The Grim Company

Friends in High Places





Eremul wiped sweat from his brow and attempted to dry his hands on his filthy robes. He succeeded only in smearing mud, sweat and other assorted scum further over his palms and fouled garments. With a muttered curse, he squinted down the hill that overlooked the harbour, attempting to catch sight of the utter bastard who had upended his chair and scampered off with a handful of coins he had spectacularly failed to earn.

The White Lady’s agents will be positively awed to make my acquaintance. Filthy, bruised and stinking of mud and shit. Perfect.

Of course, the lout Eremul had hired couldn’t have guessed the pitiful cripple he was pushing uphill was a mage. If he had, there wasn’t a chance in hell he would have tipped him unceremoniously onto his arse and run off back down the hill.

He had come within a whisker of evoking a powerful wind to sweep the treacherous son of a bitch from the bluff and send him hurtling towards a messy death on the rocks far below. Perhaps the only reason he hadn’t was the sudden shock at finding his useless body flopping around on the muddy ground. It had taken all of his strength to right his chair and somehow pull himself back on again.

Damn it, Isaac. Where are you?

The small band of rebels had not returned to Dorminia and Eremul was beginning to worry. Isaac was loyal and usually competent when it really mattered, despite his frequent buffoonery. The fellow he had hired to manoeuvre him to the top of Raven’s Bluff, on the other hand, was typical of the lowlifes he had no choice but to tolerate on a daily basis. Only a select handful of Dorminians knew he was a mage and therefore treated him with a modicum of respect. The rest saw a scrawny, bookish cripple who was known to be irascible and hence the perfect target for all manner of cruel japes.

About the only use they have for books is to fuel their hearths during winter’s coldest months – or else wipe their arses with in the case of an emergency.

He had considered moving to a more affluent part of the city, but that would entail swapping honest ignorance for conceited superiority and insufferable pomposity. Frankly, that wasn’t a trade he was willing to make. Besides, the unassuming nature of the locals suited his purposes. The more distance between himself and his masters in the Noble Quarter, the better.

The ruined lighthouse loomed ahead, illuminated by the crescent moon in the clear midnight sky above. The tower here at Raven’s Bluff had once overlooked the point where the harbour opened up into Deadman’s Channel. As Dorminia had grown the harbour had expanded. New lighthouses had been constructed further along the coast, leaving this old building obsolete.

The Halfmage squinted at the tower, searching for any sign of his mysterious contacts within. He could see nothing except darkness. The structure soared before him like some giant skeletal finger stuck in the ground, as dead and silent as a corpse.

The thought made him uneasy. Thelassa’s enigmatic Magelord was said to practise strange magic and maintained a strict isolationist policy. Merchants required a special permit to trade and visitors were strictly monitored.

Those who had spent time in the City of Towers reported it to be a wondrous place, as beautiful as Dorminia was ugly, where fairness and equality were there to be had by all. More disturbing accounts made reference to queer things such as apparitions that materialized and then disappeared just as suddenly, pale women who seemed normal apart from their eyes, which were as dead as those of a corpse, and last but not least mass orgies in the streets, so licentious that the white marble of the city itself seemed to pulse with pleasure.

The White Lady was potentially a very useful ally – but Eremul didn’t approach anything without a healthy dose of scepticism. Expect the worst and you can’t be disappointed. Optimism is the luxury of the young, the foolish and the dullard.

His arms shaking from exertion, the Halfmage wheeled his chair up to the rotting old door at the foot of the tower. It was overhung with a thick mass of cobwebs that had not been disturbed in many a moon. He sagged.

They aren’t here. Have they been discovered? Dorminia and Thelassa are technically at peace, but any fool can see war is imminent. The White Lady’s agents could be protesting their innocence in the dungeons of the Obelisk at this very moment.

Without warning, the door suddenly creaked open. Husks of long-dead spiders and ancient, clinging cobwebs showered him, torn away from the wall above the door by a sudden breeze. He cursed and shook his head violently, brushing his hands carefully over his robes. He hated spiders.

Yet another layer of finery to add to my glorious attire. Sweat, dirt, shit, and dead arachnids and half-eaten insects. At least I haven’t pissed myself. Yet.

