Ironhelm - Douglas Niles [92]
It took but a minute to release the catch. Halloran then pushed upward with all of his strength, but he could not make the wooden platform move. Collapsing against the bulkhead, he stared upward in mute frustration. He sensed freedom, if he could but push his way up and out of here.
Awkwardly he braced his feet against the hull and his back against the inside wall. Lifting himself off the floor, he pressed against the trapdoor again, but again it would not move. Angrily he punched the wood, bruising his knuckles. But that time he felt something move.
Pushing again, he felt the trapdoor move heavily upward. It had been stuck, the wood moist and moldy with age, and his blow had broken it free. Grunting from the energy of his exertion, he pulled himself upward and squirmed from beneath the trapdoor.
He felt something smothering his face, but he quickly realized that he had emerged underneath a rug. Crawling forward a few feet, he at last felt cool air on his face. In an instant, he pulled free of the rug and stood up, looking about the small cabin.
He found the porthole and threw open the hatch. Harsh white moonlight instantly spilled through the opening, lighting the inside of the cabin. Halloran knew immediately that this was the cabin of the elf-wizard, Darien.
A crowded desk was covered with sheaves of parchment and scrolls. Many candles stood in holders around the room. A small chest on the floor stood open, and within it, he saw the tops of a dozen or more glass vials.
The most interesting feature of the room was the porthole. He estimated that he could squirm through the opening with little difficulty, dropping into the warm water eight or ten feet below. His plan developed quickly: He would swim to shore and find the legion, concealing himself until the battle. Then he would await the proper opportunity to enter the fight and redeem himself.
Of course, that opportunity might not be instantly forthcoming. He suddenly realized that he might be stranded ashore for some time before he would have a chance to confront Cordell under the right circumstances. He would have to prepare for that event.
A bundle of leather caught his eye, and he hefted it, finding a sturdy backpack with a heavy reinforced panel in the bottom. Suppressing a guilty twinge, he took several bottles from the chest of vials, hoping that he could decipher the labels in daylight. He knew enough of magic potions to know that those bottles, if his suspicions were correct, might save his life.
He searched for food but found nothing he could take as rations. He did not want to emerge from the cabin to search the rest of the ship, so he decided to make do with what food he could find ashore. He did find a length of rope and a blanket, both of which he stuffed into the backpack.
Finally he found a large leather bladder, designed to hold water or wine. But it would hold air just as well, and he hung it outside the porthole and inflated it.
Holding the backpack and bladder outside the porthole, he pushed himself forward, twisting slightly to get his broad shoulders through the opening. His legs followed easily, and he slid awkwardly down the hull, striking the water with a loud splash.
For several minutes, he bobbed in the shadow of the high stern, certain the noise of his fall would attract attention. But no sound disturbed the darkness above. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of the legion settling into camp-the barking of hounds, the shouts of officers, the curses of sergeants, and the crude laughter of the men.
Halloran turned away from that sound as he swam across the placid lagoon. Ahead of him beckoned the line of manga-roo trees that marked the edge of Ulatos Delta.
Erix slept lightly on the pallet Tzilla provided, not through any lack of comfort but because of a nagging restlessness