Dark the Night Descending (The Paderborn Chronicles Book 1) Page 4

  “It’s sure as hell made a fool out of me,” said Arran. “I’m going to hang for this.”

  “Somehow I don’t think so,” Elargwyd said, carefully replacing the sheet and putting the lid back on as easily as if the timber was made out of paper. “Roydin would not risk transporting such a thing without making sure that someone friendly was going to receive it on the other end.”

  “Before or after the customs captain inspects me?”

  “Maybe the captain is his man,” she suggested, pushing the nails back in one by one.

  Arran shook his head. “I can’t take that chance.”

  “Then what will you do?”

  “I don’t - I don’t know.”

  “I can help,” she offered.

  “You? Why?”

  “It is never a good thing when someone like me comes in contact with the authorities, even incidentally,” she said. “I would not like to get involved in such a serious affair. Again, our interests align. It’s as simple as that.”

  It was hard to make out her expression in the dim light, and Arran was getting nervous that they might be heard and discovered. He wasn’t entirely sure he believed her, but he wasn’t entirely sure about anything now that magnitude of his new problem began to settle its weight into his mind. He would be lucky just to be hanged. Being hanged meant that the Guild hadn’t gotten to him first.

  “I don’t want to stay here to talk about it,” he said. “Come to my cabin, at least. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a drink.” Elargwyd nodded and motioned for him to lead the way. “After you,” he said, standing aside. He wasn’t about to let her follow behind him in the dark just yet, especially with that crowbar still lying around.

  “I’ll take a sherry, if you have it,” she said, sitting primly at the folding table as he rummaged through his cabinet.

  “Port,” he said apologetically, holding up the tail end of the only bottle that seemed appropriate. When he drank liquor, it wasn’t for the taste. If he wanted to get drunk, the bottom shelf rotgut would do the job just as well as a fifty pound brandy. He rarely had guests who weren’t accustomed to the same mentality.

  “It will do, thank you,” she said.

  “So how exactly are we going to find our way out of this mess?” he asked as she sipped carefully at her glass, hiding her opinion reasonably well.

  “I can have my people take care of it long before we see land again.”

  “What does that mean, exactly? Throw it overboard? I can do that without any help if I wanted to.”

  “Yes, and you’d be facing some very angry people on both ends of your journey.”

  “How will you change that?”

  She put the glass down and pushed it away from her a little bit. “We can deliver it for you, but make no mention of your name. Roydin will get his payment from his buyer, and you can forget it ever happened.”

  “But I won’t get the thousand pounds Roydin promised me upon delivery,” he reminded her.

  “No, you won’t,” she agreed. “But it isn’t really lost money. Up until Roydin’s men showed up, you had not been counting on it.”

  “I’m counting on it now.”

  “Would you rather have a thousand pounds or your life?”

  “That’s a more difficult question than you might think,” he told her.

  “I doubt it. Let’s be reasonable.”

  “What do I need to pay your folk? There’s always a price.”

  “There is,” she acknowledged, standing up and moving closer to him. “A simple thing.”

  “Ah,” he said, leaning back in his chair and trying not to immediately run off as she approached him. “Listen, you’re very – you’re very convincing and all, but I can’t say you’re exactly – um, human. In that way. In any way, actually.”

  “Don’t be absurd. We are equally revolting to each other in that regard. That isn’t what I want from you. I just want to see this,” she said, pulling at his necklace again. This time, she freed it from his shirt before he could grab it from her, and she quickly twisted the chain tight around his throat as she examined the pendant, holding it just taut enough to stop him from having any ideas about moving even an inch.

  “It’s just a charm,” he said as she examined the jewelry. “Why do you care?”

  “Your caul,” she said, touching the piece of paper framed in the middle, stained with a swipe of brownish remnants from his birth.

  “It’s supposed to be good luck against drowning. A peasant tradition. My mother gave it to me. That’s all.”

