The Destiny of the Dead (The Song of the Tears Book 3) (41 page)

‘I heard it too,’ said Tulitine. ‘It was the same voice, a
deep, reverberating man’s voice, speaking in an accent I did not recognise. It
said, ‘…
and burn them to nothingness
.’

‘…
and burn them to
nothingness
?’ repeated Yggur, frowning. ‘That could mean anything.’

‘Quite so,’ said Lilis. ‘The taphloid is one of the more
enigmatic devices I’ve had to deal with. Now if you’re quite finished …’

They took the hint.

 
TWENTY-EIGHT

The air-sled made its stuttering way east towards the
mighty mountains of Crandor, and when they were winding their way up the
valleys and over the lowest passes, Flydd said, ‘We’re not far from Roros now
– only fifty leagues in a direct line, I’d guess. Do you think you can
get us that far, Chissmoul?’

‘I’ll do my best, surr.’

Her best lasted a day and a half, until the following
evening, though her stops to tinker with the mechanism became more frequent,
until she was spending half an hour on the ground for every hour in the air.
They had made it over the mountains and across the rainforest on the eastern
side, almost to Roros, keeping away from cleared land and any evidence of
habitation, so there would be no warning of their coming.

On a hot, steamy tropical evening, the air-sled was creeping
along the coast half a league offshore, so as not to be seen, for Crandor was a
fertile and heavily populated land. They were flying so low that waves were
thumping against the keel, when an unpleasant sound of metal grinding against
metal came from the mechanism and it began to rattle and shake violently.

Chissmoul hastily turned towards the distant shore. ‘I was
afraid that was going to happen,’ she said to Flydd. ‘It’s finished this time,
surr.’

‘Can you get us to land?’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Hardly any of my militia can swim,’ said Nish. ‘And the
wounded will certainly drown if we come down in deep water. Get everyone ready,
Lieutenant.’

While Flangers organised the troops, Nish made sure that the
stretcher lashings were unfastened and slung the serpent staff loosely over his
back so he could drop it if he got into trouble. The food and drink were packed
on the far right corner of the air-sled though, unless they made it to solid
ground, it would have to be abandoned.

It became increasingly evident that they would not reach the
shore, for the air-sled dropped lower and began to crash into the waves,
dashing salty spray in their faces, and none of Chissmoul’s increasingly
frantic movements with her controller were making any difference.

‘What if you set down on the water and give the mechanism another
tweak?’ said Flydd.

‘Can’t!’ she wailed, in despair now that her precious craft
was failing. ‘Something’s broken and I’ve no way of fixing it. Besides, she
won’t float with that whacking great spear hole through the bottom.’

‘What if we plugged it with something?’

‘Would you crawl inside the deck in the dark,’ said
Chissmoul, ‘and try to find a spear hole by feel, when the craft could sink and
carry you with it?’

Nish’s heart sank, for he knew what was going to happen
next.

‘If we don’t,’ said Flydd, ‘everyone who can’t swim will
die.’

‘I’ll have a go,’ said Flangers.

‘Can you swim, Lieutenant?’

‘Not much more than a dog paddle.’

‘Stay here,’ said Nish, ‘and get the troops off the instant
we reach shore. I’ll go – I’ve been inside the deck already.’

The air-sled, moving slowly now, crashed through another
swell. The coast was a dark shadow not far ahead, but waves were bursting on a
steep and rocky shore. ‘I can’t lift her at all,’ said Chissmoul dismally.

‘As long as you can keep going forwards,’ said Flydd, ‘we’ll
be all right.’

‘We can’t land there – we’d be smashed to pieces on
the rocks.’

‘I think there’s a little cove further south. Head that way
and beach the air-sled on the sand.’

‘If I can get her that far,’ said Chissmoul grimly.

‘What are you going to plug the hole with, Nish?’ said
Flangers. ‘It’ll need to be jammed in tight or the water will force it straight
out again.’

‘I don’t know.’

Flangers hacked a length off the pennant pole with his
broadsword. ‘This is about the same width as a javelard spear.’ He rummaged
among the gear purloined from the army at Blisterbone Pass and brought out a
hammer.

Nish took them. ‘I’d better take a knife in case I have to
whittle it down to size. How far are we from shore?’

