Codename: Night Witch (23 page)

"If you're expecting me to apologize, you can forget it."

Then, he sat back, his moment of anger forgotten, if only for the moment. "Why, nothing of the sort. We Merchantmen are not men of violence. We are traders of goods. Corbin Price knew the risks when he approached you. Or if he didn't, he was a fool. I could no more fault you for killing him than I could blame a cornered viper for striking. His death was the price of his failure. You gave him exactly what he deserved. Does my answer surprise you?"

Sigrid had to admit, it did. "A little. So, if you didn't drag me here to kill me, then why all the cloak and dagger? Wait. Let me guess. You're going to make me an offer I can't refuse. You want me to come work for you. Maybe a little wetwork? Take out the competition for you? That can be arranged, Mr. Lai. Though, I should warn you, if you want me to kill the marquis di Valparaíso, two people have already asked."

"I have little interest in the affairs of the
marquis
," he said, and not without some disdain.

"All right, then who?"

The merchantman chuckled again. "Like you, I am a prisoner here. The CTF has sealed off access to orbit. Warp travel has been denied us. There is only one penalty for violating their airspace. Death. Even if I could get this ship out of the mud, the CTF would annihilate us before we reached the thermosphere."

"I could talk to them," Sigrid said. "If you think it would help."

"Actually…" Lai was grinning at her and steepling his fingers. "That is precisely what I had in mind."

Sigrid swallowed and cursed, for she knew exactly why the pirate had brought her here. "You're after my bounty. You're going to turn me in to the CTF. All this, for money."

"Do not be disappointed, Ms. Novak. You are worth far more to me than mere coin. But we are Merchantmen! Traders of the stars! And we have been put to ground here far too long. After these many years trapped, the authorities have promised to let us leave—if we turn you over to them."

"I don't suppose there's any chance you can take me with you?"

Thuan Lai grinned and bowed fully to her. "As tempting as having you at my side might be, I'm afraid that is impossible. You will be handed over to the CTF in short order. But for the moment, you are my guest and I am your host, and it is a poor host indeed who fails to accommodate his guests." Snapping his fingers, Lai signaled to the two sailors at his side. "You. You. Take her to the pit."

"The pit?" Sigrid asked as the sailors hoisted her to their shoulders. "I don't suppose that's some charming Merchantman sobriquet for a stateroom or parlor? No?"

The ancient pirate flashed her a withering smile. "Enjoy your stay, Ms. Novak. There'll be no escaping us this time. Take her away! Seal her in!"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Hold

Two crewmen carried Sigrid down to the lower decks, deep into the bowels of the freighter and to the darkest and most foul of the freighter's holds. One of the sailors thumbed a switch and wide cargo doors ground noisily aside. Below loomed a darkened chasm, dripping wet and stinking of mold and waste.

"I don't suppose we can talk about this?"

The two sailors carrying her swung her once, twice, before tossing her in. Bound and unable to protect herself, Sigrid found herself freely tumbling down only to land hard on the soiled deck plates some six meters below. The landing knocked the wind from her. She couldn't help herself and she cried out, startling a mischief of rats, who scurried away to hide amongst the shadows.

Flexing her jaw—which had taken the brunt of the landing—and thoroughly fed up with being tossed around like a sack of rice, Sigrid rolled onto her side to glare up at her captors. Fryer, the ship's first mate, stared right back down at her. He shook his head in disgust.

"All too easy."

"You sound disappointed," Sigrid said.

"I just can't see what all the fuss is about."

"I'd be happy to show you. Why not come down here? I'll make it worth your while."

Fryer grinned. "I'm no fool, girl. You'll rot in there until the CTF comes for you."

Fryer put his hand on the portal, ready to seal it shut.

"Wait!" She knew she couldn't let him seal her in. She had to keep him talking. "You're no fool, Fryer. I can see that. But you're also a businessman, aren't you? You…
Merchantmen
, you're always looking for a deal?"

"I already have a deal." Fryer chuckled. "One-point-eight-five billion in adjusted Federated dollars and a trip off this blasted rock."

"Perhaps I can offer you a better one? You
know
what I did to the last band of Merchantmen who crossed my path? I blew up their ship—with them in it. I wouldn't want to see the same thing happen to you."