  “That isn’t all,” she said, turning the locket over to look closely at the smooth, curving back, the silver worn bright where it rubbed against his skin. “There’s something else. I smelled red iron on you when we first met.”

  “I doubt it,” he said, trying to sound incredulous, but she just gave him a look and he shut his mouth again.

  “I want it,” she told him.

  “You can’t have it.”

  “Are you in a position to be giving me orders?” she said, tightening the cord a little.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he warned, but that just set her to laughing.

  “You can’t hurt me, dear. Now, it’s time for you to give me this –” she said, yanking the chain so hard that it broke and came free in her hand, “and I will call my friends to take that pesky cargo so that we can be on our way.”

  “Give it back to me,” he said calmly as she stepped away, allowing him to stand up. “Give it back before I have every last man on this ship come in here armed and ready.”

  Elargwyd smirked and raised her hand above her head. She spoke a strange word that snapped from her mouth like she had two tongues, and instantly there was an immense roll of thunder and a surprised shout from the lookout. In the same moment, a curtain of torrential downpour swept itself around the ship, cloaking them in impenetrable mist.

  The vessel lurched forward dangerously as the sea roared in fury, and Arran stumbled. As he steadied himself on the table, he heard a deep, sickening crack that could only be the mizzenmast, laden with all the canvas of a clear and gentle night, snapping clean in two at the force of the gale the neneckt had called up around them.

  She was gone – she had slipped outside while he was distracted. Out the cabin’s rearward window, he could see a wretched tangle of wood and canvas trailing over the stern, dragging the ship sideways into the oncoming crests. The dull thudding of axes into the rail pounded in his head as he forgot all about the amulet and rushed to help the men with the pressing task of cutting away the wreckage to allow the ship to glide more freely over the tumultuous waves.

  It was pouring. The rain lashed his face as soon as he emerged from the shelter of the cabin, a howling gust of wind pushing him backwards like the hand of an angry giant. He couldn’t see where Elargwyd had gone – he couldn’t even see his fingers in front of him as he reached for an axe and began chopping blindly at every rope he could find.

  Someone shouted something in his ear. Someone grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, pointing forward. A smear of red caught his eye. Elargwyd. The sailor thought she was in danger, having been caught on deck in the storm.

  Arran shoved the axe into the other man’s hand and tried to make his way towards the murky shape, but another explosion of thunder, so close as to sound like they were inside the cloud, instinctively made him duck down towards the deck, as if he expected the rumble to be followed by fire.

  He couldn’t see her anymore. It was so thickly dark that he couldn’t even see the lanterns swinging from the remaining masts. And if there were no lanterns, he suddenly realized, then the lookouts couldn’t see any evidence of the Siheldi, who might use the unexpected storm to their advantage – if Elargwyd hadn’t already called them down upon the hapless crew to cover her escape.

  Arran tried to skid to a halt on the wet deck, but ended up losing his footing, his knee jamming painfully into the bottom of the rail, smashing his forehead o
n the corner of the wood. He cursed as he grabbed his ringing head, but it was impossible to tell if the wetness was blood or just rainwater. It didn’t matter. There were fifteen different dire things to do and barely a moment to do any of them. Wounds could wait.

  Durville was gesturing and calling something upwards, he realized, and he breathed a little easier as the one of the lanterns sputtered to life under the protection of someone’s jacket. One less thing to worry about. He hoped.

  “Get us moving again,” he yelled into Durville’s ear when he finally staggered over to the master. The ship was listing horribly – the wreckage might have pierced the hull underneath the waterline – and Elargwyd would be the only one pleased with a watery grave. He caught sight of her dress again through the murk and left Durville behind, bewildered by his sudden disappearance at such a critical time.

