“You’re replacing your one allotted question with that one?” A hint of dryness infused his tone.
“Yes.”
Another sigh. “They took my rank and my name as punishment. Five was my number on the penal boat going to Krychek Island, and, as far as the empire cares, it’s the only identification I have now.”
“Krychek Island,” Tikaya breathed. “Isn’t that where they send criminals so vile they’re afraid to execute them outright? Out of fear their spirits will linger in the area and afflict the living? So they send you to the island with no food, no weapons, no resources, the assumption being you’ll kill each other off far from anyone worth haunting? They say those few who do survive turn into animals, bestial and deranged and cannibalistic and...” She caught her lip between her teeth. There she went again, probably offending the only person on this ship who had stood up for her.
“Glad our penal island is renowned even amongst foreigners.” Five’s dryness held a bitter edge this time.
She sighed. She had offended him. And she had a new concern. If he was that much of a criminal, dare she side with him? What could he have done to merit such a harsh punishment? Brutality seemed bred into the Turgonian culture, so she struggled to imagine someone who fit their definition of vile. Five sounded normal—pleasant—but perhaps it was a facade. He had to be shackled for a reason, though Captain Bocrest’s current problems must trump that reason, or why else would Five be here?
“But the captain came to pick you up? Isn’t Krychek Island usually a permanent residence?” she asked, wanting to be sure. “Its location is even secret, isn’t it? So families can’t make rescue attempts?”
“Correct.” Tension riddled that one clipped word, and she hesitated before asking the next question, but she had to know if he was likely to be a threat to her.
“What was your crime?”
Clothing rustled and the chains rattled. “No more questions.” His voice was muffled, as if he had covered his face. “Please,” he added so softly she thought she might have imagined it.
“Of course. Sorry.” She meant it. If the place was half as bad as the stories said, she could understand not wanting to discuss it. He was probably lost in his painful memories, and only the puzzle of the language had distracted him. “Uhm, I’ll be over here, enjoying the lovely ambiance and pondering these slanted circles, dots, and sideways trees. If you want to talk later, let me know.”
She did not expect anything else from him, but he surprised her by asking, “Sideways trees?”
“Well, if trees were symmetrical maybe. Want to see?”
“I can’t reach the corridor.”
She grabbed one of the rubbings, folded it into a compact stack, and tossed it through his gate. His dark form shifted, so she assumed it fell within his reach, but he said nothing.
“Can you see it?” she asked after a moment. “Is there enough light?”
“Yes. I should have known.” He sounded grimmer than a funeral pyre. “I’ve seen them before.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere I never want to go again.”
“Where?” she repeated, leaning forward.
He did not answer.
“Five?”
Silence.
3
Tikaya dozed until the hatch creaked open hours later. The perennial darkness of the cell stole her sense of time, but she guessed it was evening. Her hollow stomach whined for a meal.
Footfalls rang on the metal deck. She eyed the gate warily and let out a sigh of relief when Corporal Agarik came into view—alone. He carried two metal canteens and wooden trenchers narrow enough to slide between the bars. Dried fish, dried fruit, and a couple of hard biscuits soon rested on the floor before Tikaya. Though the meal did not exactly fill the brig with scintillating scents, her mouth watered anyway.
She grabbed a biscuit and gnawed. It had the consistency of sawdust and less flavor. Agarik placed another tray, this one with a larger portion of food, on the floor in Five’s cell. He drew his cutlass and used it to push the tray deeper, presumably so the chained prisoner could reach it. Tension marked the corporal’s movements—he seemed to fear an attack at any moment—and Tikaya wondered if people had been hurt, or worse, when the marines originally locked Five up. Either that or his reputation was simply enough to instill fear. Even Sergeant Ottotark’s bravado had seemed forced. And she wanted to ally with Five? Was she insane? Just desperate, she decided.
Agarik delivered the meal without incident; the chains did not even clank to suggest movement. He sheathed his sword and turned to face her.