‘Enter,’ commanded a feminine voice from within. Eremul plucked away a spindly leg dangling from one eyebrow and pushed his chair into the building. The interior was a damp and filthy ruin. A trio of thick candles on a table in the centre of the circular chamber provided the only light. There was a stairwell on the other side of the chamber, and the draught from that black maw caused the flames to dance as they illuminated the women around the table.

There were three of them. Each of the women was slender and pale and wore a plain white robe down to her ankles. They watched him expectantly. Something about their eyes seemed strange, he thought. And there was something else—

Eremul stared in shock. None of the women cast a shadow.

The tallest bowed slightly. ‘We appreciate you coming here,’ she said in a voice that was soft, controlled and completely devoid of emotion. ‘You may refer to me as First Voice. I speak with the authority of the White Lady. These are Second Voice and Third Voice.’ She gestured to the women to either side of her.

Eremul raised an eyebrow. So it’s going to be like this. ‘You can call me Halfmage,’ he replied. ‘I would bow in return and kiss each of your hands, but you would surely grow tired of lifting me off the floor. In any case, I find formality overrated.’

First Voice nodded, unperturbed by his poor attempt at humour. ‘You are known to us, Eremul Kaldrian. You are far more than you appear.’

He shrugged. ‘Not a particularly impressive feat, it must be said.’

‘We uncovered one of your agents in Thelassa,’ replied Second Voice. ‘He was most forthcoming.’

Eremul nodded. He had expected as much. ‘Is he unharmed?’ he asked, almost fearing the answer.

‘He is. When it became apparent that our interests were similarly aligned, we had no reason to use more… creative means of coercion.’

‘What did he tell you?’

This time First Voice replied. ‘He told us much about you. You were once a favoured apprentice of the Tyrant of Dorminia. When Salazar ordered the Culling and those with the gift were put to death, he chose to spare you. Why was this?’

The Halfmage frowned. He had asked himself the same question often enough over the years. ‘I would like to think my wit and charm made me indispensable,’ he began, ‘but I fear the truth is somewhat simpler.’ He leaned forwards in his chair. ‘My magic was too weak to pose a threat. Even a ruthless murdering bastard like Salazar recognized that having another wizard around might one day prove useful to him. I was maimed and cast out of the Obelisk, with one final set of instructions.’

‘Which were?’ asked Third Voice softly.

‘I was to act as a spy and informant for his lordship. Who better to masquerade as an insurrectionist than one who had suffered so visibly at his hands? I have thwarted many a nefarious and wholly incompetent plot against Salazar.’

Second Voice took a step towards him, and he saw immediately what was wrong with the eyes of the women. They were entirely colourless save for the black pupils at their centres. ‘You serve the Tyrant of Dorminia? Tell us why we should not kill you now.’

Eremul sighed. ‘Trust must be earned before it can be betrayed, no? Believe me when I say I hate Salazar more than anyone in this city. But the only way I can truly work against him, the only way I can survive, is by pretending I am a loyal servant of his regime. To maintain that illusion, I must sometimes feed the magistrates useful information.’

‘Information that means the deaths of the unfortunates involved,’ said Second Voice, again without emotion.

Eremul gripped the sides of his chair so hard his knuckles turned white. ‘Those are the sacrifices that must be made.’ He let out a deep sigh and sagged in his chair. ‘Look, I could wheel myself up to the Obelisk while proclaiming Salazar to be a cunt of the highest order. Apart from a fleeting sense of satisfaction, that would achieve precisely f*ck all, except to earn a rather messy death. So I play a longer game.’

First Voice held out a hand and beckoned to Second Voice, who returned to her side. ‘If your intentions were truly in any doubt,’ she said slowly, ‘you would not walk away from here.’

Eremul raised an eyebrow.

‘You would not leave here,’ First Voice amended.

‘Are you threatening me?’ Eremul asked, almost pleasantly. He drummed his fingers on the sides of his chair.

‘You have no idea what you face,’ answered First Voice. ‘Your magic would be of little use against us.’

‘What are you?’

