WARP world (16 page)

Ama pushed aside the fluff and finery, reached down and felt something hard. With a quick glance over her shoulder—that Seg had a way of sneaking up on her—she made sure she was alone. No one. The men hadn’t taken any of their belongings to shore with them, which could only mean they planned to return sometime this evening. Nevertheless, above deck, she had hooked up the boarding bell on a thin, trip wire. An old Kenda trick for solo sailors; anyone who stepped aboard would knock the line, ring the bell and alert her to their presence.

The box she pulled out was about the length of her forearm and constructed of some kind of Shasir metal, such as the wealthier Damiar sometimes used. There seemed to be no way to open it, which was unusual. She turned it over slowly in her hands but all she could detect was a small pad that had no lock or latch. Shasir trickery? It had to be.

There was another identical box beside the first and she examined it thoroughly with the same results. Stymied, she nestled both back inside the bag, taking care to place everything back as it had been.

Well, they’re merchants, so of course they might have artifacts I’ve never seen
, Ama scolded herself but that answer felt too easy. She moved to the next bag. This one must be Manatu’s, she guessed, by the size of the garments within.

She didn’t waste time looking through the trinkets but pulled aside everything to get to the bottom layers. Peeling back a heavy coat revealed a row of knives of various sizes. “Son of a whore,” she whispered.

Around the knives, there were other objects she assumed must be weapons, though most she had never cast eyes on nor even imagined. Even among the elite Damiar guards, the most advanced weapons were bangers. She picked up a small, round object and cradled it in her palm. It was heavy for something so tiny and made of metal just like the mysterious boxes. What was all this?

A loud laugh peeled from somewhere outside the galley porthole. Nen’s death, what was she thinking? Seg and Manatu could return at any minute. Private belongings or not, if she was caught touching Shasir magic without permission, the penalty would be death. Her heart pummeled the inside of her chest. Instead of easing her worries or answering her questions, the contents of the bags had only heightened her suspicion. Hurriedly but with care to put everything back exactly as it had been, she packed up the contents, closed Manatu’s bag and sealed up the cargo locker.

Calm down!
There’s probably a reasonable explanation.

Ama grabbed her clothes and towel. She hurried back to the galley, fished a bottle of praffa wine from the cupboard, popped the cork and took several long swigs.

I’ll swim and bathe and sleep, and in the morning I’ll probably realize I was worrying about nothing.

Assuming, of course, she could sleep.

Seg was coming down hard from the stim dose he had taken after the storm. It was all he could do to lift one foot in front of the other as he walked the final stretch of dock on the way to the boat. A major effort of will was required to control the shivers, and he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. Manatu looked abysmal as well.

The find at the temple was rich. There were statues, devotional tables, an offering tray and the main lectern from which the Outer high priest undoubtedly babbled about the magic of the Above and thrilled the fools with opulent fakery. There was much more, all of it drenched in vita. All of it would have to be taken.

His sluggish mind attacked the problems, working through the manpower ratios that would be required. At least a hundred and forty troops on the passage. A hundred just to hold off the teeming hordes of Welf who would throw themselves at the perimeter, plus whatever tricks the Shasir came up with. Ideally the Shasir would be distracted by the nature of the raid. That was for the military men to figure out but Seg would demand some control.

He kept shifting between watching his path and working the problem, which led to several restarts on the thought process. After too many attempts, he abandoned thoughts of the raid altogether as they tromped up the stairs to the boat.

He had figured out the physics behind their disorientation upon reaching land, and hadn’t missed Ama watching and snickering. Well, there would be no more mercy or consideration for her.

A bell jangled and he stopped, stared at it, blinked a few times, wondered what in the name of the Storm it was about, then turned to Manatu. His guard waved his hands, trying to sign something, and Seg stared at him vacantly until the trooper gave up and threw his hands up in frustration.

“Is it safe?” Seg asked, his voice thick and weary. Manatu looked at him for a long, hard

moment, then nodded reluctantly. Seg knew well the axiom of all training excursions: ‘It is never safe when extrans’ but for now he only needed to know if the bell was connected to some immediate threat. Assured that it was not, he proceeded onward toward his bunk below.

This was going to be a long, twitchy night. He smoothed his hair with a
shaky hand
and wished the damn bed wasn’t so far away.

The bell. Ama choked on her mouthful of wine, coughed and spat. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure she had indeed re-locked the cargo locker. She had, but that didn’t stop her heart from crawling up into her mouth.

With a residue of guilt lingering in the lower deck, she rushed up the stairs to escape it, and ran into a wall of Seg when she finished her ascent.

“Oh! You scared me,” she exclaimed, realizing a moment too late how stupid that must have sounded, since Seg had obviously tripped the bell.

He looked like twelve shades of death. For a second she panicked and wondered if he had somehow been spying on her through the porthole before she remembered he couldn’t have seen her from that vantage.

“I…” she held out the bundle of clothes and her towel as an explanation while her mouth and brain scrambled for words, “I’m going to swim. You know…uh, just going to bathe and then sleep.” Ama was not only tired and nervous, she was now, thanks to the bottle of wine still clutched in the hand holding her clothes, more than a bit tipsy.

Seg glared and shook. Ama thought Manatu now looked positively radiant compared to his companion.

