Tunnel nodded gravely. "Good idea." A moment later, he added, "How will we do this thing?"
"We'll need an explosive, of course," Dariel said. "I think I know where to find one."
They used the cover of darkness to hide them, sailing back around to the west side of Lithram Len. The moon was just a sliver, but the stars were bright and Dariel seemed to have no trouble feeling the contours of the shore and sensing the dangers beneath the black and silvered water. The others were quiet. Dariel could sense their fear rise to a trembling pitch when the glow of the league vessel-crowded harbor illumed the night sky. They were close enough to the shoreline that they saw it first as a hazy smoldering above the dark silhouette of the trees.
As they got nearer, the sky took on a reddish aspect, seeming lower and choked with smoke. Dariel inched the boat around the last headland. The bustling harbor, with its maze of dock works, and the city behind it came into view. It hummed with life just as when they had first seen it.
The moment they were in view, Dariel knew how much they stood out, bright white vessel that they were. Fortunately, the league had already commandeered many Lothan Aklun ships. He saw several moving in the harbor now, even more at dock. Coming around into the light, they were now on display for any eyes that chose to see them. Instead of retreating, the prince willed the boat forward, toward the burning torches and hundreds of workers, each of them an enemy.
"Best to hide in plain sight, right?" Dariel offered. "We still agree on that, don't we?"
No one answered. No one objected either. This was as they had planned, debated, and argued about all afternoon. From what they had observed the first time, there was no way they could get near the harbor without being seen. The night they had passed it during what should have been the dead hours, it was lit too well, was thronging with laborers and Ishtat guards and leaguemen busy making the island theirs, so clearly the time of the day or night would not aid them. In the end they all agreed. They would do just what they were doing now: sail in as if they belonged, as if they knew what they were about and were as intent on their work as any of the others.
It was no perfect plan. It might work. It might not. They could easily be discovered. If they were, they would likely die. But they could not sail away from it without trying. Dariel half wondered why he himself felt such resolution, but only half. He knew how much this was an opportunity to relieve some small portion of the guilt owned by his family. How could he do anything but try to make that happen? Beyond that, it just felt good. Captain of a ship again. With a crew who jumped at his orders, even if he had to explain his needs each time. And they trusted him. They would not let him pilot them into the enemy's mouth otherwise. Skylene had even given him a dagger, a small, straight blade that he had shoved through his belt. Yes, he was one of them for the time being.
Working the ship closer to the docks, he darted his eyes about, searching at the same time he checked for danger. He knew the barrels would be here somewhere. The league never went far without their flaming weapon. It would be stored off the ships if possible, somewhere removed from the center of activity.
There! Yes, there on the far side of the harbor, at the end of a long arm of pier, sat stacks of drums. He knew them by their color: bright red. Hundreds of them. There was activity at the pier next to it, but the area around the barrels was deserted. Calmly, trying to think slower than the pulse beating in his throat, Dariel steered across the harbor, turned and angled in, coming to the docks on the far side, so that they would be sheltered somewhat from view.
Once docked and tied secure, Dariel turned to the waiting crew. "This is it. The pitch in these barrels makes an unholy fire. It'll blast that soul catcher to pieces and leave a fire that'll burn for days there. The more barrels we can get, the better. Let's go, quickly but calmly."
They could not be sure that the league used the people as laborers yet. Since slaves kept by the Lothan Aklun weren't necessarily adorned in the same ways, those with the most noticeable signs of "belonging" stayed hidden. Skylene, Tunnel, the two others of the Kern clan, and Birke crouched on the far side of the deck. Under Dariel's direction, the others began the work of shifting the barrels from the pier to the boat.
The next pier over seemed to be closer each time Dariel glanced at it. Fortunately, the boat moored there was on the far side, and the attention was thus directed away from them. A group of Ishtat Inspectorate guards stepped off the vessel and stood for a time talking beside it. Dariel kept up the motions of loading and securing, but he watched them every chance he got. He just caught the scent of the mist pipe one of them was smoking. Enjoy it, he thought. Just relax and enjoy the pipe and don't turn around.
The barrels were heavy enough that they had to be tilted and rolled along on their rims, and then carefully leaned from the dock into the hands on board the ship waiting for them. This last move in particular needed to be done slowly, as demonstrated when Tam let a drum loose too soon. It crashed down on the edge of the deck and teetered a moment. Then it fell back against the pier and splashed into the harbor's gray waters.
"Forget it," Dariel said. "Keep going."
"I'm sorry," Tam said. "I thought-"
"It's floating," another observed.
Dariel cursed. There was no retrieving it, as it bobbed under the pier, just out of reach. "Leave it," he said, hoping it would stay trapped among the pier's many pylons. Tam continued to apologize, but Dariel cut him off, not as kindly as Skylene had been with him earlier. "Just keep working. Try to look like you know what you're doing."
A few minutes more, and Tunnel had had enough of waiting. He crammed himself into Birke's shirt, though he could not button it and his bulk threatened to burst the seams of the shoulders. He went to work, and Dariel was glad he did. Where the rest struggled to carry one barrel between them, Tunnel somehow got his arms around two at a time, carrying one under each arm. With this help, the stacked rows on the boat's main deck grew quickly. Dariel kept busy making sure they were properly secured. A few more minutes and they could-
"Dariel?" It was Skylene. Just one word, but the tone in which she spoke it told him everything. Instead of looking at her, he scanned the docks. He spotted the problem quickly.
An Ishtat guard stood at the end of their pier, watching them. Dariel turned to Skylene and, with a motion of his eyes, reminded her to stay hidden. By the time he had turned around again, the guard had started toward them.
"We're going to have company," Dariel said, just loud enough for those hefting the barrels to hear him. "Keep working. Except you, Tunnel-get out of sight."
The Ishtat strode toward them now, eyes fixed. He wore the cloak of his order, bright white and trailing behind him as he walked. A thin sword hung at his side, and one gloved hand rested on its hilt. "Hey!" he called. "What are you doing? You think you can just drop barrels of league pitch to float away? Look!" He pointed toward the water on the other side of the pier. The barrel had floated free. "Get out there and fetch that!"
Dariel bowed his head and motioned his apology with his hands. He called the others and acted as if he would just pull out and pick up the floater. The man carried on toward them, however. As he got closer his steps slowed. And when he was near enough to make out individuals, he squinted, for a moment so perplexed he could manage nothing else. And then he said, "Who are you? You aren't one of ours."
Dariel smiled. "I?" He leaped from the deck to the pier and walked toward the Ishtat, holding an amiable expression. "Who am I?" He laughed and cocked his head in a manner that suggested he had a story to tell, one that would explain all this, one that would make them both laugh, even if the tale did not make the teller seem entirely free of guilt.