Rising Tide (16 page)

We reach the water without incident. With a little coaxing, Sarah gets the raft and together we lower it into the water. She seems in shock, and while a small part of me sympathizes, I find the larger part of me has no patience for it. She made her decision—decided to turn on her crazy cult family, and this is what happened. After their torture, and trying to kill me, and all of us, I just have no patience left.

So we all jump into the raft and pull out into the sound. “Will they come after us?” I ask Sarah. She's huddled up in one corner of the raft, knees up near her head, her hands over her face. She doesn't answer me at first.

“Sarah,” I say, firmly.

She looks up at me. “It all went wrong,” she says.

“Will they come after us?” I ask again.

She shakes her head. “No. Not right away. It will take them a little while to figure out what happened and where we went. Like I said . . . we're spread thin. By the time they can organize, we should be picked up.”

“Which brings me to my next question,” I say, looking to Whistler and Chase. “How are we going to get the
Raven
to come to us?”

Nobody answers, but Sarah reaches into a pocket of her uniform and pulls out a flare gun.

Whistler takes it. It's a good idea. Normally I would be worried about someone else seeing it, but if Sarah is right, we're ahead of them. If we can get close enough to the
Raven
to signal to them, we should be okay.

All I can think of, though, is Miranda. As I sit in the back of the boat, salty spray peppering my face, I just see her in my mind. It's because of me that her life is in danger, because of my actions that she's at Mal's mercy.
I have to save her
, I think.
Have to get her out of there, bring her back to Tamoanchan. Fix things.

As Whistler fires the flare into the sky, I think that there's more than just one sinking ship to save.

CHAPTER NINE

A
s the
Raven
approaches the
Phoenix
, I notice the other airships flying in formation above it. I count five in total, a mix of designs from cargo ships to small passenger dirigibles. But what draws my eye is a long, flat airship, its envelope a matte grey-blue that almost seems to blend into the sky. I've never seen a ship like it before.

“What's that?” I ask.

Chang looks up at me, then where I'm pointing.

He smiles. “That's Malik's ship. The
Argus
.”

Figures
, I think. Mal would have a unique ship like that. I wonder where he got it. He's been very busy since I saw him last.

Whistler verifies our identity over the radio and then lowers us to the
Phoenix
. Looking down on it from the
Raven
, I almost think I can see it riding low in the water. We descend and the ladder is lowered and I push my way to it. Whistler gives me a look, but I give Whistler a look right back that says don't fucking get in my way.

The ladder barely hits the deck before I'm down it. Mal is there with several of his people. Armed. I spare a look for Mal. “I got your pumps,” I say. “Whistler will tell you all about it.”

Then I push through them, heading for the stairwell. I hear Mal behind me saying, “Let him go.”

I tear down into the bowels of the ship, calling after Miranda. I vaguely remember my trip from the lower levels up to the deck, so I try to retrace it, heading down, running up and down corridors, calling her name all the time.

I run from one stairwell to another, descending deeper into the ship. There are lights down here, but they're dim, emergency lighting of some sort.

I go down, ever down, until I hit water. Until I find where the ocean is encroaching. “Miranda!” I yell. “Miranda!”

I splash through the water, hoping to hear her answering voice. But I can't hear it. I pause, realizing that my legs are kicking up water, that the sound might be blocking her. Nothing but the creaking of the ship.

Somewhere I don't want to look, a voice that I don't want to hear starts whispering to me.
What if she—?

No.

“Miranda!”

I keep on like that, calling, searching, quietly despairing, until a voice stills me.

“Benjamin, Benjamin, Benjamin.”

I turn and see Mal, perched on the edge of the stairs, looking at me.

“Where is she?” I ask.

He smiles. A wide, self-satisfied smile. The dim lighting makes him look demonic. “She is safe.” The smile grows even wider, something I didn't think possible. “She's aboard my airship.”

“What?”

“Come now, Benjamin. Do you really think that little of me? That I would toss away the life of an innocent?”

“But you said—”

“I said exactly what I needed to do to cause you pain. To make you work for me. To get you to dance. You care for Miranda, that much is obvious. Why wouldn't I use that?”

“You bastard.”

“Clearly, Benjamin, you still have a lot to learn. So much. You use whatever tools are at your disposal . . . without compromising your own integrity. Your morals. I know, I know. You think me a beast. A villain.” He shrugs. “Perhaps I am. Perhaps I have been. But I'm not the only one.”

I feel my shoulders slump. He's defeated me. “I got you your pumps,” I say.

He nods, crosses his arms in front of his chest. “So I was told. As well as another guest.”

“That was the cost of getting the pumps out.”

Mal nods. “So Whistler said.” He waves a hand through the air. “It's a small matter,” he says. “Assuming your pumps work.”

“They should,” I say.

“We'll see.”

“So what happens now?”

“My people will replace the pumps. Perhaps our newcomer will help us. If they work as promised, things will return to normal. We will continue to Hawaii as planned.”

“And Miranda and me?” I ask.

“I will fulfill my part of the promise,” he says. “You will come with us to Hawaii.”

“And then?”

He shrugs. “I haven't yet decided.”

“And if the pumps don't work?” I ask, dreading the answer.

He smiles wickedly. “If not, Benjamin, I will enjoy seeing you suffer. Now.” He examines his gloves. “Have you ever heard of keelhauling?”

“No.”

“It's an old nautical punishment. I found it in a book. The . . . criminal is tied to a rope and pulled across the ship's keel. The bottommost part. I think that will be a fitting end.”

