Beneath a Burning Sky (The Dawnhawk Trilogy Book 3) (27 page)

The team of Mechanists was still here, clustered thickly around the busted hulk of Atherion’s Siren. Fengel knew at a glance it would not work again anytime soon. Some of the marines continued to fire upon it, apparently bearing a grudge.

The pirates he’d seen earlier hadn’t yet fled. Maybe twenty in all, they clustered still behind the scant cover of Euron’s statue. Fengel recognized most of them as Captain Duvale’s crew, from the
Windhaunter
. At their head was a red-haired woman in a half cloak and broad-brimmed hat. It was Shannon MacKinnon, Duvale’s extraordinarily lazy first mate.

“All right, you rotters,” she said, her voice colored by an impressively thick Perinese brogue. “I had a word with some of the Mechanists, and that screaming contraption of theirs isn’t going to work again anytime soon. Just as well, really, because it was giving me a headache.”

She leaned back against old dead Captain Reddon. The assembled pirates shifted back and forth, waiting. After a moment, it was clear that Shannon wasn’t going to continue.

“Was this the weapon that Euron Blackheart talked about?” asked one pirate, worriedly. “It’s all busted. Now what are we going to
do?”

Shannon tapped her chin, revealing a bandolier full of pistols beneath her half cloak. “That’s a good pair of questions. But as far as answers, I haven’t a clue. Anyone got any ideas?”

That’s my cue
. Fengel glanced at the crowd. He very much wanted to ask where his own men and women were, but there wasn’t time for that now.

“I’ve got an idea,” he called, striding up from behind the crowd. “I save the town, and you help me do it.”

Shannon MacKinnon blinked at him in surprise. “Captain Fengel?”

“Of course. Where’s Captain Duvale?”

The
Windhaunter’s
first mate frowned. “Pleading before the Goddess, I suspect. A lucky blast of Perinese grapeshot rattled us during the retreat. The ship’s rudders are a ruin now and so is Duvale. I got us back to the Skydocks, then brought the lads down here to see what good we could do.” She shook her head. “Things are a mess up there, Captain. Everyone running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Old Euron made it back, fortunately, though he crabbed about cowardice the whole way. So it’s not
complete
chaos. And our Mechanist friends had this little incursion in hand, until those knights showed up.”

“They’re automatons,” said Imogen, appearing beside Fengel. Anger twisted her features, and she fingered her satchel as she stared at the wreck of Atherion’s Siren as if it were a personal insult.

A murmur went up among the assembled men and women of the
Windhaunter
. Shannon MacKinnon snorted, setting her red braids to swaying. “Well, that’s fancy. Just worsens the odds, though. Things are already falling apart down below—everyone’s either fleeing or trying to fight the Bluecoaties on their own. They were getting slaughtered before that toy over there began to sing. How are we supposed to drive the bastards back now?”

“We aren’t going to,” said Fengel. He walked around the crowd to the statue, then turned to face the assembled pirates, pointedly ignoring Cubbins, who rubbed against his boots. “If we charge straight in, the Perinese will chew us to pieces. Even if my wife finds the Stormhammer, it’s too late for that. No. The Mechanists and I have a different plan, one that could save us all, but I’ve got to get down below to get it started. We just need to buy time to
slow
the Bluecoats. After that, it won’t matter.”

He looked out into the crowd. A woman with dark, shoulder-length hair caught his eye. Her clothing was as ratty as the next Haventowner’s, but her dragonskin belt covered in seashells was unique. “Danica Barker?” he asked. “Is that you?”

The woman fingered the shells on her belt distractedly. “Aye, Captain.”

“You’re Tooley’s aetherite, from the
Sky Serpent
. What are you doing here?”

She gave a shrug and looked past him at the lagoon. “Got lost in the fighting, Captain. Came back aboard the
Windhaunter
.”

“Have you Workings left?” She nodded, and he smiled. “Excellent. Stick with me. Now, the rest of you? Come along—”

“Arr! There ye be. What are ye all doin’ standing around? Thar be men to kill!”

Fengel felt his heart sink.

Euron Blackheart entered Pillager’s Square from the southern boardwalk alley. The old pirate appeared more than a little battered. His outdated finery was shredded and stained, and his beard was singed in places. But his eyes were alive, even as he staggered along, using his ancient, sheathed cutlass as a walking stick.

