Maelstrom Page 13

  He shouldn’t be here. Onika had never said he would be captured. Did that mean Onika was wrong about some things? Or . . . had she kept this a secret? It hurt his feelings that Onika might have thought Grayson was too little to understand important things.

  He kicked harder.

  In the distance bootsteps clumped along the walk. Someone was coming, though from the sounds, the person was still far off.

  Time to flee, flea, the shadir said, spinning around Grayson’s face, which made it very difficult to ignore. Into the Veil and out the door, quickly, before your executioner arrives.

  That couldn’t be. The Chieftess thought Grayson was valuable. She wouldn’t kill him.

  Something niggled in Grayson’s brain, like he’d lived this moment before or was forgetting something important. As the steps neared, he scrunched up his brows and dug deep, trying to puzzle out the mystery. It came to him like a flash of light. The men on this ship went barefoot. So who was coming?

  The bootsteps stopped outside. Grayson peered through the wall to get a good look at the boots, but even in the Veil the hold was too dark to see clearly.

  “Grayson?” a man said.

  Arman’s blessing! “Sir Kalenek?” Grayson scrambled to his feet and peered out the tiny window at the top of the door. “Did you come to—?”

  “Shh! You want out, you keep quiet, hear?” This Sir Kalenek whispered, staring so long and crossly that Grayson nodded. “Sands, you’ve grown fast. I heard talk that Chieftess Mreegan had found a grown root child who didn’t know when to shut up. I knew it had to be you.”

  Grayson looked for the shadir, found it hovering behind Sir Kalenek’s legs. The knighten had already said too much, but what could Grayson do? “Where did you get the key?”

  “Is that how you keep quiet?”

  Grayson looked down, shamed by Sir Kalenek’s reprimanding tone, but his heart pounded in his chest, knowing the shadir would tell everything. He needed to warn Sir Kalenek but didn’t know how.

  “That’s better,” Sir Kalenek said. “Stay that way. Not a word.” He lifted his hand to the lock and put a key into it.

  Behind Sir Kalenek, the shadir’s three eyes stared.

  Sir Kalenek pulled open the door, the hinges squealed, and he glared at Grayson as if the noise had been his fault. At a jerk of Sir Kalenek’s head, Grayson slipped out of the cell.

  Sir Kalenek closed the door and locked it again. He started off down the corridor, and Grayson saw another shadir riding on Sir Kalenek’s back. A blue one that looked like a jellyfish.

  Grayson followed, wanting desperately to tell Sir Kalenek about the shadir, to turn around and see if the yellow one was following or if it had gone for help.

  He kept quiet and followed. In a short while they turned. Another ten steps and they turned again. This corridor stretched out far into the distance. Every ten to fifteen steps they passed by another walkway or a storage room that held crates or barrels.

  “So much wasted space,” Sir Kalenek said. “Compared to the number of people on the Seffynaw, this ship is nearly empty.”

  Grayson wisely stayed silent. This made him feel proud. Sir Kalenek would see that Grayson could obey an order. He was nearly as tall as the knighten now, though his shoulders were much narrower and he still had skinny arms. They reached a stairwell. Sir Kalenek drew his sword, and up they went. Right before each landing, they paused so that the knighten could check the way. On one turn Grayson caught sight of the yellow shadir following behind and relaxed. It hadn’t gone for help yet, but he doubted it would let them escape.

  They met no one in the stairwell. Even when they stepped out into the cold, rainy night, Grayson saw no one. They were at the very nose of the ship, opposite the helm. The sea surged beneath them. Raindrops fell heavy and wet. The wind whipped, and Grayson pulled his tunic tight around his throat. Lightning flashed overhead, making him jump.

  Sir Kalenek stopped at the rail, right under the hoist at the boat fall. They were going to escape! The two of them would row to the Seffynaw, and Grayson would see Onika and Jhorn again. He bit the tip of his tongue to keep from talking. Thunder rolled, a long while since the lightning flash. That much was good. Grayson bet the storm was almost over.

