I look down. If I divert the Aurora, I will hurt Domenic. Badly. Worse, I will break the thread of trust between us.
“That whole speech about the importance of following orders, even bad ones—do you actually believe it?” asks Ana.
I sit back on her cot and lean my head back against the bulkhead. I might disagree with the girl’s values, but no one will ever call her stupid.
“Yes, I do,” I say finally. Except that if my suspicions are right, Rima isn’t giving bad orders. He’s giving good orders for an ulterior mission. One that has to do with his pockets instead of the navy. More importantly, neither he nor Domenic has all the information. They can’t feel the truth of Price’s words, as I do. Inexperienced as I am in elemental attraction, even I know something is changing.
Just as I know that if I do this, Domenic will despise me.
“I want my mind back, Ana,” I whisper.
She sits beside me. “Hearts sometimes disobey better reason. I little care about the Admiralty’s intimacy policy, but I do care for outcomes. If you believe following Rima’s orders is for the greater good of this ship, then say so. Just do us the courtesy of thinking with your head.”
A knock sounds twice on the door, then Kederic pokes his head inside. “Nile? Are you all right?” he asks, his brows pulling together. The middie has the makings of a great officer, but if this scheme is discovered, he will be barred from sitting his lieutenant’s exams. The weight in his eyes says he knows as much.
With a nod to Ana, I pull back my shoulders and rise. “Yes, I am, Mr. Kederic. And I believe we will need a chart.”
Chapter 32
I check my calculations three times against the chart Song swiped from his uncle’s cabin. Just north of the Aurora’s course lies Inuk Bay, which would shelter the ship from the worst of foul sea or wind or both. If we can get there. In the dark.
If Price’s prediction of tonight is true.
By dusk, my heart is galloping. Nothing has happened, not even a dark cloud hanging in the sky. The Spades stationed outside Price’s cabin tell me that the Gifted is raving, calling a single word out again and again in Tirik. Tonight. The marines ask me whether I know what it means, and I shake my head. They don’t believe me, but they say nothing.
The ship’s bell calls change of watch, and Kederic walks onto the deck, meeting my eye.
I nod lightly.
“Ash!” The boy’s voice calls over the rumble of bodies assuming stations. “This sail falls short of this ship’s standards. You will remain and fix your work.”
“Aye, sir!” I knuckle my forehead.
Domenic looks over sharply.
I turn away, conjuring what I hope is the right mix of embarrassment and indignation. Domenic’s watch is over, and our plan relies on the first officer leaving the deck to Kederic, the only middie permitted to stand a watch alone. If needed, we can work around Lieutenant Kazzik, who cannot find land without a guide boat, but Domenic would see a course change at once. What makes him a superb first officer is a liability to us.
I bend over a rope, replacing it by the lantern light. The alleged punishment is mediocre and the task is better handled in daylight, but it fits well with a middie’s half-skilled attempt at ship’s discipline, and it keeps me on deck. We are wagering that Domenic’s professional inclination to uphold a junior officer’s authority will win over minor pragmatism. So far, we are right.
Kederic puts his hands behind his back and stands tall. Only a glance at the helm betrays his tension. The order to adjust course must be given soon, and Domenic is yet to leave. Five minutes trickle by. Ten. A quarter hour.
“Will you be retiring, Mr. Dana?” Kederic asks, lifting his hat respectfully.
“The deck is yours, Mr. Kederic,” Domenic tells the boy firmly. “Consider my presence supernumerary.”
I swear under my breath. Unwilling to do anything to undermine Rima, Domenic is taking the next best action he can—staying on deck in case crisis strikes. For the first time, I wish the man was a bit less diligent.
We need a diversion.
I climb through the rigging toward the front of the ship. Finding idling hands on the Aurora is easy, and I soon spot a tangle of Eflians rolling dice under the dim light of a lantern. Good enough.