‘You may call us… the Unborn. We walk in places others cannot. In time you will not remember our faces. I trust you are not planning to test your magic against us?’

The Halfmage shook his head. ‘I prefer to avoid unnecessary violence. Waving one’s prick around and spoiling for a fight always strikes me as the privilege of the barbarian or some other testosterone-fuelled brute. I’m a survivor.’

First Voice nodded. ‘Then we are of accord. You will not betray us.’

‘I don’t plan to,’ Eremul agreed. ‘Now that we’ve established I am on your side, why did you summon me here? What do you want of me?’

‘Nothing,’ replied First Voice. ‘The White Lady simply wished to establish your intentions. She will move against Salazar soon.’

‘Salazar… or Dorminia?’ asked Eremul carefully. ‘I would rather this city didn’t become another Shadowport.’

First Voice folded her hands beneath her breasts. Her strange, empty eyes gave nothing away. ‘The White Lady wants to liberate Dorminia, not destroy it. She grieves for Shadowport and what was done to the people of that city. She has concluded that Salazar must die.’

For the first time in the course of this clandestine meeting, Eremul found himself smiling. ‘Tell me how I can help.’

‘You cannot,’ First Voice said. ‘Preparations have already been made. The risks are great, and it is possible we may fail. If we do not succeed, the White Lady will contact you again.’

‘Any hints as to what you’re planning? Give a poor crippled mage something to cling to. It helps keep me warm at night.’

First Voice shook her head. ‘The less that you know of our plan the better.’

‘Fine,’ Eremul said, rather irritably. ‘If we have nothing more to discuss, I’ll bid you goodnight.’ Besides, my arse is throbbing and I desperately need to piss.

‘Remember,’ said First Voice, as her sisters placed a hand on each of her narrow shoulders. ‘Speak of this to nobody. Betray us and you will suffer consequences beyond your—’

‘Bah, shove your threats,’ Eremul interrupted. ‘I’ve heard it all before. I’ve suffered it all before. I may be a traitor and a turncoat, but at least do me the honour of taking me at my word when I tell you—’

He stopped short. He was speaking to thin air. The candles on the table had burned down to tiny stumps that flickered feebly, surrounded by pools of wax. The pale women had simply disappeared.

Eremul shivered. There had been no magic at work, or at least none that he could sense.

He spun his chair around and wheeled himself back outside, breathing in the crisp night air and listening to the sounds of water lapping against the cliff below. He tried to recall the faces of all the men and women whom he had betrayed to the magistrates. People like him, united in their hatred for the city’s despotic ruler and determined to bring about a future free from his tyrannical rule.

Sentenced to death. By me, the unassuming, maimed scribe hiding in plain sight among the fakeries of book and tome and scroll. A… spider, damn it, yes, the irony… a spider at the centre of a web of deceit. Bitterness welled up inside him. He swallowed it down. One day Salazar and his cronies would learn that this spider had venom.

Shoulders slumped and bladder bursting, Eremul forced his aching arms into motion and pushed his chair back down Raven’s Bluff towards the harbour – and, for want of a better word, home.





The Great Escape





Cole took a deep breath and tried to steady his nerves. He squinted up at the purple sky where the glowing orb of the sun was just about visible behind a thick band of clouds. Dawn was upon them.

The Redemption had crossed into the Swell in the early hours of the morning. The captives had been allowed on deck shortly after first light. They had enjoyed a breakfast of thick gruel, dried nuts and salted beef, washed down by a generous cup of fresh water from the barrels stored in the small hold near the mizzenmast at the stern of the ship. With strict rationing, the provisions on board would last for months.

He had spoken with eight of the prisoners while on deck the night before. Seven had agreed to his plan. The last had said nothing, only looked at him with a hard expression before glancing off in the direction of the captain. Cole’s heart had felt as if it was lodged in his throat as he waited for the lank-haired fellow to run over to Kramer and tell him everything. Instead, the man had simply looked down and spat on the deck.

Still. Eleven men. With the exception of the engineer, Soeman, every one looked like he could handle himself in a fight. If everything went smoothly they would be sailing away to freedom before the morrow.

