Isles of the Forsaken (43 page)

Spaeth went to the starboard rail to look back on Mount Embo. Her face was tight with tension. Nathaway realized that the air felt like a breath too long held in; it throbbed against his ears.

The warship’s brass stern chaser gave a sharp crack that echoed back from the shore. A column of water geysered skyward barely twenty yards in front of them, and
Ripplewill
bucked in the wake. “Horns!” Torr said. “They know how to aim.”

“That was only a warning shot,” Nathaway said.

“Oh, be quiet,” Tway said.

Torr slapped his neck as if stung by a bee. “What’s that?”

Something whacked against the deck, bouncing like a marble. Then there was a clatter, as if someone had thrown a handful of pebbles at them. “It’s falling from the sky!” Tway shouted. They all craned to look up as a new spate of rock-hail fell, glowing as it streaked through the air. The sea around them hissed. “It’s raining hot coals!” Tway said.

“Fire!” Torr roared, and his crewmen jumped for the fire pails to douse the coals that glowed in the scuppers. Torr rattled off orders as fast as he could talk. “Spaeth, run below. Get all the pails you can find, then wet some blankets. You there, Inning, help Tway get out the pump from the hold.” In an instant, everyone was running.

There was another explosion from the warship, a diffuse
whoompf
. A bright light bloomed on the Inning deck, and the sound of alarm bells followed. “Their gunpowder!” Torr shouted. “The coals hit a charge. They won’t be firing again in a hurry.” In fact, a brisk fire had already started on the Inning deck, and was climbing the shrouds.

The coals were falling like a hailstorm now, beating a clattering tattoo on the deck. Wisps of steam rose from the sea where they hit.

“Water!” Torr thundered, still at the tiller. His hat was smouldering; Galber dumped a bucket over him, then raced forward to douse a column of smoke rising from a coil of tarry rope.

Soon each of them had a bucket and the water was flying across the small deck. But Torr was craning up at the sails. Little charred holes were showing. He glanced at the warship, now directly opposite them. “Cory, Galber, get the hose up there and wet down the sails,” he ordered. “The rest of you, man the pump.”

With the hose spout under his arm, Cory climbed the shrouds, made treacherous with weak spots. It was a small, two-man pump, and the rest of them took turns working the levers as Cory aimed the stream of water at the sails.

They were passing right under the Inning ship’s guns. “Pray they’re too busy,” Torr growled, then roared, “Port mainstay! Wet the ropes too!”

No one spoke. The clanking of pails, the patter of coal-fall, and the wash of water were the only sounds. As the sails became soaked, they caught the wind better, making up for the loss of power created by the holes. The strained ropes groaned.

As the warship fell behind them, now blazing like a torch, they saw the sun rising between the headlands where Embo reached out to Loth.
Ripplewill
broke free into the morning. To Nathaway, the air had never seemed fresher, or the sky more beautiful and vast. At his side, Spaeth laughed aloud.

They were out of the harbour, past the blockade. Spaeth hugged Tway, then turned to Nathaway. She stopped, laughing at the sight of him. He laughed back. Their faces were all streaked with soot, clothes riddled with burns.

“We’re not pretty, but we’re free!” Spaeth said. “The Innings and the Mundua together couldn’t stop us.”

Torr was already barking orders, and Cory and Galber were scrambling for the sheets. They had changed course again, and were heading east with a strong tailwind.

“Where are we going, Torr?” Spaeth called.

“The Innings will soon be after us. I’m going to round the island and head home by the Windward Passage. They won’t be looking for us there.”

Just like a pirate to think first of evasion, Nathaway thought.

The
Ripplewill
’s bow was bouncing down a shining path toward the sun; now her jib fluttered out on the starboard side like a huge white wing. Nathaway turned to Spaeth, standing at his side. She looked up with a euphoric smile. In her eyes he suddenly imagined himself glowing with a vitality his awkward body couldn’t hide. He felt intensely desirable.

He was leaving the world of law and nation, setting out into a realm whose rules he didn’t know, where he would be an exile. And it didn’t matter, as long as she was there to make him new.

“Shall we go to Lashnish?” she asked.

“Anywhere,” he said.

