Chapter 33

 

 

“Land on a ship?” asked Adonis. “Have you gone mad? You cannot ask me to deliver you into such danger! The queen would scorch my scales if I allowed harm to come to you.”

“If you try to reach land, you’ll have no scales left for her to burn,” said William. “Besides, you’d be further away from help. If we land on the front of a ship, away from the mast and sail, no one can get behind us, and you can protect me with flames if need be. We can decide what to do from there.”

Adonis hesitated a moment before speaking. “Which ship? Decide quickly.”

William glanced at Adonis’s injured wing. The wound was ripping open. Which ship should he choose? He might get lucky and land on the one carrying the duke, but what if he chose the wrong one? He would have no way to rejoin the fight, and his life would still be in danger.

He looked from ship to ship, looking for any sign of either Vincent or Bird, but he was too far up to recognize faces. The first ship was in complete chaos, and was probably too damaged to land on anyway, so William rejected it. Another was still in turmoil as the other four dragon-riders—plus the riderless dragon—continued their attacks.

The third ship had sustained as much damage as the others, but the activity on its deck was less frantic. William spied someone standing at the stern of the ship, gesturing this way and that, a calm demeanor amid the frantic pace of the people around him. A commander.

“That one,” said William. “The one with the man at the back.”

“Are you sure about this?” asked Adonis. “We have only one chance—I will not be able to fly again until my wing heals.”

William gripped a neck ridge and steeled himself for what was about to follow. “I’m sure. Remember—land at the front.”

Adonis banked gently, gliding toward the ship from the front. William peered over the dragon’s head at the impossibly small target and gulped. They flew just below the level of the deck, and William hugged the drone’s back, keeping his profile low to avoid arrows. He felt a gentle lift as Adonis rose above the bow, slowing to a near stop as he did so. Then a stomach-churning drop, followed by the sound of creaking timbers. The ship rocked under the sudden weight, and William waited a moment for it to stabilize before sliding from Adonis’s back, wincing at the pain in his injured foot. He yanked the arrow from his boot with a grunt, unsheathed his sword and waited.

“Start bailing!” someone yelled below. “You lot, grab your gear and find out what’s going on up there.” A hatch opened in front of William, and several men poured out, dressed in Guard armor and sporting spears. A group of archers followed and positioned themselves behind the spear-men, taking aim as William dove behind Adonis. Before they could fire, Adonis let loose with a massive bellow that sent billowing flames into their lines, igniting both clothing and hair. The air filled with screams, and several rebels jumped into the water to douse the flames while others writhed on the deck, their comrades beating the flames with cloaks.

William stepped out from behind Adonis, sword in hand, and faced the bedlam. “Drop your weapons and leave them on the deck unless you want more of the same,” he said. “Carry the wounded below and remain there until you’re instructed otherwise. Do you understand?”

Many nodded; all complied. Those who could walk helped their injured comrades, and soon they were all below, and William bolted the hatch with a discarded spear. He looked around him, then turned to Adonis. “Have you seen Clyde?” he asked.

“Not for some time,” said the drone. “I cannot speak with him as my brothers and I do; I wish I could tell you more.”

William’s stomach dropped. Were Clyde’s scales impervious to arrows as the drones’ were? Or could he have been hit in the wing as well, or grown tired, perhaps falling into the water to his doom? “Let me know if you see him. Will you be okay here by yourself? I need to look for the duke, and we don’t have time to clear a path for you.”

“I’ll be safer than you, William Whitehall. If I could go with you, I would.”

“You sound like Jack,” said William. “Thank you for your concern, but I need to see this through.”

The dragon nodded. “I understand. If you find yourself in danger, run back to me. I will burn whoever follows you to cinders.”

William grinned at him. “Thanks, Adonis—that’s touching. See you soon.”

The ship lurched forward, and William nearly lost his step. “What the—King’s knuckles, they’ve started rowing again. Haven’t they learned yet?” He yanked open the hatch and yelled down the ladder. “Unless you stop rowing, my dragon will breathe enough fire to boil the sea under your seats.”

The ship slowed momentarily, but a loud voice answered his own. “Ignore him! He can’t burn the ship while he’s on it. The boss’s men will toss him off the ship soon enough. Keep rowing, unless you want bilge duty.”

The ship picked up speed again, and William cursed under his breath. “You’re right—I can’t sink the ship,” he yelled. “But I can make it mighty uncomfortable. I want you all doing the opposite of the person in front of you within the next five seconds, or I’m sending flames your way.”

Several confused voices talked at once, and the ship lost momentum again. Oars began crashing together, and men yelled at each other with conflicting orders. Satisfied with the result, William slammed the hatch shut and bolted it again. How long the confusion would last, he was not certain; he needed to find a more permanent way to disable the ship. “Burn anyone who comes up,” he said, nodding at the hatch as he limped away.

