CHAPTER
7
Nimble as a cat and smooth as a snake, Celaena climbed the wooden ladder built into the side of the ship.
The first guard didn’t notice she was upon him until her hands were around his neck, striking the two points that sent him into unconsciousness. He slumped to the deck, and she caught him by his filthy tunic, softening his fall. Quiet as mice, quiet as the wind, quiet as the grave.
The second guard, stationed at the helm, saw her coming up the staircase. He managed to emit a muffled cry before the pommel of her dagger slammed into his forehead. Not as neat, and not as quiet: he hit the deck with a thud that made the third guard, stationed at the prow, whirl to see.
But it was shadowy, and there were yards of ship between them. Celaena crouched low to the deck, covering the fallen guard’s body with her cloak.
“Jon?” the third guard called across the deck. Celaena winced at the sound. Not too far away, the Loveless was silent.
Celaena grimaced at the reek from Jon’s unwashed body.
“Jon?” the guard said, and thumping steps followed. Closer and closer. He’d see the first guard soon.
Three … two … one …
“What in hell?” The guard tripped over the first guard’s prostrate body.
Celaena moved.
She swung over the railing fast enough that the guard didn’t look up until she’d landed behind him. All it took was a swift blow to the head and she was easing his body down atop the first guard’s. Her heart hammering through every inch of her, she sprinted to the prow of the ship. She flashed the mirror three times. Three guards down.
Nothing.
“Come on, Sam.” She signaled again.
Far too many heartbeats later, a signal greeted her. The air rushed from her lungs in a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The guards on the Loveless were unconscious, too.
She signaled once. The watchtower was still quiet. If the guards were up there, they hadn’t seen anything. She had to be quick, had to get this done before her disappearance was noticed.
The guard outside the captain’s quarters managed to kick the wall hard enough to wake the dead before she knocked him out, but it didn’t stop Captain Fairview from squealing when she slipped into his office and shut the door.
When Fairview was secured in the brig, gagged and bound and fully aware that his cooperation and the cooperation of his guards meant his life, she crept down to the cargo area.
The passages were cramped, but the two guards at the door still didn’t notice her until she took the liberty of rendering them unconscious.
Silently as she could, she grabbed a lantern hanging from a peg on the wall and opened the door. The reek almost brought her to her knees.
The ceiling was so low she almost grazed it with her head. The slaves had all been chained, sitting, to the floor. No latrines, no source of light, no food or water.
The slaves murmured, squinting against the sudden brightness of the torchlight leaking in from the hallway.
Celaena took the ring of keys she’d stolen from the captain’s quarters and stepped into the cargo chamber. “Where is Dia?” she asked. They said nothing, either because they didn’t understand, or out of solidarity.
Celaena sighed, stepping farther into the chamber, and some of the wild-eyed mountain men murmured to one another. While they might have only recently declared themselves Adarlan’s enemies, the people of the White Fang Mountains had long been known for their unyielding love of violence. If she were to meet with any trouble in here, it would be from them. “Where is Dia?” she asked more loudly.
A trembling voice came from the back of the cargo area. “Here.” Her eyes strained to spy his narrow, fine features. “I’m here.”
She strode carefully through the crowded darkness. They were so close together that there was no room to move, and hardly any air to breathe. No wonder seven had died on the voyage here.
She took out Captain Fairview’s key and freed the shackles at Dia’s feet, then his manacles, before offering him a hand up. “You’re going to translate for me.” The mountain folk and whoever else didn’t speak either the common tongue or Eyllwe could figure out enough on their own.
Dia rubbed his wrists, which were bleeding and scabbed in places. “Who are you?”
Celaena unlocked the chains of the too-thin woman beside Dia, then held out the keys in her direction. “A friend,” she said. “Tell her to unlock everyone, but tell them not to leave this room.”
Dia nodded, and spoke in Eyllwe. The woman, mouth slightly open, looked at Celaena, then took the keys. Without a word, she set about freeing her companions. Dia then addressed the entire cargo bay, his voice soft but fierce.
“The guards are unconscious,” she said. Dia translated. “The captain has been locked in the brig, and tomorrow, should you choose to act, he will guide you through the Dead Islands and to safety. He knows that the penalty for bad information is death.”
Dia translated, his eyes growing wider and wider. Somewhere near the back, one of the mountain men began translating. And then two others translated, too—one in the language of Melisande, and another in a language she didn’t recognize. Had it been clever or cowardly of them not to speak up last night when she asked who spoke the common tongue?