I secure myself into the ropes and reach out for the wind. It’s worse than this morning. Slippery and spoiled and wrong. But I don’t need much. Just a bit. And focused. The Diante woman thought it within my power to extinguish a single candle. I don’t know about that, but I hope it’s within my power to nudge the dice. My gullet fills with bile as I let my magic call the air and focus it on Mic’s dice roll.
The raw puff of wind doesn’t disrupt the game as much as demolish the whole bloody thing to pieces—dice, boons, and all. Which turns out to be just as well.
The lot jump to their feet, pocketing what they find.
“That ain’t yours,” growls Mic.
“It ain’t no one’s now,” his mate snaps back. “We all divide what’s left.”
Others, of a different mind as to the proper division of salvaged good, add their voices to the fray. I breathe out with relief. We were overdue for a bit of luck. Scampering back over the shrouds, I find Thatch Lawrence.
“Commander Dana decided to back up Mr. Kederic on watch this evening, sir,” I whisper hurriedly, cutting my gaze to the growing dispute I’d kindled.
An impish smile touches Thatch Lawrence’s lips. Adjusting his hat, the middie stalks toward the gamers at once, his young voice raised in wonderfully ineffective chastising. I make my way back toward the quarterdeck in time to see Domenic turn on his heel and stride forward to resolve the middie’s crisis. If the boy plays it well, he’ll keep the first officer occupied a bit.
I whistle to Kederic from the rigging. You are up. My breath stills as the boy strides toward the helmsman.
“We’re drifting,” Kederic informs him. “Take us two points to starboard.”
The helmsman frowns, looking around for the first officer.
Kederic licks his lips. Had he truly been the officer of the watch, as we’d planned, helm would have obeyed in silence. Now…
Hopping down from the ropes, I trot to the middie and touch my forehead. “Mr. Dana’s compliments, sir,” I say with a sad attempt at discretion, as if intending the message for Kederic’s benefit alone, “and he requests you correct our course at once.”
“Thank you.” Kederic nods admirably to me as the helmsman hurries to execute the order. “Please inform the commander that the correction was made.”
I breathe out a lungful of air as I scatter off. The shift in the Aurora’s bearing is subtle, and with no reference point in the dark, Domenic will be oblivious to the change unless he happens to look at the compass. At least until dawn. I hope Price’s promised disaster will oblige us with its timing.
In the sky, the stars shine brightly at me. Not even a cloud yet. And the bloody ocean is smooth as glass. Calm before a storm. I hope.
An hour passes in heavy anticipation. My head snaps at the slightest breeze, which comes and disappears as if toying with us. Domenic stands on deck, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze watching the sea.
Kederic walks over to me. “Where do you think we are?” he whispers.
I estimate the speed and drift. “An hour from Inuk Bay. If the wind holds. You’ll have to turn the ship a few points to keep us at safe depth once we are inside.”
I see him draw a sharp breath and realize he may not have considered all the nuances of entering a bay blind.
“What if I run us aground?” he whispers. “There is nothing to hint at a weather turn, Nile. Not even a bit of rain. This isn’t a matter of fearing punishment or never standing a watch alone again. I could damage the Aurora’s hull.”
“I know.”
“What should I do?” he whispers.
My stomach turns as much for our predicament as for the middie. Whatever I say, Kederic is the one ordering t
he changes to the ship’s course. Ultimately, the responsibility will be his no matter my role. “I will support whatever decision you make.”
“What would you do?” he insists.
“Stay the course.”
“What about crashing in the inlet?”
“I trust my calculations,” I tell him.
“I don’t trust mine,” Kederic shoots back. A moment of silence stretches. “But I trust yours. Do not leave, all right?”
We manage the small adjustments to the course over the next few hours, but the watch ends with no storm in sight. Thatch Lawrence reluctantly yields the deck to Ana and the twins, and Lieutenant Kazzik accepts the watch from Kederic without questioning our position or direction. Domenic calls for a cup of coffee but remains where he is.
I long for a sip of the steaming liquid.
“You may head below, Ash,” Domenic says, walking over to me. “Two back-to-back watches is enough.”
“I… I would like to stay, sir.”