The carnage from the fallen spars impeded his progress; the ship’s rolling in the waves slowed him even more. He picked his way through the debris, surprised his injured foot didn’t hurt more. Either the excitement had dulled the pain, or the wound wasn’t as serious as he thought.

He reached the rear of the ship and found the helm occupied by a giant of a man, almost Charlie’s size, covered in tattoos and shaved bald. The man grinned through his dirty beard at William, revealing several gaps, and pulled a knife from his belt. “Get lost, kid,” he said. “You’re in over your head.”

“I’ll take my chances,” said William as he unsheathed his sword and strode forward as quickly as his foot would allow. “Get away from the helm.”

The man shrugged and backed away. “You want the helm so bad, be my guest,” he said as he sheathed his knife. He continued to grin at William as he leaned against the rail surrounding the helm, crossing his arms, waiting for William to decide what to do.

William stared at him, puzzled. Why would the man give up so easily? Uncertain, and with no other plan to work with, he grabbed hold of the helm and began spinning it to one side.

The helmsman lunged at him, knife quickly in hand again, and William jumped aside, barely avoiding the blade as it sliced past his arm. Pain shot from his injured foot through the side of his body. He raised his sword again, slowly stepping toward his attacker, his longer blade giving him a decided advantage.

The helmsman was all too aware, and backed away again, resuming his earlier taunting position on the rail. A satisfied grin crossed his face as he sheathed his knife once more, and he raised his eyebrows at William, daring him to make the next move.

He knew he had to keep his sword at the ready, but that meant having only one hand to work the helm. In doing so, he would be turning his back on the helmsman, who simply stood there, mocking him. Still, what choice did he have? He reached out again for the helm.

The man jumped at him again, his knife aiming for William’s face this time. William raised his sword just in time, and once again saw stars as he jumped back and landed on his bad foot.

“I can do this all day,” said the helmsman, his grin even more malicious than before. “Maybe I can’t fight past that sword of yours, but you ain’t got the guts to kill me. Do ya, sissy pants?”

William seethed, but the man was right. Alone, with no allies to help him, the best he could do was a stalemate. His only options were to disable or kill the man or give up and leave the helm in control of the rebels. True, the guards would eventually reach them, but what would happen to Vincent in the meantime?

The helmsman laughed at him. “Look at the great hero! Can’t decide what to do because he’s too pure to attack a man who won’t fight him. That’s what makes you weak—you’re too full of your own goodness.”

He stared back at the man, but saw a different pair of eyes in his mind, dark and shining, mocking his unwillingness to inflict pain, to be the aggressor, even in a just cause. Something clicked in his mind, a new understanding of how Kirby, and even Oz, had tormented him all those years ago. By preying on his honor, they had turned it into a weakness, something to be exploited.

And they were right. Initiating violence was unacceptable. It was one thing to defend himself, but to attack unprovoked violated every moral principle he held dear.

Outrage welled inside him. He wasn’t going to take it anymore. “Jump overboard or die,” he growled.

The helmsman dropped his knife and kicked it aside, then spread his arms wide. “You would never attack an unarmed—”

William dashed forward, his sword raised. The helmsman’s hands whipped behind him and produced two daggers, blocking William’s attack. The force of his blow pulled William off-balance, and the helmsman tried to slip a blade into William’s unprotected ribs, but William spun and brought his sword crashing down on the extended dagger, knocking it free from the helmsman’s grasp. He followed with several swipes at the remaining blade, forcing his enemy to defend and retreat, attacking with righteous fury until the helmsman’s back finally bumped into the gunwale.

With nowhere to go, the helmsman lashed out desperately, but William parried the attack, following through with a thrust to the throat. He stopped short, the tip resting just below the man’s jaw, a trickle of blood running toward his chest.

The remaining dagger dropped to the deck with a clatter as the helmsman froze in fear. “King’s soiled shorts…you fight like William Whitehall.”

William kept the sword in place, his eyes locked with the helmsman’s. “I AM William Whitehall.”

The man’s face turned even whiter than it had already. “I guess I never had a chance, did I? You’re the greatest fighter on Esper.”

“What do you know about how I fight?” demanded William.

A wide smile broke out on the man’s face. “Oh, I’m your biggest fan!”

“What?” asked William, his eyes wide with puzzlement.

“No, really, I am,” said the man. “I’ve read all the books. My son has too.”

William rolled his eyes and sighed. “You don’t say.”

“Even my wife sometimes wishes I was you.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” said William, becoming exasperated. “You’re in no position to joke with me.”

The man tried to nod but stopped when the blade bit into his skin. “Really, I’m serious.” The man appeared to realize something, and the smile quickly disappeared from his face. “Can I ask…why did you attack me? I thought someone like you would never strike the first blow.”