Fryer studied her for a moment, looking her up and down—or more side to side in her present case. "You're in no position to make threats."

"It's no threat, Fryer. It's a legitimate business offer. Untie me and I'll spare you. I'll let you live. All of you." Sigrid narrowed her eyes. "I won't make this offer again."

Fryer withdrew a thin cigar from a case in his coat pocket. The spark of the match flared in the darkness, illuminating his face, if only for an instant. For a moment she thought he might actually be considering her offer, but then he tossed the burning match at her. Sigrid heard it fizzling as it flew through the air, and she flinched, more from instinct than from pain, as the mixture of hot phosphorus and potassium chlorate hit the bare skin of her arm.

"Nice try," Fryer said. "But I see little profit in letting you go. We have you, girl, and I expect I shall be paid handsomely for it."

"Fryer, I—"

But there would be no more bargaining. The first mate turned his back as the steel portal slammed shut, though not before Nuria was tossed down after her. She fell through the opening, falling the six meters and landing awkwardly. Her legs buckled under her and she hit the deck hard, crying out in pain.

"Nuria!"

Sobbing, crying, Nuria lay crumpled where she'd fallen in an oily puddle. She didn't turn to Sigrid. She couldn't—or perhaps she wouldn't. The Merchantmen had kept her bound. Her wrists were tied with heavy plastic binders behind her back, along with several coils wrapped around her chest, strapping her arms to her torso. Only her feet and ankles were free.

"It's going to be all right, Nuria. We're going to get out of this."

Brave words,
Sigrid thought, though they sounded hollow even to her. If they were going to escape, she didn't have a clue how.

Sigrid glanced up and around at their surroundings. It was damp and dripping and completely dark. The cargo doors were shut and pressure sealed. The only light came from a grated and glassed-in porthole in the ceiling; an armed sailor walked back and forth patrolling above, his boots clanking on the metal floor.

Escaping the hold wasn't the problem. It was the blasted plastic binders they'd tied her with. Here she was, trained to hack her way in, or out of, the most secure facilities in the Federation, she could tear through metal, even bend steel, yet she could do absolutely nothing about a few simple strands of plastic. The irony was not lost on her.

Brute force wasn't going to serve her. Not here. And she doubted the crew would stand by and watch as she tried to roll herself out of here either. She needed to find another way, and she needed to find it fast.

There was one thing working in her favor, one stroke of blind luck: this freighter wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. The ship was stuck in the riverbed and it looked as though it had been for some time. There didn't seem to be more than a handful of crew aboard, and the few crew she'd passed in the corridors hardly seemed up to the task of relaunching her. So if the Merchantmen couldn't bring Sigrid to the Council forces, then that could only mean one thing: The CTF was on its way here.

But when? In an hour? A day? A week? Sigrid had no intention of waiting around to find out.

Rolling over, she glanced back at Nuria. Huddled in a damp corner, her torn nightdress hung loose off her shoulder. Her head was slumped on her chest and her hair hung forward, shielding her face. From Sigrid? Probably. It was obvious Nuria blamed herself for all of this.

And she was trembling. Nuria was shivering, and quite violently. Her breath misted in the damp air with each of her ratcheted sobs. It was only then Sigrid realized how cold it was. The chill would never bother her; she was designed to withstand the harshest of environments, but Nuria didn't have the luxury of her enhanced resistance to the cold. She was freezing.

"Nuria," Sigrid said, but Nuria merely lowered her head, shifting away from her.
"Nuria!"
Sigrid said again, trying to be commanding without being harsh. It worked, and the girl finally looked up, sniffling. "Nuria, you'll freeze to death."

"I'm all right."

"No, you're not. Come over here. Lie by me.
Now
, Nuria."

Nuria struggled to her feet, off balance, with her wrists bound behind her back. Her bare feet were filthy, and only became more so as she shuffled through the oily puddles that spread across the hold's floor.

"Lie down," Sigrid said. "There, that's it. No, with your back to me. Closer. Get as close as you can. Like that."

"Lady—?"

"I need to keep you warm, Nuria. You're freezing."

