wolf is loose. Back off, mates.”

There were three other sailors there, and they did as they were told. At Firekeeper’s command, they tossed the weapons they held into a heap on the deck and stood over near the wheel.

“Make sure boat sail right,” she said. “Or else.”

Even though she was out of the stifling hold, her head was swimming. It was easier to fight the nausea if she kept her focus close and didn’t look about. She longed for Derian to come up and take over the onerous task of communication. Blind Seer first, though. He would make most words unnecessary.