William took a deep breath but kept his sword grip firm. “I know this is a strange moment for a life-changing epiphany, but I’ve spent my whole life believing it was wrong to strike first. You showed me the error of that belief, because it let you continue to threaten me. Now I understand that a threat is as much of an attack as the attack itself. Your threat was the first strike.”

The helmsman lowered his voice, begging with his eyes. “I don’t suppose you’d let me switch sides and fight with you? I don’t want to go to prison, and I really don’t want to die.”

William slowly shook his head. “You’re not a moron. You knew you were breaking the law when you joined these people. They—you!—have kidnapped a duke, and even if you didn’t know who it was, you still must have known it was wrong. Not to mention the stolen gold, although maybe you didn’t know about that.”

The man hung his head in shame. “No, I didn’t know about the gold. But you’re right about the kidnapping—I knew it was the duke, and I went along with it all the same. They promised they wouldn’t hurt him, that he was only a hostage to ensure our escape, and later to demand ransom money.”

William narrowed his eyes, a look of rage growing on his face. “Then you knew they were bad people.”

Tears formed in the man’s eyes. “But they offered me so much money, before I even knew what they were planning. By the time I found out it was too late. I couldn’t just walk home—we were too far away.”

William raised his sword and brought it crashing down on the gunwale with such force it cut several inches deep, sending pieces flying. “One of these people murdered my friend!”

The man gulped and looked away. “I’m sorry. Let me try to make up for the bad I’ve done. Bird is holding the duke in the captain’s quarters, down that hatch. He sent everyone forward when your dragon landed on the ship, but I guess you dealt with them already.”

“What about the boss’s men?” asked William. “Someone commanding the rowers claimed they would throw me off the ship.”

The helmsman nodded overboard. “Escaped already. Took the only lifeboat with them too, the cowards.”

“Why didn’t you go with them?”

“No room in the boat for grunts like me,” said the helmsman. “Just the important folks."

William eyed the man with suspicion. He seemed sincere enough, but since when was he a good judge of character? If only Melissa were here. “This better not be a trick,” he said. “I’m in no mood to be ambushed. I promise I’ll come back for you if I run into anything unexpected down there.”

The man shook his head. “I promise. It’s just Bird down there with the duke. He cursed something fierce when his men lowered the boat, calling them cowards. When your dragon landed, he sent the archers forward, then bolted below. Listen—before you run him through with that sword of yours, can you tell him I quit? He can keep my pay. I’m done being on the bad side.”

William backed away slightly, pointing overboard with his sword. “Leave your weapons here, and take your chances in the water. It’s that, or you take your last breath here and now. I don’t trust you, and I can’t waste my time on you.”

The helmsman nodded, then jumped over the gunwale with unexpected dexterity. Seconds later William heard the splash. When he ran to look, the man was swimming toward a passing rowboat. The boat didn’t stop for him.

He forced himself to forget about the helmsman—he had more important things to deal with. The ship had begun moving again, the oarsmen apparently finding the courage to defy him and the dragon stationed on the deck above them. He spotted a coil of rope near the helm and smiled at the devious idea that came to him. He spun the helm to his left, not knowing which way it would turn the ship, but breathing a sigh of relief when it finally veered left. Satisfied, he wove the rope around the helm’s spokes, then tied it to a nearby cleat. He tied another rope in the opposite direction, locking the helm in its current position. No matter what the oarsmen did, the ship could do no more than go in circles.

Was it enough? Were the guards close enough now that he could simply stay put and wait for help? They were getting closer, but which ship would they board first—for that matter, would they even try to board? Meanwhile, Bird might be planning his escape. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

He limped to the hatch the helmsman had pointed to, slowly edged it open, and peeked inside. A ladder descended into the shadows—Bird might be waiting at the bottom and he wouldn’t know until too late. He knew Bird was fast with a knife, and with surprise on his side he could easily slit William’s throat before William could draw his sword.

He couldn’t allow fear to decide for him. He took a deep breath, swung his legs into the hatch, and slid down as fast as he could, feetfirst to protect himself. He landed at the bottom, wrenching his injured foot so badly he saw stars. He crouched, raising his sword to block the inevitable attack.

It didn’t come. His vision cleared, revealing an empty, narrow corridor that led both forward and aft. The helmsman had said the duke was in the captain’s cabin, but where was it? And how could he find it in the dark? And would Bird be waiting for him when he did?

Aft, he decided—like in the stories. Sword in hand, he crept forward a step at a time, trying to avoid both noise and pain. A faint light emanated from beneath a closed door at the end of the corridor. He pushed it gently, and the door swung inward to reveal a tiny cabin. The portholes let in barely enough light to reveal Bird’s nervous face, and the shaking hand that held a knife to Duke Vincent’s throat.