All well and good, except that now we were driving rather than drifting towards Ondeges’s burning ship. It was impossible, inconceivable, that that craft, now more bonfire than boat, should be holding any kind of course. Yet there was no question Ondeges still had her prow pointed towards the pier. I couldn’t believe it was mere chance; someone on deck was steering that ruined vessel, even as it began to succumb to its unlucky part as plaything of two elements.
“Turn us, damn it!” I bellowed at Malekrin, raising my voice over the nearing clamour of flames. He took a moment to throw me an aggrieved look and then hurried to adjust the sail, before throwing himself against the tiller, cursing Saltlick when he failed to crawl aside quickly enough. Our nose began to swing, and though we were close enough that I could feel the prickle of heat on my face, we drew alongside the burning ship rather than ploughing into it.
By then, though, another threat had occurred to me. The pier was drawing close, and I didn’t like to think what would happen when we struck it. No, I knew a lost cause when I saw one, and Seadagger’s usefulness had run its course.
There was one thing still to do, however. “Saltlick!” I shouted. “Listen to me!”
He was rigid with horror, staring towards the ship blazing merrily behind us. I thought he’d ignore me, knew it with terrible certainty — for Estrada was still aboard that doomed vessel, and Saltlick was all but incapable of thinking of himself when a friend was in peril.
Then the first figure broke from the port side of the ship. They were followed by another and another — and in no time at all, bodies were plunging like rain into the sea, dark shapes bobbed on its surface, and the frontrunners were already hauling themselves with desperate thrusts towards the pier.
Was one of them Estrada? I couldn’t say. But the possibility was enough to free Saltlick’s attention. He looked at me, eyes huge.
“We have to swim,” I cried. “Can you do that?”
Saltlick nodded — but beside him, Malekrin glowered at me with disgust. “I’m not leaving Seadagger!”
I could have told him what I thought of him, of his stupid Seadagger, of his murderous savage of a grandmother — but all of that would have taken time. Quicker by far to grab the folds of his cloak and push with all my strength. To his credit, he almost kept his footing; had he not stumbled against his precious boat’s side, he might even have managed it.
Well, anyone who’d spent so much time on water must surely be able to swim — and if not, I doubted I’d lose sleep over it. I sucked down a deep breath and leapt after.
I went straight under, kicked hard, and had just time to register how far beyond cold the water was as I broke the surface. Then Saltlick tumbled after me, and it was as though the rock ceiling had abruptly caved in. The cascade of water he flung up caught me like a twig in a flood, lifted me and hurled me helpless towards the pier.
The fact that it was where I’d been heading for was small comfort — for there was a world of difference between swimming and being carried like a rag doll. When I reached the pier, it was with a crunching impact, and a great backlash of seawater that tumbled over me and sucked me down. I wondered briefly where Saltlick was, whether it was too much to hope that he’d save my life again. Then I was crashing against a strut, rough timber rasping my arms and face, and for all that it hurt I hung on and thrust an arm up and managed to clutch something that wasn’t underwater. From there, it was only hugely difficult to get the other hand up and haul myself free of the dragging ocean. I vomited brine over the dark wood and rolled, spluttering, onto my back.
At least I’d been right about one thing. For there, staring down at me, was Malekrin, bedraggled but undeniably alive. “You might want to move,” he said.
I didn’t want to move. Yet there was a definite urgency to his words, and since he’d never sounded very excited by anything before, I couldn’t but think that was a bad sign. I crawled to my knees and from there to my feet, choked up a last lungful of brine and turned to follow his gaze.
I had time enough to take in the basics of the scene, time enough to consider following Malekrin’s advice. Time to consider, but no time to act — for by then, the burning ship was hammering its way into the tip of the pier.
Every plank quivered, every post shook, as though the wood had come to sudden, violent life. Flames erupted, washed outward beneath a fog of sparks, and the ship became to crumple, even as the pier itself moaned and broke apart. I took five rolling steps, just missing Malekrin, barely keeping to my feet, before the heat fell like an iron upon my back.
Ahead I saw Saltlick hauling his great bulk out of the water, inflicting yet more damage on the fractured wharf. I managed to stop in front of him and clutched for his arm; alone of everything, he seemed immune to the chaos, stable as a monolith amidst that world of churning motion. He was staring back towards the ruined ship and the blaze consuming it, and as much as I’d have preferred not to, I did the same.
The crew were just starting to drag themselves onto the pier, a task made alternately easier and harder by the fact that its last third was smashed into pieces. The boat was finally losing its battle to stay afloat; flames were giving way to great billows and coils of smoke. As I watched, the first survivor began to lurch towards us, his shape made weird by the filthy, thickened air.
It was one of Mounteban’s buccaneers, and he looked barely perturbed by his ordeal, as though this weren’t the first time he’d been aboard a burning ship and probably wouldn’t be the last. The next to emerge was a palace guardsman — or so I assumed from his soot-stained uniform, for I didn’t recognise him.
The third, however, I knew quite well. “Estrada! You’re alive?”
It wasn’t the most intelligent question I’d ever asked. Fortunately, rather than waste time in answering, Estrada merely cried out, “Hurry, Damasco,” and pointed towards the cavern mouth.
In everything that had happened, I’d almost forgotten the cause of all this pandemonium — almost let the Shoanish fleet slip from my mind. The vessel that stood out stark against the last dregs of sunlight, peeling away from its brethren to drift towards us, was a harsh enough reminder. Was Kalyxis coming to finish us off? Or had her attack really been meant as a lunatic attempt to rescue Malekrin?
Whatever the case, I had no desire to renew my acquaintance with the woman, and certainly not on that half-demolished, smouldering pier. As Estrada rushed past, I fell in beside her, still teetering a little on the disintegrating boards. Behind us, Saltlick looked as if he’d have liked to pick Estrada up and carry her with him, like some precious object already come far too close to breaking. Instead, he also matched his pace to hers, sending the fragile planks into further convulsions.
A narrow crescent of gravel clung to the tunnel mouth. There, we regrouped. I was incapable of counting by that point, but it seemed Ondeges had managed to save not only himself but most of those in his charge as well — a truly remarkable feat. I could see Navare off to one side amidst a group of his guardsmen, and the buccaneers keeping close but apart. Whether everyone was there, though, I had no way to judge; for every face and every garment was black with soot, as though they were thieves about to set out on some night-time mission.
Ondeges was staring across the dark subterranean waters, watching the Shoanish ship draw nearer. He gave it a few moments, let everyone catch at least a little of their breath, and then said, “We’ll hold them here.”