K'jarr pursed his lips. The last thing he wanted to do was to offend Tyranny, but the truth was the truth. He turned his palms up, pleading.
"I can only tell you what I saw," he said quietly. "The seven ships were each at least four times the size of the Reprise, perhaps larger. They went down bow first. After a time they surfaced again, some distance from where they had submerged. They looked none the worse for wear. Their speed beneath the waves was at least as great as it was afloat. They are as black as night. Had I been alone, I would have thought it all a bad dream. But each of the warriors accompanying me saw the same thing."
Letting go a defiant snort, Tyranny looked over at Shailiha and Scars. Not knowing what to say, they remained still. The privateer ran one hand through her tousled hair and began angrily pacing back and forth, puffing on her cigarello as she went.
"The men who supposedly captained these submersible vessels, they were black skeletons, you say? And they didn't drown when they submerged with their ships?"
As she strode back and forth the soles of her knee boots thumped on the hardwood floor. She glared at K'jarr as though he had just been released from some Minion home for the deranged.
"Yes, captain," K'jarr answered. "They each wore a tattered uniform that I found eerily familiar." Pausing for a moment, he gave Tyranny a thoughtful look. "Perhaps these skeletal captains didn't need to survive their sea trials after all," he mused.
Tyranny stopped pacing. "What do you mean?"
K'jarr took a deep breath. "Perhaps they were dead already. They certainly looked like it."
Sighing, Tyranny closed her eyes and rubbed her brow. It wasn't bad enough that her damaged frigate wallowed like a harpooned whale through demonslaver-infested waters. Now she had to contend with this outlandish tale. Worse yet, the warriors had come home emptyhanded. But she knew that the warrior had no reason to lie. She looked back at K'jarr.
"Do you have anything else to add?"
K'jarr shook his head. "Only that you must believe me," he said. "I'm telling you the truth."
Sighing, Tyranny shook her head. "You are dismissed."
With a click of his heels, K'jarr crossed the stateroom and left. The intricately carved door closed quietly behind him.
Tyranny went back to her desk and sat down. Sensing that it was going to be a long night, she reached for the wine bottle sitting there and poured herself a glassful. She lifted the bottle toward Shailiha and Scars, who sat in twin chairs opposite her desk. When they nodded, she poured two more goblets full. Then, crossing one of her long legs over the other and placing them atop the desk, she exhaled a long billow of bluish smoke.
For some time, the only sounds disturbing the quiet of the stateroom were the creaking of the ship and the splashing of the waves, just below the open stained-glass windows.
"You were hard on him," Shailiha said quietly. "Despite what you might think of his story, I have never known a Minion warrior to lie."
Tyranny sighed. "I know," she answered. "But-do you really believe the wild story he just told us?"
Shailiha leaned forward and placed her wine glass on the desk. The wound on her forehead was purple and swollen, and she was tired.
"You are new to the wonders and the horrors of the craft," she said. "In the right hands, magic can do amazing things. Not all of them are good."
"So you believe him?"
"I think it's too dangerous not to," the princess answered.
Tyranny looked over at Scars. "And you?"
The gigantic first mate shrugged his shoulders. "I have seen far fewer uses of the craft than the princess. Those I have witnessed have astounded me. I don't think it impossible. But I will tell you one thing for certain." He emptied his wine goblet in a single swallow and placed it back on the desk. His expression darkened. "If what K'jarr says is true and we meet those Black Ships on the open sea, there will be no hope for us. We must do everything we can to avoid them."
Tyranny stood up from her chair. She walked to one of the open windows and angrily tossed her spent cigarillo into the sea.
The last day and a half had passed quietly enough. While the Reprise lumbered southeast, her crewmen and the Minion warriors were doing everything they could to repair the mangled ship.
A new bowsprit had been carved and mounted, most of the damaged rigging had been replaced, and the canvas-masters were busy mending the sails. The repairs to the hull were holding. Still, the damage to the fallen mast could only be repaired in port. Until it was replaced, the Reprise was much slower than she had been, and that continued to worry her captain. But for the most part the warship was again seaworthy. So far, no other vessels had been sighted.
Tyranny knew she had three choices. First, she could continue their mission to capture a demonslaver. But given their reduced speed, that would prove problematic. Second, they could return to Faegan's portal, wait for its daily opening, and use it to go home. Doing so would probably cause further damage to the ship, but they would presumably be delivered so close to the shore of Eutracia that it wouldn't matter. Third, they could sail home without the aid of the portal. The voyage would take quite a bit of time, and sailing home would be fraught with dangers, not the least of which were the strange Black Ships K'jarr had mentioned-if they truly existed.
As she thought over her options, Tyranny gazed out the window. Darkness was falling, the sea calm. She finally nodded. When she turned back to Shailiha and Scars she was smiling slightly.
"Is Faegan's other spell still working?" she asked the princess.
Before departing Eutracia, the crafty wizard had not only enchanted her against seasickness, but also enveloped her in a spell that would cloak her endowed blood from practitioners of the craft. As long as the spell was working, she would feel a slight but not unpleasant tingle in her left hand. She held her hand up and rubbed her fingers against her palm.
"Yes," she answered. "I think we should continue our mission. Tristan wants a demonslaver." A sly smile crossed her face. "Let's go get him one."
"I agree," Scars interjected. "We didn't come all this way just to turn tail and go home. Besides, it's been too long since I've broken the bones of some of those white-skinned bastards. I'm eager for some exercise." Tyranny nodded. "Very well, then. But we cannot take the Reprise much closer to the Citadel for fear of being seen. We'll have the Minions fly us in and back out again." She looked closely at Shailiha. "Are they strong enough to carry us?"
"When the Gates of Dawn collapsed, Ox carried Tristan all the way home to Tammerland," the princess said. "But Ox is extremely strong. K'jarr would know the answer better than I. He has already made the trip to the Citadel and back. He could also select the best fliers."
Remembering the other gift of the craft that Faegan had so wisely conjured for them, Tyranny smiled. Lashed to the deck above and covered with a massive oilskin, it had remained safe through the storm.
"If we have enough warriors who can carry us, and Faegan's device works properly, then each of the warriors will only have to fly half the journey at a time," she mused. "We are closer to the Citadel than we were when Traax and his party left. Our odds are better now, and it's a chance worth taking.
"Do you have a feel for the weather?" she asked Scars.
The first mate pursed his lips. "K'jarr says that there is a fog bank building to the east," he answered. "My sea bones agree. It should help hide us. But if it doesn't clear on our way home, finding the Reprise could become very difficult."
"It's a chance we'll have to take," Tyranny answered. "Go topside and tell K'jarr of our plan. Have him select seven additional warriors for the trip. They will have to be the best, because they literally will have our lives in their hands. We will sail one more day southeast, then fly to the Citadel tomorrow night. This will not only give K'jarr and Shailiha another day of rest, but it will also bring us closer to the fog bank."