Ethan Maskelyne’s accent had been good, but it hadn’t been perfect. Granger had spent enough time in Evensraum to know the difference. But he hadn’t been sure of his suspicions until the jailer had confirmed them. An Ethugran jailer might be paid enough to treat an Evensraum captive as his master, but he would never believe it to be true. Granger’s comment should have humiliated and angered the man. And yet the only emotion in the jailer’s eyes had been fear. Fear of what Maskelyne would do to him.
He reached the front doors and burst through them. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a blizzard of paper whirling around the scribes’ desks. Maskelyne’s man had already reached the bottom of the steps and showed no sign of slowing down. Granger plunged out into the sunlight of Averley Plaza.
The beer drinkers lounged about in groups. A few turned to glance his way as he came storming out of the Imperial jail with the heavy amphora still clutched in his arms. Children shrieked happily as they played about the empty market stalls. The Drowned observed it all with their dead stone eyes, their faces frozen in eternal grimaces of agony. But Creedy was nowhere to be seen, and his launch was no longer moored at the dock.
Bastard.
Creedy had managed to get him away from Hana and Ianthe.
Granger stood in the centre of the plaza, wheezing. He needed a boat, any boat, to take him home.
Someone seized his arm.
Snarling, the Imperial jailer looked more like a street dog than ever before. His face was flushed, his eyes narrowed. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he said through his teeth. ‘Nobody runs out on my boss.’
Granger smashed the amphora across his head.
The jailer dropped to the ground, his head and shoulders drenched in oil.
Granger hardly gave him a second a glance. He was already running along the dockside, looking for a boat.
There were few to choose from, and no passenger ferry boats at all. Almost all of the market traders had already gone home, and none of their customers remained. A score of unguarded whaleskin coracles bobbed against the steps, but they would be too slow. Two fishermen sat repairing their nets on the wharf side above an old closed-deck barque, but their deepwater hull was too wide to negotiate Ethugra’s narrower channels. Such a vessel would be forced to head out of the Glot Madera and circle around almost a quarter of the city before heading back in through Halcine Canal. Granger passed three more barques before he finally came upon a suitable craft.
She was a Valcinder sloop – a true canal boat, as sleek, quick and narrow as any in Ethugra. Her captain lay snoozing on the open deck, with his boots propped on the gunwale and a Losotan newspaper draped over his head. He woke with a start when Granger jumped down beside him.
‘What? Who the hell-’ He was young and dark, dressed up in one of those smart black uniforms they sold in the Losotan markets – all braid and buttons.
Granger took him for a hire captain or a smuggler. No one else bothered to look so neat. ‘Take me to Halcine Canal,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay.’ He began unravelling the bow line.
The Losotan blinked. ‘I’m waiting for a fare.’
‘You got a fare,’ Granger replied.
‘Not you! I’m supposed to take an Imperial administrator to Chandel.’
Granger threw the bow line at him and kicked off from the wharf. ‘I’m in a hurry,’ he said, ‘and I’m taking this boat to Hal-cine Canal, with or without you at the helm. You’d better choose quickly’ – he inclined his head towards the retreating dock – ‘because you’re running out of time to jump.’
‘You’re not stealing this boat!’
‘Then I’m a paying passenger. Less trouble for both of us.’
The Losotan glanced between Granger and rapidly increasing gulf between his boat and dry land. Then he shook his head and climbed back to the helm. ‘We’ve got to do this fast,’ he said, ‘or I’m going to lose a whole bunch of gilders.’
Granger grunted. ‘Fast suits me just fine.’
Even before they reached his jail, Granger knew he was too late. The flap giving access to his rooms had been torn off and now lay floating on the oily surface of the canal. He leaped onto his wharf, leaving the Losotan hire captain to tie up, and ran up the steps to his garret.
The place was a mess. His cot, furniture and clothes lay strewn across the floor. Even the kitchen cupboards had been torn off the walls and smashed.
But they didn’t have enough time.
They had been looking… for what? Trove? His savings? It didn’t matter. A quick glance was enough to tell him that this had been a rush job. They had started to search the place but had been interrupted. A few floorboards lay ripped up, but the rest were untouched. Piles of tools and junk remained undisturbed where they’d always lain.
Granger didn’t dare to let himself hope. He ran downstairs to the cells.
Their cell door had been forced open, torn partially off its hinges. A feeling of dread gripped him as he waded along the corridor towards it.
He expected their cell to be empty. Every bone in his body told him that he’d find his prisoners missing. And so he wasn’t prepared for what he did find when he heaved the broken door aside and staggered through.
They had taken Ianthe, of course.
But not Hana.
She was lying on her back in the shallow brine, wearing the fancy dress he’d bought for her, a faint wheezing sound coming from her mouth. Almost her entire body had been submerged. Grey blisters covered her arms and legs, and patches of sharkskin had already begun to creep across her face. Her eyes stared at the ceiling from underneath an inch of seawater. Evidently she had swallowed some of it, for her breathing sounded painfully thin and ragged. And yet even now she was still trying to stay alive, forcing her mouth above the waterline to suck in air that her ruined lungs could barely absorb.
Granger approached, careful not to make waves in the brine around her, and squatted down beside her. He was still wearing his whaleskin gloves, and he reached one hand underneath her head to support it and his other hand under her chin. Her eyes moved under the water. She saw him and took a sharp intake of breath.
‘Don’t try to speak,’ he said. ‘Try not to make any sudden movements. Most of your body has already changed, and you need to keep the sharkskin wet. If I lift you out, it’s only going to hurt you even more.’
She took a gulp of air, but didn’t move.
‘Was it Creedy?’ he asked.
She tried to nod, but he held her chin firmly.
‘Don’t nod,’ he said. ‘Can you move your hands? Make a fist for me.’
Under the water, her hand moved away from her side. She clenched it.
‘How many others were with him?’
She held out two fingers.
‘Two other men? Make a fist for yes.’
She clenched her hand again and then relaxed it.
‘Did you recognize them?’
Her hand didn’t move.
‘Do you know where they took her?’
A look of distress came into her eyes, she tried to shake her head, but Granger restrained her. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘You need to keep still.’ She was neither one thing nor the other. Part human, part Drowned. In this condition her lungs wouldn’t last much longer. He could hardly hear her breaths now.
‘You can’t survive like this,’ he said gently. ‘Your lungs have been contaminated. They’re failing. Soon you won’t be able to breathe air. If you keep your mouth above water, you’ll die.’ He kept his gaze fixed firmly on hers. ‘I’m going to push you under.’
She panicked and struggled against him.
He held her firmly. ‘You’ll feel like you’re dying,’ he said. ‘But you won’t. The toxic shock will knock you unconscious, but there’s a decent chance you’ll wake up again. You’ll go on living.’ He could see the terror in her eyes. They both knew she might never regain consciousness – not everyone did – but Granger had no other option. ‘I’ll find Ianthe,’ he said. ‘And I’ll kill the men who took her.’