On Discord Isle (42 page)

“How are you—”

“How are you—”

Lina coughed and looked away to the Revenant he’d caught. Tricia was groaning in irritation now, but didn’t seem to have the fine motor skills necessary to raise the noose over her waist.

“They’re not so bad,” said Hockton suddenly. “I mean, I don’t really want to do this. At all. And that Nate Wiley fellow keeps getting in the way when he visits his brother, but if it keeps the others from throwing me overboard, then I’ll do it.”

Lina realized that this was as close as she was getting to being forgiven. “You’re all right with this, then?” she asked, looking up at him.

Hockton gave her a wry smile. “For now. I’ll wrangle corpses if I have to.” He looked back at Tricia. “They seem to remember some of the skills they used to have,” he continued, “and don’t get violent unless you really get in their way. This one can even see that sail there is all busted up. The stink’s a shame, though.”

“Oh,” said Lina. “That’s—”

A series of stuttering grunts interrupted them. Lina glanced up to see the white ape hanging from the rigging above by one hairy arm. With the other it pointed at something off the bow.

Lina cupped her hands. “Lookout sees something dead ahead!” she shouted at the deck.

Crewmen dropped what they were doing and ran forward. Lina waved for Hockton to join her and made her way up as well. She pushed through the still-forming crowd until she was up against the gunwales, looking out at the moonlit night.

Almhazlik Isle lay directly ahead. But the once-quiet peak at its center now shot hot ash and flaming magma to rain down on the island below. The jungle shook as if in an earthquake, and Lina thought she could see the tall masts of a sail ship past a small spit of palm-tree-covered land jutting out into the ocean. There was something else too...a large moving figure made of bright metal.

Henry Smalls appeared beside her. He took in the scene, then pulled a spyglass from the folds of his jacket. Extending it, he peered through, and the crew all quieted to hear what he would say.

“Huh,” said the steward, after a moment. He lowered the spyglass and stared ahead, looking puzzled.

The crew were still, then they all fought for the glass. Lina was small and quick and got it first, jamming it to her eye and leaning forward to keep it from the others. She stared, and then uttered an exclamation of surprise.

There was indeed a ship moored up near the beach of the isle. It was a warship, in fact, Perinese. And on the beach beside it raged a massive reptilian creature, armored somehow. The thing stood on its hind legs, forearms stretched out to reveal wicked claws. It roared at the moon, and even at this distance, Lina could hear the echo of its thunderclap call.

Someone snagged the spyglass away. One by one the crew took their turns peering through it. When they were done, Lucian retrieved the tool and handed it back to Henry.

“Only Captain Fengel,” said Lucian, “when left on a deserted island, could manage to find a Perinese warship, a live volcano, and what appears to be an ancient Voornish war-dragon.”

The entire crew muttered assent. Lina had to admit that a small part of her was completely unsurprised.

Cannon fire sounded from somewhere past the stern. The rippling whistle of a cannonball echoed down the deck, and everyone reflexively ducked.

Lucian shook his fist at their unseen pursuer. “Damn him to the Realms Below!” snarled the first mate. “Doesn’t that fool know when to give up?”

“There were figures moving on the deck of that ship ahead,” said Henry Smalls. “One of them had a monocle, I’m sure of it.”

“Then we’ll have to swing by and pick them up,” said Sarah Lome. “But how do we deal with
that
,” she asked, gesturing at the towering armored monster that grew larger with every passing moment.

“We can’t fend that off,” said Reaver Jane. “It’d take cannon of our own, at least. And we haven’t any. Almost no airship does. Only Euron Blackheart himself was ever mad enough to really try and pack on a full broadside.”

Henry turned to Konrad and Maxim. “Can either of you do anything to that monster? Even just long enough to distract it?”

Konrad made a gesture that Lina couldn’t interpret. “We have not had chance to recover Workings, of late. None of you understand. They must be bartered, but then the preparations for fine control utilize significant—”

“Yes or no would have worked,” said Henry in irritation. “I don’t need to know—”

The
Colossus
loosed another volley of cannon fire. Grapeshot whipped past in a cloud off the starboard side of the airship. One passed so close that it played with Tricia the Revenant’s hair.