  “Get in,” Sir Kalenek said, extending a hand to help him over the rail.

  A streak of yellow caught Grayson’s gaze. The shadir had flown away! And he could no longer see the blue one.

  “Sir Kalenek, two shadir! They followed us from the hold and just now flew away. I think they went for help.”

  “Why didn’t you say something? Don’t know if I can lower this fast enough on my own.” Sir Kalenek grabbed Grayson and practically threw him over the rail, then started cranking the left pulley.

  Grayson’s heart fluttered inside. “You’re not coming?”

  “Can’t. I have a mission to accomplish here.”

  Grayson was to go into the storm by himself? He couldn’t! “I have to go alone?”

  “It’s the only way,” Sir Kalenek said. “If I don’t hurry, you won’t make it.”

  Grayson slung back over the rail and onto the deck by the right pulley.

  “What are you doing?” Sir Kalenek yelled. “Get in the boat now!”

  “I can help you.” Grayson reached for the pulley.

  “A lot of good that’ll do when the empty boat is on the water without you in it.”

  There was no time to argue. Grayson popped through the Veil and into the boat. Since he’d been in this boat lots of times, he landed perfectly, sitting on the center bench.

  Sir Kalenek twisted in a circle looking for him.

  “Down here.” The moment Sir Kalenek’s gaze found him, Grayson popped back to the right pulley and started to crank. “It’s a trick I learned. I’ll help you lower the boat, and then I can pop down into it.”

  Sir Kalenek blinked. “Good enough for me.”

  They worked the pulleys quickly and lowered the boat toward the dark waves.

  “Do you know how to row?” Sir Kalenek asked.

  “Yes, sir, but not where to go.”

  “See those lights?” Kal jutted his chin straight ahead. “There are three in a row on the right and one on the left.”

  As Grayson cranked the pulley, he squinted through the fat drops of rain until he saw the lights in the blackness. “I see them.”

  “That’s the Malbraid. The ship Sâr Wilek gave to Randmuir Khal of the Omatta. Row right below the three lights. Catch yourself up against the side and start yelling. Someone will hear and hoist you up. Tell them you’ve escaped from the Magonian mantics. Join his crew and don’t make any trouble. Then wait for your chance to get back to Jhorn and Miss Onika. Can you do that?”

  “’Course I can.”

  “Good.” The lines went slack. The boat had reached the sea. “I also bring you a message from Miss Onika.”

  Grayson held his breath.

  “She said that when I saw you—which she somehow knew I would—to tell you to hold tight to your secret until you come to those twice your size.”

  “Twice my—?”

  “Someone’s coming. Don’t worry about the lines. I’ll cut them from here. Go!” Sir Kalenek pulled a knife and in three strokes had sawed the left pulley rope. “I said go!”

  Grayson saw movement on the stairs from the main deck. He concentrated and popped down into the dinghy. He landed on the bench, but this time the boat was rocking wildly. Waves splashed over the end, cold on Grayson’s back. He yelped, twisted down to the floor, and grappled for the oars.

  That’s when he noticed the red shadir. Not in the boat, really, but floating under the bench on the opposite end. It was red and wispy, like a horse’s tail, and had one bulging eye.

  Voices barked out above. A green glow lit the sky, then passed over the water. The dinghy bobbed wildly, just out of reach of the magical beam.

  Grayson struggled up onto the bench and put the oars over the side. He tried to row, but the dinghy ke
pt slamming into the ship. He was backward. That was the problem. He turned around on the bench and rowed again. This brought him out some, but the bobbing waves also carried him to the right.

  Grayson fought the oars, the boat, and each rising wave. Bit by bit he pulled away from the Vespara and out into the deep. The green glow continued to drift over the waters. Any moment now they would see him. Surely the red shadir could tell them where he was.

  Helplessness grabbed hold. How could he ever get away now that the shadir knew what he was? One of them would always follow him. Jhorn’s greatest fears had happened. All he had warned Grayson about for years.

