On Discord Isle (10 page)

His only reply was a hurried thrashing through the jungle.

She cursed and pushed on after him. Natasha ducked low branches, plowed through ferns, and jumped low roots. With every step forward, the jungle seemed to fight her back. She growled and redoubled her efforts, only to trip on a root and lose her balance. Hands out, she clutched at a low-hanging vine for support. It pulled free and writhed in her grip. Surprised, she glanced down. She was holding a thick green snake. It hissed angrily. Natasha windmilled to get her footing back, then whipped the disoriented snake with a flick of her wrist and sent it sailing off into the greenery.

Fengel continued to press forward while she paused for breath and balance. The air here was thick and heavy. Rich earth smells filled her nose, and sweat was already beading across her forehead.

Not rid of me that easily
. Natasha narrowed her eyes, took a breath, and began the chase again. His wild clamber through the underbrush grew louder. She was gaining on him, she realized. Then she found out why. The earth beneath her feet was curved up into a slight incline; the hill he sought. Faintly Natasha remembered the ridge Fengel mentioned, how it descended from the volcano in the middle of the isle. This hill had to be just below it.

The incline became steeper. Natasha grabbed at the foliage and used it to pull herself along. The exertion and her long night were taking their toll. She grit her teeth and climbed. All around her, the jungle brightened as the foliage thinned. She could see him now, maybe two dozen paces ahead and almost crawling up the slope. Up a little higher loomed the top of the hill, an open space and brightly lit.

Natasha pulled herself to the trunk of a tree. She put her back to it, facing uphill. “Fengel!” she called out in between breaths. “I know you’re up to something! What is it?”

He glanced back at her. “Nothing,” he said, likewise panting. “Go light another fire. And this time, stand in it!”

She threw herself back at the hill as Fengel redoubled his efforts. A dozen feet became ten, then five. As he crested the hilltop, Natasha leapt, catching his boot around the ankle. He toppled and fell. She scrabbled into the sunlight atop him, rolling him over to grab the front of his shirt.

“You,” she panted, “only get away when I
let
you. Now. What are you—”

His open palms clapped over both her ears. The world swam, and dark spots appeared in her vision. It felt like a mule had just kicked her in the head. Fengel rolled away as she toppled. Natasha crawled to hands and knees reflexively. When she looked up, Fengel was kneeling with his back against a rock, on guard.

Past him spread the hilltop, a flat plateau nestled in the crook between the black ridgeline and the rocky slope of the volcano. Basalt stones covered the springy grass that grew here, some of them just like the weird rock monoliths jutting up at irregular intervals from the steaming mountain. At the far end of the hill, a wide crack appeared in the ridgeline, allowing passage through. Behind them, the jungle spread in a verdant panorama all the way back down to the beach. She could even see the small black hole she had burned through the canopy last night.

Natasha ignored the view. It wasn’t what was important. “Fess up now, you sly bastard. You found a way off the island, didn’t you?”

“No,” he said with a glower. “I have not.”

“Liar. You’ve found another way off the island. But it’s past the ridgeline. That’s why you came up here.”

Fengel shook his head. “You’re mad. I’ve found nothing! Now go away and leave me alone, you lunatic.”

She had him again. “You’re
lying
Fengel. I can tell. I can always tell.”

He glared at her. Then he stood and deliberately turned his back on her, before stalking across the hill for the pass through the ridge.

Natasha rose and followed.
Trying to ignore me now? Typical. Well, it’s not going to work.
Her husband was clever, when he wanted to be. But he was never able to fool her for long. And he wasn’t nearly as determined as she was.

They crossed to the rocky cliff that separated this portion of the island from the rest. Up close it looked strange—oddly smooth in some places, hard and brittle in others.
Lava flow,
she realized.

The crack in the ridgeline was easily wide enough for a man to pass through. Fengel entered with only a single backward glance, frowning as she followed him. Inside the passage, the bright midmorning sunlight faded to a dank gloom. Natasha kept an eye out for whatever it was he was looking for, determined to outwait him.

It didn’t take long. Halfway through he whirled to confront her. “Goddess’s teats! Will you leave me alone? Even marooned on an island, I can’t get away from you.”

