The Farthest Shore (Eden Series Book 3) (23 page)

A flash of white caught his attention. Two more Dagrans carried a crumpled figure in a white coat to a rowboat, laid him in it and began to lower the ropes. Alyster knew it was Vinsen even before he focused on the man’s face.

All the crew who weren’t stationed on duty had gathered around him by then. Peppercorn came out of the galley, and at the stern, Miri set down a bucket. Alyster’s fingers tightened around the spyglass as he looked back at the silent ship. He supposed dully that he had to conduct Vinsen’s burial—it would be the first he had ever performed, and in foreign waters too. He wished they could have taken him back home, but
Checkmate
didn’t carry the supplies needed for salt-preservation.

“Sir,” Rost Bryack said, “shall we inform Dr. Berl to ready the surgery?”

Alyster looked at him blankly, then whipped the spyglass up again, because Rost had the best eyes of anyone on board. The rowboat had crossed half the distance to them. The two Dagrans were rowing, heads down as they bent to their task, but Vinsen’s eyes half-opened and he tried to lift himself off the thwarts.

“Yes, let Dr. Berl know,” Alyster said, greatly relieved. Especially since the Dagran crew seemed decimated, he was grateful they had taken the time and effort to return a Denalait to his ship.

The rowboat reached
Checkmate
, by which time his crew had dropped a rope ladder. The Dagrans tugged the ladder down and arranged it as a makeshift hammock for Vinsen, tossing the end back up to the ship.

Something’s wrong
, Alyster thought. Was it the way none of the Dagrans spoke, even to call out a greeting to his crew? That seemed odd, even for people grieving the deaths of their friends. Reveka pushed her way through the crowd at that moment, though, and gestured at the men to make enough room for Vinsen as the ladder was lowered to the deck. A deckhand pulled it carefully free and tossed it back to the Dagrans.

Reveka knelt beside Vinsen, took his wrist in her fingers and lifted one of his eyelids. He didn’t respond. She looked up, raising her brows as the Dagrans climbed over the gunwale.

“What happened to him?” Alyster said, suspicion prickling along his spine. Vinsen could have been injured when
Mistral
sank, but that had been days ago. The bruise across his face looked fresh, and there was a trace of dried blood at a corner of his mouth.

Before they could answer, Thomal said, “Captain.” Alone among the crew, he’d remained watching
Enlightenment
through his spyglass, and without lowering it he said, “There’s a woman on board, in a uniform.”

But women didn’t serve in the Dagran navy. Alyster shoved the spyglass back into his belt to have his hands free and turned to face the two Dagrans, but a gasp rose from the gathered crew as they stared at Vinsen. Alyster glanced down. Reveka had pulled Vinsen’s vest and shirt up together, the fabric crumpled in her fist, to reveal a mass of bruises. Purpling-red and yellow, old and new, every inch of visible skin was discolored.

Alyster’s hand flew to the hilt of his saber in a reflex faster than thought, and the steel hissed out of its scabbard less than an instant later. He didn’t know what the hell was happening, but he had to be armed before the Dagrans—

The Tureans, he knew at once. He brought the saber up.

And
Enlightenment
’s cannon fired.

The ship lurched with the impact, and Miri’s bare feet slipped on the wet planks. She sprawled on the deck and stayed down, clamping her arms over her head—just in time, she realized when the second explosion shattered the air. What felt like a giant hammerblow rocked the ship. Her half-full pail of water struck her hip, but she was far too afraid by then to notice anything more than the pressure of the impact.

Her ears rang. Cautiously she lifted her head, and the pall of smoke drifting over the ship did nothing to hide the sight of
Checkmate
’s crew lying prone on the deck before her. They couldn’t all be dead, there was no blood—

The third cannon roared. She flinched but didn’t close her eyes again. She had to know what was happening, whether to stay where she was or scramble for the hatch, though she didn’t dare to raise so much as a finger above the gunwale. Her teeth had sunk into her tongue when she had fallen, and her mouth felt scoured with copper wool.

A long, low
krrrrk
ran through the ship like the first tremor of an earthquake. She heard that over the ringing in her ears and the clank of pans falling in the galley. Just above the farther funnel, the black-circle-on-white flag wavered and began to dip sideways.

