He lowered his head again and shook it. "Never liked them much. I'm a pilot, not a bladesman. That's for others."
One of the best Federation pilots she had met. They'd flown missions together over the Prekkendorran. He had come into the service with Aden Kett, a couple of young Federation soldiers when they had started out. Now he was a pilot and Kett an airship Commander. Their crew had been assigned to Flying Mourn when Rue Meridian fled west to the coast with her brother. The Federation Command must have given them Black Moclips as a reward for their service. It was a good choice. Aden Kett's crew was the best Federation outfit in the skies.
She walked Donell Brae over to the mast, where Hunter Predd waited. The Wing Rider had come down from his mast perch to find better concealment and to watch her back. The sentries at either end of the airship took no visible notice as she marched Donell up to him.
"Again, now-who's aboard?" she pressed the pilot softly. He looked straight ahead. "The Commander, me, and eleven crew. Thirteen altogether. We started at fifteen, but two were left on the Jerle Shannara to man her. Dead, I suppose?"
She ignored him. "No Mwellrets lurking about?"
He shook his head. "All ashore, chasing that boy and whoever freed him."
A chill ran through her. She glanced at the dark form of Hunter Predd, who was close enough to hear. "Let's have a word with Aden Kett, Donell. Same rules until we're finished. Behave yourself and don't test me."
The seamed face glanced over. "I'm no fool, Little Red. I've seen you with those knives."
"Good. Hold on to that image. Now, where's the Commander?"
They went down the stairway that led through the rear decking to the lower passageways and holds. The Commander's chamber was aft, situated on the vessel's port side in the shelter of the pontoons. They moved silently down the short passageway to the cabin door and stopped. She nodded for Donell to speak.
"Commander?" he called through the door.
"Come," was the immediate response.
The pilot released the latch, and they moved inside in a rush. She kicked the door shut behind her, one hand on Donell Brae's arm, the other holding the dagger flat against her palm and low and tight against her side in a throwing position.
A pair of candles lit the darkness. Aden Kett was alone, propped up in his berth, writing in a journal, a cluster of maps spread out before him. When he glanced up, she saw his strong, handsome face was bruised and his head swathed in bandages. He seemed unsurprised to see her.
He put down the quill and ink and pushed the maps away. "Little Red." He looked at Donell Brae. "Things go from bad to worse for us these days, don't they?"
"Trying to decide exactly where in the scheme of things you are?" she asked, indicating the maps.
He shook his head. "Trying to plot a course home, one I hope to put to use very soon." He shrugged. "I can dream."
"Can I trust you not to call out for help while we talk?" she asked, balancing the dagger where he could see it.
He nodded wearily. "Who would I call out for? Why would I bother? The rets and the witch are ashore, and my crew and I are left in the dark once more. We're all of us sick of this business."
"Not going well, is it?" She moved Donell forward, still keeping her free hand on his arm and the door at her back where she could get to it if she must. "You must long for the old days, bad as they were."
He smiled, a bit of life returning to his battered features. "Things were less complicated."
"For you, anyway. What happened to your face?"
"Someone got aboard and rescued the boy we were holding. They broke into my cabin. I came out of my berth just in time to get knocked back into it. Your don't look so good yourself."
She returned his smile. "I'm healing. Slow and steady. But don't mistake that for a weakness you can take advantage of, Aden. You're no better with blades than Donell." She let the warning sink in. "Tell me about this boy."
Aden Kett shrugged. "I don't know anything about him. He was a boy. The Ilse Witch brought him here and told us to keep him locked away until she came back for him. The rets were given responsibility for that, so it's their problem that he got away."
"Describe him. Smallish? Dark hair? Unusual blue eyes? Not an Elf, is he? Did you get a name?"
The other shook his head. "He doesn't talk. Can't, I gather. But that's him, the way you describe. Who is he?"
She didn't answer. It must be Bek. But why couldn't he speak? And who had managed to get aboard before her and spirit him away?
"No other prisoners?"
"None that I know of. Or care about." The Federation Commander pushed the maps off his lap and swung his legs over the side of the berth, making sure he did nothing to startle her. Then he stood and stretched his back and arms, taking his time. "No sleep for me this night, I can see. What do you want, Little Red?"
She decided to take a chance. "Your ship. On loan."