Night seemed to fall quickly, though his sense of time slipped away as delirium took hold. As disciplined as his mind was it remained susceptible to the depredations of persistent cold, thirst and hunger. A short exploration of the surrounding water had discovered a shattered piece of life-boat. Sirus clung to it, managing to keep the upper half of himself out of the water to stave off the deadly chill. From the diminishing screams of the Protectorate sailors not far off, it seemed most of them had not been so lucky.
The temptation to let go of his fear was strong, his resolve leeching away with every passing hour. What does it matter now? he pondered, too numb to feel the pain of the all-encompassing chill. Let her see it all. The last testament of a dying man.
For some reason Katrya’s face came to him as his mental defences began to erode, threatening to reveal his scheming, his desperate desire for release from this bondage. It was Katrya who stopped him. Her face was not the one she wore when he killed her. This was her human face, the pale, frightened visage of the young woman he had sheltered with in the Morsvale sewers. Why are they doing this? she had whispered to him then as they huddled beneath a drain cover listening to the horrors unfolding in the streets above. What do they want?
He had no answer for her then, but he had one now. Because they hate us, and they want everything.
He let out a shout as consciousness returned, thrashing in the water and nearly losing his grip on the wreckage. Hold on to the fear! he commanded himself, summoning the sensations he had stolen from the drowning Spoiled. It was possible there were others in the army who had learned how to mask their thoughts in the same manner and he was determined not to allow Catheline to learn the secret. Give her nothing. Even if you die here.
So he clung to his flotsam, shivering in fear and cold as the night wore on until the first slivers of sunlight snaked through the clouded eastern sky. Finally, the last of his strength seeped away and his hands lost purchase on the wreckage. He lay back as the swell carried him off, waiting for the sea to claim him and staring up at the dimly lit clouds . . . Then blinked as a large black shape soared into view, folded its wings and dived down towards him, claws extending.
Katarias, Sirus thought as the Red plucked him from the water and beat his wings to strike out on a westward course. Before Sirus slipped into unconsciousness he entertained the notion that the drake had found him hours before but delayed his rescue, curious to see how long he would last.
His new flagship was a diminutive mail-carrier recently renamed the Fallen Stock. She had a single paddle at the stern driven by the most recent mark of steam engine. Sirus recalled from the inventory provided by Veilmist, the Island girl turned mathematical genius, that this craft was the fastest civilian vessel they possessed. It seemed he had Catheline to thank for ordering the mail-carrier to follow the ill-fated battle fleet as added insurance.
Katarias had dumped his inert form on the fore-deck before taking perch on the small ship’s bridgehouse. The drake’s weight was sufficient to buckle the ceiling and cause the ship to dip several inches. Sirus spent a day in delirious slumber belowdecks, being fed broth by his Spoiled crewmates until he returned to full consciousness. Once again he found himself marvelling at the fortitude of his remade body. An ordeal that would certainly have killed his human form was now little more than a daylong inconvenience.
Welcome back, Admiral, Catheline’s thoughts greeted him when he made his way to the bridge the following morning. May I say how gratified I am by your survival, sir. This whole enterprise would be much less entertaining without you.
You do me too much credit, miss, he replied. My orders?
Sadly, it seems your mighty efforts proved in vain. She pushed a vision into his head. It showed an eye-level view of the sea, the waves swept by gusts of thick smoke. The vision kept fading to grey before springing back into clarity, from which Sirus deduced it had been captured by an injured Spoiled near the point of exhaustion. There, Catheline said, freezing the memory and dispelling any extraneous detail to focus on a vague shape in the smoke. Spoiled eyes were capable of capturing much more detail than human vision so even through the haze it was possible to discern the shape of a life-boat. Catheline magnified the image, revealing the slim form of a woman seated at the stern of the boat.
Lizanne Lethridge, Sirus commented, stoking his fear to conceal the twinge of admiration for the woman’s resourcefulness.
Isn’t she just so appallingly aggravating? Catheline replied. The poor fellow who saw this didn’t last much longer, I’m afraid. But it seems the boat was heading west. It’s possible the sea may claim her before she finds rescue, but I doubt our luck is that good. Follow her, my dear faithful Admiral. Find out her destination then await us. We are coming. All of us.
CHAPTER 9
Lizanne
“What is that?” Makario said, peering at the western horizon. Lizanne followed his gaze, regretting the lack of Green to enhance her vision. Spending the better part of two days in this life-boat with no provisions or product had left them all in a state of chilled lethargy, apart from Sofiya Griffan, who maintained the same rigid and silent posture throughout. Lizanne found her vision blurring as she tried to focus on the small speck in the distance, hoping not to discern the flap of wings as it drew nearer. However, it was Tinkerer who solved the mystery
“An aerostat,” he said, his brow furrowed as if trying to recall something out of reach. “I don’t know how I know that.”
“The Artisan knew it,” Lizanne said. “It seems not everything is locked away after all.”
It took an hour for the aerostat to draw close enough for Lizanne to make out its two occupants. A diminutive figure sat in front manning what Lizanne assumed were the contraption’s controls whilst a person of considerably bulkier proportions tended to what appeared to be some kind of flaming brazier situated in the middle of the gondola.
“A caloric oil burner,” Tinkerer observed. “Hot air is a reasonable alternative to a chemical lifting agent. Though the design is crude.”
“I’d advise strongly against telling him that,” Lizanne said.
She waved her arms as the aerostat slowed to an uneven hover a hundred feet above. The propeller on the single engine at the stern spun fast enough to blur its blades but seemed to be having difficulty making headway against the prevailing westerly winds. She saw Jermayah lean over the side of the gondola and drop something. It splashed into the water a few feet shy of the life-boat’s bows where it bobbed on the surface until Makario retrieved it with one of the oars. It was a tarpaulin sack rigged with floats, quickly opened to reveal a large flask of water, some loaves and cured ham and, to Lizanne’s great relief, one small vial of Green.
She looked up as Jermayah shouted something from above, the words mostly swamped by the noise of the engine and the wind but she was sure she caught the word “back.” She saw Tekela give a wave before returning her hands to the controls whereupon the aerostat turned about and flew off towards the west. It seemed to Lizanne that its departure had been much swifter than its approach.