15
Fire on the Water
“Are we gonna sail this all the way to Dimernesti?” Blister eyed the fishing boat. “I don’t think all of us can even fit in it.”
“All of us can’t,” Rig said, as he eased the boat into the water and motioned for Blister to get in. “Hurry,” he whispered.
“But I thought we weren’t gonna do this until just about dawn,” the kender complained.
“Change in plans. I want to get out of here now before any more spies see us.” Rig looked over his shoulder, eyeing Dhamon. “Blister, will you please hurry!”
The kender and the dwarf sat together, a sack full of jugs and rags wedged under them— the supplies the dwarf wanted. Blister had tried to explain to Rig how they obtained them from a dosed store, but Jasper cut her off.
“I’m not proud of what we did,” he whispered.
“But you left some steel on the counter,” she said.
“Still, it wasn’t right. It was justified,” he said, eyeing the ships in the harbor. “But it wasn’t right. Still, maybe the shop owner will be happy if what I think Rig has in mind works out.”
“What’s Rig...”
“Shhh!” the mariner cautioned. “They can’t see us. Too dark. But that doesn’t mean the Knights of Takhisis can’t hear us.”
Dhamon and Rig took the middle seat, under which was tucked a few lengths of rope, and Groller sat between Usha and Fiona. The small boat wasn’t meant to hold so many and sat heavily in the water. The lip of it bobbed only a few inches above the choppy surface. Rig passed Dhamon a paddle and stuck his own in the oar mount.
While they’d questioned the spy, the fog had grown thicker. It hugged the water and wrapped around all the ships, making their lights look soft and indistinct.
“Looks spooky,” Blister whispered.
“The fog’ll help hide us,” the mariner said. “If they see us, they can sink us. Now, nobody breathe too deep. We can’t handle an ounce more weight.” The mariner dipped a paddle in, slow and easy so the water wouldn’t splash. Dhamon’s oar moved together with Rig’s.
Feril and the wolf swam ahead of them, heading toward the closest ship, a good-sized galley. The water was warm and soothing to the Kagonesti, and the cool air felt good on her face, as she swam forward with strong kicks. The only sound she heard was the wolf paddling near her and the almost imperceptible creak of the twisting oar mounts from the fishing boat coming a few yards behind her.
The Kagonesti focused on the fog, thin all around her and spreading toward the horizon as far as she could see. Too thin, she knew. If she could easily see the Knights of Takhisis’s ships through it, then Rig’s boat could be seen by anyone on deck who chanced to look this way She slowed her strokes, concentrating on the air where it met the water. Her senses were teased by the tendrils of fog.
“Hide me,” she whispered to the fog. She was pouring all her energy into the thought, leaving herself just enough strength to stay afloat. “Hide me,” she repeated. She focused only on the fog, letting it intoxicate her.
Fury swept by her, paddling to keep his head above the water. He nuzzled her cheek, then pulled ahead, his churning legs brushing her arm.
“Hide us,” Feril said. The Kagonesti felt her magical strength growing. By the time the fishing boat caught up to her, the fog had thickened, like a dark, gray blanket that had been thrown across the Ak-Khurman harbor. She heard Blister chattering behind her. Rig hushed the kender, seeing the lights on the knights’ ships now as opaque as a gathering of will-o-wisps. “Perfect,” she whispered.
“I can’t see anything,” the kender was saying.
“Quiet!” Jasper softly scolded her.
“How can you tell where you’re going?” she persisted. “If I can’t see anything, you can’t see anything either. Neither can Groller, I bet. Or Fiona. Or Dhamon. What if you’re paddling the wrong way?”
“We’re not going the wrong way.” It was Dhamon’s voice. “We’re going against the current.”
“Oh.”
Feril stopped Dhamon’s paddle with her hands, and trod water next to the boat. “Go slower,” she said. “Follow me. I can see through the fog.”
“The ships,” Rig whispered. “Did you get a good look at them? Describe them.”
She did.
“Two galleys. Can’t steal either of them. It would take too many men to handle ’em. Four carracks and a small cog. I want one of the carracks, the biggest one,” he whispered. “But we have to take out the galleys first, or they’ll chase us down.”
Feril nodded. “We’re nearing the closest galley.”
Rig heard the galley before he saw it, heard the gentle groaning of the ship’s timbers, the water lapping against the sides, the musical creak of the great masts. It was a shame what he was planning, he thought to himself, a crime against the sea. “Can’t be helped,” he mused aloud. “Pass her by,” he said softly to Feril. “Take us to one of the smaller carracks, the closest one.”
The Kagonesti led the boat beyond the galley. Gazing up through the fog, she made out Pride of the Dark Queen, painted in white letters on its side. Several minutes later, they neared one of the smallest carracks. If it had a name, Feril couldn’t read it. Only one lantern burned from the bow of this ship.
The boat scraped against the carrack’s hull, and Rig ran his fingers along the wood just above the water line. The carrack was an older ship; he could tell by the condition of the timbers and the thickness of the paint, but it was well-maintained and had been recently scraped for barnacles. He held a hand out to Dhamon. The knight fumbled under the seat and produced a rope, passing it to the mariner.
Rig carefully stood, balancing himself, and quickly worked a knot into the rope. He whirled the rope above his head, then released it, grinning when his lasso landed around a railing post on his first try. Blister passed him two jugs and a couple of rags, all of which he held under an arm. He looked down at Dhamon. “Grab two more and follow me, if you can. Fiona, take the boat out a little bit. I don’t want the rest of you too close when the trouble starts.”
“I don’t have a weapon,” Dhamon whispered to the mariner.
“Then you’d better not get in a fight,” Rig returned. Catlike, the mariner started up the rope one-handed, using his feet against the side and scaling it as if he were a mountain climber heading toward a peak.
“Here.” Fiona extended her long sword.
Dhamon shook his head, tucking two jugs under an arm, and followed Rig up and over the side. The mariner was crouched low behind the capstan and was stuffing the rags in the jugs. Dhamon joined him and did likewise. “Tinder?”
The mariner shook his head. “Not yet.” He plucked a dagger from his belt, stuck it between his teeth, crept a few feet away to the anchor chain, and began winching it up.
The anchor thudded against the hull. Someone was approaching. Two someones, from the sounds of boot heels. Dhamon couldn’t see the men through the fog until they were practically on top of Rig. He set his jugs next to the mariner’s and waited.
At the same time, Rig saw the men. He plucked the dagger from between his teeth, hurling it at the man on the right, and drew a worn cutlass, one he had acquired in town. The dagger found the mark, sinking to the hilt into a Knight of Takhisis’s unarmored chest. The man thumped heavily on the deck. Dhamon was on the second, pinning him stomach first to the deck and clamping a hand over his mouth. The man continued to struggle, hammering his feet against the deck.
“No noise,” the mariner advised. He rapped the pommel of his cutlass against the back of the knight’s head. “See?” he said to Dhamon. “I told you that you didn’t need a weapon. Not when I’m around.”
Rig scuttled back to the capstan. “Current’ll take her right into that galley now, but I’m gonna hurry her along.” He looked toward the rear mast, cloaked in fog. “I’ll cut one of the sails to speed her up a bit. You stop anybody that wanders by.”