  Don’t think about it! Grayson pretended not to see the shadir and kept his aim on the three lights. He rowed until his arms burned. He took a break, but the wild waves scared him, and he picked up the oars again, eager to get onto a bigger, safer ship. His arms ached and he wanted to cry. Why was it so far? How was he ever going to get there?

  The waves grew larger until one rolled beneath his little boat and stood it nearly on its nose. Grayson screamed and slid off his bench. The boat sailed back the other way, and he stored the oars under the seats and scrambled onto the floor, lying evenly under both benches. He tucked his toes up past the end of the back bench and clutched his fingers around the edge of the front bench, holding tight. He hummed Onika’s song to try to stay calm.

  The shadir was down by Grayson’s feet, but he couldn’t worry about the creature. The waves continued to pitch the little boat up and down. Lightning cracked overhead, and Grayson began to sing Onika’s song aloud, screaming the words at the top of his lungs.

  Something ran along the bottom of his boat, click, click, clicking. He opened his eyes, squinting into the stinging rain. Had he found land? Reached rocks or a reef?

  He scooted up until he was sitting with his arms hugging the front bench. A glance over the side showed a pale beam of light cutting through the darkness. The moon had peeked through a break in the storm clouds, making them look purple and soft. The light shone on the crest of each wave, on the slashes of raindrops. For a moment Grayson feared he’d lost the three lights that marked the ship, but after much straining over the glistening waves, he located them again, as far away as ever. He checked for the shadir and saw it curled into a ball on the floor, looking bored.

  In desperation Grayson went back to singing Onika’s song, not wanting to think about where he was or how this night might end.

  Again he felt the clicking under the hull, but this time the front end of the boat lifted up out of the water. A hiss sent a plume of rotten-smelling hot air against the back of Grayson’s neck. He gripped the bench so tightly a sliver entered his wrist. He held his breath. Arman, help him not to die! Not like this.

  A wet, throaty moan came from behind. Lightning flashed again, illuminating a glossy tentacle hovering in the air to his right.

  The boat slapped against the water’s surface, knocking Grayson’s chin against the wooden bench. He bit his tongue and the tang of blood filled his mouth.

  Something splashed outside the boat on his right. He peeked over the side and saw a giant black snake rolling through the waves. When next the creature came above water, its head loomed over the end of the boat.

  In the pale moonlight the water beast was mostly dark shadow. Its eyes were three white gleams reflected on round circles of black. It was very much snakelike, with a flat head the size of the dinghy and a mouth bared with dozens of dagger-like teeth. Its skin glistened like wet, black fur.

  It hissed again, sending a plume of steamy breath into the chilled night. It was looking right at Grayson. What did it want?

  It slid forward and knocked its chin against the end of the boat. The dinghy sailed back over a wave and up and down another, moving faster than Grayson could ever row.

  The creature followed, purring its throaty moan.

  On a whim Grayson began humming Onika’s song. The serpent lifted its head out of the sea until it towered above the boat, drizzling water over Grayson’s head and arms. The beast’s neck looked as high as the mainmast on the Vespara. The sight stifled Grayson’s voice.

  The serpent screeched, exposing a dark throat behind its slivered teeth. Grayson screamed and hunched down under the bench, shutting his eyes. The creature knocked against the boat again. The dinghy skimmed over the huge waves. His stomach roiled. Too much more of this and he’d be sick.

  The boat struck something hard. Shouts above drew open Grayson’s eyes, and he squinted up through the falling rain. He had reached a ship! Men looked over the rail, not at him. Farther past.

  They must see the serpent.

  Grayson’s boat was already drifting away from the hull. “Hey!” he yelled. “Help me!” He climbed up onto the bench but could no longer see the serpent. “Help!”

  “There’s a boat down there!” he heard someone yell.

  “Someone’s in it!”

  “Who goes there?” a man yelled.

  Before Grayson could reply, a rope was thrown down. Grayson grabbed hold, and the men on the deck carried it around to the stern, towing the dinghy along the ship’s hull until it was under the boat fall. From the lantern light on the deck, Grayson could see there was already a boat hanging above. It took moments for the sailors to unhook it and move it elsewhere. Then the pulley lines were lowered and Grayson attached them to his boat.

