Shaky was looking down at her. ‘They're too close anyway.’ Arrows pattered around like rain. A bestial roar rattled the dock, echoing from the wharf-walk. Hurl peered over the piled cargo.
The demon was sinking. At least that was how it looked. The beast was up to its scaled waist in dirt and flailing madly. Everyone had stopped to watch, fascinated, the way Hurl had seen the fighting on battlefields halt when a particularly impressive piece of magery was in the process of going horribly awry. It sank to its chest, its neck, then, roaring what sounded like panic, disappeared but for its spasming arms. Those arms remained standing from the streaming dirt like two malformed plants, jerking and clawing.
‘Hood's bones!’ Shaky breathed. ‘What a way to go.’
‘Shoot, dammit!’ Sunny called from the launch. ‘Shoot!’
Hurl took aim and fired at the firmer parts of the warehouse roof where the archers had edged forward once more. Shaky dropped one into the closest knot of Orlat's men. That broke the spell. Men dived for cover. The rest of the squad made the dock. Hurl and Shaky fired last warning shots as the launch unmoored then everyone jumped for it. The archers peppered the boat as they drifted away into the dark. Rell and Sunny rowed while everyone else ducked for cover.
Shaky relieved Sunny who eased himself down next to Jalor who lay, eyes shut, breathing wetly. He looked to have taken a beating. The launch rocked alarmingly, dipping at the bow, and there was Silk, his trademark dark silks smoking and tattered. His long blond hair plastered his head, soaked in sweat. He let himself slump on to a thwart and leaned back, breathing in deep lungfuls of the cool river air.
So, they'd all made it. But what now? Hurl eyed the Captain. He was looking ahead, downriver, his gaze thoughtful. Would he send Silk by Warren to Fist Rheena? Surely now he had to let her know that a gang of pirates were in the city recruiting. She cleared her throat. The Captain nodded, grimacing. ‘Yes, Hurl… What now?’
‘Tell Rheena. She's been square.’
He rubbed an unshaven cheek, wincing at Hurl's words. ‘Yeah. Well, that's the problem. That just makes this all the harder.’
‘What?’
‘She's dead,’ said Silk.
Storo nodded sourly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He means,’ continued Silk, ‘that there's been a coup tonight in the city. Rheena is surely dead. We're all alone.’
‘C'mon, a coup? That's ridiculous. The Claws would crush it.’ But Sunny, Hurl noticed, wasn't sneering. Holding his leg, he looked personally affronted by the news. She bent to that wound, tore the trousers for a better look.
‘Not if they're too busy elsewhere,’ said Storo.
‘Where?’ Hurl took hold of the quarrel shaft, held Sunny's eyes. Rell eased over to take hold of his shoulders. He gave a sharp nod, gasped, ‘Do it.’
Hurl leaned her weight on to the shaft, bore on to it until the head burst through the other side of the thigh. Sunny thrashed in Rell's grip, snarled through his teeth clamped in his permanent leer. She eased off. He lay limp, his face glistening in a cold sweat. She unrolled her kit and set to work.
‘Orlat and I had a chat,’ continued Storo. ‘From what he hinted at I got the idea that the Seti were rising, as was Tali, and others of the old kingdoms. An organized insurrection. Laseen's been bleeding the garrisons dry for years now to fuel those overseas wars of hers. There's hardly more than a division between here and Unta. And most of those probably turned.’
‘Turned to who?’ Hurl glanced to the Captain. He was looking away, over the river to the torches and golden lanterns gleaming over the domes of the city.
‘Did you recognize the name Orlat?’ he asked.
‘Sounded familiar.’ Everyone, Hurl noted, was watching the Captain now. Even Sunny, who'd come to.
‘Orlat Kepten. Was captain of the Spear long ago. I was his first mate.’
Kepten! Yes, Fat Kepten. How could she have not made the connection? But he'd been a captain in Urko's fleet. That meant… ‘You served with Urko?’