  “Stop her!” he shouted, to a group of men nearby. No one heard him. It wouldn’t matter if they had heard him, he thought with a sinking heart, because they weren’t his men. They were neneckt, naked as fishes, their vaguely human forms unencumbered by any disguises as they slipped sinuously below decks to get at the cargo. It might not be red iron, but clearly it still held some great value. On principle, if nothing else, he wasn’t going to let them have it without a fight.

  There were two ways down into the hold, and he spun on his heel and dashed towards the second entrance, only realizing as he slid down the ladder that he didn’t know what he was going to do all by himself against such a formidable enemy. He had heard the tales say that a neneckt could curse him to a life of pain, misery, and torment with a gesture and a single word, as Elargwyd had used to bring the hurricane down on them, but the cold, simple strength of her arm was the more immediate threat.

  He could pass by the armory, but it would be locked, of course, as strict procedure required. He didn’t have his keys, and he didn’t have time. He didn’t have anything. He would have to improvise.

  The voices in the storeroom were not speaking any language he knew. As he crept closer to the entrance, he heard one of the wooden lids slide to the floor, and the quiet clash of metal as they lifted first one sheet, and then another, and then another out of the crate.

  He couldn’t tell what they were doing. Were they going to throw the iron into the sea? Neneckt lost their solid form in the salt water, leaving the appearance of flesh behind them as they ghosted through the depths, as secret and silent as the Siheldi and only a fraction less sinister. If they were related somehow, no one knew it for certain. But their lore was irrelevant at the moment. He needed his locket. He needed the unnatural weather to stop battering his ship. He needed that crowbar.

  He could see it lying in the farthest corner. The pack of neneckt stood between him and the weapon. There were four of them, plus Elargwyd in her red dress, and they were digging through the crates, throwing the iron sheets to the side as easily as plucking feathers from a chicken.

  That’s odd, he thought as he shifted his weight onto his toes, preparing to sprint and dive for the bar. Maybe they were looking for something specific, and it had nothing to do with the cargo. Maybe the false iron was only some sort of diversion. But what could be even more valuable than a solid half ton of high-quality counterfeit?

  Arran crept forward, getting ready to pounce, when Elargwyd cocked her head and turned towards him, her gaze clearly piercing the shadows. “Come out, Mister Swinn,” she said loudly. “I am tiring of your games.”

  “You won’t find it,” Arran said, taking his guess.

  “What won’t I find?” she asked, amused.

  “You know.”

  “Yes, I do. But I’m not sure you’re quite the actor you think you are.”

  “I’ve fooled you, haven’t I?” he said, more to buy time than because it meant anything.

  “You can’t fool the author of the script, Mister Swinn.”

  Arran took a moment to sort through his head for a witty response that would play on the words, but nothing came to mind immediately, and he didn’t have time to waste.

  “Sod it,” he muttered, and launched himself towards the corner, dodging the first faceless form and spinning around to whip past the second before he ducked a whistling punch from the third and his fingers closed around the solid bulk of the crowbar.

  He didn’t have the luxury to be impressed with himself, and the memory he was about to file away for later was immediately tarnished by the fact that he fell flat on his face while trying to stand, his sopping wet boots slipping on the smooth planks. No one laughed at him, though. They were too busy trying to kill him, and they almost succeeded.

  The fist that he had dodged only moments before came smashing through the wood an inch from his head, sending splinters flying. It was only the interior paneling, and posed no serious danger to the ship, but it was clear that not even the extra power of the crowbar would do much to bring his strength up to the point of matching them.

  What could he do? Why did he think he could do anything? How could he reach her – and where was she keeping his pendant? The futility of the situation, and the rashness that had brought him to it flashed through his thoughts, but he pushed it aside. He raised the bar and brought the clawed end down, not on one of his enemies, but on a sheet of iron that he pulled to him with the hook.

  Elargwyd watched with mild curiosity as he struggled to get a good grip that would allow him to use it as a shield. Thin though it was, the metal was strong, and it might give him a modicum of extra protection.