Sigrid sidled up to her as best she could, then raised her own body temperature, radiating as much heat as she could endure. Raising and lowering her core temperature, even by a few degrees, was possible, though she couldn't sustain it for long. But perhaps even a short stint might help Nuria. It seemed to work, at least a little, and her shivering subsided.

"I'm so sorry, Lady Sigrid. This is all my fault."

"No, it's not. If you want to blame anyone, blame the Merchantmen. Blame the bloody CTF! You were only doing what you had to. You were protecting someone, weren't you?"

"How-how did you know?"

"Back at the villa, you said, 'They were going to kill him.' Well, I'm gathering that the 'they' is the Merchantmen, and the 'him' is, what? Your lover? A friend?"

Nuria shook her head. "My brother, Hector. The Merchantmen took him in one of their press-gangs. They came a week before you arrived."

"Press-gangs?" Sigrid cursed again. Press-gangs were banned across the Federation. Not that the Merchantmen cared about regulations. "I'm sorry, Nuria. I'm sure, in your position, I would have done the same."

"I don't believe that." She shook her head in disgust and looked away. "You would never have done something so cowardly."

"Don't be so sure. You were protecting your family. I've done far worse to protect my own. Believe me, Nuria. And before this is over, I have a sneaking suspicion you'll witness exactly how far I'm willing to go."

"But it
is
over." Nuria was shaking again and her shivering had returned. "The CTF will come. They'll take you and they'll kill you, and the Merchantmen will still have my brother. We'll never escape this place. I've killed us all."

"We're not dead yet. This is just a cage, Nuria. And every cage can be cracked."

"But how?"

"I'll be happy to tell you…" Sigrid looked up and around for anything that might provide a clue to their escape, though she found none. "Just as soon as I figure that out. First things first, we need to get these binders off." Sigrid strained and pulled again, to no avail. "Blast! If only I had my bra."

"Your…your
bra
?" Nuria blinked at her over her shoulder. "I don't under—"

"A lady quickly learns that any number of useful devices might be concealed in her underclothes, Nuria. Lock picks, pinhead grenades, hideout pistols. You'd be amazed. Unfortunately," Sigrid added with a scowl, "I keep forgetting the teachings of my academy instructors. Once again, I find myself unarmed and ill-equipped. I'm sure they'd grant me a failing grade for my performance today. Right now, I'm not very pleased with myself either."

"I…I think I understand. Back when I worked the—well, back when I was working the corners, there was a girl, her name was Constança, she taught us the same thing: that we should always keep a weapon on our person. Hidden. You know, for when the clients got too rough. I got into the habit. Even when the Consortium took me in, I never stopped."

Sigrid blinked at her in the dark. "Nuria, are you saying—?"

Nuria shifted around until their eyes met, and Sigrid caught the bright gleam in the girl's eyes. "I
have
something!"

"Nuria, why didn't you say something before?"

"I didn't think it would help. It's hardly worthy of a warrior such as yourself. It's really just a—"

"Nuria!"
Sigrid said in a hushed tone; the girl's voice was rising as she grew excited. "Just…tell me what it is. And keep your voice low."

Nuria nodded. She shifted closer until their faces were all but touching. "It's a strip of garroting wire. I sew them into the waistband of all my underpants. Just in case. The only problem is…" Nuria strained for it, but with her hands bound as they were, it was quite impossible. "
Mierda!
I can't reach it."

"Here, let me." Sigrid rocked herself to build up momentum then rolled over so that her back was facing Nuria. Only the tips of her fingers were free, and she reached out with them. Nuria did her best to help by sliding over and pressing herself against her.

"There," Nuria said. "No, higher. Feel around. There's a little pocket in the hem. And careful you don't cut yourself. It's quite sharp."

"I've got it. At least, I think I've got it. Wait, just a loose thread. Sorry, I think I've torn it. Here, move closer."

Sigrid wriggled closer until she could loop her fingers securely in Nuria's waistband. She was probing and feeling for the weapon concealed within when Nuria's snickering stopped her. Sigrid craned her neck to look over her shoulder only to find Nuria with a silly grin plastered on her face.

"What?" Sigrid said.

"I'm sorry. I can't help thinking, if one of the guards should come by and see us…"