“With all your heart? Because with all my heart I know there are still free people in our Realm, and they are fighting whilst we languish here.”
He opened his eyes and she saw tears shining. “You’re not a whore,” he said hoarsely. “No whore ever spoke like that.”
“Help us. We’ll take this ship and sail back to the Realm. I will help you find her, you have my word.”
He gritted his teeth, breath exhaling in a hiss. “I always used weasels,” he said after a moment. “Rats aren’t suited to thieving. I’ll need time before the bond is strong enough for such a complex task.”
“How long?”
“At least three days.”
Three days. An unwelcome delay, but Volaria was still a long way off, and three more days of improved diet could only aid them when the time came. She nodded. “Thank you.”
He gave a faint grin. “I hope there are some sailors amongst this lot, otherwise we’ll be running a great risk just to set ourselves adrift in a broad ocean.”
The rat dropped the berry in front of Fermin, sitting back and staring up with bright eyes, whiskers twitching. Fermin smiled fondly at the rodent and blinked, the rat scurrying off in a blur. It reappeared after only a few moments bearing another berry, adding it to the growing pile at Fermin’s feet.
“Don’t like this,” Iltis whispered. His face was shadowed but Lyrna knew it was tense with suspicion. “Use of the Dark is a denial of the Faith.”
Lyrna was tempted to point out that none of the original catechisms made any mention of the Dark and the strictures against it only appeared in Realm Law following the time of the Red Hand. But she doubted Iltis was the kind of man for whom reasoned discussion held much meaning. “We have no choice,” she whispered instead. “No other way to get the key.”
“She’s right,” the scar-faced outlaw said. “I’d even give my soul to the Cumbraelin god to get out of this pit.”
Iltis made a grunting noise, his bulky form hunching over in anger. “Heresy comes easy to the weak of Faith. Mine has never wavered.”
“We don’t get that key, you’ll have years of slaving to test your precious Faith,” the outlaw replied provoking a lurching snarl from Iltis.
“This isn’t helping,” Lyrna said.
Iltis ground his teeth and relaxed back against the hull, lost to the shadows once more.
“You understand your part in this?” Lyrna asked the outlaw.
He nodded. “Get to the tiller, kill the helmsman. Three of the strongest men will be with me.”
“Good.” She turned to Iltis. “Brother?”
“Once the shackles are off, wait for the guards to come for the nightly inspection. Strangle them with our chains and take their weapons. Take five men and kill the others on deck. The overseer’s cabin is at the stern next to the master’s. Kill the overseer first, then the master.”
“I’ll lead the others against the crew,” Lyrna said. “Try to herd them towards the port rail, keep them bottled up. We’ll need you to help finish them off, so be quick.”
“We’ll be lucky if half of us are still breathing by the end,” the outlaw said.
I’ll consider us fortunate if it’s a quarter, she thought. “I know. Do the others?”
“They know.” He swallowed and forced a smile. “Better a free corpse than a living slave, eh?”
Fermin pronounced his rat ready the following night, the animal now so completely within his control it would sit in his upturned hands, staring ahead with an unnerving stillness. “He’s a clever one,” Fermin said. “Not weasel clever, but still smart enough for tonight’s escapade.”
Lyrna felt a fresh wave of pain sweep over her head, making her grimace. The pain had changed over the last two days, becoming more concentrated in certain places, no doubt where the flames had seared the deepest into her flesh. Added to the pain was a hard ball of nausea in her gut. The Lonak had a word for it, Arakhin: the weakness before battle. “Then let’s be about it,” she said.
Fermin lowered the rat to the deck where it promptly scampered towards the steps, hopping from one to the other until it was lost from view. Fermin reclined, eyes closed. Lyrna breathed slow and even as the moments stretched, trying to calm the sickness building in her belly, feeling the silence thicken around her as the others waited. She studied Fermin’s face as he continued to sit with his eyes closed, seeing the occasional twitch or frown and wondering what it meant. Does he see through its eyes? she wondered as a faint smile came to the thief’s lips.
