“What?” Tikaya’s first thought was that he referenced her education, but then she remembered her earlier sentence. “Well, I’d think so. The history with which I’m familiar tells us the flutes always tell an old Nurian tale, and that presumes certain narrative traditions of chronological ordering, rising conflict, etcetera, etcetera. Some of their ancient narrative poems were on the quirky side, but—oh!” A new thought rushed into her mind, surprising her into dropping the flute. Caught in the moment, she didn’t rush to retrieve it, priceless artifact or not. “Dear Akahe, could that be it?”
“Hm?” Rias plucked up the flute before it rolled into the water.
“A poem. No a rhyme. There are countless silly Nurian nursery rhymes about animals and hunting, and they make about as much sense as... well, they’re for teaching children language by using repetition and—” Tikaya stopped, as an old nursery rhyme floated into her thoughts. She pointed at the flute. “I’m going to need that.”
“Of course.” Rias handed her the artifact, an amused half-smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, and went back to work.
“Cavorting banyan sprites,” Tikaya muttered a minute later as she snapped the last puzzle segment into place. “Could that be it? A pictographic representation of The Lion, the Hunter, and the Trap? That title rhymes in Nurian, by the way.”
“Naturally,” Rias said.
Tikaya lifted the flute to her lips and played a scale. As the notes filled the bilge room, she closed her eyes and tried to detect an otherworldly influence to the sounds. If there was one, her lack of sensitivity kept her from sensing it.
“Did it work?” Rias asked.
“I’m not sure. I need to talk to that boy again. It is the first pattern I’ve tried that’s made sense. Er, not made sense as it were.” Tikaya hopped to her feet, intending to hunt down Garchee.
“Good.” Rias gave her a parting salute.
Tikaya paused and eyed him. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“You have a knack for coming up with the solution, even when it has nothing to do with your field of expertise.”
Rias pressed a hand to his chest. “I didn’t come up with the solution. You did.”
“But it was your question that sparked my idea. And this isn’t the first time things have worked out that way.”
Rias chuckled. “All those years when I was a captain and then an admiral, do you know what I did when we were in some tricky situation and I needed to come up with a solution for a problem?”
“You mean the solutions didn’t simply flow into your brain as gifts from the gods? Or, I suppose, Turgonians would thank their ancestors.”
“Alas, it doesn’t work that way. Early in my command days, I gathered the officers and ask for opinions, but I realized we’d all come through the same training system and all had similar thoughts. The real brilliance came when I started chatting with the uneducated firemen in the boiler room.”
Tikaya studied his eyes, searching for a mischievous twinkle that would suggest he was teasing her, but she didn’t spot it. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely. Nine times out of ten, the conversations wouldn’t go anywhere, but once in a while some grunt who’d been a farmer before joining up would tell a story of how he had, for example, carved wooden owls to keep birds out of the berry patch, and that would give me an idea. In that case, I figured out a way for my ship to appear to be in multiple places at once to protect several vulnerable targets along the coast until reinforcements arrived.” Rias gave a self-effacing shrug. “I got a medal for that one.”
“So... you’re the equivalent of a uneducated grunt in the boiler room for me?”
The half-smile returned as he regarded the pump and his sweat-dampened clothing. “Apropos, don’t you think?”
“All hands on deck!” came a cry from somewhere above.
Footlockers thumped and hatches banged open and shut.
“I might not have time to talk to the boy after all,” Tikaya said, dread settling in her belly.
“Go find him now, before the action starts.” Rias returned to the lever, arms pumping twice as fast. “I’ll be up in a minute.” He seemed determined to empty every inch of water before he left the task. Maybe he feared they’d need to shed all the excess weight they could.
“All right,” Tikaya said, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to see what had prompted the shout from above.
Up on deck, wan dawn light seeped through a cloud-filled sky. Seamen scurried about, trimming the sails per the mate’s orders. The captain stood on the forecastle next to the wheel, gazing through a spyglass toward the gray seas behind them. It wasn’t until Tikaya climbed up beside him that she spotted the reason for the wake-up call.