The same couldn’t be said for those following him. Eight old pirates limped into the square at his rear, covered in bandages. They were all of them Euron’s old crew, and Fengel had never seen them looking so
old
. The killers were an omnipresent force in town, keeping the peace by busting heads when needed. Now, though, they seemed weary and worn. Had they always been so?

Euron stalked up to the statue at the center of the Square as the
Windhaunter’s
crew broke apart for him. He stopped to admire the monument, a faint smile playing at his lips.

“Reddon. Goddess, you were a bastard. Thought to steal my throne, eh? Ha!” He thumped the sheath of his sword against the boardwalk. “Oh, it were a glorious day when I killed ye. A glorious day.” The pirate king rounded on Fengel. “Why couldn’t ye be more like him, eh? Be someone
worthwhile?
”

Fengel stiffened. “What are you doing down here, Euron?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing, ye useless popinjay? I’ve come to drive the Perinese off me town and out o’ me isles!”

“If you’re in town, then you’re needed back at the Skydocks. If Brunehilde and Tooley can join Weatherby, we can slow the warships—”

“Pah!” Euron shook his head. “They’re all lickin’ their wounds. They fled when things were lost, cowards all! Not that I saw ye up there! How’d ye get back to town, Fengel?”

Fengel ground his teeth together. The Mechanists, the light-air mines, and the escape plan—none of it was worth explaining. Instead, he gestured back out at the lagoon, where the
Moonchaser
flew, chased by the
Glory of Perinault
. “Everyone follows you. They’ll listen if you order them back up! And we need people up there! Brunehilde and Tooley will follow your orders, no matter how injured they are. Weatherby, Cadmus, and Matice are just barely—”

“What? And leave the stinkin’ Bluecoats in me town? Not a chance!” Euron drew his cutlass and thrust it into the air, forcing Shannon MacKinnon back with a curse. “We’ll drive the dogs back into the sea and then pillage like we’ve never pillaged before!”

“You and what men?” cried Fengel, exasperated. He gestured to the eight old, tired pirates flanking Euron. “You had fifty before this morning, and now you’re down to eight! They’ve been with you for decades, and you’re going to get what’s left of them killed!”

“What? Nonsense! And I see a good two dozen hands here sittin’ idle with ye.” He turned to face the crowd. “Come, all of ye who would see the invaders out, who want to see vengeance and bloody glory!”

A ragged cheer rose from the crew of the
Windhaunter
. Fengel watched, incredulous, as Euron led them, first across the square and then down the Waterdock stair. Shannon MacKinnon swore and ran after them with an apologetic shrug at Fengel. In moments the only ones remaining in the square were Imogen, the Mechanists, and surprisingly, Captain Tooley’s aetherite.

Fengel raised an eyebrow at her. “At least you had the good sense to stay behind, Danica.”

The aetherite gave another shrug. “You ordered me to stay with you, Captain.”

“Does he even know about the automatons?” asked Imogen.

“No,” replied Fengel, his voice low and tight. “And he’s going to get them all killed.” He drew his saber in one smooth motion, taking pleasure in how it felt in his hand. “Come on. We make for the Smuggler’s Warehouse.” He stumbled over Cubbins with a curse, then reached down and yanked the tabby cat up by the scruff of its neck. Fengel shoved it into the arms of a passing Mechanist. “Take care of this!”

He turned away from the rather surprised young man and stalked towards the stair down to the next terrace. “But what about all the others?” asked Danica Barker worriedly. The shells on her belt jangled as she hurried to keep up with him.

“They made their choice!” he all but shouted back at her.

Cannon blast and musket retort washed over Fengel as he stalked after Euron—the stair he’d taken was the only path down to the Waterdocks. Fengel stomped angrily down the old wooden steps, his saber gripped in a white-knuckled fist.

The man was infuriating. Absolutely infuriating. Here they were, with a dozen warships on their doorstep and hundreds of soldiers in their door, and all Euron could think to do was charge. Worse, everyone listened to him!
Well enough. Enough and more than enough. They can all rot while I do what needs to be done.

