On Discord Isle (39 page)

Natasha narrowed her eyes and elbowed him roughly in the ribs.
Like you could have done any better
. “So there’s the Perinese ship. Should we—”

The rapid-fire snapping of underbrush echoed out across the jungle. Trees shook and swayed, and up from the unintentional clearing rose the Dray Engine. It stretched to its full length and roared at the sky.

“Get down!” hissed Fengel, grabbing her arm. She yanked it free and dropped to a crouch as he moved to follow his own advice.

“So there’s the thing,” she said.

The Voornish machine pivoted about with the squeal of grinding metal. Flywheels twisted under the armored plates of its body while teethed gears churned furiously. It swung about, lashing its tail back and forth, crushing several trees and widening the clearing.

“What is it doing?” wondered Fengel.

“Haven’t the faintest,” she muttered.

“It’s like it’s trampling the dirt, getting rid of the mess you made. Is that your lean-to?”

Natasha glanced back in time to see the thing bend over and swipe with one arm. The ragged collection of branches and cloth that she’d tried to assemble into a shelter went flying out over the jungle.

“My tent,” Natasha muttered.

Fengel gestured, and they clambered back down the slope before wading back to the beach. “All right,” he said. “That thing is penned in there. We run for the
Salmalin
, gather what supplies we can, and make our way back around the far side of the island to the other ship for a longboat.”

Natasha spread her hands. “Sounds good to me.”

She led the way as they jogged back around the beach. The sand made it hard going, but at least this way they could avoid the jungle and the sheer cliffs that the volcano presented to the ocean along this face. By the time they passed the cliff they’d been trapped upon, it was well past noon.

The ground became swampy and bog-like. Natasha half swam and half walked between the branching trunks of baobab trees, climbing up on them whenever she needed a rest. Fengel held his own behind her, and before too long they found themselves on firm earth and white sands again.

An object came into view around the curve of the island up ahead. It was long and squarish, with long spars of wood hanging from its side like broken sticks; the wreck of the
Salmalin
.

Natasha stopped for a moment, bending over to place her hands on her knees and rest. “There it is,” she said, pointing. “Tidal wave from that bad earthquake the other day. Sucked her out to sea and then hammered her flat. Total loss, but Kalyon Mahmoud hoarded all the food for himself.”

“Lucky for us, then,” said Fengel. He looked away, pensive.

“What’s that look for?” asked Natasha.

Fengel shook his head. “I don’t know. I just….” He met her gaze. “Shouldn’t we look for some of the others? Some survivors, mayhap?”

Oh, for the Goddess’s sake.
Her husband was such a bleeding heart, sometimes.

Natasha shook her head. “Fengel, they were only tools. Face it, you were using them just as much as I was. And it only worked because they were both doing their damndest to kill each other in the first place.”

He nodded sadly. “You’re right.” Then he let out a sigh and raised an eyebrow at her. “But still...maybe we can tell them where to find the supplies, if we spot any?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “All right. But only after we raid them for ourselves.”

“Well, of course.”

They strolled until the stretch of beach that the Salomcani warship lay upon came fully into view. Natasha had to admit that the island had not been kind to it. She’d only been gone two days, and the vessel seemed worse than ever, set against the stark backdrop of the low bluff leading deeper back into the island. The sails of the ship were torn and tattered, its glass windows in the stern were all shattered, the hull was warped, and the keel was bent like a crippled old man.

Fortunately, though, they seemed to be the only ones there.

She started forward, but stopped abruptly as Fengel put a hand on her shoulder. Natasha glared back at him, but Fengel only held a finger up to his mouth for quiet. He peered around, warily, as if he’d noticed something that troubled him.

“What?” she asked.

“Do you hear that?”

Natasha listened. There were the waves, and the seagulls, and the sound of the wind rustling the branches of the nearby jungle. A brightly colored crab climbed the bluff behind the ship, only to slip and topple back down to the sand of the beach. “I don’t….” No, there. A rumbling. Natasha shook her head. “It’s just another tremor,” she said.