The masts and sails of three ships—three large ships—were visible on the horizon.
“A frigate and two galleons,” the captain muttered, speaking to himself. He didn’t seem to have noticed Tikaya. “Hundreds of men. Hundreds of guns. I didn’t think they’d send such a force, not this deep into Turgonian territory.”
“New heading, Cap’n?” a swarthy man at the wheel asked.
“Take us closer to land. We’ve a shallower draw than those ships. If we can reach the Dead Snake River, we can head up it where they can’t follow.”
Tikaya frowned. Wouldn’t the Nurians simply wait at the mouth until the schooner ventured out again?
Before the helmsman had said more than a quick, “Aye, Cap’n,” Rias appeared at Tikaya’s shoulder.
“We’ve already passed the Snake,” he said, nodding toward the east, though the coast wasn’t in sight. “We’ll reach land at the Fire Cliffs. They’re nearly twenty leagues long, and the water is deep right up to the rock.”
The captain scowled at him. “I don’t need the terrain explained to me. I know where we are, and we will reach the river.”
Rias said nothing, though he wore what Tikaya had come to recognize as a there’s-little-point-in-arguing-with-fools expression. The captain may have recognized it, too, for his scowl deepened.
“You.” He pointed at Tikaya. “You figure out the flute yet?”
She lifted the instrument and played a short childhood ditty about a boy who was hit on the head by falling coconuts whenever he didn’t mind his elders. The captain peered about, as if he expected some miraculous transformation of everyone around him.
“Well, does it work?” he asked when she finished.
“I don’t know,” Tikaya said. “Do you feel more kindly toward me?”
The captain growled.
“Perhaps not then.”
Rias touched her arm and nodded toward the rigging above them. Garchee crouched on the yard, his mouth agape as he stared down at them. As soon they looked in his direction, he snapped his jaw closed and scurried out of sight.
The captain hadn’t noticed. A string of curses flowed from his mouth, punctuated by terms such as “deadbeat passengers.” Tikaya wanted to defend herself—more than ever she believed she’d solved the puzzle—but, if Rias was right and the flute had no use in this setting, what did it matter?
“Someone get that boy down here,” the captain snarled.
The other cabin boy jumped to comply. A worrisome grin stretched across his face as he scampered up the mast. He darted behind sails that blocked Tikaya’s view, and she could only frown when, a moment later, the cabin boy practically shoved Garchee down the mast. Blood trickled from the Nurian boy’s nose.
The captain waited, eyebrows drawn into a V, his fists propped on his hips. “Do you see that, boy?” He pointed at the ships on the horizon, ships that had inched closer in the last few minutes. “Three Nurian warships. Three! What’d you do? Steal the most valuable piece in the collection?”
With nearly a foot of height separating them, Garchee had to look up to meet the captain’s eyes, but he did so, giving the older man a hard stare. “I warned you when I offered to trade the flute for passage that I might be pursued,” he
said, speaking in precise but nearly flawless Turgonian. “You saw the ivory, and calculation and greed filled your eyes. I have not... made good decisions myself, but you had the option to turn down my offer.”
A crimson hue suffused the captain’s cheeks as he suffered this lecture. “You said someone might come after you, not the whole slagging Nurian navy!”
The boy’s resolve wavered as he glanced toward the encroaching ships. He looked like he might have an apology in mind, but the captain yanked a knife from his belt, snarling, “I’m going to kill you, you worthless runt!”
Before Tikaya could react, the captain lunged for the boy, murder in his eyes. Rias moved just as quickly. He darted in front of the boy, caught the captain’s wrist, and twisted against the joint. The dagger fell to the deck, landing point first in the wood. Bellowing with rage, the captain yanked his arm free even as he swung at Rias with his other fist.
Rias caught that fist in the air, but didn’t respond with any offensive moves. The mate had sprinted onto the forecastle, a pistol in hand. He aimed it at Rias. The helmsman had also produced a firearm.
