Glory Season (69 page)

In the course of turning around, memorizing landmarks, she looked up at the narrow patch of sky directly overhead, toward where Brod must be standing, peering down. Although there was no chance he could see, Maia waved. Then she cast off and started swimming as quietly as possible toward the dark shadow of the unlucky ship, Manitou.

•  •  •

High tide had come close to being fatal, back in the collapsed cave. Now it proved convenient, as Maia sought a way to reach dry land.

She breaststroked amid the pier’s thick pilings, coated with pointy-shelled creatures up to the water’s lapping edge. Plank boards formed a ceiling not far over Maia’s head as she made for the dark bulk of the larger sailing vessel. There were no more excited shouts. Apparently, most of the reaver crew had entered the mountain sanctuary on some urgent errand. All was not silent, however. She could hear a low murmur of conversation—muffled voices coming from an indistinct location nearby.

Maia swam past the dinghy she had spotted from high above. It bobbed gently, tethered to the Manitou’s stern, and seemed to beckon, offering an easy way out of this calamitous adventure. First a silent drift to the lagoon’s exit, then step the little mast and set sail … All she’d have to deal with after that would be pursuit, possible starvation, and the wild sea.

The thought was alluring, and Maia dismissed it. The dinghy was Brod’s, should it come to that. Anyway, she had other destinations, other plans.

Manitou’s scarred flank drifted past as she swam quietly, searching for a way up. The pier was equipped with a ladder, over near the ship’s gangplank. Unfortunately, one of the bright lanterns hung directly above that spot, casting a circle of dangerous illumination. So Maia tried another location. One of the lines tethering the freighter to the wharf stretched overhead amidships, far enough from the lantern to lie in darkness.

Maia trod in place underneath the hawser, where it drooped closest to the water. She let her body sink, and then kicked upward, stretching as far as possible. Despite
high tide, however, she came up short by half an arm’s length and fell back with an unnerving splash. Maia stroked back under the pier and waited to be sure no one had heard. A minute passed. All appeared quiet. The low voices continued undisturbed in the distance.

She undid the remaining buttons of her ragged shirt and struggled free of the sopping cloth.
When in need, use what’s at hand.
It seemed she was getting more use of her clothes as tools than as coverings. Maia wrapped one sleeve around her right wrist and balled the rest into her palm, then she stretched her arm behind and, with all the force she could muster, threw the loose mass so that it draped over the rope. By flicking the end she held, Maia was able to cause the other sleeve to flop down. This time, when she surged upward, she had something to grab onto. Yanking on both sleeves, she lifted herself out of the water. The Manitou seemed to cooperate, the rope bowing a little farther under her weight while Maia tensed her stomach muscles and threw her legs around the cable.

She hung there, breathing heavily for half a minute, then began inching along the hawser toward the ship. The struggle soon became as much vertical as horizontal. Maia was working so hard, she barely noticed the fierce chill as water evaporated from her skin. She gripped the rough, scratchy rope with her feet, knees, and hands, fighting bit by bit toward the railing overhead.

The hull bumped her head. Maia turned and saw a dark vista of wood stretching in both directions. She also spied a row of portholes, each no wider than two outspread hands, running along the length of the ship, below the level of her knees. They were too small to enter, but the nearest lay open and within reach. Tightly clutching the rope with both hands, Maia let go with her legs so they swung toward the tiny opening. Second try, she hooked one foot inside and swung her center of gravity after it. Now she could rest nearly all her weight on the ledge,
offering respite to the hands still clinging the rope. Waves of fatigue washed out of her arms and legs and back, until her pulse and breathing settled to a dull roar.

So far so good. You’ve only got another couple more meters to climb.

Something touched her foot. It settled around her ankle and squeezed. Maia very nearly screamed. Biting her lip fiercely, she forced herself to unwrap the knot of panic in her breast and open her tightly shut eyes. Fortunately, surprise was the only demon to overcome, since the presence below wasn’t hurting her, yet. For now, it seemed content to rhythmically stroke the top of her foot.

Maia inhaled and released a shuddering breath. She managed to turn her head, and saw a hand emerge through the small porthole. A woman’s hand, making beckoning motions.