In the mornings when she went out to milk the cows, Hegerly Ott usually stopped to look at the city of Tornabay from the back porch of her father’s farmhouse on the south side of the bay. They lived close enough to see the city and the comings and goings of the ships at the wharves, but not so close that the crime and crowd affected them. Twice a week, her father took the cart into town to market their cheese and eggs, and she went with him if she wanted to buy something. Other than that, they stayed away.

This morning, a dirty black haze hid the city, and spread long fingers out into the harbour. Hegerly frowned and clumped down the back steps. She was worried. Her father should have returned last night from his marketing trip, but he had not appeared. All night there had been sporadic sounds of shooting and explosions from the city. She feared that the two circumstances were connected.

The morning air was chilly as she trudged to the barn, the tin pail bumping against her leg. As she undid the iron latch she wished she had brought gloves. Inside, the barn smelled of hay and cows—a musty, comfortable odour. She regretted having to leave the door ajar for the light, for it let in the cold outside air. As she bustled over to the stall where Ting, the best milker, was kept, she heard a rustle. She looked around and found herself face to face with a wild-eyed man holding a gun.

Hegerly screamed. The man leaped forward with an oath. She dropped the pail and whirled to run, but he seized her from behind, clamping a clammy hand over her mouth and pressing the pistol to the base of her skull. “Another sound and I’ll blow your brains out,” he snarled. Hegerly went limp with terror.

“Answer by moving your head,” the man said in her ear. “Is there anyone in the house besides you?”

In her fright, it did not occur to Hegerly to lie, so she shook her head. “Are there any neighbours in sight of your farm?” he asked. “Are you expected anywhere today?”

To both questions she shook her head. “Good,” he said. “Now we are going into the house, and you will give me some food and dry clothes. Understand?”

Numb with fright, Hegerly nodded. “Then move.” The man prodded her with the pistol.

At that moment a deep voice said from the door behind them, “Stand right where you are!” The barrel of an old musket was protruding through the door.

In her joy at hearing her father’s voice, Hegerly wrenched out of the stranger’s grip. Taken by surprise, he made a desperate grab for her, but she dodged him and dived to safety behind a stall door.

“Drop that pistol,” the stern voice from the doorway said. Hegerly watched the intruder through a crack between the boards. He no longer looked so formidable —just a bedraggled Adaina with an unkempt beard. His clothes were soaking wet. He looked at the musket pointed at him, then at the pistol in his hand. With a look of resignation, he tossed it to the ground.

Hegerly’s father stepped into the barn, his musket still cautiously levelled at the stranger. “Are you all right, lass?” he said. When she nodded, he said, “Pick up the pistol. You, keep your hands in the air.”

She crept forward to get the gun. The intruder said, “Don’t worry, it’s not loaded. Unless there are some fish in it.”

Birek Ott scowled at him. “Who are you and why were you menacing my girl?”

The man’s shoulders slumped; he looked as if he was trying to keep from shivering. “I wanted to get some food and clothes,” he said. “If I have to stand another moment in this cold I’m going to turn to ice.”

“Father,” Hegerly said, “it’s a Native Navy officer’s pistol.”

She held it up, and Birek glanced at it. He then turned back to the stranger, scrutinizing him. “Where did you get the gun?”

The man paused at this question, then finally said, “You won’t believe this, but it’s mine.”

“You’re in the navy?”

The intruder shrugged and nodded fatalistically.

“Are you a Talley’s-man or a Tiarch’s-man?”

The intruder looked up sharply at this question, searching Birek Ott’s face. He seemed reluctant to answer. “Why don’t you just shoot me?” he said.

“Answer the question.”

“Tiarch’s.”

It was the right answer, for Hegerly’s father lowered the musket. “I used to be Sergeant Birek, of the militia. A
true
Tiarch’s-man. You didn’t need to make threats; we would have helped you.” He held out his hand.

Cautiously, the stranger reached out to touch it.

“Which ship?” Birek asked.

“The
Providence
, under Captain Quintock.”

“Ah! I didn’t know they were back. Well, come inside to the fire. You can tell us your tale. Your people are to rendezvous at Croom by tonight, you know.” Turning to the door, Birek held out his hand for Hegerly. “My daughter doesn’t yet know the news. She’s probably wondering what’s going on.”

So, for that matter, was Harg.

