He had been on the verge of ordering her released when Malbet had blabbed. Once Goroth knew who he had, there was no way he would let her go. And Tolemek owed him too much to go against his wishes. But if they could, as he had suggested, use her to trap Zirkander, then she need never be harmed. As much as Goroth hated all things Wolf Squadron, he would surely see the benefit of releasing her to gain the greater prize.
Despite these thoughts, Tolemek quickened his step as he approached the airship. Though he trusted Goroth, he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t take out some frustrations on Ahn. Tolemek wouldn’t have left her, but he had promised that boy his gold coin. He had found the youth, shivering beneath the pilings of one of the long piers that stretched to the harbor’s lighthouse. It was the meeting spot they had agreed to. Not only had the boy been forced to take a swim, but he’d been shot in the arm. He had been poor enough that he hadn’t protested his injury one bit, merely thanking Tolemek profusely for the coin and running off, but that had only made Tolemek feel guilty. He had risked that boy’s life, and for what? His research had been wrong. No, not wrong, but conducted far too late to matter. All he had gotten out of his stay in the fortress was a beating and... a burden he wasn’t sure he wanted.
“That you, sir?” a soft voice asked from behind the tree the Hunter was anchored to, its dark form floating a few feet away from the top of the stout palm.
“It’s me.”
One of the cabin boys stepped into view and offered a rope. “You’re the last one out, sir.”
“Good. Follow me up.” Tolemek climbed the knotted rope, his battered body protesting the exertion after the night he’d had. He wondered how Ahn had managed the climb. Judging by the visible bruises, she had received more beatings than he had. He wondered how long she had been a prisoner of war before being deposited at Dragon Spit. He wondered a lot of things about her, foremost among them, whether she would talk to him again.
“That shouldn’t matter,” he muttered. “You’ve barely known her a few hours.”
“What, sir?” the cabin boy asked.
“Nothing. Just scheming up my next concoction.” Though he hadn’t used any of his “concoctions” on any of the pirates since Goroth took over three years ago, rumors never stopped flying, and Tolemek found that he could stop all questions pointed in his direction by making such a statement.
Indeed, the boy’s gulp was audible, followed by utter silence.
A guard waited at the top, but only nodded when Tolemek climbed aboard. He crossed the dark deck, not needing any lights to navigate the familiar terrain—Goroth had ordered this new ship designed after the same model as the one Wolf Squadron had destroyed the summer before—and headed for the stairs to the officers’ deck. He wanted to go straight to his cabin and check on Ahn, but Goroth’s door opened as he passed, as if he had been listening for Tolemek. Maybe he had been.
“Come have a drink with me, Mek.”
The cabin smelled of brandy; it seemed the captain had already had a few drinks.
“My prisoner being treated well?” Tolemek asked.
“Well enough. This is a pirate ship, not a passenger steamer.” Goroth shut the door, waved to one of the benches bolted to the wall, then sat at his own desk. “The boys chained her in there, so she wouldn’t bother your work. I’d leave her that way if I were you. Or put her in one of the cells. You’ll sleep easier that way. I walked in on her about a half a second away from shooting Bloodnose and escaping, not five minutes after she was brought on board. She may not look like a big cannon, but she’ll be trouble.”
“Yes, I’ve seen her shoot.”
“Listen, Mek.” The captain grabbed a brandy glass from his bar, wiped it clean with his shirt, then poured the amber liquid. “I like the idea of setting a trap with her, but nobody knows where Zirkander is right now. He hasn’t been leading his squadron of late. Does she know where he is?” He lifted his brows and handed Tolemek the glass.
“I haven’t asked. I will.”
“You ask her about the flier power sources at all? Those are worth a fortune, and maybe if you got one, you could figure out how to use it. Then sell the information to the government. Or we could make our own fliers and use them for raids. We’d be untouchable. She say anything about them?”