What, no shouts of alarm?
Maia wondered blankly.

Wait! That’s the upper cargo level. Would reavers live here? Not likely.

A far better place to keep prisoners.

It took an awkward contortion to pull the hanging rope so that she could hold on with one hand while squatting closer to the porthole. As she bent over, the wooden cudgel dug into Maia’s belly. Her right foot started to hurt from bearing all her weight.

With her free hand, she stretched down to touch the wrist of whoever was silently calling, which went rigid for an instant, then withdrew. Near the opening, Maia saw a dim outline press close … the outline of a human face. There lifted the faintest of whispered words.

“
Thought
I recognized my spare set o’ shoes. How ya doin’, virgie?”

The murmur lacked all tonality; still, she knew the speaker. “Thalla!” Maia hissed. So this was where the radical var partisans were being kept! There came a faint
clanking of chains, as the prisoner pressed closer to the porthole.

“It’s me, all right. In here with Kau an’ the others.”

“And Kiel?”

There was a pause. “Kiel’s bad off. First the fight, then from arguing with our hosts.”

Maia blinked. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Never mind. Good to see ya, varling. What’re you doin’ here?”

Surprise and pleasure at this discovery were rapidly being replaced by pain, from both her twisted posture and fear that even whispers might carry elsewhere. She knew nothing of the conditions of Thalla’s imprisonment, and did not relish finding out firsthand.

“I’m going after Renna. Then to get help.”

Another long pause. “If we got broke out of here,
we
could help.”

Yeah, like a lugar in a porcelain store
, Maia thought. The idealistic rads were no match for the reavers. That had already been proven, and this time they’d be fewer and weaker still.
Besides, I don’t owe you lot anything.

Still, Maia wondered. Did she have a better plan? If a rad breakout accomplished nothing more than casting the two ships loose, it could make even an abortive rebellion worthwhile. “You’d do as I say?” she asked.

If there hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation, Maia would have known Thalla was lying. “All right, Maia. You’re the boss.”

“How many guards are there?”

“Two, sometimes three, just outside the door. One of ’em snores somethin’ awful.”

There was more she might ask, but the quaking in Maia’s right leg was getting worse. Any longer and she might land in the lagoon, right back where she started. She sighed heavily. “I’ll see what I can do. No promises, though!”

There was a tremor in Thalla’s grateful squeeze. Maia shifted her weight in preparation for resuming her climb. The pressure of the wooden cudgel eased and she exhaled in relief, only to wince as something else jabbed her thigh. With her free hand, Maia fished under her belt and pulled out the cloth-wrapped scissors. On impulse, she bent once more and tossed it through the small, dark opening. The touch on her ankle vanished.

Maia wasted no more time. While her right leg and back throbbed, her arms felt refreshed, so they did most of the work at first. Soon she was shinnying almost vertically, with the hull stroking her back. It was a journey she could never have imagined making as a newly fledged fiver, stepping out of her mother-hold. Now she thought no further ahead than the next straining pull, the next coordinated slither of hands and knees and ankles. When, at last, one leg floundered over the side, Maia rolled onto the ship’s lower deck and quickly sought shelter behind the mainmast, panting silently with a wide-open mouth, waiting for the pain to dull. Waiting till she could listen once more to the sounds of the night.

There was a faint creaking as the ship rocked gently at anchor. The lapping of wavelets against the hull. A soft murmur of conversation. Maia lifted her head to look across the wharf toward the smaller pirate vessel, the
Reckless.
A pair of women in red bandannas crouched next to an upturned barrel with a lantern set upon it. Although they were playing dice, no coinsticks lay in sight, which explained the desultory nature of the game. The players seemed not to keep score as they alternated rolls of the ivory pieces, talking quietly.

Turning around, Maia realized with some shock that Manitou looked deserted. Of course, from Thalla’s description, there would be a brace of beefy vars on duty below, just outside the cargo hold. Still, whatever had
pulled the rest of the reavers away must be awfully important.

