Scoundrel - The Blades Of The Rose Part 17

There came a metallic clicking. The nails rose up from the crate. They hovered around Athena in a cloud. London almost lost her hold on the jibsheet. Each instance of magic astonished her. Perhaps it would always be that way, as though continually finding a hidden door in the same ordinary room and opening it into another world.

Athena continued to chant. Then, moving like a swarm of bees, the nails darted off, narrowly missing Bennett, Kallas, and the sails. London watched as the nails shot across the water, toward the Heirs' ship.

"Now what?" London asked Bennett.

He trimmed the mainsail as Kallas steered them out of the bay and into open water. "We keep running like h.e.l.l and hope her distraction works."

London fervently prayed that it did. She would have to face her father eventually, but she hoped it would not be today.

"Christ, can't this ship go any faster?"

The steamship captain, already sweating behind the wheel, could only shrug at Joseph Edgeworth. "My men are stoking the fires as quick as they can," he said.

"We'll lose them!"

"But they're under sail, and we have steam."

Still, Edgeworth wasn't satisfied. He slammed out of the wheelhouse to stand at the rail. They were so d.a.m.ned close! A bra.s.s spygla.s.s showed the tiny form of London moving about the deck of the caique. Edgeworth nearly dropped the spygla.s.s in shock to see her actually helping to hoist the sails. No genteel lady ever performed such manual labor-he'd made sure London knew that. It had to be a measure of how beguiled she was by Bennett Day that not only was she helping the Blades to escape, but she was doing physical work. Unless she was wearing gloves, her hands had to be mangled pieces of flesh.

He had to get her away from Day. The longer she spent with him, the more tainted she became. As her father, he'd set her back on the right path.

Edgeworth let out a breath of relief and lowered the spygla.s.s as the steamship closed the distance. It wouldn't be long now.

Fraser stomped up beside him, just as eager to catch the Blades. "What the h.e.l.l is that noise?"

"The engines," Edgeworth snapped.

"Steam engines don't buzz," Fraser shot back, then, remembering to whom he spoke, added deferentially, "sir."

The crewmen on deck began shouting and pointing in the direction of the caique. At first, Edgeworth thought they indicated the boat, but then a strange dark haze caught his eye. He raised the spygla.s.s again. It was headed straight for them.

"h.e.l.l," he spat. He shouted over his shoulder, "Chernock!" When the sorcerer came out on deck, Edgeworth said, also pointing at the thick, moving haze, "What the devil is that?"

"Whatever it is," Fraser gulped, "here it comes!"

The men all fell to the deck as a cloud of sharp, pointed objects darted overhead. They flew around the deck with a harsh whir. Crewmen threw themselves to the ground, shielding themselves from the objects. They moved too quickly for anyone to see what, exactly, they were, but those too slow to protect themselves wound up with angry, bleeding sc.r.a.pes across their faces and hands.

"The Golden Wasps?" Edgeworth yelled to Chernock. The tiny, deadly a.s.sa.s.sins had been used with great success by Heirs in the past. Except for that time in Southampton, when Gabriel Huntley miraculously survived an encounter with the Wasps. But he was the rare-and troublesome-exception.

"Not nearly as elegant," the sorcerer answered. "A crude enchantment."

"Crude or not," Fraser shouted, "it's heading below decks!"

"Well, stop it, whatever it is!" Edgeworth said to Chernock.

The sorcerer rose up in a crouch and lifted his hands to begin a spell. But it was already too late. Men's screams and shouts rose up from below, and within a moment, sooty-faced crewmen came running up on deck in a panic. Red burns dotted their skin.

"The boiler," one yelled. "These...flying things...shot right into the boiler and tore it apart! d.a.m.ned thing almost exploded!"

The paddle wheels began to slow, then they stopped entirely. An awful silence fell over the ship.

Edgeworth hauled to his feet. "Raise the b.l.o.o.d.y sails," he snarled at the captain.

The captain gave the order, but it wouldn't matter. By the time the sails were hoisted and the ship fully under the power of the wind, the caique would be long gone. Edgeworth could only stand at the railing and watch, fuming and helpless, as his daughter disappeared over the horizon.

Through his spygla.s.s, Bennett saw the steamship lumber to a dead stop. He grinned.

"h.e.l.l of a job, Athena," he said. "What did you do?"

No answer.

