Shouting frantically at one another, several of the Minions grasped the edge of the door and pulled against it. But even their combined strength could not overcome the craft.
Tristan let go just in time to save his fingers from being crushed. But some of his warriors were not so fortunate. Even as the door closed with a final bang, they never gave up. Severed fingers fell to the floor at Tristan's feet.
His chest heaving, Tristan turned away from the door. Then he froze. The pool of azure liquid left by the cone was growing…and fast. "Look out!" he shouted.
Jessamay in his arms, Wigg turned around. "I should have known!" he exclaimed. "It's another trap!"
The fluid was nearly at their toes now.
"Take Jessamay!" Wigg ordered. Handing Celeste the blood criterion and signature scope, Tristan took the sorceress from Wigg. Then Wigg snatched the grimoire from his daughter.
He raised his hands and the glow of the craft appeared. In a moment, Tristan felt his body growing lighter. Soon his toes were off the floor. Wigg raised his hands farther, and they all levitated toward the ceiling.
Tristan looked down at the floor and saw, to his horror, that the fluid was increasing in volume. The temperature in the room was rising; steam began to roil. Rushing waves of the fluid began noisily overturning the furniture.
Two of the bookcases tumbled down. As furniture and books swirled in the strange fluid, they caught fire, sending acrid smoke toward the fugitives hovering near the ceiling.
The fluid was already halfway to the ceiling. Tristan found it difficult to breathe. Coughing, he struggled to hold Jessamay higher. There was now very little space between his head and the ceiling.
He looked toward Celeste. There was so much steam and smoke that he could barely see her face. Then he smelled burning leather. Looking down, he saw that the fluid had reached the toes of his boots.
With his last bit of strength he lifted Jessamay higher. She screamed as the searing, smoking fluid began to reach them. Tristan looked frantically over at Wigg, to see the wizard desperately trying to decipher a page of the grimoire.
The smoke and the heat were suffocating, and Tristan felt close to passing out. He knew he could hold Jessamay for only a few more seconds. Leaning close, Celeste kissed him goodbye.
CHAPTER XXXIV
"Put your backs into it!" Scars shouted at the top of his lungs. Even his booming voice could barely be heard above the raging storm. "Pump those handles with everything you have and turn that screw quickly! This is our last chance to stay alive!"
As the Reprise heeled hard to port, the Minions and Tyranny's crewmen struggled to repair the great ship. Scars watched anxiously as his men turned the screw and K'jarr's warriors manned the pumps. He knew Tyranny wouldn't be able to hold her over for long, and they had to get the fresh boards into place before she righted again.
The frigate groaned in protest. Scars cast his gaze upward. He couldn't imagine what it must be like above decks. He knew the ship wouldn't be able to take much more of this.
With one of its flat iron braces firmly against a supporting timber, the screw inched the opposing brace toward the damaged hull. Crewmen were busy hammering the fresh-cut planks into place. Finally the brace seated, and the crew slathered on pitch and tar, covering the gaps between the planks. Scars barked out orders, spurring the men on. Their lives depended upon the next few moments. Scars knew they needed just a little more time, if only their captain could give it to them. Then he felt the heavy ship come to starboard again, and he knew he had a decision to make.
As the Reprise came back over, the shifting stress on the hull would transfer through the screw and against the timber. The already weakened timber might well break under the strain. If it did, the freshly seated planks would cave in again, and this time all would be lost.
There were only two choices, and neither was good. He could order the screw removed to protect the mast, and hope that the hull would hold on its own; or he could leave the giant screw in place, and hope that the mast didn't buckle under the stress. Once the tar had dried, the screw could be removed. Over time, the seawater on the outer side of the hull would swell the fresh wood and seal the boards together, ensuring the job.
But the pitch had just been applied, and they were clearly out of time. As his crewmen began to counterturn the screw, Scars made his decision. He pointed at them.
"Belay that!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Leave the screw as it is! The timber will just have to hold!"
As the Reprise settled back down to starboard, they all held their breath.
Seawater slammed against the fragile repairs, and the Reprise let go another tortured groan. The men watched in horror as sharp, twisted bits of timber popped and splintered away to splash into the shoulder-deep seawater. The beam actually buckled a bit, as the ship came over hard. Then the Reprise settled and once again angled into the wind. The mast and the hull repairs held.
The Minions and crewmen cheered. But the next few moments were important, and Scars had no intention of letting them be wasted.
"Stop celebrating like a pack of fallen virgins!" he roared at them.
"There is still work to do!" He raised a beefy arm.
"You men, there. Tighten up that screw until the slack has been taken up! And keep those pumps going until the cabin is completely dry! Slather on that pitch and tar until not a drop of seawater can come through! This night is not yet over!"
Looking over at K'jarr, Scars finally allowed himself a smile. The exhausted Minion warrior smiled back.
"Let's go topside!" Scars said. "The captain will need a report!"
They waded through the water and started up the gangway. Scars was desperately worried about what they would find above.
As they reached the deck, they could see that the storm had abated. With its passing, the first welcome rays of dawn crept over the horizon. Between the storm and the stresses of Faegan's portal, the Reprise had suffered badly.
Two of her masts were down, their splintered pieces rolling to and fro across the deck. The sails and sheets that had fallen with them lay in ruins. Many of the sails still aloft had great tears in them, and much of the rigging had come down. The bowsprit was missing altogether. The ship wandered east-northeasterly.
Looking back to the ship's wheel, they saw that the boatswain had at some point taken control from the captain. He struggled to keep her on a steady course. Most of the crew and warriors who had been below were now topside, hurrying about their duties. Knowing that his captain would be sure to ask, Scars ordered an immediate count of the crew and warriors.
But they could not find Tyranny or Shailiha. Fearing the worst, Scars shouted out their names. After a time he and K'jarr engaged several warriors to help them search.
Soon one of the warriors called out. Scars and K'jarr ran to the aft starboard gunwale and found the women there.
Shailiha lay prostrate on the deck. There was a bleeding gash on her forehead. Although Tyranny did not appear to be injured, it was clear that she was both physically and mentally exhausted. Both women were soaked to the skin, shivering. Tyranny was using a cloth to staunch the princess' wound.
Calling for a Minion healer, K'jarr knelt beside her, and was heartened to see that Shailiha was alert. When she saw him, she managed a smile through the pain. K'jarr took her hand.
"How bad is it?" he asked the captain.
"The wound is deep," Tyranny said. "When the second mast came down, part of it struck her. Even so, she refused to let go of the wheel. If it hadn't been for her persistence, I doubt I could have held it over by myself. We owe her much." Then she stood.