Others join.
Chamberlain and Jarod. And then Edwin, with what must be a sack of bolts in hand. He raises the bludgeon, ready to swing, but I clutch his arm before he can bring it down.
“No!” I say.
They are all looking at me. Fury and hatred. Pain, all pouring from their eyes.
“He isn’t… he isn’t bad,” I say.
“They’ve starved us,” Edwin says, voice raw. Cheeks wet. “They’ve beaten us…”
“We might need help from them in the end. Anyway, they’re trapped too.”
Brother Dormer stares up at me, a dumb, shocked expression.
“Trapped in a different sort of way,” I continue. “That’s why we’re going to save as many of the brothers as we can. Is that clear?”
No one answers for a time. I worry that I’ve lost them—that they’ll push me out.
“What’s next?” Edwin finally asks, easing the tension.
“We have to shut down the engine and force the boat to surface,” I say. “Shut down the hydraulics. The power. Can we do that?”
It’s Lazlo who answers. “Yes.”
Others in the circle nod in agreement.
“We need to seal off engineering completely.”
“And then what? What are we waiting for?” Lazlo asks.
“A rescue.”
“A rescue? From who?” Edwin asks.
“Topsiders…” I say.
Perhaps a few concerned or shocked expressions, but I receive no resistance. They all nod. They’re ready.
It doesn’t matter who it is rescuing them. Anything must be better than this.
“You’ll need to take the maneuvering shack,” I say. “Brother Leighton should be on duty.”
“We can handle him,” Edwin says.
“Before he can alert the bridge,” I say. “Don’t kill him.”
They all nod in response. Lazlo.
“Okay. I’ll be back.”
“Wait—” Lazlo says, latching on to my arm like a vise. “Don’t go. Not without me.”
“There’s a prisoner. Someone who has been helping me… helping us. She’s important. I have to free her… .”
“Then you’ll need at least two. I’ll go with you,” Edwin says.
“And me,” Chamberlain agrees.
“No,” I say. “It’ll have to be me alone. Anyone else walking through will be too conspicuous.”
A deep thong resounds throughout the boat. Hammer against hull.
Now is the hour for private prayer and reflection.
Now is the time to act.
“I have to go now,” I say to all of them. “The chapel will be clear. Keep the hatch sealed until I return. I’ll knock three times.”
I ready myself, turn away, but Lazlo is still gripping my hand. Tears in his eyes.
I embrace him again. Deeply. He is weak. So weak, in fact, that it is me who is helping to brace him. “They have treatments Topside,” I say. “They’ll be able to help you.”
His frail body quakes.
“I’ll return,” I say. “Soon.”
I glance down at Brother Dormer as I go, now lying bound on the deck. Not struggling. Not fighting. He tracks me with his eyes as I pass. As though I am some alien creature.
I pause at the hatchway to the chapel, peer inside.
Empty—just as I had hoped. The evening meal is soon to be served.
There, on the port side of the long chamber, on the other side of the missile tubes, a line of what were once former offices but are now used as cells. The third one is where Adolphine is being kept.
“It’s me,” I whisper through the vents at the top of the metal door, then unlatch it slowly.
With a grease wick in hand, I swing the door open, find a figure dressed in rags, huddled in the corner of the small compartment.
“Re-Remy?” a cautious voice asks, confused, blinking away the light, unfolding herself from her curled position cautiously. Here, now standing before me, Adolphine. A face I have only seen in profile. But a voice I know well. My confessor these past weeks.
She’s a lean and sinewy woman. Her black, braided hair, pulled back, featuring a gaunt face. Her eyes are the only thing familiar, other than her voice.
“We have to go forward with the plan… now,” I whisper, glancing quickly at either end of the chapel hatchways and ladders. Still clear.
“But… but it’s early,” she says, understanding now what is happening. “We’re a day early, isn’t that right? We’re not at the coordinates.”
“There’s no choice,” I whisper. “No time to explain. We’ll be caught if we don’t act now. The Forgotten. They’re taking control of engineering as we speak.”
She blinks in response, stares forlornly at the deck. As though she is confused. Lost.
“You… you have the key with you?” she asks. Perhaps she didn’t hear me. “The missile key?”
“Yes,” I say, removing it from my robe pocket, holding it in my hand.
“Good,” she says, oddly, looking at me—or, perhaps through me.
She’s dazed. Hungry. Exhausted.
“Hurry now!” I turn to rush aft, but she doesn’t follow. Instead, she has seized my wrist tight.
“What?” I ask as she pulls the key free from my hand.
In her expression, both fright and fury. “It’s too soon,” she whispers. “I haven’t finished fixing the missile yet.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? Come…” I try to pull her along, but she will not budge. She remains at the doorway of her cell.
My heart sinks, looking back at her, into her brown eyes.
“This is our only chance,” she says. “Our last chance to take out the Liánméng fleet. They’re all docked… in one place. If we act now, then it’s over. The war will be over.”
I try to pull away now, but she won’t let me. She’s gripping my arm so tightly, it burns.
Deep dread pours all over me. Seizes my bones. “I… I thought you said… you said there would be peace.”
“There will be. I promise you that,” she says. Her eyes darken.
“Liar…” I whisper.
“I know, child,” she says, patting my hand. “This was always our mission. One missile left in the world… one last chance to end the war. We had to find the Leviathan, to make it operational again. To launch it. I could not have done it without you.”
“Lazlo… we were going to save him… the others.” I finally manage to pull away, but she seizes my shoulders, fingers digging in, yanks me close to her.
“You forget that boy, hear me?” she whispers now. “You can still save yourself… slip away from them when we are at launch depth… that will be no more than two hundred feet. You can ditch at that depth. Remember what I told you—”
“No,” I say, breaking down, crying. Not believing it.
She, too, is crying. This stranger. She kisses my cheek. Now she has taken both my arms, gripping them tight. Not to embrace but to restrain me. To keep me from fleeing.
“Save yourself,” she whispers hotly into my ear. Then she shouts. “Here!” Louder than any voice has uttered on this boat. “He’s trying to escape!”
8
I WAKE TO DIMNESS. Smell of rust, rancid oil. Vision blurry, a figure takes shape. I am on the deck, in Caplain’s quarters, hands bound behind my back. Wrists at painful angles, numb.
Marston is seated at his desk, parchment laid out before him, three oil lamps lit, flames guttering.
He’s humming an energetic tune.
I try to move. Can do little more than lift my head.
“I’m finishing our final hymn,” he says, without turning or looking. He must have heard me stir. “What we shall sing as we descend. The final song we shall sing into the deep.”
He turns in his chair. About his neck hangs the missile key. The real one. In his hands, folded sheaves of parchment. He blows on the ink to dry it, then shows me the cover of the folio. Penned there, in ornamental lettering, the words Cantio Maris.