Jos’s eyes widen. This is too much for Solet. Before he does anything rash, he shouts down the ladder to two firemen, “Put this man in his cabin. If he tries to leave, put him in a barrel and nail the lid down.”
The men scramble up and grab Mulcent, who tries to shake them off. As they pull him down the ladder, he says, “That’s the end of the operation. And you.”
“Only a fool leaves an Ynessi with nothing to lose,” Solet says. This worries Jos even more than Mulcent’s comment.
Meanwhile, the dragon turns its head all the way around and peers at Mylla. Its eyes remind her of Solet’s when he’s up to something.
The dragon’s belly heaves again, its head whips around and another gob flies at the Pyg. The whip action gives the gob more momentum; it clears the bow and foredeck and breaks on the archers. They’re knocked back by its weight, and it spreads over their skin. The Pyg’s harpooners dance around the deck to avoid the fumes.
Firemen with pails move in to douse the injured with water, thinking the acid some strange liquid fire, but the water makes their skin boil and spit. Those with shovels scoop up the sand spread on the deck to remove the acid and toss it overboard. The deck is turning black, and all understand if the acid burns through, it’ll kill the rowers, then go through the hull and kill the ship.
One shoveler named Blass notices a clump has landed on the powder barrel. It reminds him of a jellyfish stranded on a beach after a tide. He and his sister used to poke them to see if they would move. They never did. Then the clump bubbles and drops through the steel lid.
In the dragon’s lee Solet sees a flash make the dragon’s wings translucent. He watches shards of wood and metal, bone and Blass, pierce the wings’ membranes and rain across the Gamo, chased by an immense boom, men’s screams, the dragon’s roar, the snap of chains, and the groaning of a ship going down by its bow. Somehow above them all he hears a long sharp whistle from the Kolos.
Through a rent in the dragon’s wing, Mylla sees Barad flash the strangest thing: “He’s coming.”
3
* * *
Bodger, the Gamo’s larboard harpooner, reloads. He barely feels the shrapnel embedded in his skin, he’s so furious that his first shot went through the wing. After an engagement, the captain, mates, and harpooners discuss every shot, and a miss will cost him part of his monthly. Worse, Gibbery, the starboard harpooner, is offering him smug suggestions for improvement. Gibbery could care less if he hits nor does he care about money, which he gambles away. He loves the hunt, and he’d be just as happy with a shortbow in the woods, waiting for a turkey to waddle by. Bodger doesn’t have that luxury. He has family, most too young or too injured to work. He decides he’ll shoot the dragon’s rump. A cheap shot, but at this point they just have to hold it.
“What is that?” Gibbery says. A thick gray line waves in the sky.
“Another dragon,” Bodger says. This one’s much smaller than the green, but he bets it will circle around the green and give him a perfect target. He pivots the cannon and readies the firing rod. This prize is all his. And the bonus for taking it.
Mulcent stalks to the porthole, which gives a view of the darkening sea, the dismal shore, and the first glimpses of the southern constellations. The Crow. The Cup. The Water Snake. His brother had known them all. From the time they were boys, all his brother had dreamed about was sailing the world like their grandfather and father. He’d made a list of the cities he would visit, creatures he would see, and tastes and smells he would experience. Mulcent, though, knew the real adventures were in the counting books, plus they offered no chance of drowning the way his brother eventually did.
He puts his goggled eye to the spyhole in the door as an explosion lights up the dragon’s wings, then debris shreds them. The Gamo jerks back, and Mulcent’s nose is mashed against the door. Blood trickles over his top lip. He has to put a stop to this misadventure. He figured Solet’s reports underplayed the risks he took, but not by this much.
Sumpt staggers into view, his bottle near empty, debris fluttering around him, pepper getting into his unprotected eyes. Mulcent’s guards try to corral him, and Mulcent takes the opportunity to slip out.
“Magnificent!” Sumpt says to the air as Mulcent passes them. “What a creature. I will have its foot for a wastebasket.”
Mulcent runs to the foredeck where he sees Bodger bent over his cannon, firing rod in hand. No more chains, Mulcent thinks. He rushes the harpooner and grabs his arm.