  But there were no indents and no handholds, and no way to balance the object in the crook of his arm without leaving him more exposed than protected. He made a frustrated noise in this throat as he gave up on the idea, instead flinging the sheet towards one of the neneckt, hoping to at least inflict some sort of injury that might even the odds. He missed.

  Elargwyd sighed and said something to her fellows as the iron clattered to the floor, flicking her fingers in Arran’s direction as she turned back to the crates, rummaging through the next one. Something glinted by her hand, and in the dim light he just caught sight of his pendant, the chain knotted tightly around her wrist.

  “Got you,” he whispered to himself, then screamed as long and loudly as his lungs were able, the surprisingly piercing sound echoing in the small space and making the neneckt hesitate for just a moment, giving him a fraction of a second to begin running towards Elargwyd before they could pursue him.

  He crashed into her full tilt as she turned back towards the noise, and he rammed his shoulder into her stomach, sending them both flying into the crates, their combined weight shattering the slats and sending the pieces of iron cascading to the ground with an incredible clatter. The sharp corners and blade-like edges of the scattered metal would leave deep bruises later, but all he felt was triumph as his hand closed on the locket.

  He pulled as hard as he could, making her yelp as the cord cut into her skin. It didn’t break – he had bought a very strong chain for that very reason – and he growled as she yanked her hand away. She used it to slap him so hard across the face that he tumbled off of her, and he had to shake the stars out of his eyes.

  The ruckus had done its job, however. So little time had passed since the beginning of the nightmare storm that the off-watch was still trying to find their trousers, and the unusual noise from the storeroom had attracted their notice.

  “Get them!” Arran cried, pointing at the group of neneckt as he saw a curious sailor peering into the doorway. The accusatory gesture turned into helpless flailing a moment later as the lurching ship tossed him sideways, sending him sprawling into Elargwyd again as she tried to stand.

  She pushed him off and ran for the door, the pendant in one fist and something small and dark clutched in her other hand, but Arran was faster. As his men started pouring into the room, armed and ready to fight, she cried out in dismay as she was pushed backwards into his arms by the crush. They both fell, and were nearly trampled by the sailors as they confronted t
he quartet of confused neneckt.

  In the turmoil, as she tried to find her feet, he plucked the strange object from her hands and tucked it quickly into his pocket. She didn’t seem to notice at first – she was scratching at his face with her fingernails, and a punch like an avalanche of stone connected with his ribs, leaving him gasping.

  But it only took her a moment to realize what he had done. She screamed and grasped at him, grinding the bones of his forearm together with her horrible strength. When she moved to make a grab for his throat, he knew there was only one thing he could do to save his own soul. He still had the crowbar, and he smashed it down on her head this time, again and again, until she finally stopped her movements with a little cry, and went completely limp, her crystalline eyes staring widely upwards as her bloodied lips parted around a final breath.

  If he thought he could breathe easy then, holding his damaged ribs as he watched the life drain out of her, he was wrong. The neneckt were not fighting the sailors. They had turned around, and were pounding at the curving wall of the ship’s hull, doing their best to break through the thick and seasoned wood to the sea beyond. They could escape through the water without a trace, and no man on the Tortoise would survive to follow them.

  “No!” Arran shouted when the first leak hissed through. The storeroom was just about on the waterline – the hold, filled with ballast, was the only thing below them, and the only hope they had left.

  “Get out,” he ordered his men. “Get the ballast out. All of it. Everything we have. Now.”

  They needed no second telling. The hull was giving way, first just a trickle, and then a pouring, potent flood of dark salt water. By the time the last sailor had run to lighten the ship enough to bring the fissure above the level of the sea, Arran was up to his knees. The creatures had vanished. The lantern tipped into the water and suddenly there was nothing but blackness and the rushing torrent of death as Arran held his breath, closed his useless eyes, and dipped down into the freezing pool, grasping blindly to find Elargwyd’s body, to take back what she had stolen before it was lost forever.