Domenic considers me. He can hardly call me out for my folly when he himself is doing much the same. “Eat. A short nap. You may return in one hour.”
“Sir—”
“One hour, Ash. Do I need to put a pair of marines on you to ensure obedience?”
I meet his eyes defiantly, but this isn’t time for a scene. “No, sir,” I say instead and heed the order. One hour exactly. Not a minute more.
I return to deck to find not an ounce of change.
I want to scream as we near dawn. Nothing. Nothing has happened. The sun will rise minutes from now and end our ruse. Was the captain right? Had Price bluffed us into a discourse?
Mouth dry, I scour the ship for Catsper and find him in the officer’s gunroom. “I need to see the prisoner,” I say, gripping his shoulder. “Now. Please.”
Catsper asks no questions, only follows at my heels as I rip into Price’s cabin and grab the boy’s tunic. “When?” I demand, pressing him into the bulkhead. “Tell me bloody when.”
Price frowns at me. “It has already happened.”
Chapter 33
“What’s happened, Price?”
“I do not know.” He shakes his head. “But it has. In the north especially. And it is spreading.”
I slam the door behind me. I don’t understand what Price means, and no amount of shaking the boy will bring meaning to the words. The sun is rising. The only thing I can do now is stand beside Kederic as he makes his excuses for the ship’s position.
I hear cursing before I emerge on deck, and know that the contour of land area is now visible around us. Domenic calls for a glass.
I have one foot on the top companionway ladder when the Aurora jerks forward, throwing me onto the deck. My shin cracks hard against the wood, but the fresh wind cuts through the pain. Fresh wind. Good wind.
The ship jerks again. Hard.
Sailors around shout in confusion.
Ripping myself away from my element, I seek Domenic at once. He stands with an arm threaded through the shrouds, his eyes locked on the land. “Goddess.” He lowers his glass. “It’s a quake.”
I draw breath. Not a storm. I was so certain any threat to a ship must come from the wind and sea, I gave no real thought to anything else. But Price wasn’t feeling a coming storm at all. He was sensing an earthquake. And I’d just sailed the Aurora close to land.
Whatever happens to the ship now will be my fault.
I tighten my footing and regard the coastline of Inuk Bay. The ground shakes as if the snores of a great beast rumble beneath its surface. The tree line shudders. Once. Twice. Again. Suddenly, a rolling crash trembles the air as stones, small and large, come free from Inuk Mountain and tumble down the slope. Stones. More stones. Stones, stones, stones.
“What is this?” Rima’s words, admirably calm, are my first indication that the captain has taken the deck.
“Earthquake, sir,” I call to him. One that I brought his ship into close quarters with. My gut clenches. I shove away the thought in favor of surviving the moment.
“Hold fast!” Domenic shouts as the ship bucks again. This time spectacularly.
The deck—the whole ship—falls out from under us. For a breath-catching moment, my feet hover over nothingness. And then I fall. I, the crew, and everything not tied down to the hull. The deck’s planks rush up to meet me, their tilt ripping away any chance of keeping my balance. My shoulder and hip slam against hard wood. Pain shoots through my bones. And then I’m rolling and flying across the sloping deck and into the mast.
Thud.
Blackness. And the world returns with a vengeance. I’d struck my cheek against the mast. My mouth fills with blood as blotches of light dance before my eyes. Clawing the smooth pillar, I pull myself to my feet. The ship thrashes. I wrap my arm around the wood and look up in time to see a loose carpenter’s hammer slam into a Spade’s chin not three feet away. The boy looks in disbelief at the sudden river of blood pouring out onto his hands and crumples.
A scream builds inside my throat. Around me, the crack of breaking ropes and the rattle of hailing debris mix with the grunts and yells of injured people. I force my erupting scream into words just as it leaves my lips. “Guns. Check the guns!”
The ropes holding the great beasts will burst as quickly as any other. A feral gun will slaughter a dozen of us.
“Help!” a pair of cracking adolescent voices rings from above. “Help!”
I spin toward the sound and look up. A black-clad body separates from the rigging and tumbles into the frosty water. Two more boys cling to the shrouds.
