We’re passing a row of lifeboats when I feel a twitch at the back of my eyes. It’s the subtlest of sensations. I’d ignore it any other time. But I’m trying to be alert to the least hint of anything amiss, so I stop and focus. The twitch draws me to the third boat ahead of us. It hangs from hooks high above the deck.
“What is it?” Beranabus whispers. I feel magic build within him. He’s converting the energy in the air into a force he can use.
“Somebody’s there.” I point to the lifeboat. “A man. Hiding from us. He’s using a masking spell.”
“Get ready,” Beranabus says to the others. He points a finger at the hooks. They snap and the boat drops abruptly, landing hard on the deck. The man inside it yelps and tumbles out as the boat keels over.
Sharmila and Dervish step ahead of Beranabus, fingers crackling with pent-up magic. The man shrieks and wildly raises his hands, shouting, “I surrender!”
“Wait!” Sharmila snaps, grabbing Dervish’s arm. “I know him.”
The man pauses when he hears Sharmila’s voice. He stares at her shakily as if he doesn’t believe his ears or eyes.
“Kirilli Kovacs,” Sharmila says.
“I… I recognise you… I think,” he croaks.
“We met several years ago. You were with Zahava Lever. She was your mentor. My name is Sharmila —”
“—Mukherji,” the man says, breaking into a big smile. “Of course. Zavi spoke very highly of you. She said you were a great Disciple, one of the finest. I should have recognised you immediately. My apologies. It’s been a hard few…” He frowns. “I was going to say days, but it’s only been hours.”
“This is one of your lot?” Beranabus sniffs. We’re all a bit mystified. The man is wearing a dark suit, but there are silver and gold stars stitched into the shoulders and down the sides. He sports a thin moustache and is wearing mascara. He looks like a stage magician, not a Disciple.
“This is my cover,” he explains sheepishly. “I ran into fiscal complications…” He clears his throat. “Actually I gambled away my cash and my credit card was taken from me by a woman in… but that’s another story. I had to get on the ship. I could have used magic but it was easier to get a job. So I did, as Kirilli the Konjuror. I’ve used this disguise before. It’s always been effective. I can put on a first-rate stage show when I have to.”
“Your standards are slipping,” Beranabus says to Sharmila. “I might have to review the recruiting policy of the Disciples.”
“I’m of a first-rate pedigree, sir,” Kirilli snaps. “Even the best of us can fall prey to the occasional vice.” He tugs the arms of his jacket straight and glares.
“Zahava said Kirilli was an excellent spy,” Sharmila says. “He is very adept at trailing people and hiding from them. The fact that he survived the massacre here is proof of that. The Disciples need spies as much as they need warriors.”
“Precisely,” Kirilli huffs. “There’s a man for every job, as my dear departed father used to say.”
“I bet he worked in sewerage,” Dervish says drily.
Kirilli flushes, but ignores the jibe. “By the way,” he says stiffly, “I didn’t catch
Beranabus shrugs. “This is Dervish Grady. That’s Bec. I’m Beranabus.”
Kirilli’s jaw drops and he loses his composure completely.
Beranabus winks at me. “I have that effect on a lot of my idolising Disciples.”
“Only until we get to know you,” Sharmila mutters, then addresses Kirilli again. “Can you tell us what happened? Swiftly, please—we do not have much time.”
“That’s really Beranabus?” Kirilli says, wide-eyed. “I thought he’d look more like Merlin or Gandalf.”
“He’ll turn you into a hobbit if you don’t start talking,” Dervish growls.
Kirilli blanches, then scowls. “I was tracking a pair of rogue mages,” he says, adjusting his bow-tie—I spot a playing card up his sleeve. “They were planning to open a window.”
“Why didn’t you stop them?” Dervish asks.
“They were working for somebody else, taking orders from a superior. I wanted to expose their partner. I felt that was more important than stopping the crossing, although I hoped to do that as well.”
“No prizes for guessing who their boss was,” Dervish grimaces. “Ugly cow, disfigured, covered in pus and blood?”
Kirilli nods and shivers. “They were in regular contact, but I couldn’t get a fix on who they were talking to. From what I overheard, it sounded like there were no imminent plans to open the window. They made it sound like they’d be on the boat for months, waiting for an order to act.
“They either knew I was eavesdropping and said that to fool me, or there was a change of plan. Either way, they opened the window earlier today. About twenty demons spat through and set to work on the crew and guests. I managed to shield myself. That’s all I could do. There was no point fighting them—I wouldn’t have stood a chance.” He looks at us appealingly.
“You did all you could,” Sharmila says kindly. “You are a spy, not a warrior. Besides, Disciples never fight when the odds are stacked against them. You have no reason to feel guilty.”
Gratitude sweeps across Kirilli’s face. “I expected the window to close after a few minutes but it stayed open and there was more magic in the air than I’ve ever experienced. The demons went on torturing and slaughtering. They took most of the people below deck. Maybe the sun bothered them and they wanted to do their work in the shade.”
“No,” Beranabus grunts. “Lodestones need blood. They were feeding it.”
“What’s a lodestone?” Kirilli asks but Beranabus waves at him to continue. “Balint and Zsolt— the mages— remained up top. They did their share of killing but nothing to compare with the demons. Not long before you lot arrived that woman… that
“I doubt if she knows herself anymore,” Beranabus says softly.
“She barked orders at the demons and they killed the last few survivors,” Kirilli goes on. “Then they retreated through the window and the woman said a spell to close it. Balint and Zsolt were grinning, mightily pleased with themselves, but she turned on them. Melted them into twin pools of bloody goo. Laughed as they screamed for mercy. Told them they were fools to trust the word of a monster. She lay down and wallowed in their juices when they were dead, then went below deck. That’s when I climbed into the lifeboat.”
“Interesting,” Beranabus murmurs. Then he winks at Sharmila. “This definitely stinks of a trap.”
“So we will leave?” Sharmila asks eagerly.
Beranabus chuckles. “I’ve walked into more traps over the centuries than I can remember. The Demonata and their familiars think they’re masters of cunning but they haven’t got the better of me yet. Let Juni and Lord Loss spring their surprise. I’ll blast a hole in it so big, you could sail this ship through.”
“Are you sure?” Dervish asks uneasily. “Juni was your apprentice. She knows all about you. Maybe you have a weak spot which she plans to exploit.”
Beranabus shrugs. “I love a challenge.”
“I really do not think we should—” Sharmila begins.
“We’ve no choice,” Beranabus snaps. “She’s our only link to the Shadow. It’s a gamble, but this is a time for gambling. I don’t think you understand the stakes. This is the end game. We don’t have the luxury of caution. If we don’t risk all and find out who the Shadow is and what its plans are, the world will fall.” He waves at the corpses around us. “A world of
“Of course not,” she mutters.
“Then trust me. We’re precariously balanced and I might be testing one trap too many, but we can’t play safe. It’s all or nothing now.”
“You truly believe matters are that advanced?” Sharmila asks.
“Aye.” Beranabus’s eyes glitter. “The Disciples have exercised caution over the years because there have always been other battles to fight. But this could be the final battle. Ever. Better to risk all on a desperate gamble than play it safe and hand victory to the Shadow. Aye?”
Sharmila hesitates, then smiles shakily.
“That’s the spirit,” Beranabus booms and heads for the nearest door. Without any sign of fear he leads us