Haventown’s lowest terrace was a sprawling collection of warehouses, criminal shipwrights, and all the other diverse structures that needed to be near the water. The Waterdocks sprawled, a third of the entire pirate township by itself and a ramshackle place where structures leaned against each other. Construction wasn’t regulated in Haventown. You simply built where you had room, if someone didn’t stop you.

A number of years ago, it had half burned down. He’d wed Natasha, and she was trying to kill him, of course, and a simple spark had resulted in an inferno. Looking around, it seemed that no one had really taken the lesson to heart.

The old Smuggler’s Warehouse was built near the northern third of the terrace, opposite the lagoon and up tight against the cliffs. Fengel left the pirate king and his followers to their fate, threading his way through streets and alleys that were all but empty. There weren’t many people on the Waterdocks at the busiest of times, but it seemed the more permanent residents had either fled the invasion or gone to fight it. Those he saw clustered in the doorways and windows, seemingly oblivious of each other, waiting.

They need to group up
. Fengel shook his head.
Everyone is hiding in little gangs, even ready to fight, but we need the strength that comes from numbers
. Euron should have gathered them up, brought them on his mad charge down the throat of the enemy. Maybe...maybe then he might have had a chance. Now it was too late.

He ran through intersections and through alleys, ignoring the sounds of battle. Finally, he stopped at a junction, their destination in view, and Danica and Imogen ran into him. The Smuggler’s Warehouse was located down a narrow alley and up against the face of the cliff, all but hidden in the shadow of the Craftwright’s Terrace above. To his left the street continued on, twisting past a coal yard and an old warehouse roofed with whale bones. Shouts echoed down to him—the cries of pirates and soldiers just out of sight.

“Here we are,” said Fengel. Now up close, he could see several great brass pipes running out from the Smuggler’s Warehouse to the rest of the town above. “Imogen, you’re sure this is the entrance to the mine?”

The young Mechanist nodded, distractedly. She stared down the street towards the battle raging just out of sight. “Just at the back, behind a fake stack of crates.” She looked at him. “Shouldn’t we...shouldn’t we do something to help?”

“We are,” he replied frostily.

Fengel took a step forward just as the nearby conflict reached a crescendo. “By the Goddess,” someone shouted, “they’re unstoppable! Flee fer yer lives!”

He stopped despite himself as a number of panicked men and women from the
Windhaunter
came into view, fleeing the fight or trying desperately to hold ground. The pirates fought not Bluecoats but the twenty armored and shining automatons he’d spied earlier. They tromped forward, moving in a tight wedge that drove the pirates before them.

These machines were like neither the clumsy, steam-driven Brass Horses of Triskelion nor the ancient and spindly Voornish automatons. They stood taller than a man, armored like the storybook tales of the
old
Order Gallant. Past the plates, though, pistons and flywheels moved, while steam puffed from an exhaust pipe behind the right shoulder. Each held a heavy, complicated musket with several barrels bundled together, like a pepperbox pistol writ large. They pressed the defenders back with an implacable tread and a brutal, inhuman efficiency, their armor shining beneath eaves made of grinning whale skulls and the shadows cast by warring airships.

Euron and his geriatric reavers held firmest, trying to stand their ground against the things. Fengel pointedly looked away, back to the Smuggler’s Warehouse.

Damned old fool neither wants nor needs my help.
He looked to Imogen and Danica, who stared at the nearby struggle as pirates fled past them.
And so what if he falls? We’re better off without that mad old bastard.

The sharp snap of shattering steel caught his attention. It was Euron, fighting the automaton at the head of their pack, backed up by two of his men. The pirate king had tried a heavy, two-handed chop with his cutlass. Only the automaton had raised its musket and shattered the old, oft-nicked blade. The automaton did not pause; instead, it lowered its weapon and fired to one side. Thunder erupted, obliterating a pirate.

Euron opened his mouth in a shout of rage or denial. But he never got the chance. The automaton swung out with the barrel of his weapon, catching the pirate king full in the chest and sending him flying.

Fengel winced. He looked away, only to see the two women behind him watching.
We’re better off without him. Better off!

A hoarse scream echoed down the street as he took a step for the Smuggler’s Warehouse. Fengel turned back in time to see an automaton lift one of Euron’s remaining men with one gauntlet and slam him into a brick wall with a sickening crunch. The pirate king himself rose to his feet and limped back into the fray, a bare handful of his former crew and those of the
Windhaunter
still standing.