The plaintive call for help came again, clearer now that the Storm was almost upon the Seven Swords. The sound cut through the eerie thickness like a hot knife through butter. They all winced at the uncanny loudness of it.
“Keep behind her,” Julian told Helm. “Don’t draw up along broadsides. If it is an ambush, I won’t put the Storm flush with her guns.” He looked to Ilior. “Tell the men to furl the sails.”
Whistle whistled—a low trill—and the captain turned. The boy pointed frantically at the Seven Swords. The schooner was still and the Black Storm came on too fast. Julian swore under his breath.
“Get Svoz and Ilior on the guns. We’re going to broadside her anyway.”
Selena repeated the orders to the sirrak, who complained at the lack of first-hand blood-letting but stomped down to the main deck to man one of the two starboard-side cannons. Ilior took the other.
At the rail of the quarterdeck Julian took his flintlock in hand, and hailed the ship. His voice rang out and Selena felt every single person on the Black Storm recoil at the sound by virtue of the eerie quiet of the Seven Swords.
That’s my imagination, Selena thought, but Helm looked stricken and even Julian’s stony face wore a grimace. He did not hail them a second time.
“Was that wise?” Selena asked.
“Undisciplined men, training their pistols or guns on us, would have flinched and let fly,” Julian said.
“I’m here…” came the voice from inside the ship. “Ah, gods, please. I’m here…”
“I’m going over,” Selena said.
“Don’t…”
“There’s no one aboard but the man calling for help,” Selena said. “Can’t you feel it? An emptiness? I’m going aboard.”
“Alone?” Julian asked. “Send your sirrak. No, don’t,” he amended. “I want him on that gun. I’ll go with you, gods be damned.”
The Black Storm’s bow came up alongside port side the Seven Swords. With the agility of a cat, Julian climbed the Storm’s bowsprit and stepped onto the gunwale of the Swords as if he were stepping over a puddle. He reappeared on the main deck and motioned for Selena to come over but the Storm was too fast, drifting past the Seven Swords.
“Selena?” Julian hissed. He was a black shadow at the bow of the other ship. “Smartly now.”
The Storm’s bow was past the Seven Swords’; the two ships were passing each other, side by side, just as Julian had feared they would. For one agonized moment Selena imagined that cannon blasts would roar, tearing into the Black Storm. Ilior and Svoz were crouched low and tense. But there was nothing but eerie silence broken now and then by the plaintive cry for help that now rang out like a clarion in the stillness.
Selena climbed onto the gunwale. She hesitated, looking down at three spans of cold, black water churning below, and then she jumped. Her foot touched the Sword’s rail. She used it to push off, and landed on the dead ship’s main deck, one knee down to brace her fall.
Julian stood above her and offered a hand.
“The Storm’s drifting past,” she said.
He rubbed his lips. “I noticed that. I trust Helm has enough sense to bring her about, but one can’t be too careful. This is going to hurt, be warned.”
Julian went to the rail and shouted to his men to bring the Storm about and to send Ilior over with the skiff to get them back. Once again, his voice clanged like a bell in an empty cavern. Selena recoiled.
He returned to her side. “My skin is itching.”
“Mine too,” she said. “Let’s get down below.”
“Wait,” Julian said. “Hear that?”
Selena listened. “I hear nothing.”
“Exactly. Our friend has grown silent when he should be louder, now that he knows we’re here.” Julian retrieved his flintlock and held it ready.
They started for the hatch amidships that would lead below, walking with slow, cautious steps. The ship looked sound, but appeared as if it hadn’t sailed in years. Every coil of rope, every cask looked still and untouched, and the deck was clear but for a few patches of dampness here and there. The wood moaned and the sails drooped eerily above them without catching one puff of wind. A fine layer of dust had settled over all. Selena bent and ran her fingers along the planks. They came up coated with something faintly shiny.
“What…?” She peered at her fingers. Residue in a rainbow of hues, all faded as if by the sun, glazed her skin, shining in the twilight. “Not dust. Scales,” she murmured. “These are scales.”
“Seems to be,” Julian said, his voice low. “And here.” He went to one knee and ran his fingers along faint grooves scratched into the deck. Stains that looked dark in the coppery light of the sunset accompanied the scratches, and then he found a small, bloody object. He held it up. “Is that…?”
“A fingernail,” Selena breathed. Her heart clanged in her chest. Julian made a disgusted face and hurled it away.
“The captain’s quarters first,” he whispered, indicating with his pistol the cabin at the stern. “No surprises.”
Selena nodded, though she was eager to get below. Whoever needed help might be dying or already dead. She shivered and followed Julian across the main deck. He pushed open the door with his flintlock. The cabin had small windows at aft, and the setting sun was fore; the room was full of shadows.
“Luxari,” Selena murmured. A small orb of light bloomed in the palm of her hand. Her other hand she kept on her sword. The cabin was small and a cursory glance revealed that it to be empty.
Clothing lay strewn over bunk and chair, and empty bottles of rum rolled at their ankles to the ship’s gentle swaying. Julian kicked aside a man’s breeches that lay in a heap on the floor, and went to the small captain’s desk. A shirt lay across it, cast off. Julian lifted it with the muzzle of his pistol and tossed it aside. The ship’s log was there and he opened it with two fingers, and then wiped his fingers on his coat.
“Bring the light.”
Selena stood beside him as he read the logbook.
“An entry for yesterday. Mundane. But there’s nothing for today. Nothing to indicate what happened.”
Selena glanced around. The cabin’s disarray wasn’t because of a ransacking. There was no sign of struggle, or of a fight being waged and lost.
“If the captain had packed to leave the ship, I can’t imagine what he had taken. It appears as if most of his belongings are still here. He’s just gone.”
“They all are,” Julian said.
“But for the man who cried for help,” Selena said. “Are we done here?”
Julian left the logbook where it lay, and wiped his hand again on his coat.