“Tell me what you found,” she said.

“Nothing!”

“Tell me what you found.”

Fengel yelled in frustration. He stomped the earth and lashed at the air in frustration before facing her. “If I tell you,” he said between pants, “will you go away?”

Natasha cocked her head to one side, considering. “Maybe,” she said. The two of them were more-or-less evenly matched at the moment. But it seemed that the more passive avenues of aggression were still open to her. She was enjoying herself, she realized.

Fengel pointed up.

Natasha blinked at him.
Oh no you don’t.

He sighed. “Look up.”

She shook her head. “I’m not falling for that.”

“No, it’s up there. Look up.”

Warily, Natasha looked up to the volcano. On this face the slope was rocky and malformed. Though the crack in the ridge was tall, she could clearly see one of the large rock formations that dotted the side of the steaming mountain. It was different than the others, now that she bothered to look more closely, covered in vines and at least a hundred feet tall, wider across than the
Dawnhawk’s
hull. There was something peculiar about it too....

Natasha blinked as she realized she was looking at a statue. It was ancient, of strange workmanship. Someone had carved a massive stone statue in the shape of an upright dragon. Over the years the foliage had grown to cover the thing.
How did I miss that from the beach?
Natasha pondered for a moment. She had to admit that she’d been
very
angry yesterday, though justifiably so.

“I don’t get it,” said Natasha, returning to the matter at hand. “How is that going to help you get off the island?”

Fengel grit his teeth and closed his eyes. “I was telling you the truth, you daft bint. I
haven’t
found a way off the island. But I saw this yesterday, and thought about it some more. If it’s not some ancient Voornish relic, then someone else had to carve it, which means that this island may not be deserted.”

She blinked at him in confusion. “So?”

“So...maybe they have a boat, or at the least, food, fire and shelter.”

Natasha blinked again. Then she started forward. She walked past Fengel toward the far end of the gap. Sunlight there revealed a similar grassy hill on this end.

“Hey!” shouted Fengel as he chased after her. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to meet them first,” she called over her shoulder.

“What? No, get back here. It’s my plan!”

“Nope,” she laughed.

“You horrible madwoman! Get back here! I thought of it first!”

The crack widened to reveal the opposite side of the ridge. Natasha heard him scrabbling after her and dashed out onto a grassy ledge that sloped its way down to more jungle. The island stretched before her in a similar panorama to the one behind her, thick jungle rolling all the way down to a beach. Past the beach the waters were blue and green, fringed by a rolling white surf that crashed onto the sands. Beyond them floated a wide wooden structure with three tall masts, the latter covered in the telltale white canvas of sails.

A ship.

Fengel crashed into her. “It’s my idea, damn you. And you’ll just screw everything up. You always do, you’re too aggressive! But if we’re going to get help, it’ll take tact. It’ll take subtlety.”

She shoved him aside without looking, and he fell to the dirt. Fengel sprang back up with one hand formed into a fist, ready for another argument. Natasha pointed out at the ship. “Look,” she said.

Her husband narrowed his eyes. “I’m not falling for that.”

“No, out there. Look.”

Fengel glared at her suspiciously, then slowly looked out at the ocean. Spying the ship, his hand fell back to his side, unclenched. “That’s a ship,” he said wonderingly.

“Huh,” said Natasha. She raised an eyebrow at Fengel. “You’re actually right for once. The island isn’t deserted.”

She whirled about and punched him in the ribs. He folded, eyes bugging wide and mouth comically open. Natasha leapt away and ran for the edge of the hill. Her husband made a high-pitched keening noise as she ran down and into the jungle.

The foliage was just as thick down here as it was on the other side. Vines, ferns, snakes and underbrush all hampered her movement. The gloom made her footing difficult, and until now she hadn’t appreciated that Fengel had blazed a trail for her to follow during her earlier chase. Still, as long as she ran in a straight line, she’d reach the beach before he did.

A riot of color appeared, landing on a low branch just ahead of her. It was the parrot from this morning, or one close enough to it. The bird lifted its butter-colored beak in surprise at the racket she made. A gleeful cackle worked its way up her throat. Natasha made a fist and swung, putting all of her weight and momentum behind it.