“And what happens to Sarah?”

“That I don't know. Maybe she'll stay with us. Maybe she'll go. It all depends.”

I meet his eyes. “The pumps will work.”

He holds his hands out, palms up. “Then we all will prosper.”

“I want to see Miranda.”

He smiles again. “I want to have a working, non-sinking ship.”

Then he turns and climbs the steps, slamming the heavy metal door behind him.

Mal locks me in with the people working on the pumps. My fate was tied up with the pumps, he said. Might as well be there in the thick of it. Two of Mal's men, accompanied by Sarah, are now splashing through the flooded
Phoenix
.

“How is it going?” I ask Sarah.

She frowns up at me in the dim light. We're not allowed to use open flame down here—too much engine oil and other substances—but Mal's people have a solar-charged light that they're using as they replace the pumps.

“Ben, let me work,” she says before turning back to the task at hand. She's been chilly to me since we left the base. She thinks I broke the rules by shooting that soldier. I would feel guilty except I know that it was either him or one of us. Besides, he might have lived. If he got attention in time.

The truth is, I don't care either way.

Sarah and the two men are working to release one of the broken pumps, crowded in around it. I get the feeling that the water is interfering with their efforts.

My problem is that there's not much for me to do. I can't fix the pumps. I can't really help them with fixing the pumps. All I can do is think about the rising water. And Miranda. Wherever the fuck she is.

“Hold this,” Sarah says, splashing over to me. She passes me a large wrench. She wipes a hand across her head, smearing it with greasy water. “What's between you and this Mal?”

“It's a long story,” I say.

“Okay,” she says, holding up her hands. “Don't tell me, then. I need to concentrate.”

Sarah returns to the pumps, and I watch her and Mal's men work. The sad part about all of this is that a part of me appreciates what it is that Mal is doing. Leading his people away. Trying to give them a home, some security. I've never been much of a joiner, I only started working with the boffins in the last year, but in another place, another time, I might do something similar in his place. But to give up the air . . .

What's really bothering me is that even if they get these pumps working, it's back to my cell for me. Miranda will be safe, which is good, but I'll be a prisoner until we reach Hawaii. I took my shot already, and Mal easily disarmed me. It's unlikely that I'll get another chance.

So where does that leave me? Is this what I have to look forward to? Another week or so belowdecks before the end?

God, I miss the sky. I miss the
Cherub
. I miss Miranda.

We need to get back to Tamoanchan, to make sure everyone is okay. And if they are? I've been thinking about it, in bits and pieces. Returning to the Frothy Brew for a beer. Visiting Rabbi Cohen. Seeing Sergei. I even had this vague, unformed idea of maybe getting my way back onto a ship. Running forage for the island. Making myself useful.

And staying near Miranda. Things always go wrong when I leave Miranda.

I shiver as the freezing water soaks into my bones. It's hard to tell how quickly the water is rising because it always seems to be around my thighs. “Any luck?” I call out.

“In the last few minutes?” Sarah says.

Fuck.

I try to think about what Miranda would do in this situation. She rarely ever freaks out. She has a methodical mind. I used to think it frustrated me, but here in the dark I realize that I admire it. I admire her. Her mind is a thing of beauty. Maybe I should try to emulate it more.

So . . . what's next? This isn't the end. If the pumps are restored, I won't get keelhauled. Which would be very good. Then Mal puts me back into my cell, but only until we reach Hawaii. Then he's going to have to get me off the ship. Whatever punishment he sees fit to deliver will work best in front of an audience. That's how Mal works. There will be opportunities. I just need to see Miranda. Then together we can try to make an escape.
But back to Tamoanchan, Ben?

My natural cynicism jumps all over this, but I try to channel Miranda's optimism. Why not? Maybe I can steal an airship. Take us back up into the sky and away from Mal and his people. I got my ship back from the middle of an armed helium plant, didn't I? And that was without Miranda.

Of course all of this depends on me not being keelhauled. So I really hope that Sarah knows what she's doing.

“Any progress?” I call out.

She doesn't answer this time. Just throws back her arm, flips up her hand and extends her middle finger. It's an old gesture but one that hasn't lost its meaning. Cute.

How else to get back to Tamoanchan? I'm no sailor, but maybe we could steal a raft or boat. Surely we'd have to wash ashore at some point. Maybe we could get passage aboard a passing ship. Have them put me down somewhere like where I met up with Diego. Somewhere on a route where he might find me. But that's a long shot, especially since Diego is a beaten and bloody mess at the moment.

No easy answers.

What I'm good at is flying. Surviving. Killing Ferals. Being a bastard. You know, the usual.

I wonder if maybe I could track down Claudia. My oldest friend, former lover, comrade-in-arms, and the most dangerous woman I've ever met. Last I saw her, she was still on Gastown. I hope she didn't get herself caught in all the chaos that was happening. If I could get in touch with Claudia, then she could take us to Tamoanchan. But . . . I don't know how I would do that. And for some reason the thought of having Claudia and Miranda on the same ship makes me uncomfortable.

Things were much easier before I went and started having feelings.

Then I think about Lord Tess. Maybe she would know a way to get back to the island. She certainly knew about Tamoanchan. Maybe she could put us in touch with someone who could take us there. I have to return anyway to pay her back. The more I think about it, that looks like the best option. She came through with the pumps. And if we're lucky, Mal's people will drop us right there.

All this assuming, of course, that the island is still there. That other raiders didn't strike it. That it hasn't been destroyed or evacuated or—