Tikaya tried to think of something to do. She stared at the flute in her hand, but feared it’d be useless in this scenario. Even if she’d solved the puzzle, she didn’t know what to play.
“Let’s discuss this, captain,” Rias said. “If you kill the boy, you’ll only make matters worse on all of us.”
“What do you mean?”
The captain yanked his hand back, and Rias let him go. He wasn’t mollified, though, not in the least. He stepped back a few paces and pulled out his own pistol.
Rias stood in the middle of the three men, arms spread, open hands lifted. He nodded toward the ships on the horizon. “Those Nurians will want the flute, yes, but if you don’t have the... person who took it, their captains will assume you stole it.”
As Rias spoke, Garchee eased closer to Tikaya. He met her eyes, pointed to the flute, and held out his hand. Was it possible he knew how to play it? And if he did, what might he be able to do if she gave it to him? She imagined him piping some tune that caused everyone on board, herself and Rias included, to fall unconscious and wait helpless as the Nurians boarded. Someone over there might recognize Rias and kill him before he ever woke again.
The crew’s eyes were locked upon Rias and the captain; nobody was paying attention to Tikaya and the boy.
“If you hand the youth and the flute over to the Nurians,” Rias said, “you can say you were duped and didn’t know anything about the theft.”
Tikaya frowned at his back. Hand over the youth? Even if he was a thief, she bristled at the idea of giving him to a crew of vengeful warriors. If those ships had been sent all the way across the ocean, a multiple-week journey, simply to retrieve the flute, the Nurians would not be happy with the one who had caused the trouble.
“Maybe we’ll tell the Nurians you stole it,” the captain said, nodding to himself and smiling as the idea took root.
Rias didn’t have a response for that. Tikaya wondered if the captain had any idea how much of a threat he’d truly made. If they identified him, the Nurians would do more than simply kill Fleet Admiral Starcrest. They would torture him for information and drag him back to their Great Chief in shackles for some horrific public execution.
Tikaya swallowed. She wasn’t going to let that happen. If nothing else, she could make a distraction, and Rias could leap overboard and swim for the coast. They couldn’t be that far from land.
Garchee touched Tikaya’s arm. “Please.”
She’d almost forgotten him. He could have ripped the flute out of her hand when she hadn’t been paying attention, but he hadn’t. Maybe he wanted to help.
Hoping she wasn’t making a mistake, Tikaya gave him the instrument.
“If you handed me over to the Nurians,” Rias told the captain, “you might be seen as accomplices and punished anyway. It’s likely they know who the true thief is. You could simply claim he’d stowed away.”
Flute to his lips, Garchee played a few notes so softly that Tikaya doubted anyone would notice them over the roar of the ocean. She didn’t recognize the song’s upbeat, cheery notes, but it didn’t sound like something that would knock out a ship full of sailors.
“Whatever.” The captain lowered his pistol and waved for his men to do the same. “We’re not handing the flute over to the Nurians. After all this trouble, and all that money I spent on repairs in Tangukmoo, I’m not doing anything except selling that thing to someone who can afford to pay well. We just have to stay out of reach a little longer. We’re only a few hours out of Port Malevek, and there’s no way Nurian ships are going to sail into that harbor, no matter how many guns they have. They won’t dare come into sight.”
The captain glowered at Tikaya, and she held her breath, expecting a backlash to the boy’s flute playing. “You three get off my deck,” was all he said. “I don’t want to see you again.”
Garchee lowered the flute.
“As you command, Captain.” Rias bowed his head, clasped his hands behind his back, and strolled down the steps with Tikaya and Garchee.
“Thank you for your assistance,” she told the boy, suspecting his tune had helped convince the captain to lower his pistol. Too bad it hadn’t improved his personality as well.
Garchee nodded once. His face held the sad recognition of one who had accepted his fate, however unpleasant. Tikaya hoped they could figure out a way to protect him from the Nurians.