“Captain Bocrest wishes to know if you’ve decided whether to cooperate voluntarily or if more...” he shrugged apologetically, “pressure is required.”
What? Threatening families—and windpipes—was not enough to sway most prisoners?
“I’m willing to attempt the translations,” she said, “but I have terms. I can’t work in these conditions.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“Corporal?” Tikaya asked before he could leave.
He turned back, face guarded. He probably feared she would ask some favor he would be duty-bound to refuse.
“Thank you for your kindnesses,” was all she said.
He nodded but said nothing. A bevy of footsteps hammered the deck, the hatch clanked open, and six burly marines clomped into view. Sergeant Ottotark followed, tapping his baton against his thigh as he walked, and Tikaya shrank into the shadows. Now what?
The six marines staggered themselves along the corridor and pointed pistols, not into her cell but into the opposite one. Tikaya stepped forward, afraid they meant to execute her neighbor, but Ottotark rattled the keys.
“Time to visit the captain, Five.”
He unlocked the door and waved two of his men inside. They exchanged nervous glances but slid into the cell and stood on either side of the door, pistols never wavering. Ottotark took a deep breath, visibly steeling himself, then walked inside. As yet, the chains had not rattled, and Tikaya half thought Five asleep. Maybe he was just being still, hoping for a chance to escape. Though how he could do so with so many firearms pointed his way, she could not guess.
While all eyes focused on that cell, Tikaya eased forward. She eyed the belts of the men within her reach, hoping to spot a set of keys. Such luck did not favor her.
Corporal Agarik had stepped back when the others marched in, and she caught his knowing gaze on her. She sniffed and stared back. They had kidnapped her; she refused to feel guilty for thinking of escaping.
“Up.” Sergeant Ottotark must have unlocked the chains securing the prisoner to the wall. A long still moment passed with no sign of movement in Five’s cell. “I said, get up!”
Ottotark lunged into the shadows. Tikaya flinched, expecting the meaty thud of that baton striking flesh. A scuffle and grunt sounded. Someone threw the baton and it clattered against the gate before dropping to the floor. The sergeant growled and drew his arm back, but he halted mid-blow and skittered backward.
Five was on his feet.
“Don’t move!” one of the marines inside the cell barked, pistol arm straight and rigid. “We will shoot you.”
“Doubtful.” But Five stopped short of grabbing Ottotark and turned toward the guards, his features still in shadow.
“Cursed bastard, you presume much,” Ottotark growled. “We can shoot you without killing you.” A speculative note entered his voice, as if he were truly considering it.
Tikaya gripped the bars of her gate, trying to think of something to say to help him. After all, Five had come to her defense.
“Or we can just beat you into oblivion for the rest of the trip.” Ottotark hooked a punch into Five’s face.
With pistols pointed at his chest, Five could only accept it. Ottotark grabbed his baton and lifted it to deliver more damage.
“I thought Turgonians were supposed to be brave warriors,” Tikaya blurted. “Abusing someone who can’t fight back is cowardly.”
&n
bsp; “Sew that yap shut, woman. Nobody wants your opinion.” Despite his words, Ottotark lowered the baton and prowled out of the cell. “Let’s go, ugly.”
Five shambled into the corridor. Thick, tangled black hair hung around his cheeks and half way down his back. A matted beard and mustache engulfed the lower half of his face. Torn, faded trousers with ragged hems reached his calves, and a crudely sewn hide vest covered his torso, leaving muscular but lean—too lean—bare arms visible beneath a layer of grime. Shackles bound his wrists before him, and blood trickled from his nose, adding menace to his already savage appearance. Even slumped, head hanging, he stood a half foot taller than Tikaya.
He glanced at her, almost wincing, and she had the impression his state embarrassed him. She met his eyes with a respectful nod. Criminal or not, he was the most obvious person to turn into an ally.
“Let’s go.” Ottotark sent two men ahead, then shoved Five after them.
