Beneath a Burning Sky (The Dawnhawk Trilogy Book 3) (22 page)

Lina didn’t understand what had come over him. Usually Runt was downright affectionate after a fight. But at the moment he was so cranky she’d decided he was better off alone. Though it wasn’t just now, either. He had been ill-tempered for weeks now, and he was growing more irritable with every passing day. What was going on?

Her mood was blacker by the minute. Maybe she could get him started, like with Paine. “That was brave,” she said to Allen, “in the fighting.”

“Tried to help where I could,” he whispered. Allen forced a weak smile for her, but the Cure-All was making him flush violently—his face was as red as a beet. “Saw you in trouble, I thought. So I came to help.” His shoulders slumped. “Now I’ve lost a finger.”

Great. Lina realized she was actually fairly bad at this. Now she felt guilty. She fumbled wordlessly for a response.

Heavy boot steps sounded behind her on the deck. It was Michael Hockton, jogging furiously from the stern of the airship back up to the bow. Lina’s heart rose at seeing him. Why had she sought sympathy from Paine? And
Allen?
No, her ex-Bluecoatie soldier would do the trick.

“Hey, yeah, don’t worry,” she said to Allen distractedly. “Should be fine. I need to go...see to something.” She turned away to follow after Hockton. Out of the corner of her eye, she dimly saw Allen staring after her like an abandoned puppy.

Lina jogged up the deck after Michael. She called his name several times, but he did not stop, didn’t seem to hear her. She reached him just before the bow and reached out to grab his arm. Michael stopped and spun at the contact. His eyes were wide and his face pale. A fresh cut oozed wetly across his cheek.

Lina pulled back in surprise. “Hey,” she said, forcing some girlish excitement into her voice. “How are you doing?”

“I just killed six of my own countrymen,” he whispered.

Lina blinked. “What?” He wasn’t even looking at her, she realized, just staring past her shoulder.

“I didn’t know any of them, but they were just soldiers, like I was.”

“They were trying to kill us all,” she said, aggravated.

“A year ago, I would have been one of them.”

That does it.
Her depression and melancholy evaporated, replaced in an instant by irritation. It felt like there were hot burrs under her skin.
Him? Him too?
Is anyone on this boat not absorbed in their own little miseries at the moment?
Can’t they pay attention to
me
, for once, when I need them?
Well, to the
Realms Below with it. They can all wallow, then. Oh no, I got a finger lopped off. Oh, I killed a bunch of stupid Bluecoats.
She folded her arms angrily.

Hockton blinked and glanced down, seeming to notice her for the first time. “Lina? I—”

A shout from the port-side rigging cut him short. It was Omari, pointing north beyond the bow. “Your stupid island is up ahead!” she shouted.

The island. The one with the Voorn superweapon on it. The point of this stupid trip.

Lina pushed past Michael and strode to the bow. His boot steps echoed up behind her. She ignored them, peering out beyond the confines of the airship. Captain Blackheart and the rest of the crew arrived also, crowding up beside her.

Beneath them stretched the uninhabited portion of the Copper Isles, which were more broken and fragmented here than to the south. No one ever came up this way. The waterways between the islets were wider, almost completely open to the Atalian Sea.

One island lay dead ahead, a round chunk of land maybe a mile across. It was ringed by a fringe of sandy beach that rose up to sharp slopes of brittle rock a few hundred feet above the water. There the slope cut off abruptly, revealing that the island was cratered, like the caldera of a long-dead volcano. Thick jungle growth filled the interior, growing sharply sparse towards the center, where a great golden pyramid poked up. The structure was fanciful and strange, its angles odd to look upon. Lina knew at a glance that it had not been crafted by the hands of men.

“I am
not
going back up where that ape is,” said Omari. “How can you even keep such a—”

“Shut up, Omari,” said Natasha. She retrieved a spyglass from her hip and peered around the island. “This is the place,” she said after a moment. “But where are...ah!” The pirate captain closed the glass and pointed. “Down there.”

Lina followed her gesture, along with everyone else. Natasha pointed at a series of rooftops poking up through the jungle, not too far from the closest part of the southern-facing cliff of the crater. Ramshackle, the buildings were definitely man-made.