The Dray Engine burst up from beyond the low bluff behind the
Salmalin
with a roar. It stomped toward the shore, lowered its shoulder, and slammed into the broken warship. The
Salmalin
rocked with the blow. It rolled over until it was fully upside down, the masts snapping like matchwood and the boards of the hull splitting in a hundred places.

“Oh
horseshit
!” screamed Natasha. “That damned thing would have had to come straight here. This is ridiculous!”

The great brazen head rose. Two eyes like malevolent red suns fell upon them as the Dray Engine looked their way.

“Ah,” said Fengel. “Maybe you should quiet down, a bit?”

“No, I will not!” howled Natasha. “I’m sick of this island and all the ridiculous obstacles that keep throwing themselves in my way. You hear me, you great wind-up lizard? I have had enough!”

The Dray Engine raised one foot up upon the hull of the
Salmalin
as it faced them fully. It rose to its full height, its head hovering a hundred feet above the sand. Then it shifted to glare down at them, eyes forming narrow slits.

“That’s right,” continued Natasha. “Go on, get out of here, you outdated piece of junk! I will
break
you!”

A deep rumble came from the Dray Engine. It pressed down with its foot, crushing the hull of the
Salmalin
underneath.

“Natasha?” said Fengel. “Dearest?”

She wheeled about and snarled at him, “What?”

“Run.”

The Dray Engine gave a thundering roar. Fengel fled back up the beach.
Ah
. Her outrage cooled as Natasha realized just what she’d been doing.

She turned and ran. The sand proved treacherous, shifting and sagging under her feet. Sudden fear gave her strength, though, and she pulled up alongside her husband, already halfway to the jungle.

Another thundering roar echoed behind them, punctuated by an earth-tremor footfall. Then another, nearer. Natasha didn’t look over her shoulder; she just ran.

The wall of greenery grew closer. Twenty feet, fifteen, ten. Then she dodged between Fengel and a mango tree and into the shade of the jungle undergrowth.

Got to hide. Got to find somewhere to hole up
. The Dray Engine wasn’t going to be stopped by a tree or two, that was obvious. She needed something really solid. Even though this was the only sane solution, it still galled her. Natasha wanted to strike back at the thing. She wanted to
fight
.

She pushed through a fern just as the mechanical monstrosity slammed into the tree line. The tree line gave first. Snapping trunks and cracking limbs accompanied the thundering call of the beast. Fengel swore aloud behind her, his voice hoarse with exertion.

A hedge of ferns rose up before her. Natasha plowed through them. Beyond lay an open clearing maybe a hundred feet across. A large stone dominated the space, thrown here who knew how long ago, covered in moss and lichen. She didn’t stop to examine it, only plowed along ahead.

The lichen proved slick, shifting and sliding beneath her feet. A coating of fine volcanic ash covered the stone where it was otherwise bare, making it even more treacherous. Natasha fought for balance, calling upon the same resolve that had helped her escape the Perinese and dominate the Salomcani.

They were halfway across when the Dray Engine plowed into the clearing. It roared again, lowering its head to snap at Fengel just behind her. The jaws closed with a metallic echo, and she heard her husband swear loudly and fervently in every language he knew. He pulled equal with her, white-faced and sweating.

Natasha focused on putting one foot after another. The ground shook with the tremor of the massive Voornish automaton. She could almost feel the hiss of steam upon her back as the vapors poured from joints and baffles. To trip here would be death.

The beast snapped at her head and missed. She felt the wind of its jaws, the vibration of brazen teeth slamming shut. Then she was through the trees and into the greenery again.

Ha!
Natasha looked back over her shoulder. “Missed me, you clockwork joke!” Then she looked back, just in time to see a garish ball of feathers land on a branch just up ahead, its butter-yellow beak wide open to shriek at her maliciously.

There wasn’t enough time to stop. The parrot’s malevolent glare changed to shock as Natasha ran face-first into the ugly thing. It squawked and flapped, and Natasha swore and got a mouthful of feathers for her trouble. She was trying to pry the thing away from her when, suddenly, the ground disappeared from beneath her feet.

Natasha tumbled down a sandy slope, her curses punctuated by outraged squawks from the parrot. The two of them slammed hard into a shallow stream at the base, momentarily stunned.