Before they headed below, Rias stopped to gaze back at the ships. Tikaya didn’t like the way his face shared some of the youth’s resignation. They’d have to come up with something. She definitely wasn’t going to give him up to the Nurians. Maybe he could hide in the bilge room when the schooner was boarded. The captain liked to send him there anyway.
“Any chance we can make it to Port Malevek before those ships catch us?” Tikaya asked.
Without so much as glancing at the sails or checking the wind, Rias said, “No.”
“I assume there’s no way this small ship can fight them. Any chance of evading them? Maybe we’ll reach that river and—”
Rias was shaking his head.
Tikaya stepped away from the boy and lowered her voice. “What if you took command? Perhaps we could tell the captain who you are. That might change his willingness to listen to you.”
“There’s little I could do either.”
“Is there anything I could do?” Tikaya asked. It was meant to be a joke, but it didn’t sound very funny when it came out.
“Your people are theists, aren’t they? Perhaps you could pray for a storm or a dense fog.”
Tikaya eyed the clouds. They lacked the ominous darkness of thunderheads, nor did any hint of fog linger in the troughs of the waves. “I haven’t noticed a high success rate amongst those who pray for weather phenomena.”
“Unfortunate,” Rias said. “At least these Nurians shouldn’t have a reason to kill you, not like those assassins we encountered last time. With luck they won’t even know who you are, and they’ll leave you alone.”
“Oh, good. I can just stand back and watch as you’re beaten, chained, and thrown into their dank, windowless brig.”
“You could always come along.” Rias smiled and offered his arm. “Dank windowless brigs are always more amenable with company.”
She snorted and leaned against him, though his joke did little to lift her spirits. She scowled at the back of the captain’s head. How depressing to think that they might have survived assassins, deadly technology, and monster-filled tunnels, only to be defeated by human greed.
Part VII
Afternoon brought the first warning shot, a cannonball splashing into the water off the port bow. Towering granite cliffs rose to the east, the topography Rias had described, with no sign of a river—or any coves to hide in—within sight. Deep blue water promised plenty of depth for the Nurian warships to navigate through.
On the schooner, the captain paced
back and forth, masticating his tobacco like an apothecary grinding a nettlesome root in a mortar. The mate was barking orders to his modest gun crew—the schooner claimed four cannons. Given the hundreds the other ships carried—which were clearly visible now that the Nurians had drawn closer—Tikaya thought the captain was addled for even contemplating a fight. If it was inevitable that the Nurians would overtake the Fin, better to let them board and take the stolen flute rather than risk irking them further.
So long as they didn’t find Rias.
The waiting and worrying was enough to make Tikaya crazy. Part of her wanted to run down to the bilge pump and plan a mutiny with him, if only on the chance that having him in charge would make a difference, but she was the one who’d told him—implored him—to hide out down there.
“We just have to hold them for a while,” the captain told the mate. “We’ll reach Port Malevek by dusk.”
By dusk was three hours away. Those ships were in firing range now. Another cannon boomed, and the ball splashed into the water a few meters behind the schooner. The next one might very well crash into the ship.
“Need another idea,” Tikaya muttered. “Something better.” She still had the flute, but she doubted the Nurians would hear her over the sea and cannons even if she knew what tune to play. Garchee stood by the railing, watching the approaching ships with that same resignation on his face from earlier.
She jogged over to him. “Any chance you know a tune that would convince those captains to turn around and go home?”
He smiled sadly. “The flutes aren’t that powerful. Especially that one. It was made by a novice.”
One of the galleons was inching closer, trying to come alongside the schooner. A forward cannon fired, and Tikaya’s heart nearly stopped. The black ball arced straight toward them.
She grabbed Garchee and pulled him to the deck. The cannonball smashed into the hull of the ship not three feet below them. Wood shattered, hurling planks and splinters into the air. The deck trembled as the cannonball ripped through the ship’s innards. She didn’t know if it crashed all the way through to the other side or lodged somewhere in the middle.