  He did not see the serpent again, but as the men hoisted him up the side of the ship, he heard its groan from the blackness and thanked Arman that it had liked Onika’s song.

  Wilek

  For three days the storm raged. The ship rocked from one steep angle to another, shuddering continually under the onslaught and shaking the contents of Wilek’s office like dice in a cup.

  Everyone stayed in their cabins, out of the way. Wilek could accomplish little. His mind was weary from the endless preoccupation of a hundred worries. Before the storm he had sent his father to the Kaloday, and he wondered how King Loran’s ship fared. He thought of Trevn and his shattered hand. More died each day from the fever. And while the rain had blessedly replenished their drinking water, food was so low that if the fish didn’t start biting again soon, Wilek would have to have another horse killed.

  Then there were the rebels in the hold and the missing evenroot. Who had Hara given the root to? Or had there never been any evenroot to worry about in the first place? Wilek wanted to end the conspiracies once and for all, but he could not hold trials when more than half his council refused to leave their beds.

  At least the storm should keep the pirates from taking more ships.

  On the morning of the fourth day, the darkness retreated and overcast skies thinned to allow the glow of daylight. The sight eased some of the tension from Wilek’s shoulders, yet he kept up his guard until the sun shone brighter and the clouds parted to show a blue sky beyond.

  Captain Bussie reported minimal damage to the ship. As to the state of the passengers, Rayim had encountered lots of seasickness, several dozen minor injuries, one dead from a fall down the stairs, and a total of thirty-one lost to the fever. But it was Admiral Livina’s words that made Wilek’s chest tighten.

  “At least twenty ships missing, that we can see from the lookout.”

  “What of the Kaloday?” Wilek asked of King Loran’s ship.

  “The Kaloday is within my sights, Your Highness,” the admiral said.

  Wilek breathed a sigh of relief that they had not lost his father, but he still struggled to keep his voice calm. “Did the missing ships go down?”

  “Don’t know, Your Highness. Could be they were only blown off course. Or maybe it’s some of both. I’ve seen no sign of debris in the water thus far, but if they went down days ago, we likely left any wreckage behind.”

  “Is there any way to know how many ships were lost and which ones?”

  “Once the fleet takes formation again, if a ship is missing, word will come through the flags. But unless we find evidence in the water, there’s no
way to know if a missing ship sank or was blown off course.”

  “Thank you, Admiral. Bring me a list of the missing ships as soon as you know.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” The admiral departed.

  “How many people on twenty ships, Dendrick?” Wilek asked.

  “Depends on the type of ship, Your Highness,” Dendrick said. “Likely anywhere from one hundred to seven hundred people per ship.”

  Wilek did the math in his head but didn’t want to say such numbers aloud. “Can we schedule a council meeting today?”

  “We can try, Your Highness, but it might be best to have the shippings first.”

  “Right.” Janek must be publicly mourned. Along with thirty-some others.

  “There are only three death boats left,” Dendrick said. “Might some share?”

  Wouldn’t Janek love that? The king would rage, were he here. But Wilek no longer saw any reason to fear tomorrow. With so much at stake, he could only live and rule one day—one moment—at a time. And this moment, he needed a break from disaster, if only for a short time. Zeroah had been asking to visit Inolah and her new baby. Wilek had put her off because of the storm, but he would do so no longer.

  “A death boat is too small to share,” Wilek said, standing. They were just big enough to hold a full-grown man lying down. “Find another way to ship the commoners, but Janek must have his own death boat.” He headed toward the door. “Inform the council that we will meet this evening, during the dinner hour. If you need me, I’ll be with my wife.”

  Wilek and Zeroah wound through the crossways and lengthways until they reached Inolah’s cabin.

  The maid who answered the door yelped at the sight of them, curtsied, and ran back inside. A moment later she came back, curtsied again, and said, “My lady is not dressed, my sâr. She is not ready to receive visitors.”