The parrot squawked just as she hit it. Her knuckles hammered into its brightly-plumaged breast, connecting squarely and sending the obnoxious thing flying from its perch in a haze of rainbow feathers. Natasha laughed in glee and forged on ahead.

A noise reached her from behind, a crashing through the jungle only a short distance behind her. Apparently Fengel had recovered from her sucker-punch.

“Too late, hubby dearest,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m going to be first!”

“So what?” he called up to her. “You don’t even know who that is!”

Euron Blackheart would have warned her against being so hasty. Natasha didn’t care. “It doesn’t matter,” she replied. “Sailors are sailors! I think I’ll do the ‘poor damsel’ bit. Say you kidnapped and ravished me, oh woe. That always pulls the heartstrings.” She laughed. “Just like that time off the coast of Capricanto! Remember that you
are
moderately infamous, Fengel dearest. A notorious criminal! Who wouldn’t want to save me from you, and claim a fat bounty to boot? Then it’s homeward bound, and
revenge.
”

“You’re daft.”

“Daft like a fox!”

“That’s not how that goes!”

She laughed, refining her plan as she went. It was solid enough, one she’d used before in a pinch. Deception wasn’t her favorite tactic, finding brute force and intimidation preferable. But Natasha had learned the lesson of practicality a long time ago. Ruthlessness only worked from a position of strength. Unfortunately, she didn’t have that position at the moment, or any way to get it.

The jungle thinned. Beyond the crash and clatter of her movement through the underbrush, she heard something else: the faint roar of the sea. She was almost there. Natasha practiced her lines in her head. Fengel was right. She didn’t know who the sailors were. But fortunately, she spoke several languages fluently.

The underbrush parted suddenly. The bare earth beneath her dropped away into a faint incline, sloping down a dozen feet to a wide patch of sand only intermittently broken by small tufts of yellow grass. The jungle spread out around it, stretching a little farther toward the surf.

There was a camp here.

It was not a small one, either. Out near the farthest edges of the jungle it started, a line of grey pup tents arranged with military precision into several orderly rows. Several campfires smoldered between them and a number of long trestle tables were covered with tools, plates, and muskets. The camp stretched all the way back down the beach to the tide line, where three longboats sat beached in the sand. Only a short distance away, too close to be anything but beached, sat the ship.

It was big, a warship. Either a ship-of-the-line or a very large frigate. She was new as well, with a steam stack in the stern and both port and starboard paddlewheels amidships. A triple-row of cannon nosed out of her ports to face the island, black barrels shiny in the morning sun. Faint golden lettering stood out just below the bowsprit, though she couldn’t quite make out the name. 

The camp was not empty. Men moved about without any sense of urgency, though there was a strange, almost mechanical pattern to the way they moved. She couldn’t see their clothing too clearly from where she stood. That didn’t mean much, though. Most navies were somewhat ragged in appearance.

A ship was a ship. So long as it sailed, and she got to it before Fengel, Natasha didn’t care who was on it. She tore a sleeve and adjusted the neckline of her blouse lower. Then Natasha pinched the inside of her wrist until it hurt, and willed the tears to come. Mussing her hair, she ran forward.

Or started to. Fengel crashed out of the jungle and grabbed her wrist.
Oh, for the love of….
Natasha opened her mouth to snarl at him, then stopped. This could be good for her, actually. If someone saw them struggle, it would make her story all the more convincing.

“You horrible harpy,” he growled. “You—”

Her husband cut short as he glanced up and took in the scene before them. Then he paled. Natasha drew in a breath to scream, trying not to smile.

Fengel promptly clapped a hand over her mouth and yanked her back into the jungle. She fought him, biting and swatting with her free hand.

“Good Goddess, stop!” he cried. “You haven’t any idea what we’re running into. That’s a Perinese warship!”

Natasha bit his hand and slammed her heel down on Fengel’s toes. He fell away with a yelp.

“Help!” she cried.

Fengel cursed and grabbed her around the waist. She made to plant her knee in his jaw, then checked herself.
Wait. Weak and helpless, remember.
Natasha flailed ineffectively at his back.