*

An hour later, Harg sat in dry clothes by a roaring fire in the farmhouse kitchen, a bowl of Hegerly’s porridge glowing inside him.

In his mind, the night before was a murky muddle of ash-fall, panic, and cold. He had spent what seemed like hours dodging pursuit, hiding in the forest of slimy pilings under the docks, gradually making his way southward to the outskirts of the city. The last he had seen of his friends had been when they parted outside the Gallowmarket. He could only hope they had escaped on their own to the
Ripplewill
and were now safely on their way home.

He jerked awake as Hegerly said, “The news, Father! Tell me what’s happened.”

“Well, lass,” the farmer said, “Tiarch is no longer governor in Tornabay.”

Hegerly looked as if her father had said, “The sky is no longer blue” or “The sun will not set today.” Harg knew how she felt. As long as he could remember, Tiarch had been the government in Tornabay. “Tiarch” and “Inning” were synonyms.

“But who—?” Hegerly stammered.

“Admiral Talley,” Harg said in a dead voice. He had said something of the sort to Tiarch, but he had never dreamed the warning would come true so soon, or so suddenly.

Birek’s voice was bitter. “Twenty years she’s ruled the isles faithfully in their name. Then in one night the Innings brand her traitor so they can seize the power themselves. It shows you what profit there is in serving faithless masters.”

“Are they holding her?” Harg asked.

Birek eyed him in surprise. “Haven’t you heard?”

“I’ve heard nothing. I spent the night rubbing noses with the carp in Tornabay harbour.”

A smile spread across Birek’s face. “No, they didn’t catch her. I tell you, it takes fast footwork to outstrip our Governor. She figured out their plot almost as quick as they did. By the time they went to arrest her, she and her palace guard were on the road to Croom. The troop of militia they sent after her defected to her side. So did a lot of the city militia. You may have heard the firing. That was the Innings’ marines, trying to get control of the city.”

“The militia fought for Tiarch against the Innings?” Hegerly said, incredulous.

“Of course!” Birek answered forcefully. “It’s our own native-born governor we owe allegiance to, not those arrogant newcomers. Of course, there were some who had no choice. The navy ships in harbour were blockaded in by those three ships from the Southern Squadron. But it looks like even they didn’t go over without a fight.” He glanced at Harg.

“You’ve got that right,” Harg said.

“There were a few militia troops who got caught on the wrong side as well. But even some of the Innings’ top officers, like that Commodore Joffrey who was the admiral’s picked man, went over to Tiarch.”

“He did?” Harg said—although it was the news of Joffrey’s previous allegiance that made the biggest impression.

“You hadn’t heard that either, eh?” Birek said appraisingly.

Harg sat forward. “Who controls Tornabay now?”

“The Innings,” Birek admitted. “But that’s all they control.”

“And what’s Tiarch doing?”

“Well, it seems she’d suspected what was in the wind for some time. For the last two weeks her ships have been gathering at Croom. She’s been stockpiling arms and supplies there for months. Now the word’s out that all faithful troops are to assemble there by nightfall.”

“What then?” Harg asked.

Birek shrugged. “Who knows?”

Harg’s mind was boiling with possibilities. Tiarch, a fugitive. The Torna-Inning coalition shattered. Half the navy wavering. It was an unbelievable chance. How could Admiral Talley have misread everyone’s loyalties so disastrously? “I have to get to Croom,” he said.

“I figured you’d say that,” Birek smiled.

One thing was bothering Harg. It was the timing. “Why now?” he said.

“Well, you know what they were saying.”

“No, what?”

“The rumours that Tiarch was negotiating with those rebels. That’s the excuse the Innings used, of course: that she’d turned traitor. But what we heard was that she’d gotten too close to striking a deal. Admiral Talley doesn’t want peace. He wants a rebellion so he can crush it and go home in glory. And now he’s betrayed Tiarch and everything she built, to have the credit for putting down the South Chain.”

Harg stood, unable to contain his impatience any longer. “How can I get to Croom?”

“I can take you,” Hegerly said. Both men looked at her in surprise. She turned to her father. “I’ll bet I can sell some milk and chickens there. They’ll be paying bonus prices to stock the fleet. I can take the cart.”

Frowning, Birek said, “The Rock alone knows what ruffians are roaming the roads.”

“I can go by the back way. We know just about everyone along that road.”