Children of Fire (15 page)

Rexol glanced down at the book he had spent the better part of the day reading. It was late. The witchroot in his system was fading, and taking more now could cause an overdose that would send his body into convulsions, shock, and even death.

Better to resume the work tomorrow; continue his quest to find more hints and clues about the Talismans once his strength had returned. Whatever secrets he might uncover weren't going to vanish in the night. Pressing on in his exhausted state was foolish. Reckless. Dangerous.

For several minutes the wizard simply stood and stared at the volume, trying to force himself to turn away and leave the study until tomorrow. Instead, when he finally broke his gaze, he picked up the small bottle of ink and began to retrace the faded markings on his face.

“Pay attention, Scythe,” Methodis chided, glancing up from the medical ledger on the table in front of him. “You need to grind the root into fine powder, not the lumpy mess you've got there.”

Scythe snapped out of her daze at the sound of his voice, glancing quickly around the small cabin that served as the
Shimmering Dolphin
's infirmary. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a mortar and pestle in her lap. Against the wall behind her was the massive wooden footlocker Captain Trascar had given Methodis to store all the supplies of his trade when he had first signed on with the crew.

“Sorry, I was thinking about something else.”

“You mean
someone
else, don't you?” the old man teased. “You were daydreaming about that new man Trascar signed on, weren't you? Rickard, isn't it?”

“I was not!” Scythe snapped back a little too quickly, and the healer knew he had hit his mark.

Methodis allowed himself a smile as he reviewed the list of medical supplies on hand, ticking off ingredients that had been used since he updated his records last week. From the corner of his eye he noticed Scythe attacking the mortar and pestle with renewed vigor to hide her embarrassment.

She's fifteen now,
the doctor reminded himself as he flipped the page.
It's natural for her to notice some of the young men on the ship.

More than a few of them were beginning to notice her, as well. Fortunately Trascar wouldn't sign anyone on with his crew unless he was sure of his moral character. Scythe could do a lot worse than the likes of Rickard.

At the top of the new page, Methodis jotted down the date, then made a short entry:
General health of crew seems excellent. Two cases of flux yesterday. Treated with vinegar wine mixed with silton powder. Both patients showing marked signs of improvement.

He closed the ledger and turned in his seat toward the young woman still sitting on the floor. “If you like, I can invite Rickard to dine with us in the captain's cabin tonight.”

Scythe shrugged without looking up. “If you want to. Why should I care?”

Methodis knew her well enough to realize her seeming indifference was purely for show. He was about to say something else, just to see if he could get a rise out of his young charge, when he was interrupted by a frantic rap at the door.

Before he could open his mouth to say
Enter,
the door flew open and Dugal, the first mate, popped his head in. Methodis could see right away something was wrong. Very wrong.

“There's a ship coming up hard on us. We're trying to outrun her, but she's fast.”

“What colors are they flying?” Methodis asked, already knowing the answer.

“None.”

Only pirates sailed without flying the flag of a home port.

“If we get some luck and some favorable winds they might not catch us,” Dugal continued. “But the captain wants you to stay here in your cabin in case they try to board us.” He cast a meaningful glance in Scythe's direction. “Both of you.”

“Don't keep me locked up in here!” Scythe protested, jumping to her feet, the bowl of medicine she had been grinding forgotten on the floor. “I know how to use a blade as well as any man on this ship!”

The first mate didn't say anything, but instead looked over to Methodis, who only sighed. Ever since she had come aboard seven years ago, Scythe had practiced fencing and fighting with anyone who would spare her the time. She had quick hands and excellent instincts, and her technique had been honed with thousands of hours of practice. But this was not the time to put those skills to their first real test.

The healer gave a slight nod and Dugal slipped out, shutting the door behind him. Scythe snorted in surprise, then turned to get the rapier she used during her drills from where it hung on a peg in the wall.

“No, Scythe. We have to stay in here.”

The tone in the doctor's voice stopped her short. But she turned angrily to face him, refusing to give up so easily.

“I can help them! You know I can.”

Methodis rose slowly from his seat and crossed the floor to put his hands on Scythe's shoulders. He looked her straight in the eye, making no attempt to hide the fear in his voice when he spoke.