“When I am done explaining our plan of action,” she said, her hands shaking a bit as she suddenly recalled what, exactly, lay before them, “you may leave this room, but do not set foot on the decks. There are guards in the watchtower, and guards monitoring this ship from land. If they see you on the deck, they will warn everyone.”
She let Dia and the others finish before going on.
“My colleague is already aboard the Loveless, another slave ship set to sail tomorrow.” She swallowed hard. “When I am done here, he and I will return to the town and create a distraction large enough that when the dawn breaks, you will have enough time to sail out of the harbor. You need the full day to sail out of the Dead Islands before dark—or else you’ll be caught in their labyrinth.”
Dia translated, but a woman spoke from nearby. Dia frowned as he turned to Celaena. “She has two questions. What of the chain at the entrance to the bay? And how will we sail the ship?”
Celaena nodded. “Leave the chain to us. We’ll have it down before you reach it.”
When Dia and the others translated, murmurs broke out. Shackles were still thudding to the ground as slave after slave was unlocked.
“As for sailing the ship,” she went on above the noise, “are any of you sailors? Fishermen?”
Some hands went up. “Captain Fairview will give you specific instructions. You’ll have to row out of the bay, though. Everyone who has the strength will be needed on the oars, or you won’t have a shot of outrunning Rolfe’s ships.”
“What of his fleet?” another man asked.
“Leave it to me.” Sam was probably already rowing over to the Golden Wolf. They had to get back to shore now. “No matter if the chain is still up, no matter what might be happening in town, the moment the sun slips over the horizon, you start rowing like hell.”
A few voices objected to Dia’s translation, and he gave a sharp, short reply before turning to her. “We will sort out specifics on our own.”
She lifted her chin. “Discuss it among yourselves. Your fate is yours to decide. But no matter what plan you choose, I will have the chain down, and will buy you as much time as I can at dawn.”
She bowed her head in farewell as she left the cargo hold, beckoning Dia along with her. Discussion started behind them—muffled, at least.
In the hallway, she could see how thin he was, how filthy. She pointed down the hall. “That is where the brig is; there you’ll find Captain Fairview. Get him out before dawn, and don’t be afraid to bloody him up a bit if he refuses to talk. There are three unconscious guards tied up on the deck, a guard outside Fairview’s quarters, and the two here. Do whatever you want with them; the choice is yours.”
“I’ll have someone take them to the brig,” Dia said quickly. He rubbed at the stubble on his face. “How much time will we have to get away? How long before the pirates notice?”
“I don’t know. I’ll try to disable their ships, which might slow them down.” They reached the narrow stairs that led to the upper decks. “There’s one thing I need you to do,” she continued, and he looked up at her, his eyes bright. “My colleague doesn’t speak Eyllwe. I need you to take a rowboat to the other ship and tell them all that I’ve told you, and unlock their chains. We have to return to shore now, so you’ll have to go alone.”
Dia sucked in a breath, but nodded. “I will.”
After Dia told the people in the cargo bay to take the unconscious guards to the brig, he crept with Celaena onto the empty deck. He cringed at the sight of the unconscious guards, but didn’t object when she swept Jon’s cloak over his shoulders and concealed his face in the folds of the cloak. Or when she gave him Jon’s sword and dagger.
Sam was already waiting at the side of the ship, hidden from the far-seeing eyes of the watchtower. He helped Dia into the first rowboat before climbing into the second and waiting for Celaena to get aboard.
Blood gleamed on Sam’s dark tunic, but they’d both packed a change of clothes. Silently, Sam picked up the oars. Celaena cleared her throat. Dia turned back to her.
She inclined her head east, toward the mouth of the bay. “Remember: you must start rowing at sunrise, even if the chain is up. Every moment you delay means losing the tide.”
Dia grasped the oars. “We will be ready.”
“Then good luck,” she said. Without another word, Dia began rowing to the other ship, his strokes a bit too loud for her liking, but not enough to be detected.
Sam, too, started rowing, slipping around the curve of the prow and heading toward the docks at a casual, unsuspicious pace.
“Nervous?” he asked, his voice barely audible above the steady slice of his oars through the calm bay.
“No,” she lied.
“Me, too.”
Ahead of them were the golden lights of Skull’s Bay. Hoots and cheers echoed across the water. Word had certainly spread about the free ale.
She smiled slightly. “Get ready to unleash hell.”