He looked around one last time, meeting the eyes of each participant in this daring plot. He saw the hint of worry on one face, excitement on another. Three-Finger positively smirked at him. Cole gave his co-conspirator a confident nod, a gesture he hoped conveyed an iron certainty that, for some reason, he wasn’t really feeling.

Red Bounty’s small crew waited by her railing for the men on the smaller carrack to board. A small rowing boat had detached from the cog and now bobbed alongside the Redemption on her starboard side. Rope was thrown down and the first group of prisoners was lowered onto the vessel under the careful gaze of four Watchmen. It took only a couple of minutes for the boat to cross the small expanse of water. The passengers were hoisted up the side of the cog, and then the rowing boat swung around to collect more men.

Cole was ferried across in the third and final group. Soeman sat next to him, his thin face ashen and his hands twitching with nerves.

Not that the soldiers staring across at them had any cause for suspicion. Just about everyone aboard the two ships was feeling the strain of sailing on the Swell. Prisoners, sailors and Watchmen alike had reacted poorly to the news they had crossed into the dreaded stretch of water. The hold had been an unpleasant place to be at that moment, with prisoners retching all around him, others moaning in fear, and Three-Finger accidentally pissing on his leg as he shifted to avoid another man’s vomit.

He reached across and squeezed Soeman’s arm. A Watchman saw the gesture and sneered. Cole frowned in response and then turned and spat over the side of the boat, just as he imagined Brodar Kayne would have done.

He immediately regretted the gesture. It was because of that old bastard he was in this mess in the first place. To make matters worse, the Highlander still had his birthright, his precious dagger. He wanted Magebane back. If he had to take it from the old barbarian by force, so be it. That was exactly what he would do.

The boat bumped against the hull of the cog and Cole shipped his oars. The old seadog, Jack, clambered up the hanging rope like some wiry monkey. Soeman tried to haul himself up next but slipped and crashed back down into the boat, sending it lurching to one side and soaking everyone with cold seawater. A Watchman hauled him to his feet and shook him so hard Cole thought his teeth were going to fall out.

He wouldn’t have minded giving the man a shake himself, but he needed Soeman for his plan to work effectively. It came as a relief once the engineer was finally over the side of Red Bounty.

‘You next,’ ordered a Watchman. Cole glanced around and stretched theatrically to make sure everyone was focusing on him. Then he sped up the rope like an acrobat. He reached the top and vaulted onto the deck of the ship, landing in a smooth roll.

He immediately regretted his bravado. Agony exploded in his swollen groin. His bruised ribs hurt even worse. He wanted to fall to the deck and wait for the pain to subside, but everyone was watching him. Teeth clenched, he shrugged and strolled over to the rest of the captives.

‘What was that about?’ asked Three-Finger, a puzzled expression on his ugly face.

‘Morale,’ Cole replied. ‘The men can’t fail to have been impressed by what they just saw. A leader has to inspire confidence in his ability.’

‘Whatever you say.’ Three-Finger looked around the ship and counted under his breath. ‘There are six Watchmen aboard this vessel. That means there are six more back on the Redemption. And that cocksucking Augmentor.’

Cole nodded. The rowing boat was now back alongside the other ship, where the sailors were attending to the rigging. Captain Kramer stood near the rail, conversing with his first mate. Falcus lurked nearby.

A booming voice brought Cole’s attention back to Red Bounty. The speaker was a huge bear of a man with a bristling beard. His assistants cowered behind him on the aftcastle as he stared down at the indentured workforce with undisguised contempt.

‘I’m Foreman Armin,’ he bellowed. ‘I’m supervising this mining operation. If any one of you so much as puts a foot out of place, I’ll have the flesh stripped from your hide.’

Cole glanced at the soldiers behind him. They wore eager looks on their faces, no doubt keen to get stuck into the business of mistreating their prisoners. Whatever one might say about Kramer, the captain ran a tight ship. Armin, on the other hand, gave the distinct impression he would be the taskmaster from hell.

‘We have the whole day ahead of us,’ the foreman continued. ‘When I say the word, you cretins will begin unloading equipment from the cargo hold. I want everything tested to ensure it’s operational before work begins on the morrow. Any man not pulling his weight gets to feel the leather of my boot up his arse. Where’s Soeman?’

