She went in the lead as they descended through the crevice to the narrow beach at the cove. Melio, just behind her, wore the black tunic stripped from the soldier she had killed, helmet tight on his head. He carried the Ishtat sword unsheathed. He smacked Geena with the flat of it as they scrabbled through the stones. Clytus and Kartholome followed, likewise dressed in stolen garments.
The white-hulled clipper had been driven right up the beach. It dwarfed their battered fishing boat in its shadow, all sharp lines and glossy coating, masts absurdly tall and wide. A rope ladder from the bow descended to the sand. Three sailors sat or stood a little distance down the beach, along with a single figure in Ishtat black. Melio saw one man on the bow and another walking forward from the stern. If there were more, he could not see them.
The trick would not survive more than passing scrutiny, so Melio did what he could to give them a few more seconds. “Hey, Finn,” he called, infusing his voice with mirth, “look what we found.” He shoved Geena, sending her tumbling out the mouth of the crevasse. She landed on the sand, crawled forward, then ran toward the group of sailors on the beach until she saw them, and tried to circle them as if she would dive in the water and swim for it. The men rose to the bait. They spread out to intercept her, trying to hem her in, their hands out as if they were herding a chicken.
Only the Ishtat soldier, Finn most likely, stood where he was. He fixed Melio with his gaze, a question on his lips. And then he noticed Clytus and Kartholome, both of them on the beach now and closing behind Melio. “Who are you?” he snapped. His hand shot to his sword hilt and he began to draw. “Stop right-”
Melio ran the last few steps, sword out at his side. He swung, cutting off the man’s words as his blade sliced through his abdomen. Clytus and Kartholome drew their weapons. Geena dropped flat on the sand just before Kartholome’s throwing stars hissed through the air above her. One scorched by without hitting anyone. The next slammed into one man’s chest. Another hit the base of a second’s neck. A third man caught the twirling steel in a warding palm. He twisted around with the pain and force of it. Melio hit him with his shoulder and carved him as he tripped on his own feet. Clytus arrived, screaming like ten men and hacking with brute force. The sailors were soft sacks for the hewing.
Kneeling a few moments later, hand resting on the hilt of the sword he had sunk into the sand, Melio panted out the fear and exultation. He was not a squeamish killer. He had seen too much violence for that luxury. Nor was he haunted by it afterward, as he knew Mena was. He knew it was necessary. He just didn’t enjoy it much. And, most important, if he had died here, Mena would not have known how he died. He would not have been able to explain it to her, to talk it through, to assess what his death meant to her. That, as much as the actual combat, was the possibility he breathed out onto the beach.
Clytus and Geena took care of the two men on the boat. Still another Clytus found at the stern, trying to climb down into their skiff. This one begged for his life and offered his services as pilot. Clytus seemed willing to consider it, but once aboard Kartholome would not hear of it. He stabbed the man as he had done the first soldier, turned his hunched over body around, grabbed his legs, and hefted him into the sea. Melio watched this as he hung on the ladder, about to climb aboard. He would have to study this Kartholome closely. So far, he hadn’t figured out what to think of him.
I’ll have to study them all closely, he thought.
Once they had checked the ship, named the Slipfin, and confirmed there was no one else aboard, they gathered at the stern. They watched the sea for other vessels as they decided what to do next. Melio assumed they would take a few supplies and flee in the fishing boat. They would sail for home with the news they had gathered, perhaps bring Kartholome along to be further questioned. He had assumed this, but not because he had actually thought it through.
“What if we took this ship?” Geena asked. She stood on the railing, balanced on the balls of her bare feet. “Took it right now and sailed for the Other Lands. We could find Dariel. You said he might be alive, Kartholome. Let’s go get him!”
“How would we do it?” Clytus asked.
“Straight across,” Geena piped.
“This boat is fast,” Kartholome said, “and I’d expect some very decent winds on the Slopes.”
“Faster than the Ballan,” Clytus admitted. “Fast enough to outrun sea wolves?”
Kartholome shrugged. “Could try it. I think some league captain has probably done it. They do treat their clippers with the skin.” He slid his hand over the white coating on the railing, the same that covered the hull and portions of the deck near the bow.
Melio expelled a breath. The others gave him a moment to follow up on it, but he just lifted a palm to the sky and motioned vaguely.
“Melio’s right,” Clytus said. “There’s more than one way. What about going up and over, along the ice?” He cocked his head, lips pursed to warn against hasty judgments. “Might be safer, but it could take months. Longer if we get caught in the ice. It might even drift us backward, or out to sea. Could be a slow death. That’s never been the way I planned to go to the afterdeath.”
“Straight across,” Geena repeated. “It’s faster to our fate no matter what.”
“We’d need supplies,” Kartholome said. “There’s a whaling outpost north of here.” He pulled his beard in thought. “Yes, on a small island. It’s called Bleem. The league used it as a landmark between here and the old platforms. There should be supplies. They outfit ships for long trips. Might even be men on it looking for work.”
“Looking for work?” Melio asked. “You want to gather up a boatful of whalers and head across the Gray Slopes on Queen Corinn Akaran’s business, a rescue mission searching for a prince?”
The other three shared an expression. “Does he always state the obvious like that?” Kartholome asked Clytus.
Clytus did not answer. “We could use another body to crew this thing. Help with the watches. Not to mention some strong arms to throw harpoons, and then again to fight if we ever get there. We could send a message from Bleem. You could write one, yes?” Melio nodded, just an answer, not a commitment. “We send a message to Nineas on the Ballan, and he could send a bird to the queen. They’d know what we were up to, at least.”
“Perilous journey to foreign lands,” Geena said. She was not quite grinning, but there was a mischievous tension twitching her cheeks. “No guarantee of return. Death possible. In case of success, riches beyond imagining!”
“It would work for me,” Kartholome said.
Geena grinned. “Me, too. It’s making me tingle just thinking of it.”
“You’re all mad,” Melio said. “It’s a crazy idea. It’s sailing off the map. Who knows what we’d be sailing into?”
Clytus stood on his toes and scanned the sea a moment. “We could leave it and try to limp back to Tivol in the fishing boat. Might not make that either, though. If we leave the clipper, it’ll be found by tomorrow, and we’d be captured a little after. No good options, as I see it.”
“Look,” Melio said, “I know you all are chancers. You’d have to be to be brigands. You like risk, fair enough. But think for a minute: we sail west… and die. Name the method. There’s a thousand to choose from. If that’s what waits for you over there, would you still say go? Tell me truthfully.”
“I would,” Geena said.
“Aye,” Clytus agreed.
Kartholome shrugged. “Why not? Riches beyond imagining…”
Geena jumped off the railing. She stepped close to Melio, took hold of his arm at the elbow. “I want to do this because Dariel would do it. Don’t you think he would? He’d do it for you. For Clytus. I’d like to think he’d do it for me. Let’s do it for Dariel. If we die… what’s it matter? We’d die in style.”
She was so close and so attractive in a boyish, playful way that he remembered her kiss on the boat after they had both almost drowned, tangled together as close as lovers. And that reminded him of the pledge he had made to Mena. If he lived, he had sworn he would do anything for her. Everything for her. If he had the chance, nothing would stop him. That was what he had thought in his last moments of consciousness.
“All right,” Melio said, “but only because Dariel would do the same for us.”
“We’ll need harpoons,” Kartholome said. “Lots of them.”
“Harpoons?”
Geena said, “A whaling outpost has plenty of those. Come, Melio Sharratt, let’s get to know our new ship. Welcome to the order of brigands.”
