Frozen

“I’m guessing ten days,” Wes said, studying the route. “More or less.” He told her that, as many runners had guessed, New Crete was the closest port, but many ships had crashed or beached or gotten lost in the dangerous waters of the Hellespont. This route sketched a hidden, winding passage through the uncharted waters, to an island in the middle of an archipelago. There were a hundred tiny islands in that grouping; no one knew which was the one that led to the Blue. Except for this map.

He gave it back to her to hold.

“Don’t you want it?” she asked, almost daring him.

“What would I do with it?” he asked her, his voice soft.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

For a long time, Wes did not answer. Nat thought maybe he had fallen asleep. Finally, she heard his voice. “I wanted it once,” he said. “But not anymore. Now I just want to get you where you need to go. But do me a favor, okay?”

“Anything,” she said, feeling that warm tingle all over again. He was so close to her, she could reach out and touch him if she wanted, and she wanted, so very badly . . .

“If Shakes ever asks you about it—tell him you got it a five-and-dime store.”

She joined him in laughter, but they both froze, as the sound of the wailer broke over the waves again— that awful, horrible scream—the sound of a broken grief—a keening—echoing over the water—filling the air with its mournful cries . . .

That thing, whatever it was, was still out there. They were not alone.

Part the Fourth

COMRADES AND CORSAIRS

Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

Drink and the devil had done for the rest

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

-TRADITIONAL PIRATE SONG

29

WITH THE SAILS IN PLACE, THE TRIP moved in small, quick bursts, gaining speed and putting miles behind them, or none at all, as the ship moved at the mercy of the wind. Wes was on deck, in the crow’s nest at the top of the mast. He squinted. A small light emerged from the fog. It grew brighter and closer, and Wes could hear voices from the craft.

A ship!

Rescue!

Wes was not the type to believe in miracles but, against his better nature, he began to hope. If it was a mercenary ship, he might be able to make some sort of a trade—he just hoped it wasn’t a naval boat or a slaver. Then they were sunk. But if it was a fellow merc . . . Wes believed there was honor among thieves, among traders and vets and runners like him who worked on the fringes. Sure, they were scavengers and sellouts, losers and gamblers, but they had to work together, or they would be picked off one by one by the RSA, who would either throw them all in the pen or shoot them on sight, or by the slavers, who were far more dangerous and answered to no authority but their own.

He hadn’t told Shakes that Nat had told him about the stone, that she had confirmed it to be what they had suspected all along, and had even offered it to him. Why had he turned it down? He was supposed to take it— steal it from her—it was just a game to see who would win, who would give in first. Could he trick her into trusting him? He had won at last. So why did he feel as if he had lost?

She trusted him, so why was he so melancholy? Because Shakes would be disappointed, and didn’t he owe the guy his life? And more? Nah. It wasn’t that. Because if he’d accepted the stone and sold it to Bradley, they would be set up, rewarded, hailed as kings of New Vegas? Nah. It wasn’t that, either. Bradley could jump off a cliff as far as Wes was concerned, and as far as riches went, all he needed was a decent meal and a place to sleep and he was happy. He was in a bad mood because now they were closer to their destination than ever before. Only ten days away, and once they arrived there, he would never see her again.

That was what was bothering him.

There was nothing he could do to change that, nothing he could do to make her stay. He hadn’t planned on feeling this way, but there it was. Oh well, maybe he could make it up to Shakes somehow. Maybe today was their lucky day. There was a ship on the horizon.

“You see it?” he asked, climbing down to where Shakes was already at the rails with binoculars.

“Yeah. A boat.”

“What kind?”

“Hard to say.” Shakes handed over the binoculars and scratched the scruff on his chin. “Take a look.”

Wes did and his heart sank. It was a mercenary ship all right, but it was much worse off than theirs, without motor or sail. Just another unlucky crew like his, maybe even unluckier. The hull had a huge hole in it, but unlike their boat, it wasn’t patched, and the deck was quickly filling with dark water. It was sinking and was likely going to capsize at any moment. It was the ship’s luck to run into them, not the other way around.

He zeroed in on the crowd huddled on the deck. Through the green lenses, he could see a family with small children. They were waving frantically. Wes handed the binoculars back to Shakes, calculating the risks, the odds. Five more mouths to feed, he counted. Two of them children. They had so little already, they couldn’t possibly stretch their supplies any more; the soldiers were already eating bark. What could he offer this family?

His boys were massed on the deck, awaiting orders. The broken ship had drifted nearer, and now all of them could see who was on board and what was at stake. Wes knew how the Slaine brothers would vote, and Farouk would probably agree, although the adventure he had expected wasn’t turning out quite as he had hoped. They were all cold, hungry, and lost. But Shakes was ready with the rope, and Nat looked at him expectantly.

“We can’t just stand here and do nothing,” she said, almost daring him to argue with her.

“When you save someone’s life, you’re responsible for it.” Wes sighed. But even with his misgivings, he took the rope and threw it overboard, and someone on the other boat caught it. Better to let them drown, he thought; it was probably more merciful. But if he were that kind of guy, they would be heading to Bradley with Anaximander’s Map in hand and Nat in the brig.

With Shakes’s help, they pulled the sinking boat closer, and one by one the soldiers helped the family climb up on deck. The first to board was a young woman, draped in heavy black robes, her entire body and face covered in the black fabric so that only her eyes were visible.

“Thank you,” she croaked, taking Shakes’s outstretched hand. “We thought no one would ever find us out here.” Then she noticed his fatigues and shuddered. “Oh god . . .”

“Relax, we’re just a bunch of vets,” Shakes assured her.

Following behind her were a mother, father, and two children. The group of them huddled in a blanket. The parents were deathly ill, with pale and gaunt faces, profoundly malnourished, and Wes guessed they had been out here for several weeks with little water or food, and whatever there was to eat or drink had been given to the children.

“Where’s the captain?” he asked, taking the rope. The girl and the family must have been cargo; they looked like pilgrims searching for the Blue. This had to be a mercenary ship, but where was the crew?

He took the rope and climbed down to the sinking ship. Since he’d opted to do the right thing, he had to see it all through.