The Grand Design (76 page)

“Don’t make me regret this, Simon.”

“I won’t,” said Simon softly. “If I have a soul, I pledge it to you now.”

Richius nodded, giving Simon his tepid approval. Then he turned his back on the Naren and returned to the chamber where his daughter slept, closing the door gently behind him. He knelt down beside the bed, resting his head on the mattress and lightly playing with Shani’s fine hair.

“Forgive me, Shani,” he whispered. “But I have to trust him. I need his help.”

Just then, Shani opened her eyes. She yawned, confused, and looked at her father through a sleepy haze.

“I love you,” Richius told her. “Please don’t hate me for what I’m about to do.”

His soft voice made Shani smile.

A
black sea greeted Prakna as he stood on deck. Silent and sure, his
Prince of Liss
cut a swathe through the ocean, racing toward the three schooners anchored in the harbor and the Naren dreadnought they were guarding, the one called the
Intimidator.
The Naren vessel had been their prisoner since coming to Liss, not daring to make a run from the faster schooners, and Prakna knew that her crew was waiting onboard, fretting over their fate. He stood on the
Prince
’s prow, letting the wind pull back his hair, and wondered what would happen if he listened to Vantran.

The Jackal had left Prakna with clear orders. He was to take the Naren sailors ashore as prisoners, and bring their ship back to dock. After the invasion of Crote, the prisoners could be returned to the Empire. Not until then, Vantran had said, because they might compromise the mission. Prakna steamed as he thought about his orders. Apparently, the Jackal still had a soft spot for his own kind.

On the deck next to Prakna, Marus directed the flagship toward the waiting schooners. There were lights flickering on the other Lissen ships, signaling them closer. The
Prince
slowed on Marus’ order as she drew near. Prakna squinted through the blackness. The
Intimidator
was still in the center of the ring, as ugly
as ever. Men in Naren naval coats stood on the deck, talking among themselves nervously. Prakna was nervous, too. He tried not to show it, but he knew Marus could tell.

“Bring us about,” he told his first officer.

Marus called the order down the line. The flagship bent in the wind, leaning starboard toward the other ships.

“How close do you want to get?” Marus asked his captain.

“Close enough to talk,” Prakna replied. “I want to see this Captain N’Dek.”

“He won’t believe you, you know.”

The fleet commander shrugged. “He doesn’t have to.”

A rushing wind blew over their conversation. The
Prince
skirted closer, until at last she slipped between two of the Lissen schooners and approached the
Intimidator.
Marus called his orders, bringing them up along the dreadnought’s port side. All along the Naren’s deck, the men turned their heads expectantly and fretted over the coming schooner. Prakna stepped off the prow and went to the side of his ship, which was coming perilously close now to scraping the dreadnought. But Marus’ masterful piloting brought them up alongside with room to spare, and the
Prince
paused there, bobbing on the ocean as her crew worked to still her.

The fleet commander put on his harshest scowl. He stared out over the thunderstruck Narens, their dirty faces sickening him. It was like looking at a bunch of rats.

“Where’s your captain?” Prakna shouted. “I want to speak to him.”

A figure emerged out of the crowd, a man with a beaklike nose and sharp eyes. His uniform was torn and filthy and he favored his right hand as he came forward, playing with the bandages wrapped around it.

“I’m Captain N’Dek,” he said without flinching. “You’re Prakna, right?”

“
Fleet Commander
Prakna,” replied Prakna icily. “I’m your master and your better, pig. Remember that.”

N’Dek glowered. He had that same awful arrogance as all Narens, the same ridiculous confidence. “What’s your business?” he asked tersely.

Prakna cleared his throat, quickly going over the lines as he’d rehearsed them. “You’re free,” he said. “On the orders of Richius Vantran and Simon Darquis, you’re being released.”

“What?” N’Dek blurted. “You’re letting us go?”

“Get the seaweed out of your ears,” rumbled Prakna. “You heard me. Your ship’s being released.”

The proclamation sent a ripple through the Naren crew. N’Dek put up a hand to quiet them. “Why?” he asked suspiciously. “Why are you letting us go?”

“Don’t ask me,” said Prakna. “It’s not my decision. It’s Vantran’s.”

“Same question,” said N’Dek. “Why?”

“Would you rather be taken prisoner?” snapped Prakna. “Because if so, I’d love to arrange that for you.”

The Naren captain looked around, surveying the three schooners encircling his ship. He seemed pensive, not at all sure of himself. Prakna struggled to keep up his facade. If the Naren suspected anything, they might not set sail.

“Get under way,” Prakna ordered. “I want you out of Lissen waters within the hour. And if you don’t sail straight and true, I’ll come after you myself and sink the lot of you.”

N’Dek flashed an arrogant grin. “I know what you look like now, Fleet Commander Prakna. This has been an honor for me. Shall I send Admiral Nicabar your regards?”

Marus exploded forward. “You lice-covered—!”

“Enough,” Prakna demanded, putting his hand on
his officer’s shoulder. There would be time enough to avenge the insult. “Get under way, Naren,” he commanded. “I’m going to escort you out of Lissen waters myself. Make your heading due east. You deviate, you die.”