An idea came to Lina.

That’s it
. She grabbed Henry Smalls by one arm, turning the short steward to face her. “Henry,” she said, licking her lips nervously. “I’ve got a plan.”

The crew fell dead silent. Every last one of them glared at her. Even undead Tricia at the back of the crowd turned to stare her way. But Henry only looked past her shoulder at the island.

Quickly, before they could throw her overboard, Lina told them what they should do.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Natasha was getting her wish.

The Dray Engine turned to face the
Goliath
. It lowered its head and stalked down from the sandy beach of Almhazlik into the crashing ocean surf. Both arms were spread wide, the claws ready to grasp and tear. Seawater churned as the thing came, crashing into its ankles only to fall back in a scintillating spray.

“Fire!” shouted her husband.

Natasha yanked the lanyard of the cannon guncock. The weapon leapt back with an ear-splitting eruption, belching a half-second blast of fire and fury. It slammed against the chains holding it in place near the bow, even as Sergeant Cumbers and Farouk leaned in to brace it again, looking away.

The cannonball was a silver-black blur in the moonlight. She could barely see it. But it struck the Dray Engine across the side of the head before spinning off to throw up a spray of sand where it landed upon the beach.

The Voornish monster halted its charge. It shook its head as if confused, then lowered itself to the attack again.

Damn.
Natasha wanted to snarl.
Only a glancing blow
. She could see that they wouldn’t have time to aim another shot, even with other cannons they’d loaded on the deck.

Fengel glanced back over his shoulder at the rest of the makeshift crew on the far starboard side of the vessel. They stood in a longboat stacked with the meager supplies, ready to drop into the water at a moment’s notice.

“Launch the boat!” he cried. “We’ll swim to you, now launch!” Fengel faced her. “We can try one more, but—”

Too late. The Dray Engine rose up before the
Goliath
. It slammed into the port hull with an impact that cracked wood and tore iron chain. Natasha slipped and fell along with the others, starting to slide backward as the deck tilted up. The row of port-side cannons fell back faster, either broken from their mooring chains or insecurely fastened in the first place. She wrapped her hands around her head, hoping she was clear. Being crushed by loose cannon was a common death, as such things went.

Hard wood slammed into her side. It was the capstan. Natasha wrapped an arm around it and reached out to Fengel as he slid past. Her husband saw in time and grabbed for her hand. Their fingers clasped, and he held on for dear life in the cacophony that thundered around them.

The deck fell abruptly, shifting down again to something like level. Above them, the Dray Engine roared at the sky before turning its gaze back downward. The machine stood chest-high with the deck, both arms resting where they’d crushed the gunwales.

Something flew past over head. It was large and dark and blocked out the moon. The Dray Engine looked up at the shadow, only to be struck by a number of falling metal canisters lit by the firefly glow of burning fuses.

Most fell off into the sea. The rest sundered on the Dray Engine’s armor. A familiar stink washed over the deck of the
Goliath
as light-air gas exploded about the head of the ancient Voornish weapon.

It was the
Dawnhawk
.

Natasha only stared a moment, too stunned to react. Rage, pride, and relief all warred within her as she spied the heads and faces of her mutinous crew, peering over the side. Rage mostly won out.

Her husband was more practical, however. As usual.

“Starboard side!” he yelled. “Pick us up in the water! On the starboard side!”

Fengel clambered to his feet and pointed furiously out toward the ocean. The longboat had already dropped, either torn or let free from the ropes used to lower it. Farouk and Cumbers were already fleeing, jumping over the starboard side of the ship.

Natasha scrabbled upward. The
Dawnhawk
flew past, banking for the island, now illuminated by the light of the moon and the burning cinders of Almhazlik’s volcano. The once-beautiful airship was a wreck. The stern cabin windows were broken and boarded over. The great canvas gasbag was a mess of crazy patching. Her skysails were shredded and torn, the controlling mechanisms dangling out from their armatures.

What had those treacherous pirates done to her ship?