“You know what will happen to you if you're caught. The pirates … they aren't like Trascar's crew. It isn't safe for a woman.”

The girl's eyes went wide as understanding slowly dawned on her. Despite all she had learned in her time at sea, despite everything Methodis and the others had taught her, she was still innocent about many things. She was still barely more than a child.

Scythe wasn't easily daunted, however. “Things won't be much better for the others,” she pointed out, her wide-eyed surprise now replaced by a look of grim determination. “Pirates don't take prisoners and I'd rather die fighting with the rest of the crew than let them …” She trailed off, unable to even say the words.

Methodis shook his head. “Just do as the captain says. Stay here in the cabin. If you go up there, all you can do is serve as a distraction. Please, Scythe. For me.”

For a second she seemed about to protest further; then she simply nodded in acceptance. Methodis turned away, relieved. He took a step back toward the writing table, then suddenly felt too weak to even stand. He was forced to sit down on the top of the enormous footlocker, the gravity of their situation momentarily overwhelming him.

Scythe came over and sat beside him, taking his hand in her own. “Maybe they won't catch us,” she whispered, though her voice didn't hold much hope.

Methodis knew she was smart enough to grasp the truth. Pirate ships ran light; they didn't carry much in the way of cargo or stores. The
Shimmering Dolphin,
on the other hand, was laden down with trade goods they planned to sell back in Callastan.

He gave her delicate hand a reassuring squeeze but didn't reply. He was desperately trying not to think of what the pirates would do to the young girl he had raised for the last fifteen years if they found her. And at the same time Methodis was scrambling to come up with a way to save her.

“Open the damn latch!” the voice barked from the other side of the infirmary's door. “Yer only makin' things worse!”

A second later the entire cabin echoed with the sound of a heavy body slamming itself against the locked door, and Methodis heard the sharp crack of splintering wood coming from the chair he had propped up against the entrance. One more hit and they'd be through.

The healer stood alone in the center of the room, facing the portal. Grasping the handle of Scythe's rapier with both hands, he held it straight out in front of him. Scythe may have been an expert with the blade, but Methodis had never bothered to learn the art of killing.

“One more time!” the voice outside shouted, and this time the wooden legs of the chair gave way. The door flew open, sending a large, bare-chested pirate tumbling into the room. Instead of lunging forward, the doctor took a step back as the man quickly scrambled to his feet and pulled out his own weapon: a cruelly curved saber.

Before his enemy could strike, however, another figure stepped through what remained of the cabin's door. Like the first pirate he wore no shirt; a thin, sleeveless vest of tanned leather covered the scars and tattoos of his torso's bronze skin. His beard was bound in half a dozen braids by gold and silver ties, as was his long black hair.

He stepped forward, the gold hoops in his ears jangling against each other, and quickly surveyed the room. When his gaze focused on the slight man standing defiantly in the center, the thin rapier's blade held out straight before him, he raised his saber and grinned.

Methodis made an awkward lunge, which the pirate easily slapped aside, knocking the rapier from the healer's unsure hands. A heavy fist to the side of the jaw sent Methodis reeling. He stumbled backward until he bumped up against the footlocker on the far wall. He lost his balance and fell awkwardly, ending up sprawled on the floor.

Several other pirates standing just outside the door laughed at the spectacle, but the man who struck him wasn't laughing.

“What are you?” he snapped in a heavy accent. “You're too old to be the captain's cabin boy, and too ugly to be his bum-boy. You don't even know how to hold a sword. So why are you on this ship?”

Methodis looked up into the eyes of his conqueror from the floor, his gaze steady. “I'm a healer. I help Captain Trascar and his men when they are injured.”

The pirate held the blood-smeared blade of his saber aloft. “You can't help them now.”

The first pirate who had entered—the large man who had broken down the door—asked, “Should we kill him?”

“No,” the other replied thoughtfully, not taking his eyes off the old man on the floor. “Not just yet. Tell me, healer, are you any good?”

“I am,” he replied, with just a hint of cold defiance.

The pirate nodded. “Shoji, take him to the ship. We could use a good healer. The rest of you, search the room. Tear it apart if you have to, but I want everything of value found. Then we sink the ship.”