“No.” Tolemek sipped from the glass and searched for a political way to tell Goroth that he could be talking to her about these things now, if he would let him go.
“What were you doing down there for hours? Flirting?”
“Escaping.”
“Fine, but I want answers now. Before we reach the outpost tomorrow. If you don’t question her, I will.” Goroth’s gaze drifted to a cat o’ nine tails hanging on the wall. “But you know I’d like that. And have a hard time stopping.” His hand tightened around his own brandy glass. “I’d have no trouble shipping her head in a box to Zirkander’s office.”
“I will speak to her,” Tolemek said, keeping his voice calm, though he didn’t appreciate the threat.
“I know you won’t interrogate her, but speak to her with that truth serum of yours. I want real answers, not lies.”
Tolemek set his jaw. It wasn’t a bad idea, but he didn’t appreciate being told how to handle his prisoner. “Yes, Captain,” was all he said. He finished his brandy, the liquid burning down his throat, and stood. “I’ll begin now, if you need nothing further from me.”
“Mek,” the captain said, his tone softer, almost apologetic. “Did you find what you were looking for down in that dungeon?”
“No. Whatever scrolls and books were once there had been burned.”
“Too bad. It’s your project, not mine, but I’d give a lot for the treasures—the power—those sorcerers once wielded.”
“I know.” Tolemek headed for the door. He didn’t want to discuss the topic further. Goroth believed he sought the ancient magic to make his experiments more powerful, and that was something “Captain Slaughter” could support. If he knew the truth, he might become an obstacle rather than an ally. Or even competition. What Tolemek sought was invaluable, especially to one who could use it.
“Mek? Be careful with her. She’s Iskandian. She’ll know about Tanglewood. She’ll shoot you the second she has a chance.”
Except she hadn’t. Tolemek walked out, closing the door behind him.
Chapter 5
Cas wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but she dozed at some point, weariness finally catching up with her. When the door opened, she woke with a jerk, her shackles clanking against the pipe. Voices sounded in the hallway, a part of some quiet conversation. She turned her head toward the light, hoping one of her captors was bringing food. Her stomach was as empty as her soul.
Tolemek walked in, carrying a lantern. He looked around the room for a moment, then spotted her under the hammock. His lips thinned, then he held up a finger and walked out again. He returned after a moment with a key ring. He stopped only long enough to light a few more lamps from the one in his hand, then knelt in front of her. He unlocked the shackles, but paused before standing up, lifting a finger to her chin.
A gentle gesture, but Cas wasn’t sure how she felt about having him touch her—was that the hand he used to pet his snakes? She glanced at the terrarium.
“Someone hit you?” he asked, then backed away so she could stand up. “Someone here?”
She opted for staying on the floor. This corner was less odd than the others, and something about having the clothing trunk on one side and the hammock dangling overhead made her feel protected, like a child in a fort that adults were too big to breach. An illusion, of course, but she leaned her back against the pipe and stayed there anyway.
“Not exactly,” she said—he was regarding her steadily, waiting for an answer. “I tried to take advantage of a guard’s inattentiveness to arm myself.” No need to mention that she would have shot the man and anyone else in her path to the exit if she could have managed it. “There were repercussions.”
“
Hm.”
Tolemek walked over to a counter, unlatched a cupboard below, and pulled out a bowl and a pitcher with a tight lid. Everything in the cabin looked like it was secured, at least somewhat, as things would be on a sailing ship where the pitches of the waves were a constant. The pirates had to be ready for battle at any time, she supposed. Tolemek poured water, dipped a rag in it, then grabbed a small ceramic jar from one of his cabinets.
“Would you like to sit in a chair?” He waved at one at a desk with a lamp on it, then held up the rag. “I’ll be able to see what I’m doing.”
“Are you a doctor qualified to treat patients?” Cas made a point of looking around the laboratory. “The stories pin you as more of a mad scientist.”
“Mad?” Tolemek arched his brows.