The engineer hesitated for a second, and then raised one thin arm.

‘You’ll oversee the construction of the platform,’ Armin said. ‘I want it assembled by the time we finish work this evening.’ He paused a moment, savouring his next words before he spoke them. ‘Tomorrow a handful of you bastards will test the water. My men will operate the drill. You lot’ – he smiled grimly, gesturing at the captives – ‘will search the sea floor.’

The uproar was instantaneous. Men cursed and shook their heads. Others looked for weapons as if they would mutiny right then and there. Crimson Watchmen waded in, laying about them with the pommels of their swords and lashing out with cruel whips. The man next to Cole was knocked down and stomped on. He turned his head and spewed bloody spittle and loose teeth all over the deck.

Within the space of a minute the protest was over. Captives groaned, wiping blood from their faces and nursing bruised bodies. Cole shook his head in annoyance. This wasn’t going to make their escape any easier.

‘Now that we understand each other,’ said Armin, ‘let me explain how we’re going to do things. You will search for blue veins in the rock. When you find one, follow the vein and extract as much of the rock containing blue material as you can. That stuff is solidified magic. These waters are rich with it, so you shouldn’t have much difficulty locating good hauls.’

‘How are we supposed to dive to the bottom?’ asked a long-faced fellow behind Cole.

‘The sea is shallow here. Less than thirty fathoms. You will be provided with special helmets to help you breathe.’

‘What kind of helmets?’

Armin frowned. ‘The kind you wear on your head. They’re a Shadowport invention, based on old Fade designs.’

‘I thought the Fade were just a myth.’

The foreman was starting to grow annoyed. ‘The Fade are no myth, you gormless fool. Almost everything we know of engineering and the sciences is taken from their ancient teachings. How do you think Shadowport’s navy defeated ours? They had access to knowledge we did not.’

‘But no one has crossed the Endless Ocean for centuries—’

‘Enough!’ Armin roared. His beard bristled with anger. ‘You’re here to do a job, not talk my bloody ears off. You criminal scum will keep your mouths shut and do as you’re told. I want the cargo hold emptied before midday. And if any piece of equipment so much as gets scratched,’ he added, ‘the idiot responsible loses a finger. Get to work.’

Cole glanced at the prisoner whose face had been ground beneath the boot of the Watchman. It was the fellow who had rejected his scheme the previous night. He had a hand in his mouth and was taking a painful account of his remaining teeth. He caught Cole staring at him and nodded once, a grim gesture whose meaning could not be lost. One more.

He hoped it would be enough.

*



Dusk arrived.

Cole’s body ached all over from hauling equipment around. Red Bounty’s cargo hold was enormous and it was a wonder she hadn’t sunk under the sheer weight she carried. One poor fool had accidentally dropped a section of the huge drill Soeman was assembling, opening a considerable hole in the deck. Just as Armin had promised, the worker had lost a finger.

Three-Finger might have sympathized with the man’s loss, but he didn’t seem the sort to offer much in the way of compassion. The convict sauntered up and flashed an evil grin. ‘Soeman thinks the Core can be sabotaged to start a fire,’ he said.

Cole had seen the Core earlier that day. The blue orb of permanent energy had been created by Salazar many years ago at an exorbitant cost of raw magical material. When connected to the platform that floated a hundred yards to port, the Core would cause the gigantic drill underneath the platform to rotate at unimaginable speeds, tearing up the sea bed faster than a hundred men with picks and axes. Of course, the machine still required that divers identify spots for drilling, as well as gather up the loosened material and place it in nets to be hauled to the surface.

‘How long before we move?’ asked Cole. Nightfall was almost upon them.

‘A half-bell,’ replied Three-Finger. ‘They’re going to take Soeman over to the platform now and have him test the drill.’

‘Perfect,’ replied Cole. If Soeman could cause the Core to malfunction and start a blaze on the platform, the soldiers over on both ships would need to cross over to investigate. In the ensuing confusion, the twelve conspirators would make for Red Bounty’s rowing boats and then the undefended carrack nearby. They would overpower the crew, and then cut and run. Red Bounty would never catch them.

