The crew and I find a new rhythm in the days that follow. I observe the natives, listening to them speak to one another, watching them exchange shifts guarding that entrance belowground. Dimella has a watch rotation all worked out so everyone can take turns keeping lookout. Instead of maintaining a sailing ship, we have to keep the camp stocked. We send out parties to collect firewood, go hunting, and scavenge for anything we might be able to use.
Everyone takes turns teaching Roslyn how to fight with her new rapier. She has a sparring buddy for every hour of the day to keep her occupied and out of trouble. Though she doesn’t know it, her fighting partners are whoever is charged with guarding her in that moment. I’m taking no chances with her.
Enwen always lets her win.
Dimella puts her in her place.
And I make her work until her limbs drop with exhaustion.
Chapter 12
“DO YOU THINK ALL the natives look like that?” Kearan asks, obviously referring to the sheer size of the men on watch, as we return to camp from another night’s scouting. “Or is there something dangerous in those underground tunnels?”
“We won’t know until we can get a look down there.”
“I don’t like our odds going up against them. I think we could win, but not without many losses.”
“I wasn’t planning on fighting them for access to the tunnel.”
“Then what were you thinking?”
“A diversion to draw them away.”
“How?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
A few days later, and I think we’re ready. We’ve observed that small clearing surrounding the never-dying campfire long enough to know when they swap guards or restock the place with more firewood and food.
Once I know the patterns, I feel confident striking.
I approach the crew just over a week after landing upon this frozen place. We’ve switched camp locations every evening, always keeping on the move.
I say, “Today, I want to get inside the cavern the enemy is guarding, but I’ll need help doing it.”
Before I can ask for ideas, Visylla perks up. “Perhaps now would be a good time for an explosion?”
“With what?” Philoria asks. “We didn’t bring much black powder. We’ll need it all for the guns.”
“That’s not strictly true …” Visylla kicks a barrel, and I hear a soft tink within.
Dimella rounds on her. “Are you saying you brought your hand bombs instead of more food?”
“Everyone else grabbed food. We needed protection, too! Besides, you can hardly grumble when the captain needs them.”
Both girls turn to me, looking for a verdict.
“Visylla, in the future, you will listen to your first officer. Dimella may discipline you as she sees fit. But today, we’ll use those bombs.”
KEARAN AND I SLINK between the trees like jungle cats. We’ve done this a dozen times now, but that doesn’t make us careless. If anything, we’re more cautions than ever. This has to go smoothly if we’re to pull an escape off.
Flowers pad my steps through the snow. It’s hard to believe that so much greenery survives in these temperatures, but I suppose almost anything can adapt. Maybe the type of flora here can only survive in a freezing environment.
As we approach the camp, it starts to snow. Little pinpricks of white make it through the canopy, brushing my head and shoulders. I hold out a hand in front of me to catch a large flake. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it snow. The northern islands in the Seventeen Isles sometimes have snow in the winter, but most of my time lately has been spent in the tropics.
When I come to a stop, Kearan doesn’t miss a beat. I crouch behind the brush, looking through icicle-covered branches to observe the lookouts in the treetops.
I haven’t seen the same men on guard duty twice yet, so their numbers are large enough to accommodate that, at least. I wonder how many live here and why our arrival was met with such hostility. Why did it have to result in Bayla’s death? Why am I stuck here now trying to keep twenty-three other souls alive?
There has to be a way to make up for all of it. If I can just save Alosa’s missing girls, then surely this will all be worth it. If I can still save more than I’ve lost.
Or maybe I don’t want to admit that I’ve bungled everything up and I never should have accepted this mission.
I shut out the doubts crowding my mind by replaying some of my latest kills. Knives driven through hearts, knives raked across necks, knives plunged into eye sockets. Every encounter ending the same way.
Samvin Carroter dead. Again and again.
His look of shock and disbelief accompanies me as we stay crouched low in the snow.
Waiting.
And waiting.
And waiting.
The girls spent the morning cutting down dry branches, covering them with what oil we could spare, making a pile perfect for a bonfire.
I don’t know how many of her hand bombs Visylla will use to ignite it and make a sufficient sound to draw away the guards, but I get an idea when the first blasts go off. Snow slides from a nearby mountain, the sound a deep rumbling that’s enough to get anyone’s attention.
While the men are distracted, Kearan and I creep ever closer, waiting for some of the guards to run and explore the sound. When their numbers are sufficiently thinned, we gain more ground, until I can see the opening in the rocks.
They left only two men behind aside from the lookouts, who now have their backs to us.
I don’t need to signal Kearan what to do. We each get behind one of the men and simultaneously slit their throats.
Normally, I know the men I’m killing. I know their misdeeds and their characters. I know why they deserve to die. This doesn’t feel quite the same. I don’t really know these men. All I know is they sunk my ship and killed Bayla.
But that’s reason enough for me.
Samvin Carroter dies again, and that small high carries me through the opening into the ground.
The light dims at first, only the sunshine at our backs lighting our way through a thin, rocky tunnel. But soon more light shines ahead, and I follow it into a cavern opening.
I am not easily impressed, but the sight before me takes my breath away. The ground, the ceiling, the walls—they all look as though made of light blue glass. But I know it’s ice. Cicles from the ceiling hang over our heads; some have grown so long they connect with the ground at our feet, making columns of ice. The sun shines through the transparent ceiling above us, lighting up the whole place brightly. There must be feet of snow above the icy ceiling, hiding this cavern from sight, but it’s not deep enough to keep out the light.
As I take my first step onto the ice, I nearly lose my footing.
“It’s slick,” I tell Kearan. I put one hand on the wall to my left to help me keep my balance, and we continue. Past the chamber of ice is another tunnel, this one just as slippery, and we traverse ever deeper and deeper. So far, the path hasn’t forked at all, so I’m confident about the return trip.
When more light streams ahead, I hurry for it, silent as ever, and come to a stop before I step foot in the new chamber, taking it in before I expose myself.
It’s much larger than the last opening, with more pillars and blocks of ice strewn about the place. Only this time, I can see shapes within the ice. When I deem the area empty, I creep closer to get a good look at one of the frozen blocks.