The captain gave him a sarcastic bow. “As you say, Fleet Commander.”

He turned and began barking orders to his startled crew. Prakna stood at his ship’s edge, watching. The Narens jumped at their captain’s orders, readying their vessel for sail. Marus shouldered up to Prakna and nudged his friend.

“Well played, Prakna,” he observed.

Fleet Commander Prakna spared a modest grin. “Move us off, Marus. Let’s give our pigeon room to fly.”

An hour after leaving the Lissen coast, the
Prince of Liss
broke off its escort of the
Intimidator.
Captain N’Dek stood on deck and watched the schooner turn back into the night, happy to see it go. He had escaped with his life and the lives of his crew, and, most remarkably, his ship. In war terms, that was a victory. N’Dek closed his eyes for a moment and let out a tremendous sigh. His hand ached and his stomach growled for food, but most of all he was tired. All he wanted was to disappear into his cabin and sleep.

“Sleep.” He chanted the word like a prayer. For the last several days, the only sleep he’d gotten was when Simon Darquis had let him, sprawled out on the cold floor of his cabin. N’Dek grit his teeth, remembering the Roshann agent. He recalled his promise to Darquis, that he would return to Crote and tell Nicabar what had happened. Nicabar would be outraged.

Good
, thought N’Dek bitterly. Maybe then he’d do something about Biagio.

The only thing that vexed N’Dek now was the mystery of his survival. Vantran was on Liss? That had been a surprise. And for some reason, the Jackal had let them go. N’Dek shook his head, baffled by the turn of events. Perhaps Vantran was part of Biagio’s grand design. Or maybe Simon had convinced the Lissens to spare their lives. The captain shrugged, knowing he would never have his answers.

Be happy you’re alive
, he told himself, then headed for his cabin.

The
Prince of Liss
headed west for two nautical miles before Prakna gave the order to turn. They were almost in sight of their sister ships when the order came. Dawn would be breaking soon, and Prakna wanted the cover of darkness for his attack. He remained above deck as his flagship began its arc, turning eastward again in pursuit of the fleeing dreadnought.

Captain N’Dek would never get his chance to send regards to Nicabar. That much Prakna had promised himself. He didn’t care about Vantran’s orders, and couldn’t stomach the thought of sparing the Narens. They had entered Lissen waters. They were Naren. That made them prey.

“Marus,” he called to his waiting officer. “Take us in fast, before the sun breaks. I don’t want them to see us coming.”

Marus nodded. Like Prakna, neither he nor any of the
Prince
’s loyal sailors cared about Vantran’s orders. Here on the sea, Prakna’s word was law. When he got back to Liss, he would explain to Richius how the dreadnought had tried to break away, how the crew had resisted being taken prisoner. He had been given no choice but to pursue them, Prakna would say. He wasn’t sure Vantran would believe him, but then he didn’t really care, either. None of them cared.
Prakna knew his Lissen sailors would never betray the truth.

The
Prince of Liss
devoured the waves. Soon the
Intimidator
would be in sight. Prakna drew his heavy collar close around his neck, settling in for the brief wait. He was looking forward to sinking the dreadnought. It had been too long since he’d sent Narens to the bottom. This one he would sink for J’lari.

Alone in his tiny cabin, N’Dek finished a simple meal of cold soup and beer, then blew out the candle and settled in to the sheets. The soft embrace of his mattress was like the touch of a woman to his aching body, and he moaned as he got comfortable. His cabin had one porthole, a window of octagonal glass that let in starlight. He had already given the command to head straight for Crote, and was confident that he would have no more troubles. In a little more than a week, he would be safely back in the waters of the Empire.

Captain N’Dek closed his eyes and began fantasizing about a prostitute he had met once in Casarhoon, when a distant shout reached him. His eyes opened slowly and he cursed, angry at the disruption. Then he heard the shout again, loud and desperate. N’Dek blinked, unsure what he was hearing, and swung his legs over the side of his bunk.

“Lissens!” came the shout again. “Off the port side!”

N’Dek’s stomach somersaulted. He went to his little porthole and looked outside. It was dark and the glass was covered with sea spray, but he could just make out a hint of something monstrous and shining.

N’Dek realized a Lissen ram was racing toward him. In the next second he was dead, cut cleanly in half by the all-devouring blade.

Prakna and his crew howled like madmen as the
Prince of Liss
slammed into the unsuspecting dreadnought. They had come flying out of the darkness, catching the
Intimidator
amidships and landing a fatal blow. Water poured into the gash in the dreadnought’s hull, flooding her lower decks as the
Prince
bobbed up, pulling free its fanged ram and ripping off a mouthful of timbers. A tide of freezing ocean blasted across the dreadnought, sweeping away its sailors and pushing her down like a giant hand. Exhilarated, Prakna shook his fist, shouting above the beautiful noise.

“Give my regards to Nicabar!” he crowed.

All across the sinking vessel, sailors clung vainly to rigging as their ship listed to port. The ocean gushed in, drowning their screams. Prakna hoped his victims were married and would leave behind widows. With cold detachment, he folded his arms over his chest and watched the Naren warship sink, enjoying the show.