The mast
, she thought.

Wood three feet thick split audibly, louder than breaking bones. Splinters rained down. The mast fell, and snapped lines turned to whipcords flying through the air. Someone shouted for help. Miri knew it wasn’t her because she couldn’t breathe, let alone make a sound. As the mast smashed down across the rail,
Checkmate
pitched again from the impact, and a scream was cut short by a heavy splash as the lookout was thrown clear of the ship.

They’ll sink us. We’re going to drown
.

Instead the two men in Dagran uniforms sprang up—they’d held on to the gunwales while the thunder rolled out, and they had known when it would stop. Alyster’s saber was drawn, but he was struggling to his feet along with the crew and the men were faster. They were both on him at once, and his saber fell clanging to the deck. One of the men grabbed it.

The crew surged up and blocked everything else from sight. Miri took a look at
Enlightenment
, but the cannons didn’t frighten her as much as they had done a few moments ago. She had no weapons except for the well-worn block of sandstone she scrubbed the deck with, and that would be no use at all against a blade.

So, empty-handed, she scrambled up and pushed her way through the crowd. Someone caught her arm to hold her back, but she pulled away, and her skin was so slick with water that she slipped free. At the forefront of the crowd, her legs stopped moving, mostly because her heart felt about to do the same.

The men in Dagran uniforms—the Tureans, she knew—had their backs to the gunwale, and the taller of them held Alyster before him like a shield. Even if Alyster had wanted to fight, it would have been suicidal. The wet blade of a knife was to his throat, and more blood ran down his hand, shockingly red against his coat.

The crew had drawn their own weapons—all except Reveka, who had flung herself over her patient to protect him—and they surrounded the Tureans with a ring of steel, but no one moved otherwise.

“Put your weapons down,” the Turean said.

Thomal spat. “So you can kill us unarmed?”

The Turean’s lip curled. “We could kill you anyway. The rest of my crew has reloaded those cannons. We can blast this ship out of the water or call the kraken to take it down, but if you surrender, we’ll let you live. All we were sent for is the ship.”

If there had been any way to know for certain he was telling the truth, and if her thoughts on the matter had counted for anything, Miri would have agreed at once. A ship, even one like
Checkmate
, could be replaced. Besides, even if the Tureans seized the ship, anyone who escaped could reach the coastline and send word to Denalay, so
Checkmate
would be retaken long before she could reach the Iron Ocean.

Except one look at Alyster’s face told her he would never surrender. He turned in the Tureans’ direction as best he could with a knife to his throat, and contempt filled his voice. “You murdered the crew of that Dagran vessel and—”

“They’re locked in the hold,” the Turean said. “If you want your crew to live, order them to drop their weapons and
Enlightenment
will not fire. But if you want their children to be parentless, you’ll have it, because without this ship I’m a dead man too and I will not die alone.”

He drew the blade sideways, slowly. Alyster gave no indication he had noticed, but fresh blood trickled down his throat.

“Choose.” The Turean’s voice was soft and implacable.

The taut muscles in Alyster’s face relaxed, leaving behind only a cold acceptance, and Miri knew he was going to refuse, because he would rather die than do otherwise. No captain would want to be remembered as a hostage the Tureans used to successfully hold his crew at bay, whether it was that captain’s first or last command, or both.

“No.” She stepped out of the circle of the crowd.

All eyes went to her, and the Tureans looked as though one of the belaying pins had spoken to them. The incredulity in Alyster’s face gave way to anger at once.

“Stay out of this,” he said in a harsh whisper.

“Why?” Miri’s heart pounded almost as fast as her mind raced. “Doesn’t it concern all our lives, mine included?”

The Turean leader looked her up and down with growing disdain. She could tell why. Not only did she wear no uniform, her clothes were damp with sweat and water. Her hair was disheveled where it didn’t cling to the nape of her neck. She might have been a trim pretty reporter in a new blue coat once, but now she probably appeared a complete urchin.

“Don’t harm anyone on this ship,” she said to him. Courteous but confident, just as she had been taught to speak to people when she’d started at the
Beacon
. “Please.”

He looked mildly amused. “And why shouldn’t we?”