“That’s where my father’s men will be.” Natasha turned to stalk back down the deck. “Everyone, get ready—we’re putting down there. Maybe we can get this over with quickly and get back to the fight.”

Lina watched her go. At her side, Michael leaned down to whisper at her. “Lina...do you think it’s true? That there’s some old Voorn weapon here?”

“Whatever,” she replied, still angry at him. She threw up her hands and walked away. Why didn’t anyone ever care how
she
felt? Well, to the Realms Below with it. She was Lina Stone, of the
Dawnhawk
, and everyone else could go hang.

The trip to the tree houses would have taken hours on foot. The
Dawnhawk
crossed in minutes, descending past the cliff-top boundary of the crater. Natasha brought them down until the airship floated just above an opening in the jungle canopy, through which other buildings could be seen.

Up at the bow, Reaver Jane hoisted the land anchor. It was a heavy, hook-shaped device meant to keep the ship somewhat moored to one place. She let it fall overboard, then unrolled a rope ladder after it.

Beneath Lina’s feet the steam engine belowdecks rumbled, downshifting. Natasha had disengaged the propellers. She locked the helm in place and stalked up to Reaver Jane, gesturing for everyone else to attend her. Lina pressed in along with the others.

“All right,” said Natasha quietly. “I don’t like surprises, but this place looks like it’s got more than a priest’s bedsheets. Somehow my father has kept that golden pyramid here a secret for the last forty years. Probably because he’s got a whole pack of his old crew murdering anyone who ever came down to check. I want as many blades at my back as I can get, which means all of you. Get ready to go ashore. Omari!”

The accidental necromancer started in surprise from the rigging. “What do you want? I’m not one of your crew.”

Natasha’s grinding teeth was audible. Lina winced. Her captain may have been polishing her social skills, but there were limits to what could be accomplished.

“You aren’t one of my crew,” snarled Natasha, “but if you don’t want me to pitch you over the side, you’ll do as I damned well say.” She glared at the other woman until Omari looked away. “Now,” Natasha continued, “we’re going down there, and you’re going to pull up the ladder afterward. Don’t let it down for anyone but us. Other than that, just keep out of the way and don’t touch anything. Got it?”

Omari nodded in wordless reply. Natasha grunted, then fished out
How to Pillage Friends and Intimidate People,
opening it to a dog-eared page. “Also, I appreciate your ass...assets? Damned smudge. Assistance! I appreciate your assistance in these dire times.”

She shut the book and jammed it back down the front of her puffy shirt, only then realizing that everyone was staring at her, Omari included. Natasha growled and jerked her head towards the side of the ship.

Lina paused as the others moved to disembark. What was she forgetting?
Ah.
She ran over and grabbed up Runt. Cranky or not, she didn’t go ashore without him. The scryn chirped grumpily but crawled to his customary place across her shoulders.

The ground below the airship was hard packed and clear of any growth. The tree houses were clearly visible now, three shacks built in the spreading branches of two different banyans. A number of smaller huts sagged against the trunks on the ground below, complete with fire pits and clotheslines. A fume of garbage and burned wood filled the air. Yet the encampment appeared completely empty. Lina didn’t like how that felt.

“Ahoy there!” cried Natasha as she stepped down from the ladder. Butterbeak joined in from her shoulder, screaming sharply enough that she winced, along with all the other pirates, prompting a swat from the
Dawnhawk’
s captain. Both calls echoed about the encampment, unanswered.

“No one’s here, Captain,” said Reaver Jane. The pirate woman limped around, a cutlass in her hands, peering at the darkest shadows for any threat.

“It figures,” replied Natasha flatly. “Decades? Here? Damned pirates probably left after five months.”

“I do not think so.”

Lina turned like everyone else. It was Etarin, standing beside a fire pit near one of the huts. A thick bandage swathed his neck, and with difficulty he gestured up past the
Dawnhawk
to the cliff walls of the island through the treetops. “Those are sheer,” he said. “Too smooth by far to climb, I think. And here, look. This fire is only a day cold, and it was left in a hurry.” He stabbed into the pit with his scimitar, lifting the blade to reveal the charred carcass of a small bird on a spit. “Whoever was here left in a hurry.”