Sound and sight were vital for warning of danger. Once she felt more secure, however, Maia felt a sudden wash of other sensations, especially smell.
Food
, she realized suddenly, acutely, and hurried aft quick as she could scuttle silently. Just below the quarterdeck, she found where supper had been prepared and eaten. Stacks of grimy plates lay within a stew pot, soaking in a swill of brine. The resulting goulash was hardly appetizing, even in Maia’s state, so she kept looking, and was rewarded at last in a far corner when she found a small pile of hard biscuits atop a rickety table and an open cask of fresh water nearby.

She drank thirstily, alternately moistening baked crusts into a feast. While devouring voraciously, Maia searched for a sack, a piece of cloth, anything to stuff and take back to Brod. At least she could leave a stash of food for him in the little boat.

There was nothing in sight to use as a bag, but Maia knew where else to look. With biscuits in each hand, she hurried to a row of narrow doors at the rear of the main deck. Opening one, she looked down a slanted ladder into the selfsame room where she herself had lived, up to a few weeks ago, along with a dozen other women, amid bunk beds stacked four high. Maia descended quietly, eyes darting till she verified by close inspection that no bed held sleeping reavers. It hadn’t seemed likely, with everyone called off on some mysterious errand.

She had entered in search of a bag, but now Maia noticed she was shivering.
Why not swipe fresh clothes, as well?

She started with her old bunk. But somebody several sizes larger, and much smellier, had taken over occupancy since the battle on the high seas. She moved on, sorting in near darkness until at last she found a shirt and well-mended
trousers roughly her size, neatly folded at one end of a bunk. Still munching stale bread, Maia wriggled out of her own tattered pants and slipped into the stolen articles. The rope belt had to be cinched extra tight, but everything else fit. A clean, if threadbare, coat finished her accoutrement, though she left it unbuttoned, in case it became necessary to dive back into the water. The thought made her shudder. Otherwise, Maia felt better, and a little guilty about poor Brod, cold and hungry, almost half a kilometer overhead.

What next?
she wondered, picking up her cudgel and sticking it in her new waistband. The rads might be imprisoned on the Manitou, but Maia doubted Renna would be kept anywhere so insecure. Probably, he was deep inside the sanctuary. Did she dare try to brazenly walk in, looking for him? The more she thought about it, the idea of springing Thalla and the others made sense. If the rads could take over Manitou, then lay doggo while Maia snuck near the sanctuary entrance, they might at a chosen moment create enough distraction to let her slip inside.

First task is eliminating their guards. Sounds simple. Only, how am I supposed to do it?

She pondered possibilities.
I could go to the cargo gangway and pretend to be a messenger … shout down some made-up call for help. When one emerges, I’d knock her out and then … try the same thing again? Or go down after the other one?

What if there are three? Or more?

It was a lugar-brained scheme … and Maia felt fiercely determined to make it work. At least once that phase was over, she wouldn’t be alone anymore. Maybe the rads would have an idea or two of their own to offer. Maia cast around the room one last time for weapons. She only found a small knife, embedded in the wooden post of one of the bunk beds, which she wrestled out and slipped into the coat pocket.

She was halfway up the ladder when the door suddenly swung aside, spilling light upon her face and outlining a large figure. Maia could only stare upward in dismay.

“
Thought
I heard someone down here,” a gruff woman’s voice said. “Come on, then. No duckin’ work. I won’t cover for ya, next time!”

The silhouette turned, leaving Maia blinking in surprise. Hurriedly, she followed, hoping to catch the reaver from behind while they were still out of view from the Reckless. At the doorway, however, Maia’s heart sank upon spying four other women on deck. They were wrestling open a sealed box, pulling out long gleaming objects.

Rifles, Maia realized. They seemed well-supplied, this bunch. Even the Guardia at Port Sanger wasn’t better armed. Maia was past being shocked, however.
It is the victors who write history
, she now knew.
If Baltha and her gang succeed amid the chaos they want to create, no one is going to quibble over a few extra crimes.

“Well? Come on!” The first woman called to Maia, who shuffled forward unwillingly with her head averted, eyes downcast. She concealed her surprise when three of the slender, heavy weapons were thrust into her arms, and clutched them tightly, not knowing what else to do.