After the group had gone, Agarik nodded to Tikaya’s food and water. “Do you need anything else?”
Everything else, she thought, and a trip back home. “Can you tell me who that is I’m sharing the brig with?”
“Nobody knows.”
“Somebody must know.”
“The captain,” Agarik said. “He doesn’t confide in anyone. I don’t think Sergeant Ottotark even knows, and he’s the captain’s adjutant.”
“What happens if the captain gets shot and no one else knows the mission?” Tikaya supposed it was uncharitable to enjoy the thought.
“The orders are locked up somewhere. The officers know where to find them.”
“Ah.” Tikaya pointed to the vacated cell. “Why are your people so careful with him? Is he that dangerous?”
Agarik worked his tongue against his cheek and gazed toward the ladder, perhaps considering whether it would be a breach of duty to answer. “He’s a prisoner from Krychek Island, and we lost four men getting him off the beach.”
“He killed them?”
“No, the lunatics on the island attacked our party with spears and clubs. Men gone savage. They wanted to escape, and if they couldn’t escape they’d kill those who originally brought them there months and years before. Ancestors’ wrath, we had to shoot a bunch of them. Seemed they’d rather die than stay there.”
“And Five attacked you too?” Tikaya rested her arms on the gate and watched the corporal’s face in the flickering light of the single lantern. His gaze had grown thoughtful and distant.
“No, he stood back and watched. You got the sense he didn’t want anything to do with us, but he didn’t hide either. At first it seemed he’d come along peacefully—he got in the longboat once the captain spotted him and called him over. He didn’t give us any trouble rowing back to the ship, but he attacked a guard the first night, got out of his cell, stole a pile of food from the galley, and slipped by everyone on duty.” Agarik frowned. “Including myself. Without anyone seeing him, he swiped a sextant, compass, chronometer, nautical almanac, and spare sail, and he was about to drop a lifeboat. He would have been long gone by morning, but Captain Bocrest got an itch, and he was waiting with a loaded rifle.”
“So he—Five—surrendered?”
“Not exactly.” Agarik rubbed his jaw as if recalling a blow. “Captain threatened to shoot him but didn’t, and it took a full squad to wrestle him belowdecks and get him locked up again.”
“Where he’s been chained ever since.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
So, whatever the imperials wanted their prisoner for, it seemed he was also too valuable to kill. His first escape might not have worked, but he had that goal in mind too. Good. Two people rowing a longboat would be more efficient than one, and it heartened her that Five had known exactly what to grab. She knew how to sail and navigate in theory but had never been out of sight of her islands.
“One thing’s a mite peculiar,” Agarik mused.
“Just one?” Everything thus far struck Tikaya as peculiar.
“He didn’t take a pen or paper.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to do some figuring to account for the errors and adjustments that come with using a sextant. Not many could do ‘em in their head and keep them straight from day to day without a log.”
“Maybe he forgot,” Tikaya said, though she already had a hunch Five had a background in mathematics. Maybe he could do the calculations in his head and remember the results.
The corporal grunted noncommittally. He seemed as curious about the mystery prisoner as her.
More footfalls rang on the deck. Now who?
“Your duty, Corporal,” the captain said, eyes cool as he descended the steps. “It is not here.”
“Yes, sir.” Agarik ducked his head and trotted away.
This time, Bocrest wore his black uniform jacket with a handful of badges and medals adorning the breast. A fresh bruise swelled on his temple, and dried blood crusted on his chin beneath a swollen split lip. Had someone whaled on him as part of a training session? Or maybe he had already started questioning Five, and it wasn’t going well. Either way, the bumps would probably not improve his personality.
Nonetheless, she lifted her chin and met the captain’s eyes. Bravado would likely get her further than meekness on this ship.
“Well?” Bocrest asked. “You working with us or are my men taking target practice on your family members?”