The Dray Engine spun to follow the airship, unharmed by the bombardment. One paw still grasped the deck of the
Goliath
, and the vessel shook as the machine-beast roared its defiance.

Fengel turned to face her. His face was twisted with worry. “We can’t let that thing chase after the
Dawnhawk
. It’ll never be able to pick us all up if the Dray Engine is hounding it. I’ll stay behind to draw its attention.”

“That’s stupid,” she said to him. “You’ll never be able to get away in time.”

He looked aggrieved. “It’s doubtful. I know you don’t care about them, but I think we’ve done these folk wrong enough. I’ve got to try and save them if I can.”

Natasha didn’t say anything to that. She only looked up at him as the Dray Engine raged at her airship, and she rose up to kiss him. He lowered his head to meet her.

Then she sucker punched him in the stomach.

Fengel bent low with a gasp and she grabbed him by the jacket. Natasha ran him at the starboard side of the deck, picking up speed as she went. Her husband stumbled along beside her, fighting to keep his balance and recover his breath. When she reached the broken gunwales where an errant cannon had punched through, she threw him off of it. Fengel made a nice cannonball splash in the water below.

“I don’t care about them,” she yelled at him as he resurfaced. “But I do care about you. Now get your arse up on that airship, and get them out of here!” She made to turn away, paused, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh. And make sure you have good,
long
chat with our mutinous crew.”

Then Natasha faced the Dray Engine. The monster still watched the airship, with one paw crushing the deck up near the bow. She drew a pistol that Sergeant Cumbers had found below and went to meet the thing. Fengel would have set a trap, or dreamed up some clever plan to distract the monster. But that wasn’t her. 

She tried to stalk vengefully up the deck and mostly failed. It was a mess, littered with fallen rope, canvas sail and long spars torn from the masts up above. The cannons lay every which way, most of them still loaded.

An idea came to Natasha.
Wait,
the voice of her father seemed to say.
You can use this
.

She vaulted up to the forecastle deck near the great brazen claws of the beast. One cannon was still shipped in place, but its mount had shattered, leaving it to point askew. Natasha knelt down beside it and glanced along its length. Then she nodded and set the guncock before rising with its lanyard in her off hand, her other raising the pistol at the monster.

“Hey!” Natasha cried. “Hey beast!” Then she fired.

Compared to cannon fire, exploding light-air gas canisters, and the constant noise of the Voornish Dray Engine, her pistol was almost silent. But it did the trick. The ball ricochet away from the monster’s neck. The Dray Engine shifted in surprise, peering back down at her and moving just into the cannon’s line of fire.

Natasha yanked the guncock lanyard. The blast and the noise deafened her. Yet the ball struck true, slamming into the lower shoulder of the Dray Engine. It held together, not even scratched, really, but the beast rocked back with its eyelid shutters opening wide in surprise. The thing let out a bellow, as if it could feel pain. Behind it, the
Dawnhawk
wheeled around to make a run for the ocean.

Not quite enough
.
But you felt that. Oh yes, you did.
Natasha rose to run. And just as she went to flee, something landed on the shattered rails beside her.

It was the parrot with the butter-yellow beak. The thing appeared bedraggled, covered in dirt and blood and missing some feathers, as if it had escaped in haste from the claws of some burrowing creature. It peered at her with beady eyes, twisting its head back and forth. Then it opened its mouth to unleash a raucous and defiant squawk her way.

The bird paused. It seemed to realize that it wasn’t alone, peering up in almost-human surprise at the clanking monster that towered above the deck. Then it threw its stubby wings wide as the brazen paw of the Dray Engine lowered at them both.

Natasha felt a half-second’s satisfaction.
Where do you think you’re going?
She dropped her pistol and grabbed the bird as she ran. The crunch and impact of the Dray Engine crushing the gun station behind her travelled up the deck, felt and heard as one. She reached another cannon, pointed at the island, still, but near the opposite side of the ship along the bow. Natasha slid down alongside it with the parrot squawking madly in one hand. She triggered the guncock with her free hand and the weapon leapt back, throwing itself into the water. But the blast struck true, hammering the machine in its chest with the sound of a ringing gong.