On Discord Isle (32 page)

Michael sighed and looked away. “No. Not here, usually. But often enough that I’ve learned the ins and outs. Which is to say, too often. Last deployment into the Interior we got jumped by a bunch of lizard-pygmies, which was—”

Lina laughed, overloud. Michael only watched her. Jeremiah Frey ran past them toward the back of the room, one arm clutching a pry bar, the other holding a large bag of pennies that spilled in a jingling rain as he went.

“So....” continued Michael after the pirate had passed. “I can’t help but notice that you’re not sacking the place like the rest of your friends. Was there some reason you wanted to talk?”

Lina started, slapping herself mentally. She was acting like an idiot.
But he’s just
so
very cute.
And his voice was soft, with just the right hint of Perinese accent.
It just makes him sound so cultured.

“Ah. Aha. Yes. Questions. I had a question for you.” She smiled winningly. “If, that is, you’re willing to answer it.”

“Well,” said Michael. “I’m not in an ideal position to refuse.”

Lina felt abruptly ashamed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that, about how you’d feel. Want me to cut your boots free?” She drew the dagger again and leaned down over him. “I can do that, if you’d like.”

Michael peered down at her. “Uh, all right?”

She slashed the ropes around his boots. They were a Royal Marine’s, black and shiny. Like the rest of his uniform, trim and proper. She’d never really paid too much attention to the Bluecoaties before. But now she couldn’t help but think of how he looked in the blue coat. “There,” she said, instead. “You’re a captive, sure, but I’d hate to have you be uncomfortable.”

Michael blinked. “You threw a scryn at me.”

“What, Runt?”

The scryn in question had been coiled around her shoulders, peering quietly at the chaos around them and avoiding her attention. But at mention of his name, Runt eeled up to peer at them both. Upon seeing Michael, he spread his wings and hissed, spraying venomous spittle that conjured wisps of smoke where they hit the floor. The soldier scrabbled backward reflexively.

“See?” said Lina. “He likes you! You’ve got a rapport.”

Michael just stared at her. Lucian called out again and the pirates gave groan of effort. Something made of metal snapped with a ringing noise, and Lina’s crewmates all cheered.

Idiot. Focus!
“Anyway,” Lina continued. “We can chat about that some more later. What I really wanted to know, though, was why the doors to this place were left unlocked. I mean, that can’t be normal, can it?”

Michael shook his head. “No. You’re not the first to hit this place up. I mean, so much money flows through here. During the recent uprising, the locals tried to sack it. So now there’s a guard. But we had to clean up earlier, and make sure things were ready for the….” He quieted, peering at the door. A shadow passed across his face as he looked back at her, as if he was waging two now-unpleasant options. “For the inspection.”

Lina frowned. “Inspection?”

He looked awkward for a moment, then glanced at the front doors again. “Yes. The Governor and his people were supposed to pass through this evening.”

Her heart sank down into her belly like a stone. Lina shot to her feet and cupped her hands to her mouth. “Bluecoats! We’re about to be joined by the Royal Marines!”

The pirates froze in their looting, turning to face her as if they hadn’t heard her the first time. Those rummaging through the cell at the back slowly came to a halt.

“What’s that?” called Lucian Thorne. “What did you say, Stone?”

“I said that there are Bluecoats coming, you stupid b—”

The front doors of the counting house burst open. Royal Marines marched in, led by an imperious-looking man with a powdered wig, tricorn hat, and a rich officer’s coat. Beside him walked a lean, raw-boned fellow in slightly less ostentatious clothing, though still of expensive fabric and a rich cut.

“Those men have abandoned their post, Acting Governor,” said the man in the officer’s coat. “I’ll have them shot, then hanged.”

“Really, Admiral,” replied the other. “I’m sure that there is a very...good...reason….”

Both men and their detachment came to a halt as they spied the pirates and took in the ransacked counting house. They stared, with the crew of the
Dawnhawk
staring back in surprise. For a long moment there was a perfect silence.

Then everything exploded into chaos.

The Admiral drew the saber at his side and barked out a terse set of orders. Two of his Bluecoats grabbed the Acting Governor and hauled him away, while more marched out in front of their commander to form ranks, one kneeling before the other.

