But as the moment stretched on, J'role realized that Nikronallia stared at him not from knowledge, but from uncertainty. He didn't know if J'role had overheard him plotting with Garlthik. And so the two of them stood, the tall, thin boy and the reptilian sailor, each waiting for the other to make an accusation.
When the suspense became unbearable, they nodded to one another, a terse greeting designed to force the issue. As they mirrored each other, they both relaxed, each believing they were after all, safe. Each added a stiff smile, and then both turned and walked casually away in different directions.
J’role’s hands felt awkward and clumsy holding the golden box. He carried it toward the paddle wheel room, desperately sorting out what should be his next action. He knew he had to warn Captain Patrochian, but Nikronallia had said most of the crew would soon betray her. He couldn't reveal his knowledge of their plan by acting suspiciously. The captain had given him a task, and he had to carry through on it. Then he could return to her, as if for another assignment.
How would he tell her?
He slammed the thought shut. That wasn't the problem now. For now all he had to do was seem calm and unconcerned. Two sailors approached, laughing and chatting in the native t'skrang tongue. Their enjoyment ceased as they stared at him. He'd seen the same looks over the last several days, knew they reacted to him this way because he was mute and because of their superstition. And yet…
Did they know something? Were these two part of the plot to kill the captain? Releana?
His father?
The sailors passed, talking once more, though it sounded to J'role as if they used softer tones now.
Soon he reached the ship's engine room. It was located at the back of the riverboat, a large room with a massive metal container-the engine. The container was as thick and hot as the belly of a dragon. The engine, the t'skrang said, was a gift from Upandal, the passion of construction. No other race had been so blessed.
From either side of the engine extended long, thick wooden poles that disappeared through holes in the back of the ship. J'role knew that the ends of the poles attached to the paddle wheel. Driven by the engine, the poles moved back and forth, sending the paddle wheel round and round, and thus moving the ship through the water.
A t’skrang, dressed in a velvet robe covered with images of water and flames, smiled as J'role approached. Although he was part of the Breeton's crew, this was not a sailor but the ship's magician. "Good," the t'skrang said in dwarven. "Good." He took the box from I' role and carried it to the engine. There he opened the box. Heat bellowed out, the air above the opening shimmering. The magician spoke some words and waved his hand over the elemental fire.
Then he grabbed a thick wooden handle on the engine and yanked it up. A door opened to reveal an interior full of blazing red light and scathing heat. For a moment J'role stood transfixed by the sight; the blaze seemed to beckon with the promise of enclosing safety, but at the same time the overpowering heat within the metal walls made him tremble with fear. To find safety in the engine was to be consumed.
The magician threw the contents of the box into the engine and the flames roared, a blast of new heat rushing from the interior. J'role watched the magician staring into the flames, apparently very pleased, still holding the box that J'role was to return to the store room.
He walked up to the magician and tugged on his elaborate sleeve.
The magician whirled, glowering at J'role, then handed him the box without a word.
J’role rushed out of the room and down the corridors toward the storeroom where the orichalcum boxes were stored. He would have preferred to go straight to the captain, but carrying the box around on the upper decks would have raised too many suspicions.
Several sailors eyed him as he ran past, and J'role couldn't be certain if it was from suspicion or curiosity, but he no longer cared. Nightfall was only a few hours away, and that was when Garlthik said the mutiny was to begin.
He returned the box to the storeroom, then ran to find Captain Patrochian.
Passing throughout the twisting corridors and out along the ledges of the ship, J'role encountered many t'skrang sailors. He couldn't help but wonder if they were part of the mutiny. Finally he reached the captain's quarters and knocked on the door, hoping desperately to find her here. "Come in," Captain Patrochian said.
He entered to find her sitting behind her desk, quill pen in hand, ledger set out before her.
"Grim," she said, obviously surprised to see him. She studied the concern on his face.
"What is it?"
J'role closed the door behind him, wondering how was he going to do this. Some matters were too complicated for gestures …
Betrayal …
She stood up, anxious now. "What is it?"
He raised his hands, as if an idea would come to him if he started gesturing. But his mind was as blank as before.
She waited. She wanted to understand. He could see that in her eyes so clearly. All he had to do was try, and she would try as well.
He looked around the room, searching for an object he might use to represent Nikronallia.
Swords. Maps. The ledger. Her hat. The windows on either side of the ship; wooden frames with small panes of glass. The four-posted bed with the yellow and scarlet sheets.
A panic rose up in him. He saw nothing that might help.
He looked back at her. "Grim," she said, "I have-“
He slammed his hand on the desk, desperate to make her understand that what he had to communicate was exceedingly urgent. She pulled back, startled, then leaned in again. She swallowed. "Do you want me to get one of the others? Will they be able to understand you?"
A knock came at the door The captain moved toward it quickly, then opened it to reveal Nikronallia framed in the doorway. As the captain stepped aside to let him enter, the t'skrang sailor's eyes locked with J'role's.
"Nikronallia, Grim has something apparently urgent he wants to tell me," Patrochian said crisply. "Do you know of anything wrong on board?"
Nikronallia looked hard at J'role, then said. "No.”
"I'm going to get his companions. They might be able to help decipher his concerns. Keep an eye on him, and J'role, keep trying." Without further ado she rushed out of the cabin, shutting the door behind her.
Nikronallia and J'role watched her energetic departure, then turned back to one another.
"So you are concerned about something, are you?"
J'role swallowed. Nodded.
Nikronallia took a step closer, cocking his head to one side, "What is it?"
J'role shrugged, not knowing what else to do.
"Oh, now it seems less important than a moment ago?" Nikronallia leaned his head forward now, intent. "You little curse," he said softly. "Let's see. If you … tried to steal the ledgers, I caught you, we fought a… Yes." Suddenly Nikronallia drew a dagger. "It's a shame your parents didn't drown you at birth and save me the trouble.” He lunged toward J'role.
"He's killing me," his mother panted, trying to keep her grip on the knife and scramble back up.
"He's just a boy. Our son."
"A monster. He speaks with the voice of a monster. I can't listen to him anymore. Please.
Please, let me kill him …"
The images stunned J'role, and he froze in place as Nikronallia’s knife plunged deep into his chest, the warm metal splitting his flesh, fat, and muscle. J'role gave out a dry gasp, his arms flailing wide, and he saw blood gush from his body to spray Nikronallia and the objects around the room a deep red. Nikronallia grinned wide, and jerked the dagger out.
A new pain, hot and jagged, cut across J'role's chest, spreading over his body like sunlight on a warm day.