"Bennett!" London cried.

He turned around and saw London on the ground, cradling a pale and motionless Athena. Immediately, he was on his knees beside them, s.n.a.t.c.hing up Athena's limp hand. The witch breathed, but shallowly. Kallas, stuck at the wheel, looked on with a concerned scowl.

"Perhaps Chernock has cursed her," Bennett said.

London frowned in confusion. "Chernock? That awful crow?"

"He's a sorcerer," said Bennett. "Uses dark magic for the Heirs."

London paled briefly in horrified surprise. "I didn't know." She stroked Athena's brow, smoothing back the strands of dark hair that clung to her damp forehead.

The witch did not stir.

"There's brandy in the quarterdeck house," Kallas said.

Bennett fetched the drink, then put it to Athena's lips. He carefully dribbled in a few drops of the brandy, but they slid from her mouth.

"What's wrong with her?" London asked. "Dark magic?"

"Don't know," Bennett said, grim. "I don't think she's ever cast such a directed spell before."

London rocked Athena gently, as if she were a baby that needed soothing. "It must have taken something out of her."

"It took a h.e.l.l of a lot out of the Heirs," Bennett said. "Whatever she did, it stopped them."

"Get to the sails, Day," Kallas growled. He began to turn the wheel, redirecting the boat.

Getting immediately to his feet, Bennett trimmed the mainsail. "Where are you taking us?"

Stone-faced, the captain revealed nothing of himself, only that he gnawed on the stem of his pipe as if he would snap it in half. "Kallas men always have friends somewhere on the sea. We go to them."

Once their course was secure, Bennett carried Athena below decks, with London close on his heels. He lay the witch down upon her bunk, and pain shot through him when she did not move even an eyelash.

London bent over Athena and stroked her dark hair, her own brow creased with worry.

"Blades know we risk our lives every day for our cause," Bennett said, his voice a low rumble, "but that doesn't make it easier when a comrade falls."

"We have have to make her well again." London turned imploring eyes to him, as if he held the witch's fate in his hands. to make her well again." London turned imploring eyes to him, as if he held the witch's fate in his hands.

"We will," Bennett said with a conviction he didn't feel. "I've known Athena many years. She's not just as brilliant as her namesake G.o.ddess. She's a fierce fighter, too."

Looking back at the terribly still form of the witch, London's eyes shimmered. "I would give her all of my strength, if I could."

Impulsively, Bennett took hold of London's hand and pressed a kiss to it. "You've the strength of armies. If Athena taps even a fraction of that, she'll be annoying our captain in no time."

London's chuckle was brief and watery, but her eyes were warm as she regarded him. "You overestimate me."

"You underestimate yourself."

Silent and waxen, the witch lay on the bunk. Jesus, how could Bennett tell her mother if something happened to Athena? The love of one Galanos woman for another was stronger than their legendary pride.

"For Athena's sake," London said, "let us hope your faith is well placed."

Chapter 10.

The Sleeping Witch What had been a fairly pleasant wardroom used for the officers' mess now resembled the aftermath of a riot. Chairs were piled in broken heaps upon the decking, the table lay on its side like a wounded animal, and the books had been ripped down from their shelves and torn apart, sc.r.a.ps of their pages in drifts about the room. The captain observed balefully from the doorway. Someone would have to pay for the damage, but now wasn't the best time to mention that. Joseph Edgeworth was in another frenzy.

The respected gentleman of society and pillar of English values rampaged, and nothing was safe, not even the gla.s.s shades on the lamps mounted to the bulkheads. He smashed them with his fists, ignoring the cuts to his knuckles. He flung a ceramic ashtray across the room. It just missed Fraser.

"You do not tell me 'no,'" Edgeworth thundered. "Do you understand that? I won't hear it. No one says that to me. No one."

"Yes, sir," Fraser said. "Only-"

Edgeworth kicked the spittoon with a clang. "Only what?"

Fraser gulped down a breath. d.a.m.n Chernock and the ship's captain for making him their sodding mouthpiece. He hated having to tell Edgeworth bad news, and this news was the worst. "Only, we've got to have a new boiler. We can't catch them under sail."

"What the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l is wrong with the boiler we've already got?" Edgeworth demanded.

"It's full of holes, sir. From the nails the Galanos witch sent."

"Then patch them!"