“Wait,” Methodis blurted out. “My footlocker. It has all my tools and medicines inside. Powders and potions I'll need if you want me to help you.”

“Open it. Let me see.”

Methodis shook his head, knowing he couldn't let them see the precious cargo inside. Not if he wanted Scythe to live.

“Many of the components I use are sensitive to light and air. The inside of the box is tightly sealed to protect them, but they will become worthless if they are exposed unnecessarily.”

The pirate captain was silent for several seconds, balancing his inherent distrust of others against the potential value of the healer and the mysterious contents of the large footlocker. His impulse was to ignore the warning and smash the container open. But he was the leader for a reason. Unlike the rest of his crew he knew how to control his impulses when necessary.

“Two of you, grab this footlocker and go with Shoji. Take it and the healer down to the hold.”

One of the pirates—Shoji, most likely—grabbed Methodis and yanked him up from the floor. Two others seized the massive footlocker, each one grabbing the handle on either end. They groaned under its weight as they hoisted it up, but between the two of them they managed to keep it aloft.

“Chain him up,” the captain ordered as they were leaving. “Then come back and help the others. I want this ship stripped and burned within the hour.”

Alone in the darkness of the pirate ship's hold, Methodis fumbled to open the latch on the footlocker's lid. He didn't know how much longer Scythe could last inside the airtight container, and he was desperate to get her out. But the latch had a complex locking mechanism, and the only light was from a few slivers of sun shining in through splits in the hull. After what seemed like hours but was likely only a minute or two, the lock clicked and the lid flew open.

Scythe all but leapt out, gasping for air.

“Slow, deep breaths,” he told her in a firm but quiet voice. “Try not to make any sound to draw attention.”

Scythe nodded and did her best to follow his instructions, taking in air with a slow, steady rhythm rather than panicked gulps. Her pounding heart began to slow as her starving lungs were sated once more.

“We don't have much time,” Methodis said in an urgent whisper. “They'll be back soon. You have to find somewhere better to hide.”

Her eyes began to adjust to the disorienting shafts of daylight piercing the darkness of the hold, giving her a first look at her new surroundings. Boxes and barrels were piled haphazardly all about, seemingly without rhyme or reason. The most valuable cargo from several ships had been seized and thrown down here as quickly as possible, with no thought given to any kind of organization or order. Soon, she knew, the haul from the
Dolphin
would be added to the hoard.

“This ship has to go back to port soon; I'm guessing they're almost out of provisions. Their meat's gone bad.”

Now that she was no longer gasping for air, Scythe noticed the stench in the hold. Methodis was right; it stank of rot and maggots.

“If they're smart, they'll salvage enough from the
Dolphin
to last them a week and get them back to Callastan. That's where they'll get the best price for most of what they've stolen. You have to stay out of sight until we get there.”

Scythe nodded. It was dark here, and with the boxes and crates strewn about she should have no trouble staying hidden.

“Once we get into port, wait until nightfall. Most of the pirates will go ashore. That's when you sneak off the ship.”

“What about you? Aren't you coming with me?”

“As soon as we get anywhere near port they're going to have guards watching me at all times, Scythe. I won't be able to get away. But you will.”

She nodded again. “I understand. Don't worry—I'll tell someone what's happened. I'll tell them you're a prisoner here.”

Methodis shook his head. “No, Scythe. It won't do any good. While docked, only the port authority has the right to board a ship without the captain's permission. The pirates know enough to bribe them to stay away.”

“Then I'll find someone else,” Scythe insisted. “There's got to be someone who can rescue you.”

“No, Scythe! If they think there's any chance of someone finding me, they'll kill me. Then they can make up any story they want to explain my body. They could say I was a crew member they were bringing back for burial on land. Just leave me behind.”

“I can't! I … I …” She broke down in tears as the truth of what Methodis was saying finally dawned on her.

“You can, Scythe. There's nothing you can do for me. You have to save yourself. You have to hide before they get back. And stay hidden. Don't try to talk to me. Don't try to free me from the guards. Just stay out of sight until we reach the port, then get off the ship.”