A thought occurred to the young Shard. ‘What about Soeman?’ he asked. ‘He’ll be stuck on the platform.’

Three-Finger shrugged. ‘If the man has any sense, he’ll leap off and swim for the Redemption.’

‘Good enough for me,’ said Cole, though he still felt a certain amount of trepidation. What if the engineer’s obvious lack of backbone caused him to falter at the last moment? Not everyone possessed the iron resolve he had been blessed with. ‘And the weapons?’ he asked. This was an important part of the plan.

Three-Finger grinned again. The scabrous convict only ever seemed to smile when the topic involved inflicting misery on someone.

‘You see that barrel over there? The third one in? There’s more than water inside it. Six pickaxes, four hand axes, a hatchet and a crowbar, to be precise. All gear capable of smashing a man’s head in.’

Cole rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. Everything was going exactly as he predicted. If only Garrett had possessed the foresight to acknowledge the brilliance of his young charge, the Shards would probably have liberated Dorminia already.

Three-Finger scratched at his festering cheek. ‘Are you sure about this, kid? I’m seeing some margin for error if things don’t go to plan. We’ll need to be ready for a fight if it comes to it.’

Cole rolled his shoulders and clenched his fists as if a fight was exactly what he was hoping for. In actual fact, he had slipped off into pleasant thoughts of Sasha and her reaction when he told her about his heroics. He could hardly wait to see the adulation in those dark eyes—

‘Kid?’ said Three-Finger again. ‘I asked if you were ready for a fight.’

He tore himself away from his daydream. ‘I was born ready,’ he replied, as grimly as he could manage. ‘And my name’s Davarus Cole. Don’t you forget it.’

Three-Finger narrowed his eyes. ‘If you say so. We’d best get into position. The show’s about to start.’

Ten minutes later the conspirators were crowded near the railing, watching the platform floating out at sea. Soeman was there, along with Armin and two of his assistants. The engineer was bending over a metal frame situated next to the base of the drill. The rest of the huge contraption was submerged in the water below. Soeman fiddled with the frame for a moment, and then took the glass box housing the Core from Armin and motioned at the other engineers to step back. He bent down and placed the glowing blue orb inside the frame.

There was an instant humming noise and the sensation of energy gathering in the air. Cole felt his hair standing on end. The smell of sulphur reached his nostrils.

With a monstrous whine the base of the drill began to turn. It spun faster and faster, until the whole platform vibrated beneath it. The magical core was first a vibrant blue, and then an odd shade of purple, and finally all colour bled from it until it became a white sphere bright enough to make Cole’s eyes water.

There was a blinding flash of light like a small sun exploding. Suddenly the night sky was lit by fire. Tongues of flame lapped greedily across the platform. Armin was on his knees, his two assistants smouldering gently nearby. Soeman had disappeared, apparently vaporized by the energy unleashed from the malfunctioning Core.

Concerned shouts went out all over Red Bounty. A boat was lowered. Cole glanced across at the Redemption and saw the explosion had also caught the attention of the soldiers on the carrack. They began to board their own boat. Everything was going as planned.

‘Now!’ he shouted to the men around him. As one, they ran over to the barrel where they had spent the best part of a day secretly stashing implements for the bloody work to come. Cole reached in and pulled out the crowbar. Damn it.

The boat from Red Bounty reached the wreck of the platform at the same time as the vessel from the Redemption drew level with the big cog. The voice of Falcus hissed at them from the boat. ‘What happened? Someone put those fires out!’

Cole took stock of the situation. Red Bounty’s small crew were standing around gaping at the burning platform, completely oblivious to the mutiny happening on their ship. This was the moment.

‘Make for the boat!’ he yelled. He bounded across the deck, leaping over coils of rope and piles of crates. The cog’s second rowing boat was secured near the mizzenmast. Three-Finger and Jack fell upon it with hatchet and axe, cutting away the lines that held it in place. The twelve men lifted the boat above their heads and lowered it over the side of the ship with a splash. Jack fetched up a coil of rope and tied one end to the railing. Then he hurled the rest over the side, where it unravelled all the way down to the water.