“Something has to explain that hair.”
He blinked a few times, then surprised her by laughing. It was a pleasant sound that didn’t seem to fit with the macabre laboratory surroundings, but she could only stare at him, not finding humor in the situation, or in the entire day. Make that the entire month.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t think you would talk to me at all, and here you are, as genial as ever.”
“If having girls insult you is what you consider genial, then you’re spending too much time with the wrong kinds of people.”
His lips quirked upward. “Tell me about it.” Tolemek pulled the chair out from the desk and brushed off the seat, though she didn’t see any crumbs or dust on it. He opened his palm toward it again. “To answer your question, I’m mostly self-taught, with a lot of my education coming through books and experimentation, but I was sent to the field medic course when I was in the army.”
Cas struggled not to shudder at what qualified as “experimentation” for him.
“I can get the sawbones if you prefer, but he does live up to his name.”
“Yeah? Is that where the captain’s finger bone chest protector came from?”
“I believe he traded a bottle of brandy to a South Isles cannibal for that a few years ago.”
Cas snorted. She bet that story wasn’t widely known. “I’m fine.” She waved away his offer of help in favor of hunkering in her corner. “I don’t need any attention, medical or otherwise.” The dried blood on her chin probably said otherwise, but she didn’t want to cozy up with the Deathmaker. They’d bonded enough during their escape. More than enough.
Tolemek, the rag and jar in his hands, looked disappointed at her response, but he inclined his head and said, “Very well. Let me know if you change your mind.”
Strange. Did he actually care? Back in the jungle, she’d had the sense, just for a moment, that he had planned to let her go, or at least that he had been thinking about it. She had assumed it was her imagination, but maybe it hadn’t been. Of course, he might simply be choosing to be nice to make her more amenable to answering questions. Either way, maybe she should be nice, or at least not spiteful, so he would see her as more of a human being rather than a recalcitrant prisoner. Maybe she could make him trust her a little, enough to say... leave her unshackled the next time he left the room? Though some of the things in his laboratory made her as uneasy as a flier engine with a suspicious rattle, she wagered there were all sorts of items that might be helpful in an escape. Maybe he had some of those smoking leather balls in a box somewhere. And who knew? Maybe she could get some useful intelligence out of him, something to bring back home with her.
Tolemek had laid the implements on the desk and taken a seat. He was stroking his goatee thoughtfully.
“Sorry,” Cas said, “you were trying to help. I get it. I’ll ah—” she pointed to the rag, “—take your treatment. Thanks.”
Words were one thing, but actions were another. Her body had stiffened while she sat on the floor, and she sucked in a pained breath at her first attempt to roll to her knees and stand.
Tolemek crossed the cabin in three strides and helped her up.
“Didn’t think I was old enough to get that stiff,” she said. She pretended to stumble—she didn’t have to do much pretending—and gave herself an opportunity to take a quick look at the lower shelves of a bookcase she had noticed earlier, one with a glass cover protecting the contents. All manner of vials hung in racks inside, and a couple looked familiar.
Tolemek slipped an arm around her waist to help her to the chair. She straightened up, not wanting him to notice her spying, and leaned against his side. The support wasn’t unwelcome, though she probably should have pushed his arm away. One didn’t ask for support from the Deathmaker, right? But she was being nice, wasn’t she? To fool him? Just as he was trying to fool her by being a gentleman? She had barely started this new game, and her head already hurt. She was too simple for the intricacies of mind games and spy missions; she just wanted to fly and shoot things.
“I don’t think there’s any age where beatings feel good.” Tolemek guided her into the chair, then pulled up a stool. He pushed the lamp closer to her face, and she could feel its warmth. The pirate ship wasn’t cold—they were still in the tropics, after all—but the canvas bag she was wearing left far too much arm and leg bare for her taste.