He could not tell from here, for it was a cloudy night and
the dark rocks were almost indistinguishable from the sea and the sky.

‘Couple of hundred spans,’ said Aimee from behind. ‘But the
cove is three times that.’

It might as well be a hundred leagues, Nish thought. The
air-sled isn’t going to make it.

‘Wish me luck,’ he said, taking off his sabre and staff and
handing them to Flangers. He crawled down the hole into the deck.

‘Good luck,’ they said, with feeling.

The floor was already awash, though at least the water was
warm, which was a novelty in Nish’s experience. Inside it was totally dark and
he crouched there for a few moments, getting his bearings. The mechanism must
be a few paces ahead of him. Yes, he could hear its grinding. The spear hole
would be diagonally some four spans to his right, near the prow, since it had
come through under the pennant pole.

He crawled that way, holding the wooden plug in his right
hand, the knife and hammer thrust through his belt. The water was deeper at the
front and came up to his elbows. People were moving around on the deck above
his head; below him the hull was thumped regularly by the swell. The air was
hot, the humidity stifling, and in the darkness Nish felt the first stirrings
of claustrophobia. He fought them down and continued until his head struck the
inside of the prow.

He could not find any hole in the keel, though the water
definitely seemed to be rising. The hole should be directly below the pennant
pole socket, he reasoned, and he must be able to see that as a slightly lighter
circle.

He crawled back and forth, feeling the floor with the palms
of his hands, but could not feel or see a thing. He must have crawled too far
to the right. Nish turned around and, distantly, could just make out the pale
circle of his entry hole. He oriented himself again and headed for the point
where the socket should be.

The sound of the mechanism stopped abruptly and the air-sled
thumped onto the water. Chissmoul cursed, loudly and volubly, and shortly it
lifted again, with a series of wrenching shudders.

‘How are you getting on down there?’ said Flydd, his head
down the hole. ‘Nearly done?’

‘I can’t find the bloody spear hole.’

‘It’s below the pole socket,’ Flydd said tersely.

‘I can’t find that either.’

‘Really?’

‘It’s darker than a lyrinx’s appendix down here.’

‘But you must be able to see –’

Flydd broke off and Nish heard him striding across the deck,
then the scrape of wood on metal, and he came back.

‘Some fool put a crate on top of it. That better?’

When he looked the other way, Nish could see the pale dot of
the socket. ‘Thanks. How far are we from shore?’

‘A good way. Clech has been taking soundings and the water
is still eleven spans deep, so get a move on.’

‘I’m not down here for my health!’ Nish said irritably.

The spear hole wasn’t directly beneath the socket when he
got to it, for the spear had come through the floor at a shallow angle and
struck the base of the pole slantwise, however after feeling around in
increasing circles for another minute he tore his palm open on the ragged metal
edge of the hole in the keel.

Nish cursed, then felt the hole carefully. It seemed smaller
than his plug, and even after he’d tapped all the ragged edges down flat it
still would not fit.

He was settling back on his haunches to whittle the plug to
size when the mechanism stopped again, the air-sled dropped sharply and water
gushed through the spear hole, right into his face. He fell backwards, struck
his head, and knife and plug went flying.

As he was feeling for them Flydd called again, rather more sharply,
‘Are you done now? We seem to be taking in a lot of water.’

‘The cursed plug is too big,’ Nish snapped. ‘I’ve got to cut
it to size. Tell Chissmoul to fly prow-down so some of the water can run out.’

‘I don’t think she can.’

‘It’s important.’

‘So is your job, and if it takes much longer there won’t be
any point.’

Nish restrained the urge to insert the plug into Flydd,
sideways, and felt for his knife. The air-sled lifted even more reluctantly
than before and some water dribbled out.

He whittled the end of the plug, which was extremely hard
wood, and tried it again, but it was still too big. Outside he could hear
crashing waves; they must have drifted closer to the rocks, and with such big
seas there would be little chance of anyone getting off onto the steep shore.
He tried the plug and this time it just fitted.

He tapped it in. The plug felt tight, but the air-sled
dropped again, hit the water and the pressure blew it out, whacking him in the
mouth. He rubbed his bruised lips and replaced the plug.

‘Nearly done?’ said Flydd. ‘We’re awfully low in the water.’

