The Wrath of a Shipless Pirate (The Godlanders War) (21 page)

Dave Taker seemed pretty satisfied of the fact too. He nodded to himself a moment, then stretched his back and craned his neck to look toward the cutter. “I think that has us set. Can you see your partner? Is he coming back yet?”

Corin had to climb back out of the hold to get a good look, and even then he wasn’t sure. The moonlight played in broken slivers on the cove’s black waters, and the cutter itself threw a huge shadow. Corin went to the railing, raised a hand to his eyes, and stared a moment, but he saw no sign of the rowboat.

“Nothing yet,” he called over his shoulder. “I suspect he couldn’t find the letters under your directions.”

Dave Taker answered with some noise, barely a grunt, but it was enough to catch Corin’s attention. The man had never left the cramped hold. Instead he knelt above the lockbox, open now, and as Corin turned that way he heard a metallic
snap
and a rasp, and saw a flash of light. Like flint and tinder. Once, twice, and then a third time brought a sudden flare that was quickly concealed as Taker slammed shut the lockbox’s lid. All three exquisite locks snapped shut at once.

Then Taker turned and found Corin watching him. “What was that?” Corin asked.

“Revenge,” Taker answered. Then he sprinted to the port bow and leaped the low railing. He landed in the rowboat, cast off the line, and kicked away hard from the low-riding river boat. “Better jump!” he called to Corin. “Better jump real soon. If you swim fast enough, maybe you can join us in the cutter.”

Then he pulled hard on the oars and shot away toward the bigger ship.

Paralyzed, Corin watched him go. In the hold behind him, Corin heard the angry, popping hiss of a powder fuse burning toward its charge.

R
evenge, he’d said. That was just what Corin had used to entice him, and now he paid the price. Corin remembered all too clearly a story Charlie Claire had shared. A justicar had found his crew while they were under Ethan Blake. They’d trapped him in the
Diavahl
’s hold and blown a hole through the bottom of it with a lockbox full of dwarven powder. Even here, when Corin and Ezio first met him, Dave Taker had bragged about burying a justicar beneath the sea.

Now he meant to do the same thing to the farmboy. And unless he moved fast, to Corin with him. But despite his
sudden
understanding, despite the threatening hiss of burning cord behind him, Corin couldn’t move. He couldn’t throw himself overboard. He
hated
dwarven powder and he
wanted
to run, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t just leave Auric to die. It astonished him. Despite his every instinct, he rushed
toward
the explosive chest. He dove into the upper hold and wasted half a breath searching the lockbox for some weak point he might exploit. There was none. It was a work of extraordinary quality, and in a moment it would be so much kindling bobbing on the quiet waters of the cove.

Corin abandoned that hope and fell to his knees, pounding frantically against the planks. “Auric! Auric, can you hear me! Wake up! For the love of everything, wake up!”

For a dreadful moment, Corin heard nothing but the
burning
of the fuse. Then a feeble voice rose in answer. “Who goes?”

“Corin. Corin Hugh. I’m the friend you met in the forest. I led you to the pirate camp.”

“They got me, Corin. Must have been some magic. They
got me
.”

“I know. And things are bad. Things are really bad. You have to break out of there.”

A moment passed, a distant rattling, and then Auric cried, “No good. The magic hasn’t passed yet. I can barely lift my head, and someone’s chained my arms and legs.”

Corin dropped his head against the planks. He’d done that. He’d attached the chains, and even if the chest’s explosion didn’t kill the farmboy, that huge iron ball would drag him to the
bottom
of the cove.

“Listen,” Corin shouted, and then he found he had nothing to say. He floundered for a moment. “Auric
…
I’m sorry.”

“Chin up, friend.”

Corin shook his head. “You don’t understand. They’ve rigged the ship with cannon powder. In a moment, this ship is g
oing do
wn.”

“Ah. Well. That’s a challenge.”

Corin’s shoulders slumped. “I have a plan. It might not work.”

“Forget it,” Auric called. “Are you chained up too?”

“No. No, they
…
didn’t catch me. I just slipped aboard.”

“Then slip
off
,” Auric said. “If you can get away, get away. Leave the danger to us adventurers.”