Fraser tugged on his collar. "There are too many. The boiler would just explode. We'd be lucky if only half the ship caught on fire."

The words that spewed out of Edgeworth's mouth shocked even Fraser. He knew Edgeworth had a temper, just as Jonas Edgeworth did, but this was downright terrifying of the trouser-soiling variety. Fraser cursed Bennett Day for turning what should have been an easy mission into a big sodding mess. A plum position within the Heirs, a new wife, the honor and respect of his colleagues and nation. All of this would have been Fraser's, if Bennett Day had just kept his c.o.c.k to himself. But no, the son of a b.i.t.c.h had to go seduce Edgeworth's daughter, and Fraser had to clean up the mess.

"Why doesn't Chernock do something?" Edgeworth snapped. "Cast some b.l.o.o.d.y spell to fix the boiler or make the ship fly or some other G.o.dd.a.m.ned thing."

Chernock, the coward, peered around the safety of the doorway, his long, thin nose like a carrion-eater's beak. "There are limits to magic, Edgeworth," he intoned. "It's not some tinker's shop you can use to patch boilers. And a steamship flying over the Aegean is not only nearly impossible, but downright conspicuous."

More ranting from Edgeworth. What hadn't been broken before was now demolished. Until, at last, he panted, "So get another boiler."

"We must go to Mykanos," the captain ventured. "It is the nearest island that will have what we need." But it meant the loss of several days. Everyone knew it.

"Make sail for Mykanos, then," said Edgeworth. The captain bowed and hurried away. "And once we do get that new boiler," Edgeworth said, pointing at Chernock, "you'd better have a way of catching up with the Blades, or I'll chop off your fingers and feed them to you. Every moment London is with the Blades, her mind is being poisoned. If I don't get her back soon enough, she'll be lost to me."

G.o.d, what would it take to break Edgeworth of this delusion? Fraser hadn't an idea, but it would take b.o.l.l.o.c.ks of iron to even suggest to Edgeworth that his wh.o.r.e of a daughter was acting of her own volition. At least Chernock, the funereal b.a.s.t.a.r.d, was smart enough to say, "Yes, sir."

"Does the Bloodseeker still track them?" asked Edgeworth.

"It does."

"Good. I'm looking forward to giving Day a nice, slow death. And, Chernock, if you do your job properly, I'll let you have the Galanos witch, so long as you kill her when you're done with her. Something painful."

Chernock approximated a smile and faded into the shadows.

Fraser and Edgeworth were alone now in the ruin of the wardroom. Fraser shifted from foot to foot, uncertain what he should do, and he was made even more uncomfortable when Edgeworth turned haunted eyes to him. Fraser hated to see vulnerability in anyone, especially someone as powerful as Edgeworth. It made him despise the older man.

"I cannot lose my only daughter," Edgeworth rasped.

He had to ask the question that preyed upon his usually dormant mind. "What if she's too far gone, sir?"

Vulnerability fell away, and a cold mask took its place. "Then, for her own good, I'll have to kill her. It's the honorable thing to do."

In deepening waves, dusk fell. A sky of saffron, the sea a golden, inky reflection burnished by the setting sun. Clouds, the blue of robins' eggs and softest pink, spread in waves, the remains of a G.o.d's dream.

London hadn't anything within her to see such beauty. Not when Athena lay below decks in impenetrable slumber. No one spoke of their darkest fears-that Athena would not wake again. No one spoke at all.

London dribbled wine and water between the witch's lips, did whatever could be done to make Athena comfortable. The silence was unbearable, tight and strained, yet London could not break it. Even Bennett, who always had something light to say, kept his counsel. Kallas seemed to hold the same opinion, for he was also mute, trusting London and Bennett to know what the sails needed as he guided the boat toward an unknown destination.

Every few minutes, London hurried below to check on Athena. Whenever she came back above, Kallas looked at her with a plea, and she shook her head. The st.u.r.dy captain's shoulders fell. No change. Whatever the spell had done to Athena, neither London nor Bennett nor Kallas knew its remedy. Their best hope, the witch, suffered for it.

Adjusting the jib halyard, London saw a necklace of small islands appear, their forms dark, craggy gems spread over the surface of the water. The islands were much too tiny for even a single village. The islands hadn't even beaches, just sank straight into the sea and the reefs that surrounded them.

"Where are you taking us?" London asked Kallas.

"To someone who can help our witch."