‘Impact keeps pushing it out. Chissmoul has to stay up
longer.’

‘Flying this heap is hard enough without lifting all that
extra water.’

However the air-sled did lift, went prow down, and the water
began to gurgle out the spear hole.

‘Where are we now?’ Nish yelled.

‘Nearing the entrance to the cove, but the water is still
deep. If we go down I can swim to shore … but I don’t think anyone else could.’

‘Well, I certainly can’t from here!’

Nish jammed in the plug and hammered it down until his arm
was aching. He could feel the air-sled moving now.

‘Done it!’ he yelled. ‘I’m coming out.’

‘We’re in the cove,’ Flydd said. ‘I don’t think we can get
as far as the beach but there’s a little rock platform to our right; Chissmoul
is going to try and beach the air-sled on it.’

‘Gather your packs and weapons,’ ordered Flangers, ‘and get
ready to jump. Stretcher-bearers, stand by.’

Nish crawled through the elbow-deep water towards the hole.
The mechanism raced, rattled, raced again. The air-sled seemed to accelerate
then the prow struck the rocks and slid across them. Nish heard the plug shear
off, not that it mattered now. They were on the platform, safe.

‘Stretchers off first,’ Flangers bellowed.

Heavy feet ran across the deck.

‘Look out for that following wave,’ cried Clech. ‘Hang on!’

Nish was at the hole when the wave crashed over the rock
platform, lifting the air-sled and turning it around. The surge began to carry
it back towards the water and he lost his bearings momentarily. Before he could
grab the rim, the prow of the air-sled must have gone over the edge, for it
dropped sharply, he was carried down with the water and slammed against the
inside of the prow.

He clawed his way up for air, aware that seawater was
spurting in through the spear hole again and there was nothing he could do
about it. The plug and hammer could be anywhere.

‘Get off!’ Flydd was roaring.

‘Hoy!’ yelled Flangers. ‘Grab that stretcher before it
floats away. Carry them up the slope away from the surge.’

Nish heard people shouting, yelling and screaming; he could
see the hole above him but the air-sled had caught on a projection at the edge
of the rock platform and was still suspended, prow down, so steeply that he
could not climb the wet metal.

At this angle the water was up to his shoulders and would
soon rise above his head. He tried again, slipped and went under, and salty
water went up his nose and down his wind-pipe.

He splashed up again, spitting out water and gasping for
breath. Could he squeeze up along the side of the craft, where the hull
tapered?

‘Where’s Nish?’ came Aimee’s high voice.

‘I thought he was out,’ said Flydd. ‘Has anyone seen him?’

‘I’m in here,’ he croaked, though he did not think he could
be heard over the crash of the waves and the grinding of the keel against the
rocks.

There was nothing to hang onto along the side, no way to
pull himself up. He had swallowed so much seawater that he felt ill, and was
seized by a deadly fear that he was going to drown.

‘Here!’ he screeched, banging on the underside of the deck
with his knuckles.

‘He’s still inside,’ said Aimee. ‘Get him out before it
sinks. Chissmoul, do something.’

‘Can’t! Wave tore – controller – away,’ she said
dully. ‘We’re finished.’

‘Be buggered!’ snapped Flydd. ‘Flangers, can we get to the
hole? He must be trapped down in the prow.’

‘I’ll try and drop a rope down to him,’ said Flangers.
‘Nish, can you hear me?’

‘Yes! Hurry up.’

‘I won’t be long. Stay calm. We’ll get you out.’

‘Big wave!’ sang out Clech. ‘Move away from the edge.’

The wave hit the air-sled, metal ground on stone underneath
Nish and the craft moved further onto the rock platform; the angle of its tilt
shrank fractionally, though not enough for him to climb out. He was waiting for
it to drop further, thinking he was safe, when the surge went the other way,
carried the air-sled with it over the edge, and it dropped like a boulder.

On the way down it tilted again, the water carrying him the
other way in a great surge and slamming him against the inside of the stern.
The air-sled kept falling, hit the bottom stern-first, rolled over and thumped
down on its deck.

Nish lay there with the water over his head, battered black
and blue; even his teeth hurt. Stay calm, he told himself as he rolled over and
sat up. Just swim to the hole, out and up. But first he had to find the hole in
the deck, and there was not a skerrick of light down here.