“I can’t,” Corin said. “I can’t just leave you.”

“It’s an order, friend. Don’t fret too much over me. I’ve been in worse places than this.”

Corin wasn’t listening. Frantic now, he closed his eyes and focused hard. He tried to imagine the cramped little hold where he had spent three days, but in his memory it was nothing but darkness and hard boundaries. Still, he fixed the
shape
of it in his mind and wished desperately to be there. Just as he’d done half a dozen times before. He stepped through dream, then opened his eyes to see the lockbox still before him. He hadn’t moved.

“Auric!” he shouted.

“Just go.”

“Auric, you don’t understand. This was no accident. Someone sent the pirate to kill you. He’s a Vestossi, same as Sera, and he wants you dead to hurt her.”

“Sera? You
…
you know about Sera?”

“Listen to me, Auric! We cannot let them win. We have to find some way.”

“No. Forget me. Go to her. Find Sera in Aerome and warn her. If she has enemies among her family, she has to know.”

“I can’t just leave you here. Auric! Auric?”

But the man answered no more. Corin tried again to step through dream, and again it was to no avail. He braced himself against the wall and propped his feet against the hissing lockbox and tried with all his might to heave it aside, but it wouldn’t even budge. His strength was spent.

He pounded on the planks. He cried to Auric, but the man gave no answer. Perhaps the druids’ poison had won out again, or perhaps it was from stubbornness that he refused to speak, but he would give no answer, and Corin could find no way into the inner hold.

And still, all the while, the fuse burned angrily away. At last, Corin could contain his fear no more. With a cry of anguish, he tore himself away, sprang up out of the hold and dashed across the quarterdeck. He flung himself across the railing and splashed into the cold, dark waters of the bay one heartbeat before powder caught.

A flash of fire lit the night like noontime, and the concussion touched him even through the water. Corin stroked away,
pulling
hard against the current and refusing to look back. Behind him, the smuggler’s ship splashed and screamed and groaned like some dying thing, before at last it sank beneath the waters and went down.

Corin fixed his eyes on a shadow at the surface, and now he swam even harder. That was Taker’s boat. He hadn’t reached the cutter yet. Corin was too long underwater now. His lungs were burning coals, his arms a cutting agony from too much heavy labor. But he pushed the pain aside and struggled harder. He pulled and pulled and pulled. Perhaps some vengeful spirit lent Corin inhuman strength, or perhaps Dave Taker paused to
marvel
at his handiwork, but somehow Corin caught the
little bo
at.

He sprang up alongside it, shooting from the water like a porpoise at play. He hung suspended for a moment, sucking in a great breath of air, then he grabbed the rowboat’s transom in both hands, pointed his toes toward the bottom of the cove, and stabbed downward hard enough to flip the little boat.

He flailed before him until one hand collided with Dave Taker’s torso. Then he closed his left hand in a death grip on Taker’s shoulder and grabbed his dagger with his right hand. He plunged it in. Again and again and again until Corin’s lungs threatened once more to burst. Then he released the bloody corpse and struggled upward. He heaved himself onto the
capsized
rowboat
, sprawled across it, and lay a moment, gasping for air. It was all he could do.

You killed a good man
, Corin thought, and he wasn’t sure whether he meant the accusation for Dave Taker or for himself. The words just kept repeating in his head.
You killed a good man for the sake of a bad one. You’re the monster. You’re the monster.

It seemed an age he lay there in the darkness, full of hate and rage and desperate for air. But eventually the world returned around him. He heard a voice crying out high above him. “Hallo? Hallo there, Gasparo? Mister Taker? Anyone at all?”

Ezio. He yet lived. And now Corin understood Dave Taker’s plan. He’d never meant to sail the river boat across the open sea. He’d always intended to sink it and Auric with it. That was why he’d sent Ezio back for the letters. He’d planned to join him just like this, rowing away from the wreckage of the smuggler’s ship. He’d probably had some lie prepared about an accident. Perhaps he’d hoped to blame Gasparo for it all.