“Because I’m asking it of you.”

The other Turean hefted the saber. “Just who the hell are you?”

Miri had been hoping for that opening, and she took it for all it was worth. “I’m half-Turean.”

“What?”

The exclamation came from somewhere in the crowd, but neither of the Tureans spoke. Whatever else they had expected to hear, they had obviously not been prepared for such a revelation. She avoided looking at Alyster. If he gave the order to attack, the crew would do it, preferring to die fighting even if they could only kill two Tureans—and now she wasn’t sure they’d stop at the Tureans.

Every moment she kept talking, though, was one more moment they could live.

“It’s true,” she said. “My mother may have been Denalait, but my father was one of you.”

“If that’s so, what are you doing on this ship?” one of the Tureans said.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Scrubbing the deck, which was the only kind of duty the captain thought suitable for a half-salt. He told me I was lucky no one else knew, because I’d be thrown overboard otherwise.”

None of the crew said a word—at least not a word she could distinguish—but a low mutter rose from behind her, and she hoped no one would plunge a knife into her back. She needed the shock and disgust on their faces as evidence she was telling the truth.

“Who was your father?” the Turean holding Alyster said.

“What does it matter, Ral?” The other man glared at her. “If a drink was only partly poison, would you swallow it?”

“Being half-salt, I’d probably survive the experience,” Miri shot back.

The other man chuckled. “Who was your father?”

Miri heard the crew shifting and whispering, but her mind was clear, and it was as though she stood alone on a bare stage with a role to play. “I don’t know his name, but he was related to Jash Morender. I’ve been told I look a little like her.”

The Turean studied her again. “What’s your name?”

“Miri Tayes. What’s yours?”

“Ralcilos Phane. If we spare you, will you swear your loyalty and service to us?”

“No. I need more of a reason to swear loyalty and service than someone holding a blade over my head and then offering not to kill me.” Breathing was an effort, and she only managed it because Ralcilos Phane hadn’t cut Alyster’s throat in retaliation for her reply. “Let the crew leave. Then keep the officers as hostages and to maintain the engine—or at least show you how to do it. That’ll give you fewer prisoners to guard too.”

She knew if Ralcilos killed Alyster, he would have lost his one advantage, and the crew might tear him apart before the cannons could fire again. Not being a fool, he probably knew it as well. On the other hand, he wouldn’t have released Alyster for anything other than a significant concession, one which Alyster would never have made. His eyes widened.

“You have no right to make any such terms—” he began.

“Why, because she’s half-Turean?” Ralcilos pressed the blade in until Alyster went silent. “She’s got every right to make terms, and I’ll listen if they’re good ones.”

He glanced at Miri again. “Tell them to get off the ship. No food or water—from the looks of them they’ve never missed a meal in their lives. Do it and we’ll know you can be trusted.”

“I will.” With a confidence she was nowhere close to feeling, she turned to face the crew. She had braced herself for condemnation, but nothing in her imagination had come close to reality. It was like being stripped to the skin and surrounded by a wall of thorns that was closing in on her, tightening like a fist.

They’ll all be killed if I don’t make this happen, and Alyster will die first
. She raised her head.

“You heard him.” She looked at Thomal, because he was the first officer, and then at Reveka, because if anyone understood how to read faces rather than words, she did. If they backed her up, this might save half the crew. “Get clear of this ship.”

She thought it would work, because Thomal was one of the few who didn’t look as though he despised her. Then Peppercorn pushed his way out of the crowd.

“I take orders from the captain.” His fists were clenched. “Not pirates, not lying traitors neither!”

Miri knew how much face Alyster stood to lose if he gave that order, and she wished she could have told Peppercorn so, except he didn’t seem likely to listen. His features were almost unrecognizable in anger, but that just made her sad.

“So before you knew what I am,” she said quietly, “you felt I was useful in the galley, not to mention hard-working and good company, and I know all that because you told me. I see why a friend advised me never to admit the truth.”

He moved so quickly it caught her by surprise. One hand lashed out—not in a punch but in a contemptuous backhand, and what felt like a firecracker went off next to Miri’s ear. The world upended. She had a glimpse of rapid movement, a flash through the air, and someone screamed.