“He’s got it,” he whispered, making Lyrna’s heart leap. “That’s it, jump down, then back under the d—” His eyes flew open as a spasm of pain shook him from head to toe. He convulsed then doubled over, retching.
“Fermin!” Lyrna called to him. “What is it? What happened?”
The heavy fall of boots on the deck echoed throughout the hold, all eyes raised to track their progress. The footsteps halted, a pause, then something small splashed into the square of moonlit bilge water below the steps, something with black fur and a broken back.
Fermin stopped vomiting, righting himself and staring at the planking on the hull, his brows deeply furrowed in concentration.
The overseer descended the steps at a leisurely pace, the tip of his whip sliding over the wood as he made an unhurried entrance, standing in the moonlight and nudging the dead rat with his boot. “How very interesting,” he murmured in Volarian.
Fermin gave a pained grunt, his breathing heavy, sweat shining on his skin as he continued to stare at the hull.
“Magic,” the overseer said in Realm Tongue, raising his gaze. “One here, with magic. Who?” His whip uncoiled with a flick of his wrist, sliding across the planking like a snake. “All here, trade for one with magic.” He moved to the outlaw, staring into his eyes. “Understanding?”
The outlaw was shaking with fear, a fear so absolute it seemed certain he was about to spill every secret. Instead he closed his eyes and shook his head. Better a free corpse than a living slave.
The overseer shrugged and moved back, turning away, then twisting with cobralike speed, his whip moving too fast for the eye, the skin on the outlaw’s already scarred cheek splitting open as the crack reverberated throughout the hold.
“Who?” the overseer said again, his eyes roving, the outlaw sobbing in pain.
Fermin gave an audible gasp, sagging as yet more sweat streamed down his back, drawing the overseer’s eye. As he started towards him Lyrna jangled her chains, rising the bare few inches they permitted, speaking in Volarian. “It’s me! I have the magic!”
The overseer’s gaze narrowed, a very small grin on his lips as he moved towards her. “Should have guessed,” he said in Volarian. “Rare to find one, but when I do it’s usually the smartest.” He held up the key on the chain about his neck. “Sent your little friend for this. Clever, it nearly worked. But now I’ll have to kill ten of these as an example. Not you though, you’re worth a thousand of them. But you do get to choose.”
He moved back to the moonlit square, spreading his arms with a laugh. “So choose, you burnt bitch! Which of these do you want to watch d—”
The ship lurched, throwing him from his feet, the planking on the hull behind splintering, water streaming through in miniature fountains. The overseer staggered forward, falling onto Iltis and the outlaw. For a moment he gaped up at the big brother, face blank with shock. Iltis brought his blocky head forward to connect with the overseer’s nose, bone breaking and blood streaming. The overseer sagged as the outlaw twisted, wrapping his legs around the Volarian’s midriff, holding him in place as Iltis continued to bring his head down. More breaking bone, more blood.
“The key!” Lyrna shouted.
Iltis stared at her, blood streaming down his face, he blinked as the fury abated and understanding returned. With the outlaw’s help he rolled the overseer onto his back, fumbling for the key.
“I can’t . . .” Fermin said in a faint drone of exhaustion. Lyrna turned to see him slumped, blood streaming from his nose and eyes. “I can’t stop him . . . now. You have to be quick.”
“Got it!” Iltis said, pulling the key towards his manacles, stubby fingers attempting to manoeuvre it into the lock.
Something impacted on the hull once more, the planking splintering further, more water gushing forth, the level rising about their feet. Iltis cursed as the key was jerked from his fingers, spinning in the air and landing at Lyrna’s feet. She crouched down, hands plunging into the water, searching, panic threatening to strip her reason away . . . There, smooth metal under her fingertips. She grasped it tight, holding it up to her manacles, forcing the tremble from her hands as she twisted the lock to meet it. Slow, don’t rush . . . The key slotted into the lock, turned and the manacles fell away.
She stood, uncaring of the ache that burned in every muscle, surveying the few faces not hidden in shadow, seeing the terror and desperation, the pleading in every gaze. The steps are near, and this ship will sink before long . . .