“Probably not. Would you mind taking those spikes off your wrists before doctoring me?” She nodded toward his wrist braces—the prongs weren’t razor sharp, but they certainly had an inimical look to them. “I was a little concerned I’d get perforated during our walk across the room.”
Tolemek unfastened them and tossed them on the desk. He had the same bronze skin as the rest of the Cofah, but that didn’t mean he didn’t tan at all, and she found herself somewhat amused by the paler three-inch bands on his wrists. The Deathmaker had tan lines. Also not mentioned in the stories that circulated.
Cas stayed still as he dabbed her face, wiping her wounds and washing away the dried blood. It stung, but he was probably more gentle than that sawbones would have been. With his face close to hers, she had the conundrum of where to look. It seemed too personal—too intimate—to watch his eyes, but it would have been awkward to lean out to look around him. She settled for staring at the shark tooth necklace, though at some point, her gaze drifted to his collarbone and then down to the pectoral muscles visible beneath his vest. She supposed, if one could get past the I-think-I’m-really-tough pirate clothing, one might consider him attractive. She didn’t, of course, especially considering his plans for her, so she merely acknowledged that some people would.
Tolemek put down the rag and opened the ceramic jar. The grayish green color of the thick goop inside reminded her of the stuff that had been growing on the walls in those underground ruins. Its dubious scent smelled more medicinal than natural, but she wasn’t sure about having it smeared on her face.
“What’s that for?” she asked. “And does it have a more confidence-inspiring name than Green Goo Number Three?”
He rotated the jar so she could see the label.
“Healing Salve Number Six,” she read.
“It’s to assist the body in healing and also to prevent infection. There are antimicrobial compounds.”
Anti-what? “Oh, good. And it’s stronger than the first five iterations, I’m guessing?”
“More effective, yes.”
“It’s good to know—” Cas made a face when he touched the first cold, slimy dollop to a swollen cut at her temple. “Good to know some of the things you make are for helping people.”
Tolemek had been focused on applying the salve, but he looked into her eyes a moment, his face inscrutable.
“It’s not what your reputation is about,” she said, explaining by stating the obvious. As if he wasn’t aware of his reputation.
“I know,” he said softly. Now he avoided her eyes, dabbing goo to her cut lip.
It seemed like there was a hint of regret about him. But maybe this was part of the game too. Pretending to be someone decent, someone who cared.
“I suppose you have to keep your pirate allies healed up, so you have help—” Cas
stopped herself from saying raping, pillaging, and slaughtering, but barely. Nice prisoners that could be trusted didn’t sling such accusations around. “—on your missions,” she finished. There. Wasn’t that tactful?
“Most of them prefer the sawbones’ sketchy draughts to mine,” Tolemek said. “The army too. I tried to send them some of this compound, since it’s superior to the crude antiseptic they plied us with when I was a soldier, but knowing it was from me, they wouldn’t take it. I even tried to sell it at an exorbitant sum, so they’d be more likely to believe there was something in it for me, but the medical general said no soldier would risk using something I had made.”
“So the Cofah hate you as much as the Iskandians, huh?” Oops, so much for tact. That had been rather blunt.
And he winced. “Yes.”
“It—what they think—bothers you?”
He had finished with her face and set the jar down. “It... serves me.”
Not quite an answer to her question.
“As Gor—the captain has always been quick to point out, enemies aren’t eager to pick fights with me. They, too—” he gestured toward the ship as a whole, “—leave me alone to do my work undisturbed. Reputations aren’t always founded in truth—the captain’s breastplate, for example—but there has to be enough truth to make it believable. The instant someone stops believing, he’ll try to kill you for your position and for your share of the earnings.”
Plunder, Cas’s mind replaced the word.
“In addition to worrying about rival clans and armies and lawmen, you have to worry about your own allies. The captain fends off assassination attempts from within every month or two. He owns the ship and a share of the outfit, and anyone who kills him, gets his stuff. That’s what passes for law in here. It’s like the jungle. Survival of the strongest and the most cunning.”