It was a moment before she could unclench her jaw. The man had the diplomacy of a stinging jellyfish. “I will help you, captain,” she said, forcing a civil tone, “but I can’t work in this dark pit, and, surely, if you expected me to translate this language, you brought some basic references and primers. Hodtolk’s? Fisher and Grist? Merk’s Hieroglyphics Compendium? More samples of this writing would help as well. And I’ll certainly need better lighting, paper, pencils, a table. I’ll also need the freedom to walk around. That’s when I do my best thinking.”
Tikaya expected denial, especially over her last request, but after glaring at her for a moment—it seemed his normal way of looking at people—he said, “I’ll get you paper and better lighting. You may have one daily exercise period. Beyond that, pace your cell if you need to ‘think.’”
He started for the hatch.
“One more question, captain,” Tikaya said, wondering if he would answer it honestly or not.
“What?”
“Suppose I succeed in translating this language, in helping you with whatever your problem is. What happens to me then?”
Bocrest eyed her over his shoulder. “If you succeed, your family will not be harmed. You? As far as the emperor and thousands of dead Turgonians are concerned, your deeds during the war condemned you. I suggest you enjoy your last project.”
Tikaya leaned against the cold metal wall for support. She wished he had lied.
* * *
When Tikaya stepped out of the hatch, the sun made her blink. She stumbled and almost crashed into the guards escorting her outside for her exercise session. Nobody offered a steadying hand.
Wind gusted across the deck, tugging at her braid, and slapping her dress against her legs. When her vision recovered, the sun told her they traveled northeast. Endless sea stretched in all directions, so she could only guess at their position and goal. Though the briny breeze stole the stink of burning coal, the black plumes streaming from two smokestacks suggested the furnaces burned at maximum capacity. Full sails made use of the wind as well, and Tikaya wondered how fast they traveled under the combined power. Perhaps she imagined it, but the sun warming her cheeks felt less intense than back home. Where were the Turgonians taking her?
A pair of marines in gray togs jostled her as they jogged past.
“Stay out of the running lane,” one barked without glancing back.
Tikaya sighed and shuffled in the direction the guards indicated. She should have relished the excursion, the chance to stretch and walk, but the lack of company dulled her spirits. She hadn’t even been a
ble to speak with Five again. The captain had granted her request for a desk and better illumination by moving her to one of the officers’ cabins in the wardroom, which put her on the other side of the ship from the man she wanted to conspire with. And the young private stationed outside her door showed no inclination of allowing her to wander.
The guards led her past masts, smokestacks, and two thirty-foot launches mounted in the center of the deck. She kept her gaze from lingering too long on the big boats. It would take more than two people to get one of those in the water anyway. She stepped past a cannon to glance over the railing. Ah, yes. Smaller cutters were mounted alongside the ship below the gun ports. She and Five could handle one of those. Unfortunately, she needed time with him to make plans.
“Stop gawking.” One the guards shoved her.
“I didn’t know there was a minimum walking speed up here,” Tikaya muttered.
“Exercise is for sweating, not sightseeing.”
“You’re a pithy people, aren’t you?”
That earned another shove.
Tikaya picked up her speed. A heavy gun on brass rails dominated the forecastle, but the area behind it lay open, and a few bare-chested men boxed in a makeshift arena. Racks contained practice weapons, dumbbells, and other exercise equipment. Captain Bocrest and a lieutenant stood on the far side where a temporary archery lane was set up with person-shaped paper targets attached to bales of hay. They practiced with repeating crossbows, though traditional bows also leaned in a rack.
“You going to do anything, woman?” a guard asked.
Feeling self-conscious beneath all the eyes that swiveled to watch her, Tikaya walked over to a pile of sand-filled balls with handles. After a few tries, she found a small one she could lift. She maneuvered through a few exercises, though no one had suggested baths were available, so she was not sure how much of a sweat she wanted to encourage.
“Awkward turtle, isn’t she?” one of the guards said.
“Fine by me,” the second said. “Makes her melons bounce.”
“Hah, and her ass. Bookly thing but I’d mount that in a heartbeat.”