Looking embarrassed, Storo rubbed again at his jowls. ‘Yeah. There at the end. My father served much longer. He was one of the first Falarans to join up – even before the invasions.’
While Storo was speaking, Silk had taken the stern and now directed them to the north shore. Storo turned to him. ‘What's this?’
‘My arrangements,’ Silk answered. He studied the maze of docks and jetties cluttering the shore like a mess of snaggled teeth. They slid under one sagging dock and Silk grabbed hold of a timber and they waited, silent. Waves licked at the glistening slimed wood of the old posts. Rell cleaned his blades in the water then ran an oiled cloth over them and sheathed them. Once again, Hurl saw, the youth had escaped any injury. In all the years campaigning together she'd yet to see him cut. There was something unnatural about that. She turned to Jalor's wounds.
‘That's all right, Hurl. Help should be coming,’ Silk told her gently.
‘You're just full of arrangements this night, ain't ya?’ Sunny challenged, watching the mage through slit eyes. Silk answered with an enigmatic smile of his own – one that Hurl had seen turn many a girl's head.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Shaky.
‘I mean Silk here showed a lot more tricks tonight than ever before. Those two mages must've been damn good but he kept both busy. How does a plain squad mage manage that? And these arrangements… he knew something was up for tonight.’
Shaky was watching Sunny; Hurl saw his eyes bugging out the way they did when he was scared. ‘What're you sayin?’
Sunny's smile was a death's-head. ‘I'm sayin’ maybe we don't need to tell Rheena anything because maybe Laseen already knows. What say you, Silk? Gonna fess up?’
Shaky gaped at Silk. ‘You a Claw, Silk?’
‘Quiet,’ Storo said. ‘We've enough to worry about.’
Silk raised a hand. ‘It's all right, Captain. I'll talk. Truth is, I happen to be from Heng. I grew up here. This is home turf for me. I pull more out of myself here than anywhere.’
An old woman's crow of a laugh sounded from above. ‘Bicker, bicker. I smell sour defeat!’
Silk pushed his fingers through his hair, sighing. ‘Down here, Liss.’
Hard heels clacked and clattered above. Rell and Storo eased the launch to a floating dock. Two youths, no more than ragged street urchins, helped an old woman down the short ladder to the dock. She took hold of the gunwales of the launch with hands all gnarled and disfigured with arthritis and in a very unladylike manner swung a leg over the side. Grinning a dark wide mouth full of rotten stumps she squatted over Jalor, cackling at what she saw. Hurl backed away because the old hag stank of rotting fish.
‘Greetings, Loyalists,’ she said, laughing.
Loyalists? Hurl wondered. What did the old crow mean by that?
‘Morning,’ answered Storo.
‘Ah, the great Slayer of Avowed. Captain Matash himself!’ She squinted at him, snorted. ‘You don't look like much.’
‘Liss…’ Silk whispered, warning.
‘Yes, yes.’ She took hold of Jalor's head, twisted it side to side while he grunted his pain. ‘Ah! Courage and resilience here. Good. He will live.’ She turned on Sunny who flinched from her swollen hands. Those hands darted out to his leg. ‘Ah! Stubbornness here. Good. He will walk again.’ One of those hands then snapped to Hurl's upper arm and clenched there, squeezing the bone; Hurl winced at the woman's strength. The fetid stink of a muddy river bank at low-water assaulted her and she turned her head away. Seeing that, the old woman cackled. Hurl didn't find it funny at all. ‘Greetings, Builder. I am pleased to meet you.’ Builder? She must mean engineer.
The old woman faced Rell next. He sat motionless, his limbs tense, almost quivering, looking up through his long tangled hair. She pulled her hands from him at the last moment and a long breath hissed from her. Turning away she inclined her head, mouthing something beneath her breath. It seemed to Hurl there was certainly significance to the woman's actions but for the life of her she had no idea what it might be.