Reaver Jane appeared beside Lina. She grabbed up the other, still-unconscious guard to act as a shield, then retreated back to the railing and the other pirates at the back of the room. Ryan Gae lifted Michael Hockton and did the same, Lina falling back with him. The others who had been pillaging around them fled as well, forming a cluster around the rail. Fistfuls of coins joined uncut gems from the Yulan in pockets while knives, swords, and pistols all were drawn.

“Oh no,” said Hockton. “Oh no.”

“Don’t fret,” said Lina cheerfully. “There’s a chance we can work all this out.” She patted him on the arm and glanced up at the glass windows of the dome above them.
Any minute now....

“No,” said Hockton in a worried voice. “You don’t understand. This is Admiral Wintermourn. He wasn’t supposed to come here tonight! That was
me
he was talking about having executed. Me and Andrews here.”

The pirates shuffled around until they had all clambered over to stand behind the railing. Lucian shoved through to the front of the group, with Sarah Lome and Reaver Jane beside him. He gestured for Ryan and Lina to bring Michael over next to the other prisoner. Then faced down the Bluecoats.

“Ahoy there,” he said, hooking both thumbs into his belt. “Don’t mind us; we’ll be out of here in a jiffy. I do apologize about the mess though, and if you give us just a little bit longer, we will be certain to clean up on our way out.”

Admiral Wintermourn raised an eyebrow at Lucian. He was older, stately and middle-aged, with a commanding presence that Fengel would envy. “I do not quite believe what I am seeing,” he said slowly. “Are you honest-to-the-Goddess
pirates
? Here? In the middle of Breachtown?” He shook his head. “Will wonders never cease.”

Lucian grinned. “We’re wondrous folk, us pirates.”

“Mayhap,” harrumphed the Admiral. “But I’m afraid your little lark has come to an end. Surrender now, and, we’ll give you a trial before we hang you.”

The committee-member gestured at their captives. “I’m afraid we can’t be doing that, sir. And I don’t think you should try and force the issue. We’ve a pair of your men here, see?”

At his signal both Reaver Jane and Ryan Gae lifted blades to the necks of their captives. The man Andrews, wide awake now, stared at the cutlass before him, pop-eyed. Michael Hockton only gave a measured swallow.

“Ah,” said Admiral Wintermourn. “I was just thinking about those two.” He looked to the ranks of soldiers kneeling before him. “Sergeant Lanters!”

One of the Bluecoats stood to attention. “Sir!”

“Prepare the men to fire.”

The sergeant nodded. He barked a command, and the marines unshouldered their muskets to line up shots at the pirates.

“Wait,” said Lucian. “We’ve got your men here—”

“Indeed,” said Admiral Wintermourn. “And they are guilty of leaving their post. The penalty for such an infraction is death, to be carried out on the spot.” Wintermourn gave a careless flourish with the tip of his saber that nicked the ear of a soldier kneeling before him, who flinched away with a low cry.

Andrews jerked forward against the knife at his throat. “Wait!” he cried. “Sir, please, we were captured!”

Reaver Jane nodded furiously. “Yes! Captured! Right here!”

“Two birds, as they say,” remarked Wintermourn. “Men? Fire.”

The gun line obeyed and an instant stormcloud burst into life as plumes of gunsmoke erupted out toward the pirates. The staccato thunder of the volley followed an eyeblink after, echoing around the interior of the counting house.

A hail of musket balls fell upon the crewmen of the
Dawnhawk
. Andersen, the captive Bluecoat, jerked violently as one found his head, exiting out the back and splattering Reaver Jane in gore. She cried in shock and pain at the glancing blow, dropping the corpse to the ground and ducking for cover as she went. The railing before them splintered, showering Lucian Thorne and Sarah Lome with a rain of jagged slivers. Rastalak let out a hiss as a ball grazed his shoulder, twisting him away. Ryan Gae crumpled, grabbing for support at the railing and those beside him.

Lina fell to the ground, half tripping, half diving for cover. Bodies toppled beside her, some howling in pain, some already lifeless. Michael Hockton flailed where he’d landed beside her, tearing at the ropes around his wrists with his teeth. Her eyes met his while Runt panicked, hissing and spitting and, trying to take flight.

“We have to get out of here!” he cried. “Wintermourn’s an evil bastard who solves every problem with an execution. He doesn’t
care
about prisoners!”

“You think?” Lina shouted back, hating the note of hysteria that colored her voice.

“Look, I’m a dead man anyway. I just want to get away! Help me, and I can get us out of this.”

“How?”