Lina glanced about. There were other signs of recent occupation: rags hung on the clothesline and an unceremoniously piled trash heap still stinking of refuse. But where had the inhabitants gone?

Natasha sheathed her cutlass. “Fine. We’ve more important things to do than track down a bunch of fossilized cutthroats. Come. We’re here for the pyramid and that Voornish weapon. If we find Euron’s old crew along the way, that’s fine. I’m not wasting time on them, though. Rastalak, you can tell me how to work the thing, right?”

The little Draykin turned to her in surprise. He looked suddenly awkward as he lifted his hands up in a wordless shrug. “Maybe?”

“Good enough.” Natasha whistled up at the
Dawnhawk
and gestured for Omari to pull up the ladder. Then she turned towards the center of the island and stalked out of the camp. One by one the rest of the crew joined her, leaving Lina standing alone.

There was something unsettling about this place. Where was everyone? And why had they left so abruptly?
We’re probably only going to find out when it’s way too late.

Lina sighed. She glanced up at the
Dawnhawk
, where Omari had yet to pull up the ladder. Then she ran to catch up.

The undergrowth proved less dense than it had appeared from above, though still thick. Big Farouk moved at the forefront of their pack, hacking down vines and fronds with his blade, and the others followed along untroubled. Rich jungle smells of damp earth and pungent flowers rose from all around them, tinged by the sea-scent breeze of the ocean. Through the treetops she spied the golden peak of the Voornish pyramid, unvarnished and shining in the afternoon sun.

Ahead, Paine ducked a branch, followed by Reaver Jane, who bent it back to pass it. Lina put up her hand to catch it, but moved too slowly. The limb whipped into her face, a tangle of leaves and overgrown vines.

Runt went berserk.

“Chirr!” screamed the scryn. “Chirr!” He hissed and spat poison, thrashing about from her shoulders as Lina disentangled herself from the branch. His coils tightened about her shoulders, restricting her arms and clamping on her neck.

“Runt!” she gasped, slapping at his coils. “Calm down! What’s wrong?”

Her pet only hissed in reply. Lurid red light reflected from the fronds and vines all around them.

Michael Hockton moved up beside her. “What’s happening?” he asked, concerned, looking like he’d shaken whatever malaise possessed him back aboard the ship. After a moment Allen appeared beside him, eyes red but somewhat recovered from his own ordeal. Alarm showed plainly on the faces of both young men. They weren’t stepping
too
close, however.

“It’s Runt!” said Lina, trying to simultaneously calm her pet and retain balance against his flailing. “Something hit him in the face, and he just lost it!”

“Ah,” said Allen.

“Right,” said Michael.

Neither one of them moved to help.

Her pet was usually ill-tempered at the best of times. Ever since the Almhazlik affair, though, he’d been especially cranky. Lina had meant to visit the disgraced veterinarian back in Haventown again, but there hadn’t been enough time before the invasion. A tiny pang of fear shook her for the first time. What if her pet was sick? What if he was dying?

“Get over here and help me out!” she snarled.

Michael looked pained. “But what do you want us to
do
, Lina?” Beside him, Allen ducked a stream of poisonous spittle.

Damnable cowards!
Really, Lina didn’t know why everyone was so wary around Runt. He was perfectly sweet, normally, especially right after he’d eaten a seagull or had a shot of Cure-All.
The flask!
That was it. Maybe Cure-All would work.

Neither man moved. They warily watched her dance about while Runt thrashed.

“If someone could help me with Runt,” she said, trying for what she thought was a demure tone, “I’d be ever so grateful.”

Both men looked conflicted. They took a step and stopped, simultaneously noticing each other. Determination flashed across their faces, and they both strode over purposefully. Lina wanted to breath a sigh of relief, but her pet was coiled too tightly now for that.

“What should we do?” asked Michael.

“Allen! Get over here and rub his back. Along the scales, like you would a dog.”

The Mechanist just stared. “Runt’s going to bite me. I don’t want to lose another finger!” 

“It’ll be fine. Now, do you want to help me or not?”

“Runt’s going to
bite
me!”

“Michael,” she said, ignoring him. “Grab the flask on my hip. You need to feed it to him, slowly. The Cure-All will calm him right down.”

“Runt’s going to bite
him
,” said Allen.