“So, um…”Ama’s mouth formed a crooked smile, “goodnight, then.”

Seg pushed her aside. “Get some sleep,” he ordered. “We leave tomorrow. Early.”

Feet dragging, he climbed down the stairs and didn’t look back. Manatu, on the other hand, lingered, eyeing her suspiciously.

It was the shock of Seg’s shove, not the shove itself, which Ama recoiled from. As she headed for the stern, she glanced back and saw Manatu, still watching her. Once again her heart headed into her throat and her pulse sped up as she remembered the rows of knives in his trunk. She took another long pull off the wine.

Her swim and bath was not the languorous affair it usually was. She finished her scrubbing, climbed back aboard, dried quickly, dressed and fell into her hammock. Shouts, laughter, music, the sounds of brawls and celebrations from the street and the nearby Port House filled the night air–Alisir was never quiet. Nevertheless, sleep took her, despite the noise and her fears, and she slipped into dark dreams.

Lord Uval arrived at the pier, with three of his guards, in time to see Ama climb up and over the stern of her vessel. He waited, hidden, while she dressed and flopped into a hammock strung near the helm. His men practically pawed the ground like rutting beasts and though Uval was also ready to pounce, his motivation was something more sophisticated than primitive lust.

Let one Kenda scum run over you and you might as well let them all move into your home and eat at your table. Welf were vermin but they were useful and obedient vermin, such as the three men with him this night. These Kenda, always aiming above their station.

He had heard news of the Kalder family’s good fortune, their rise into the upper echelons of scum. A Kenda Shasir’threa? The thought made him ill. It was one matter to let the water rats into the ranks of the Shasir’dua, to keep their ever-hungry egos pacified. But allowing them into the upper and esteemed ranks of the Threa, riders of the skyships, one step removed from the gods, was treasonous. This night was about more than petty revenge, (though he was owed a good portion of that), it was a lesson and a warning.

Uval waved his men forward. His belly was hot with disgust as he rolled the hastily put together plan through his mind, yet again. She would be laughably overwhelmed.
Let’s see her try her knife stunt this time.
They would drag her below deck, far from prying eyes, and spend the night using her body as a receptacle for their savagery. She was not to die, he insisted on that, but she wouldn’t walk away whole either. Perhaps he would slice that cocky smile off her face or maybe an eye would make a nice souvenir? Before sunrise, they would string her body from her own mast for all the lower classes to witness. How proud would she be after that?

A hard message to miss.

The men, stealthy for their size, made their way aboard the boat—avoiding the ridiculous trip wire boat captains so haplessly relied on—as Uval strolled down the dock, scanning for unwanted onlookers.

Not that it would matter, if he were seen. He was a Lord; who would dare confront or accuse him? But the authorities, should they get wind of this, would have to make a show of disciplining him, attention he would rather avoid.

He licked his lips again.
Oh my pretty Kenda whore, I’m going to rip you to pieces.

Someone was holding her head underwater; drowning her. Ama scratched to pull off her nove, to free her dathe, as she felt the current drag her down.

No! Not drowning.

She awoke to the smell of human flesh pressed to her nose–a large hand clamped over her mouth. Her hands flew to where she knew her blade was hidden. What was happening? A set of hands grabbed her wrists before she could reach her weapon and another meaty set fastened onto her ankles as she tried to kick.

Even restrained as she was, she screamed against the hand and thrashed with all the strength she possessed to free herself. It was dark, but she could make out men’s faces, at least three, illuminated by the moonlight. She couldn’t pick out their features but she could smell them: rancid, unwashed.

Then, a familiar face appeared. The narrow jaw and wet smile were unmistakable. Lord Uval pressed in close, until his nose was inches away from hers.

“Time to learn your place,” he hissed, as he shoved his hand between her legs and tightened his grip.

Ama thrashed again, managed to get one leg free and dealt one of the attackers a solid kick. The blow was next to useless and her leg was soon imprisoned, but the momentary distraction allowed her to work her head free enough to sink her teeth into the hand over her mouth.

“Gaaah!” her attacker howled, as he yanked his hand away from her gnashing teeth.

“SEG!” Ama screamed, shocked that his name was the first word that came to her mind. But as soon as the name was out, Uval’s hand clamped on her throat. She opened her mouth to gasp for air but he had grabbed a rag from atop the cask of grint and shoved it in her mouth, almost down her throat.

“None of the other water rats can hear you,” he told her, and nodded in the direction of the other boats around them, all dark and quiet. “They’re all off whoring and drinking, as your kind likes to do. No one is coming to help you.” He turned his face to the man with the bleeding hand, “Keep her quiet and hold her still!”

This time the man grabbed a fistful of her hair before slapping his good hand over her mouth. Ama was stretched taut, immobile. Uval reached down and undid the belt from her waist. Her eyes widened.
No, this isn’t going to happen.

Uval slid his hand around her waist, producing her hidden blade with a
tsk, tsk, tsk
. He unsheathed it and pressed the tip between her legs, as she had once done to him.

His wild eyes reflected the moonlight. “My turn.”

Miserable, fatigued and twitchy, Seg stared at the ceiling and wished he could sleep. Or think straight. Or do anything. He rolled over to one side, pressed the pillow around his ears and groaned.