"It's execution time."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
"IT'S A TRADITION of mass executions to sail into port leaving a trail of blood in the sky," said Captain Dentius to his audience. "But that only works when you're near a sun. It's the visibility that's important, you see—justice must be seen to be done, eh?" He looked down at Venera and grinned. The grin had the intense focus of a man who's on stage and acting a part.
"So," he declaimed, "we pirates of winter have invented an alternative method. Rather man tying you all to the outside of your ship and riddling you with bullets, or slicing your arteries with knives and then flying into port trailing a grand banner of blood… rather than that, we choose to announce our executions with fire.
"This will be a truly grand spectacle!" he shouted. Dentius had his feet hooked into two leather straps on a T-bar that surmounted a long pole. The pole had been thrust out the side of the Rook so that he stood outside it, in commanding view of both his own ship and the Rook. Two of his lieutenants were similarly perched, and tied to the cross-piece by their wrists were Venera Fanning and Aubri Mahallan.
"Dentius, please," murmured Aubri. "You won't lose face if you spare these men. It—"
"Silence," he hissed at her. "I've already lost face." He turned back to the vista of the rope-twined ships. The portholes and hangar doors of the pirate were wide open, and everywhere lanterns were aimed at the Rook. The bright light obscured whatever waited in the darkness; it was as if only these two ships existed in the entire universe. As far as we're concerned, Venera thought, that might as well be true.
The crew of the Rook were tied in nets that trailed behind the ship on long ropes. Three pirates carrying a bag of kerosene and a mop were moving systematically around the nets, slopping fuel over the men of Slipstream.
Venera had also asked Dentius to spare the men. Not that shed begged; he might have felt he had leverage on her if he thought she cared overmuch for them. And she didn't, of course; but one pair of eyes glaring up at her from the bullet-scarred hull of the Rook belonged to Chaison. He had survived and his men had not given him away. both facts impressed Venera.
"Have you considered that some of these airmen might make good converts?" she asked now.
"They're Slipstreamers," Dentius said. "The original pirates. You execute pirates when you catch them, you know."
It was humiliating to be tied at the feet of these odorous maggot-colored men. She'd see them dead as soon as humanly possible. The thought cheered her somewhat, until she glanced back at the tangles of bodies hanging from the Rook.
Would her plan work with the degree of uncontrolled fire that was likely to be trailing the Rook in the next hour or so? She somehow doubted it; after all, if she played her hand now Dentius could always belay the fire and have the Slipstreamers shot instead.
She almost opened her mouth anyway to give Dentius her ultimatum—but he was addressing the crowd. "We will be rendezvousing with the rest of our ships within the hour," he shouted. "We've seen their semaphores blinking in the night air. The little Slipstream fleet has been utterly destroyed. To celebrate, as we sail into formation with our brothers, you will light our way. And your smoke will trail behind us for a hundred miles—two hundred miles!" His men cheered and Dentius raised a fist.
Dentius had come to her last night, and she'd submitted to his dark attentions. Venera's revulsion for the man had reached an almost religious pitch; she hadn't felt such intensity of emotion since the bandages were removed and she first saw her scar in the mirror. Yet she'd known he was waiting for her to try something. He would have happily taken the pretext to kill her, she knew. So instead of reaching for a hatpin or the comfortable heaviness of her jewel box, she had lain there and listened to him talk. He was a man crushed beneath the weight of his own history.
Dentius had once been a captain in the Aerie navy. Upon the fall of his nation he had escaped into winter along with some of his compatriots. But he still dreamt of a triumphant return, someday. Despite his own better judgment, the notion that the treasure of Anetene might be real had seized his imagination. He couldn't help talking about what he might do with a king's ransom in money: build a fleet and free his homeland. In his own mind, Dentius was still an embattled airman, biding his time. He was not really a pirate, though he acknowledged that he must play the role.
Venera had lain there with an arm across her eyes, willing him to shut up and the while he tried to justify and magnify his own existence.
Now he was clinging to the attention his men were giving him. "Are you ready?" he bellowed. The torch men raised their fists over their heads. "All right then. Light 'em up!"
Venera had to speak now or it would be too late. But it would do no good. As the first screams rose from the nets, Venera could only look away. Beside her, Aubri Mahallan was sobbing.
"All engines ahead slow," directed Dentius. "We want just a whiff of a breeze to stroke that fire back over the rest of them." The crew of the pirate were whisting and hooting now, a din to match that of the screaming coming from the Rook. Dentius looked down over it all like some pale bird on his perch, and laughed.
Venera became aware of the cracking sound only after something flickered in her peripheral vision. She turned to look but it was gone. Then, turning back, she blinked at the sight of twenty bikes swooping out of the darkness. Flashes from rifle fire lit them and suddenly Dentins's pirates were tumbling from the nets. Red dots of blood gleamed in the firelight.
"Get them!" Dentius began hastily clambering down the long pole, his lieutenants behind him. That left Venera and Aubri Mahallan pinned like targets between the ships.
The deep thrum of engines signaled the appearance of five cylindrical shadows. The Severance, the Tormentor, the Unseen Hand, the Clarity, and the Arrest fell into a star formation around the Rook and its captor. Droning bikes and gunfire filled the air.
The fires on the nets were going out. At the same time, the ropes connecting them tautened and the helpless men were drawn in until they were pressed against the hull of the Rook.
Now the pole holding Venera and Mahallan wobbled and began to move. They were being drawn into the Rook, she thought in relief. It was better armored than Dentius's own ship. Moments later she found herself on the bridge with Mahallan, Dentius, and his lieutenants. One of them slammed the metal hatch and the horrible sounds coming from outside dampened somewhat.
"Wait for it," said Dentius with a nervous chuckle. He pretended to count off seconds on his fingers. Before he reached ten, the sound of gunfire ceased.
He blew out a sigh of relief. "We've lashed their men to our hull," he said with satisfaction. "The bastards know they can't fire on this ship or they'll hit their own crew. We've got 'em by the balls." He turned to the pilot. "Let's get the hell out of here."
"If you try to leave they're likely to fire anyway," Venera pointed out. "They'll target the engines."
Dentius shrugged angrily. "Who cares?" He turned to the boy who'd taken over the semaphore chair. "Send 'em a message. Tell 'em if they fire we'll start shooting the prisoners. The ones we lit up have gone out, right? Maybe they'll take that as a good sign." He rubbed his chin. "All we have to do is make the rendezvous and we're home free."
Venera felt a languorous wave of spiteful pleasure wash over her. "No, Dentius, you're trapped," she said with a smile. "Just one rocket in the wrong place and this ship is going to explode."
He had looked away from her and was about to say something to his men. Now Dentius turned, a quizzical look on his face. "What did you say?"
"You really think I shot the bridge staff because they knew our destination?" She laughed. "They were going to scuttle the ship, Dentius. I stopped them. But after I did that, I armed all the charges myself—and broke off the key in the control box's lock." She pointed.