“There’s a side door.” Hockton jerked his head off to the right. “It’s locked from this side, but there’s a key in my right pocket.”

Lina risked lifting her head up past the groaning bulk of a pirate. The ex-Bluecoat was correct; along the wall off to their right stood a heavy door, hidden from view earlier by a row of wooden filing cabinets.

No time like the present
. She grabbed Runt with one hand and scrabbled atop Hockton. At the front of the room, she heard the sharp commands of the Perinese sergeant as he ordered the second rank to take aim, and for the first to affix bayonets.

Her fingers skittered over the unfamiliar cut of Hockton’s coat. He twisted, trying to help her as he climbed to his feet. Finding his pocket, Lina pulled forth a half-eaten orange and a small brass skeleton key.

“It was a snack,” said Hockton. “Now, come on!”

The Perinese captive sprinted for the side of the room, stepping over the groaning, startled pirates. Lina hurled the orange at the Bluecoats and ran after him, one hand to Runt, who hugged her shoulders and hissed protectively. Out the corner of her eye, she spied Lucian clambering up from where he lay as he called out a garbled question.

“Side door!” cried Lina as she ran. “There’s a way out—”

The rest of her directions were lost in the second volley from the Bluecoats. Again, thunder boomed within the confines of the counting house, followed by the whip-hiss of hot lead sent hunting. Fortunately, most of her crewmates had already fallen, either injured or diving for cover. The musket fire flew past them to ricochet against the backdrop of the barred cell at the rear of the room.

Lina felt a musket ball pass within a hair’s breadth of her face. She cursed and threw herself forward to slam against the wooden panel beside the side door. Michael Hockton was already there, ducking behind one of the filing cabinets and frantically rubbing the rope around his wrists against its edge.

She fumbled at the door, hunting for the lock. It was heavy, made of some dark wood reinforced by iron. The handle was black iron, and in the shadows she couldn’t make out the keyhole.

More of her crewmates appeared beside her. Sarah Lome held Ryan Gae up in one arm, while he fired a pistol over Hockton’s head back at the Bluecoats. Reaver Jane appeared, along with Allen the Mechanist, his face covered in blood. A glance told Lina that the men and women of the
Dawnhawk
were in full flight, waiting only for her to continue their escape.

From the front of the building came a roar as Admiral Wintermourn barked a command and the Bluecoats charged. They came with bayonet-tipped muskets raised like spears. The last few pirates scrabbled to get out of the way, using what feeble cover the shattered rail provided. Heartbreakingly, Lina spied Tricia, Jonas Wiley, and Lucian Thorne, all lying injured or too slow to get away from the coming assault.

Glass shattered overhead. It fell in a sharp-edged rain that shimmered in the feeble lantern light. The Bluecoat charge faltered as a heavy crate slammed into the floor before them, throwing soldiers every which way as it exploded to reveal a collection of burned rugs.

A shape moved in the sky beyond the counting house dome. It was the
Dawnhawk
, the smooth pumpkin-seed hull clear to Lina even half-occluded as it was by the roof. Thin figures that had to be Henry Smalls and the others who’d stayed aboard moved frantically alongside the port gunwales, dropping another bit of their plundered cargo as a makeshift grenado. It tumbled through the opening in the dome, falling and further driving the Perinese marines into disarray. Lucian and the others made good use of the interruption to clamber to their feet and run for the crowd surrounding Lina, though they left far too many friends unconscious or dead upon the counting house floor.

Come on, come on
. Lina felt the head of the key skitter along the lock plate. She ignored the desperate cries, orders, and suggestions that the others shouted her way. Admiral Wintermourn’s strident commands reached her, though, and as soon as the head of the key slid inside the door, she twisted it, along with the handle, yanking the portal open. The press of the pirates pushed her outward, and she left the Breachtown Counting House for the alley outside.

Cold night air washed over her, almost shocking after the gunpowder stink and violence of the building at her back. Lina now stood in an alleyway between the counting house and Gravelin’s Apothecarium. Up above floated the prow of the
Dawnhawk
. To the right ended the alley at a high brick wall. At her left the alley mouth opened onto the main thoroughfare before the counting house. It was no longer empty and quiet, though. Bluecoats clutched their muskets and peered about, curious at the noise caused by their compatriots inside. Directly ahead of her, another servants’ door led into the Apothecarium, a simple wooden entryway recessed slightly and set above a stoop.