At the back of the cabin, the Mocrassar shifted, its claws clicking on the plastic deck. Fresh from the molting cell, its stink was particularly vile, but Corean had long ago learned to ignore the odor. It was, after all, the stink of wealth — no one but the very rich possessed Mocrassar bondwarriors.
She descended to the cargo bay, where Marmo lay clamped in a repair frame. The lower half of the cyborg’s face showed pale sweat-beaded flesh, but he had regained consciousness and a faint smile trembled on his thin lips. “How are you doing?” Corean asked curtly.
“Much better, thank you,” Marmo answered.
Corean sniffed. Her feelings toward the old pirate were ambiguous. He had been with her for a long time, he was the closest thing to a friend she possessed, he had always found ways to be useful. On the other hand, he must have committed some act of incompetence. How else could Ruiz Aw have managed to take the boat?
“What happened, Marmo?” She strove to contain her annoyance.
The cyborg’s oculars shifted focus with a tiny whine, as if he were no longer looking at Corean, but at some memory. “He bested me. I know nothing of what happened to Ayam and Banessa, except that they must both be dead.”
“Yes.” Corean had found the giantess’s vast corpse and Ayam’s smaller remains, covered with gorged carrion birds, near the place where she had recovered Marmo’s power cell. “Can’t you be more specific?”
“It was Ayam’s watch, just after midnight. I was in the control blister, Banessa in her cabin. The next thing I knew, Ruiz Aw jumped through the hatch, grinning like a demon, whirling some primitive weapon at me. I got off a burst — I carried a splinter gun — but somehow I missed and the chains snapped tight around me. I was helpless for a moment, then Ruiz Aw fired some chemical-energy ballistic weapon at me, which knocked the gun out of my hand.” Marmo drew a deep breath. “It went downhill from there, and soon I was on my back and Ruiz Aw was sawing through my neck with a dull knife. He gave me no choice but to cooperate.”
“You might have chosen to die — rather than betray me.”
Marmo sighed. “Perhaps. But I must tell you, I don’t think it would have helped much. The man is not entirely human. Are you certain you wish to pursue him? It might be more trouble than it’s worth.”
Corean stared at him. What was wrong with the old monster? In his pirate days, he must have suffered more grievous defeats — the scarce flesh that still clung to his mechanisms testified to terrible wounds. What was Ruiz Aw but a clever trickster with good reflexes?
“Well,” Marmo said. “Never mind — if you must have him, I’d help, as always. But let us take a vow not to underestimate him again, and to be very very careful.”
“Marmo,” she said. “He’s hurt me badly, in many ways. I must inflict greater pain on him, before I can be happy again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Corean,” he said in the faintest of whispers.
Ruiz Aw reached the bank where Nisa and Molnekh stood, and looked north.
“What is it, Ruiz?” asked Nisa.
He wasn’t quite sure. There seemed to be a flotilla of barges approaching, but they shouldn’t have been so clearly visible at that distance. He squinted against the shine that reflected from the water, and waited.
A moment later he saw that the barges carried high eccentric superstructures, large strange faces, perhaps the forms of animals. They looked a bit like floats in a parade.
“Wait here,” he told them. “If you see me get aboard, then you get ready to jump on. If something happens to me, run away.” He set off toward the approaching barges at his best speed.
A few seconds later he was only fifty meters from the leading barge, and he darted off the bank into a concealing tangle of vines.
There was too much to see in the moments he had to make a decision. There were six barges, all somewhat longer than the cargo carrier that had earlier passed, and with higher topsides. The sculptural forms welded to their otherwise featureless decks were disturbing, even frightening. At the prows were the handsome elongated faces of beautiful men and women, far too large for the crouching human figures into which they merged — as if megalocephalic steel giants knelt on the decks of the barges. The faces displayed expressions of detached delight — wide eyes, cool smiles. The sculptures had been anodized in rich primary colors, and the sexual characteristics of the figures were exaggerated; breasts were massive pendulous billows splayed across the deck from gunwale to gunwale, penises were great veined tree trunks, running the length of the decks and curving up under the figures’ chins. Great swaying chains ran from heavy belts at the figures’ waists to the gunwales on either side.
But he saw no evidence that the decks were otherwise crewed. The first barge passed in a rush of foam; Ruiz observed two standard security locks set into the topsides, fore and aft. He saw no evidence of automated weaponry — which meant nothing much.
The second barge was gone. Ruiz dared delay no further. When the third barge drew even with him, he jumped from concealment and ran alongside for a dozen steps. He could barely keep up; the others would have to be helped. He veered toward the bank, leaped, landed successfully on the deck grating.
Nothing destroyed him, and he shouted for the others to be ready. The barge approached the landing swiftly.
He heard Dolmaero calling, getting the others into the positions he’d planned, and felt a rush of gratitude for the Guildmaster’s competence.
Nisa was running alongside, and he caught her as she jumped, keeping her from sprawling. He set her on her feet and turned, just in time to catch Dolmaero’s outstretched arm as the Guildmaster missed his footing and started to fall toward the water. Dolmaero’s weight threatened to jerk Ruiz from his feet, but he heaved with all his strength and drew him, floundering on his belly, onto the deck.
Before he could set and turn around, Flomel hit him, grabbing at his splinter gun as he bounced off Ruiz’s left side. Rage blinded Ruiz. He crouched and whirled, bringing up his arm and bunching his fist into a heavy ball. He struck Flomel’s forehead at full extension. The conjuror flew back, smashed loose-limbed into a great steel thigh, spilled bonelessly to the deck — but the gun he had somehow reached bounced off the deck and twinkled into the canal.
Molnekh appeared at Ruiz’s side; apparently he was much more agile than the others. He started to reach out toward Ruiz, but then looked at his face and cringed away, raising his hands protectively. “Be calm,” he squeaked. “The damage is done, and Flomel has paid for it.”
“Paid for it?” Ruiz said, struggling for control. “If he’s dead, he got off easy.”
Nisa knelt beside the mage, who indeed looked like a corpse. “He’s breathing. Let’s throw him in the canal,” she said, her face paper-white except for two red spots at her cheeks.
Her expression was single-mindedly feral, and somehow it shocked Ruiz from his rage. He wondered if he looked like that — though surely his hard face was more practiced at ferocity than her smooth young one. “No,” said Ruiz. “Leave him alone. If he lives, I’m going to sell him to the first slaver I meet. If ever a man deserved to be a slave, Flomel does.”
Ruiz directed his flock to stay put until he had examined the barge for dangers. Dolmaero nodded somberly. Nisa patted him gently. Molnekh was busy tugging Flomel into a more comfortable position and didn’t look up.