At least Pelkaia’d owe him big after this. He was looking forward to that prize.
The bells sounded duller in the service stairs, muffled by thick stone. While the alarm hadn’t ceased, the big thumps came further and further apart – not relinquishing the emergency, but allowing the watchers space to better communicate. Through a break in the bells, a woman’s cries echoed up from below. He couldn’t tell if the voice was Pelkaia’s, and added speed to his struggling steps. When had he grown so achy? He’d never felt so old before. So bone-weary.
A maid crashed into the captain, fleeing up the steps. He grunted, but steadied them both. Detan woofed down air as they caught their balance and their breath.
“Are you all right, miss? Have you seen the escapees?”
“Third floor!” she gasped the words out, pointing back up to the level they’d just passed. “Going for the laundry building!”
“Are you injured?” the captain asked, but Detan was already scurrying ahead. Having fallen behind the others, he was first back up to the third floor. He found the door unlatched and hurried through, closing it enough to give the captain pause. He hoped he could get eyes on Pelkaia before the others arrived and communicate to her somehow to stand down.
No luck. The hall beyond the door was empty, save for a half-opened yellow door at the opposite end. Laella barged in after him, flinging the door wide, and Detan stifled a sigh. He’d have to teach the girl some of the more subtle tricks of his craft if they all made it out of this.
He jogged to the yellow door, grateful for what little padding the thin rug offered, and tugged it all the way open.
Pelkaia stood directly before him, her stranger’s face on despite the sweat glistening across her chest. Her mouth dropped open in shock. For a heartbeat, Detan was tempted to grab her and flee, but he knew that those left on board the ship wouldn’t figure out they needed to leave the watchtower right up until a bunch of watchers crawled over their deck.
Shit. What would a Fleetie guard say in this situation? Shoulda let old Tibs go ahead, he’d know what to do.
“Uh,” he blathered. “Stand down!”
That was a thing military types said, wasn’t it? Judging by the way Pelkaia rolled her eyes, he guessed he missed his mark. She took a half step back, hesitant, glancing down the rope bridge to Detan and back.
He realized her problem. If she were escaping, she’d punch him and run. But she’d cottoned on to the game, and she didn’t want to get into a scuffle with him. It’d be too obvious that she’d have to fake losing – he’d never been deft in a fight.
“My face!” Coss yelled from behind Pelkaia, making them both jump. The sturdy lad fell to the floor so hard he rocked the bridge, nearly pitching Pelkaia over. Pelkaia dropped to her knees to steady her groaning first mate, and Detan peered over her shoulder, surprised to find the man’s face was indeed smeared with blood. Huh.
“What’s happening here?” the captain called. Detan glanced over his shoulder in time to see the blue-coated bastard shove his way past Laella and Tibs. Detan had the good sense to shake his hand out as if he’d dealt Coss a mighty blow and was aching from it.
“Found ’em, captain. Have your lads wrap ’em up so we can get off this cursed rock before the storm sets in.”
“Good work.” The captain clapped Detan on the shoulder as he shoved him aside to get to Pelkaia and Coss. “One of the apothiks can get you a salve for that hand.”
The captain gave his whistle a rhythmic series of high blasts, and soon the hall was so deep with blue coats Detan began to feel he’d been set adrift at sea. Being surrounded by so much authority made him decidedly queasy. He feigned an ache in his hand and slithered to the back of the hall, keeping an eye on things while Pelkaia and Coss were trussed up good and tight. He grinned a little. They weren’t being gentle this time ’round. Despite the gaggle of watchers, not a one was willing to let their recaptured prisoners get even the tiniest bit loose.
“I thank you for your assistance,” Laella said to the captain. Detan’s head jerked up and he tried to spot Tibs in the crowd. Tibs had gotten himself in with the prisoner escort and had a hand squarely on the ropes wrapped around Pelkaia’s wrists. Too far away to intervene if Laella began to lose the plot. Trying to make it look casual, he waited for her to pass him by and fell in step beside her, joining the little blue procession back up the watchtower – and hopefully to the deck of the Larkspur.
“Assistance?” The captain wiped sweat from his brow to the back of his sleeve. “That wasn’t for you, commodore. Those two bastards knocked one of my men clear out. You know how bad that can be for a mind? He’d been out awhile, too. If he suffers any permanent damage…” He trailed off, rubbing one fist around and around in the palm of his other hand as he imagined all the nasty he things he might do to Pelkaia and Coss.
Detan suppressed a sigh. And it had all been going so well… Up until the alarm bells and empty cells, at any rate.
Laella straightened a few strands of hair that had flown free during the chase and squared her shoulders. “I will personally see to it that they work hard labor on the Remnant.”
“Remnant?” The captain cast her a sidelong glance. “I think not. They assaulted a watcher, they will serve their time under a watcher roof, penned in by watcher walls.”
“Are you mad?” Laella scoffed and tossed her head. Detan winced at her overacting. “They shot a Fleetman! They are mine to do with as I please, and I will take them to the cold care of the Remnant.”
“Begging your pardon, commodore, but you have no jurisdiction–”
Detan rubbed his temples to smooth out the pounding their bickering brought on. They were over halfway back up the tower, if the ache in Detan’s legs was any marker to go by. He had to get the captain’s mind turned around quick. It was time to yank the rockcat’s tail.
“Pardon me, watch-captain,” he interjected, laying on as much scorn as he could muster. “But we can hardly trust you to keep anything under a watcher roof. These two failed thieves were under your care scarcely more than a mark and already they’d run off halfway to the laundry hut. You’re incapable of containing them. Unless, of course, you want them running free…?”
“How dare you!” The captain’s cheeks flared red and his eyes bugged out as he whirled upon Detan. “This is the most secure facility in all of Petrastad!”
Detan mustered up a wide yawn. “Really? How quaint. Then I suppose we cannot leave them here, if this is the best you’ve to offer.”
The captain punched him. Detan’s head jerked and he exaggerated a sideways stumble, just managing to catch himself on the stairwell banister. Bright, stinging pain exploded across his face, followed by a cold, numbing sensation and then a dull, aching warmth. A trickle of blood strolled down his lip. Though it stung like fire ants, he was glad for the dramatic flair of a spot of blood.
The sea of watchers stilled, fell silent. Detan rubbed his cheek and genuinely flinched. Tibs caught his eye, and there was so much anger in that gaze Detan half expected him to rip the watch-captain’s head clear off. Detan gave a slight shake of the head, and reminded himself to be more careful. Tibs’s temper wasn’t as quick to boil as his own, but it was dangerous all the same. He may not be a dab hand in a fight, but that didn’t mean Tibs was unable of exacting some punishment when he felt the need. Detan turned, slowly, to regard the captain. He was staring at his hand as if it’d betrayed him.
“I… I apologize, Fleetman…?” He stumbled over his words, realizing he did not even know Detan’s name.