I can’t help them all. Domenic is beside the helmsman, fighting to keep the Aurora’s steering intact. Kazzik stands frozen. The captain has disappeared below. The crew is dying. The Spades who help me train, the able seamen who keep the Aurora moving, the ship’s boys who scurry about her decks. And I can’t help them. The terrible realization sears my stomach even as I hear my voice desperately bellow words I know this crew will ignore. “Man overboard! Throw a line! Secure the starboard aft carronade! Party to the mainmast! Clear the wounded!”
Mic, the closest to the straining gun, turns away.
I curse.
“Clear the wounded!” a voice echoes. Not mine. Ana’s. “You, get them below.”
“Man overboard!” Kederic picks up the call. “Back sail! You there, throw a line!”
“Secure the guns.” The voice is high and young. “I order you to secure the guns, Mic!” As the sting of fresh salt spray clears my face, I see little Song slide in front of the bewildered Eflian.
Mic stares at him.
“My brother gave you an order.” Another young voice. Sand. Standing beside Song for the first time since Price came aboard.
Warmth fills my chest. We will survive. My crew will survive. I turn in time to catch Catsper’s arm as he leaps into the shrouds after his boys. He will get them down, or he will die trying. The latter is all too likely. The marine is a deadly army by himself, but he isn’t a seaman. He has not lived his life in the shrouds.
“Catsper!” I pull his hand from the rope. I know he will not stay on deck, and I know better than trying to convince him. “Some of the ropes are under great tension. I will find a safe path to the Spades. Will you follow it exactly?”
Catsper nods, and I shout to Kederic, indicating my intention.
The middie calmly touches his hat and grabs the shoulders of good seamen, directing them after me. I leap into the rigging. The mast sways side to side as the deck beneath me shrinks away. I pause long enough to feel the sea’s motion, to ensure I let it boost my stride instead of trying to fight its will. My heart beats fast, good fast. The kind of pulsing beat that makes you feel more alive with each breath.
I spare a glance behind me. Catsper is on my heels, his athleticism making up for what he lacks in feel for the rigging. Two seamen come up on either side of us, and I blink with a surprised realization that one of them is the woman who had barred me from the female berth on my
first day, Sandra.
She catches my eye and tosses me a line she brought up with her. Our gazes meet with a small nod.
“Over here!” the marine boys shout.
They are far out on the yardarm, where marines have no business. I wager the Spades were skylarking when the quake started. The line they had held on to getting out there had snapped. The rope’s ragged tails now whip about. The boys lie on the beam, their limbs wrapped around the wood.
I straddle the yardarm. After threading the rope through a round block, I toss one end to the seaman and wrap the other around my waist. “On belay!” I shout to the man who catches my safety line.
The line tightens. “Belay on!”
“Climbing!” I shimmy out to the boys. The seaman gives me slack as I need, but keeps the line taut.
The boys’ faces are white, a sharp contrast to midnight tunics. I know these Spades. Craig and Simons, both thirteen.
“Ash.” Craig’s voice catches as he sees me. His cheeks are wet, and I suspect the wind and sea are only partially responsible for this state.
The beam beneath us bucks, tilting over the open sea.
The boys scream. The wood is wet and slippery, and the boys are exhausted.
“Look at me,” I order Craig, gripping his gaze as if it is a tangible object able to defy gravity. I move slowly toward him, a foot at a time. When I am close enough to lay my hand on his shoulders, I feel his shaking muscles.
I loop the rope under the boy’s arms and coax him to the mainmast, where Catsper takes custody of the Spade, and Sandra rigs a new safety line for him.
I return for Simons. I have just reached him and secured him into my safety line when a bellow from the deck reaches us.
“Hold fast!” It’s Domenic. “Hold fast for your life!”
I have a moment to wonder what that is about before Simons gasps. “The sea! What’s wrong with the sea?”
I follow his gaze and freeze. A wave, rising fifty yards into the air, is roaring for the bay sheltering the Aurora.