Page 44 of The Isles of the Gods
The steamer sends out grappling hooks to pull us in against its metal side, and as a gangplank goes out between the two ships, I tuck myself away.
It’s a dangerous run across the plank, which sways and moves as both ends rise and fall. The first one to board is a brown-skinned, short-haired girl in trousers, who leaps onto the deck as gracefully as a cat. Four others come after her, men and women with blank faces and big guns.
More of the steamer’s crew lines their railing, weapons pointed in our direction. So many of them, so far above us.
Leander and I crouch together in silence as they move Rensa, Jonlon, Conor, Abri, and Keegan into line on the deck. The five of them stand there as the girl—she’s clearly in charge, despite her age—surveys the ship.
“I thought there were more of you,” she says, looking over the five of them, then turning her eyes to Kyri’s body. There’s something tight and contained about her movements, as though she’s holding herself together and might fly into a thousand pieces at any moment.
None of the crew says a word—they stare straight ahead or at their feet. Rensa stares straight at the girl.
After a moment of silence, the girl walks over to Kyri. She crouches down, studying her, and picks up one of her arms to check her magician’s marks. She takes her by the sleeve rather than touch her skin. When she lets go, Kyri’s hand thumps back onto the deck, making her flinch. Then she straightens her shoulders, and when she pushes up to her feet, she’s collected once more.
“One of you killed the magician,” the girl tells her owncrew, her irritation obvious. “My sister wanted a souvenir—a magician would have been perfect. Especially one as powerful as this. Extraordinary. What a waste.”
Her own crew looks almost as nervous as ours—none of them answers her either.
She dismisses them, walking up to the line of theLizabetta’s crew and making her way along the row, examining each of them in turn. There’s a pin at her lapel with a ruby on it, the crimson gem winking in the sun, and I can’t take my eyes offit.
Please,I find myself praying, and I’m not sure if it’s to Barrica or the girl on our deck.Please, don’t hurt them.
Nobody speaks. It doesn’t seem to bother her.
“I have a theory,” she continues, “that you have something valuable on board. We saw the debris behind you, but we didn’t see any big bales, any cargo. Ididsee a gold-embroidered blanket floating on the water, though, I’m sure of it. Not the sort of thing I’d expect to see on a ship like this. What else were you carrying, instead of cargo?”
Still nobody speaks.
“If one of you is a noble,” she says slowly, “you can buy your way out of this. Don’t miss your chance.”
And still nobody speaks. Abri looks like she’s going to be sick, her pale skin almost green. Jonlon’s swaying on his feet, his wound oozing blood, Conor steadying him. The scholar is staring into space like he’s performing calculations in hishead.
The girl twists, looking back at her crew lined up along the steamer’s railing, and I try to draw a line from her gaze, to see what she’s looking at. The sun’s setting behind them, andthey’re mostly silhouettes. Then one of them shifts, and I catch the color of her clothes.
There’s a green sister aboard the ship. That’s who this girl is looking at. Perhaps she’s not in charge, despite the way the crew defer to her.
She walks along the line to Rensa, drawing a gun from her belt and lifting it slowly. “What are you hiding?” she asks, quiet and calm.
Rensa gazes steadily at her. I don’t know what they see in each other’s faces, but it holds them both still. “Please,” Rensa says, calm and clear. “My crew will never speak of what theysaw.”
The girl’s voice sharpens. “What are you hiding?”
“There’s nothing to find here.”
“I’m not a fool!” Her voice is rising in volume now, half commanding, half pleading. “You threw a lot of things overboard, but I didn’t see any cargo. Where were you going? What were you doing? You must have something worth finding on thisship.”
Slowly, Rensa simply shakes her head.
Then she reels backward, and an instant later a deafeningBANG!is ringing in my ears, and Rensa’s body is falling to the deck, and I’m trying to scream but Leander’s hand is over my mouth.
I claw his fingers away and gasp for breath, but suddenly he’s moving again, trying to climb to his feet. Now I grab for him, yanking him down beside me.
“What are youdoing?” I whisper, pulling his ear down to my mouth.
“I have to stop her.” He’s trying frantically to untangle himself from my grip. “I’m the one she wants.”
Out on the deck, the girl stands with the rest of my crew, her breath coming quick and sharp, still lowering her arm from firing the shot.
I can’t move—I’m crouching, frozen, my arms locked around Leander.