‘Down the rope,’ Cole yelled. Each of the prisoners took hold of the rope and slid down into the waiting boat. It was only designed to carry eight passengers but they piled in regardless, each man grabbing an oar and paddling for dear life towards the Redemption in the distance.

We’re going to do this, thought Cole in elation. After what seemed like an eternity they reached the carrack. There was a grappling hook in the boat, and Jack threw it with masterful aim so that it snagged the prow of the ship above them. One by one they scaled the rope and climbed up onto the deck of the Redemption.

A young sailor stared at the newcomers with confusion. ‘Hey, what are you doing—’ he began, but Three-Finger’s hatchet took him in the middle of the head and split his face in half.

Captain Kramer ran over, flanked by two soldiers who hadn’t boarded the boat sent to investigate the burning platform. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded.

Cole stepped forwards. ‘We’re taking this ship, Captain. Turn her around and sail due west immediately.’

Kramer’s jaw clenched and he ground his teeth together as if he was trying to chew rocks. ‘Not a chance! Men, kill these bastards!’

The two Watchmen raised their swords and were met by Three-Finger, Jack and four other captives. It was brief and bloody. The soldiers were better armed, but the escapees were desperate and outnumbered the red-cloaked soldiers three to one.

The man whose teeth had been shattered took a sword through the chest, but the Watchmen were soon stabbed, bludgeoned and stomped to death by the remaining runaways.

The Redemption’s small crew had fetched their weapons in the mêlée. They now stood facing the escapees uncertainly. Three-Finger had an arm around Kramer’s throat, the edge of his hatchet tickling the captain’s chin. ‘Tell your men to back off and turn this ship around,’ he snarled.

‘F*ck yourself,’ Kramer replied.

Three-Finger’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper. ‘I don’t know what you’ve heard about me,’ he said, ‘but whatever it was, it doesn’t come halfway near the truth. I can do things to you that’d make a trained soldier piss his pants. Turn this ship around or I’ll decorate it with your body parts. Beginning with your cock.’ The convict withdrew the hatchet from Kramer’s neck and positioned it just above his groin.

The disgraced admiral swallowed and eventually his shoulders sagged. ‘All hands to deck,’ he commanded his crew, his voice full of resignation. ‘We sail west.’

The Redemption’s crew responded immediately to the order. Cole watched Red Bounty anxiously, expecting to see boats full of Crimson Watchmen closing on them at any moment, but the soldiers were still busy trying to put out the flames on the floating platform. Soon they were under way. With the wind strong in her sails the Redemption would soon outpace even the most determined team of rowers.

‘Movement portside,’ yelled Jack. ‘A hundred yards distant.’

Cole squinted at the dark shape bobbing slowly in their direction. The last of the light had almost fled and every second put more space between them, but the struggling figure was unmistakable.

Soeman.

He seemed to be slowing down. Every so often the engineer would dip below the waves only to emerge again a moment later.

Three-Finger wandered over to the bow and stood next to Cole. ‘Now that’s rotten timing,’ the convict said. He flashed that evil smile of his. ‘He won’t ever make it. We’re not even at half speed yet and he’s falling behind.’

Cole shifted uncomfortably. ‘We can’t just leave him there. He risked his life for us.’

The convict narrowed his eyes. ‘Don’t be foolish, kid. If we heave to, the Bounty will catch us. Soeman’s missed his opportunity.’

Cole stared around him at his crew. They were looking at him. Looking to him, no doubt. There was only one thing to do.

‘No man gets left behind,’ he said loudly. ‘I’m going after him.’

Three-Finger scowled. ‘What’s wrong with you? Soeman’s a dead man walking. You saw his cough. Why be a hero?’

Cole drew himself up to his full height and shot Three-Finger his best steely gaze. ‘It’s the only thing I know how to be.’

The young Shard ignored the flash of irritation on Three-Finger’s face and his muttered ‘For f*ck’s sake.’

‘Tell the helmsman to slow the ship and bring her around to the north,’ he ordered. ‘Give me five minutes. If we’re not back by then, sail as though your lives depend on it.’

Sucking in one final deep breath, he pushed himself up over the railing and dived into the rolling water far below.