Then Fengel was there, grabbing her and hauling her forward. The sunlight faded into darkness, and she realized he had dragged her into a low cave on the other side of the embankment.

The Dray Engine roared just outside and at the top of the slope. The shadow of its massive bulk swung back and forth, casting the stream and cave mouth into darkness. They seemed to have lost it.

Natasha held silent. So did Fengel. Even the ridiculous parrot—clutched in Natasha’s hands, scratched bloody from their escape—quieted. The thump and tremor of the machine pacing back and forth was like the workings of a massive clock, poorly timed. Rocks, sand, and dirt slid down into the stream as it went. The parrot made to squawk as a particularly large stone fell with a splash. Natasha grabbed its beak with one hand, silencing the thing. Still it fought her, jerking around and trying to bite and claw her.

Presently, the Dray Engine moved off a little way, though not so distant that they could leave. Fengel sighed and stood. “That was nerve-racking,” he said. “Fortunately, this burrow was here. I swear, this whole island seems riddled with tiny caverns. Probably some Voornish coffeehouse down this—”

He fell silent and Natasha glanced back. Then she froze.

A small crowd of sailors, Salomcani and Perinese both, clustered at the back of the cave behind them. They glared with outraged eyes at both Fengel and her.

Then they drew their weapons.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fengel eyed the mixed crowd of Salomcani and Perinese survivors at the back of the cave. They flinched with every passing of the Dray Engine, yet never shifted their gaze away from his direction. Their weapons were notched and battered but still quite serviceable. By the glares they sent his way, this was something they intended to show firsthand.

Never let them see you stumble.

“Well, gents,” said Fengel. “It’s about time I found you. Now, I have to ask; what are you doing hiding in a cave? There’s work to be done.”

Dead silence reigned.

“We’re not following you anymore!” cried Paine, the young midshipman. His voice carried overloud in the cave, and others reached out to shush him. They all froze then, listening to the pace of the Voornish war machine outside.

Sergeant Cumbers pushed forward. The ugly wound across his scalp was barely bandaged, but his eyes were clear again. “You tricked us,” he said accusingly. “You wormed yer way into our confidence while we were weak, and the second you could, you abandoned us. The few of us here barely made it out of that place alive!”

“So much for loyalty.” Natasha smirked before glaring at the three Salomcani.

One of them Fengel did not know, though the other pair were more familiar. The first of these was a tall man with a huge bruise above his mustaches and a chest wrapped with an impromptu bandage. The second was a short, stout fellow with a bloody, dried gash over his eyes.

“But you know better, right, Etarin?” she said.

The stout one stepped forward and gestured sharply at Natasha with his scimitar. “No! Your words are poison and your actions serve only yourself!” He gestured to his tall fellow with a bruised face and bandaged chest, and then to the thin one. “Neither I, Farouk, or Jahmal will follow your madness any longer.” He looked to the Perinese as Natasha blinked in surprise. “She slew our Kalyon and then took advantage, only to use us in her petty conflict with this captain of yours.”

“He’s not our captain,” hissed Sub-Lieutenant Hayes. “He’s just a damned pirate.”

“Oh?” said the thin man, Jahmal. “It certainly
seemed
like you were following him when we found you in the ravine.”

The crewmen fell to bickering among one another. Fengel glanced back over his shoulder and caught Natasha’s eye. She nodded sharply, glaring still at her ex-crewmen.

Fengel clapped his hands at them. “Gentleman,” he said. “Gentleman, there’s no need for argument. I’m certain we can all come to an accord, especially with the assistance of a third party.”

The Perinese all fell silent and stared at him.

“No!” said Hayes. “No, we’re not listening to any more of your damned wordplay.” He turned to the others at the back of his cave. “Kill him!” he said. “Just kill these two pirates and get it over with!”

The sailors began nodding and muttering agreement. They brandished their weapons again. Even young Paine joined in, raising a dagger in clearly frustrated bloodlust.

Fengel snapped his fingers.

At the signal, Natasha let go the beak of the horrible parrot. It immediately uttered a piercing shriek that almost deafened everyone in the cave, and certainly echoed outside. Hayes and Jahmal both dropped their weapons in surprise, the latter covering his ears.