Corin licked his lips, considering. He could be Gasparo. Or he could be Dave Taker. Which form would best convince Ezio to take him back to Ethan Blake? That was the only
question
that still mattered. In all the world, it was his only hope for
satisfaction
. Dave Taker was dead in the waters below, but he’d suffered less than he deserved. Ethan Blake would pay the price for all of this.

“Mister Taker?” Ezio cried. “What’s happened? Gods favor, is anyone alive?”

Corin closed his eyes, and summoned up an image of
himself
. Then he drew the ugly face of the wicked man he’d just destroyed. He made himself into Dave Taker, and it was not as difficult a thing as it should have been. When he opened his eyes and saw the thin gray mist still hanging there, he shuddered at the thought of what he had become.

Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and called up to Ezio, “Hallo! I’ve lived, but your bloody partner sank the bloody ship! Now how will we get home?”

Ezio’s sigh carried all the way down to the water. “You did claim you could sail this thing through the shoals.”

“Nothing easier. Toss me down a line?”

“Aye, aye. It’s coming. Watch your head.”

Corin scrambled up the rope. He stood a moment face-
to-f
ace with Ezio, and Ezio stared deep into his eyes. There was no doubt he’d seen through Corin’s lie—Dave Taker’s lie—he merely had to choose whether to address it or let it go. Corin wasn’t entirely sure what to expect of either choice, but he closed one hand around the hilt of his dagger behind his back. Just in
cas
e.

At last Ezio ducked his head. “It is a tragedy. Gasparo will be missed. Perhaps. And the farmboy
…
might have been a useful hostage. But as things stand, I believe every measure of the don’s demands have been met.”

“Then you will take me to him?”

“Those are my final orders.”

“Just tell me where and I will plot the course.”

“East. Across the Medgerrad. That’s all you need to know fo
r no
w.”

“But—”

“Mister Taker, I do not trust you. I have my orders, and I will follow them to the letter. Take us east, and I will tell you more as it becomes necessary. Do you understand?”

Corin nodded once. “Aye. As long as you get us there.”

“And I would ask the same of you.”

Corin knew two days into the voyage—and two full days before Ezio revealed it—where they must be heading. It was Aerome, Ithale’s capital. That served him well, and Ezio proved an able steersman, so Corin maintained the ruse right to the last.

In all, they spent six days on the open sea. Corin docked the sleek cutter among the fishing boats and merchant vessels at the port town of Ostartia, and while he was still tying up, Ezio leaped down and gave some message to the runners on the wharf.

Corin made some show of bundling up Taker’s possessions, but mostly he only cared about the things he carried on his own person. He checked that they were all secure, then made his own way down the gangplank and met Ezio outside the harbormaster’s wall.

A moment later, a carriage arrived for them. It was a gaudy thing, oversized and paneled in some dark, expensive wood. It bore no noble’s seal; its attendants, no livery colors; but it had all the ostentation of a noble house. And there was none in all Ithale so ostentatious as the Vestossis. Who would doubt this was their carriage?

A doorman hopped down to open a door for them, and Corin followed Ezio inside. The driver cracked his whip and they were off, charging up the hill toward the mighty city. Nor did they slow when they reached its busy streets. The driver only cracked his whip the louder, likely at the common folk that clogged his way as much as at the belabored horses. Corin held his place and bit his tongue. Ezio seemed quite accustomed to such rides. He said no word for the entire trip.

Their destination proved to be some deep, dark alley, tucked between a row of modest homes and a public bathhouse, long abandoned by the look of it. The doorman handed them down, then bowed, ushering them toward a rotting wooden door that gave entry to the bathhouse. Corin looked to Ezio for some explanation, but now he seemed just as confused.

He shrugged to Corin and said quietly, “The don sometimes keeps mysterious habits. He does adore his privacy.”

Corin growled a curse against the man, but he went along. This was exactly what he’d come for, after all. He and Ezio stepped into a vast, dark room, the quiet ripples of still water and the stink of mildew their only company.

Ten minutes they waited there. After twenty, a door opened at the far side of the room, spreading a wide, thin streak of torchlight across the stale pool. Corin went forward two steps before he recognized the frame and bearing of the new arrivals. They were only hired guards. He watched the door for someone else, but no one came. Four guards for two men.