Kushiel's Mercy - Jacqueline Carey [176]
He gave the order, though. His men worked frantically, breaking open kegs of strong spirits and dousing the entire ship, others finding a last surge of strength at the oars. When it came down to it, I daresay no one wanted to be taken by Carthage after assisting in the abduction of Astegal’s wife.
“I want you to wait near the landing-boat,” Deimos said to us in a taut voice. “The timing of this is going to be difficult.” He pointed. “There are catapults on the fortress at the end of the mole. That’s the point beyond which Carthage’s ships don’t dare venture. If we can get past it without foundering, we’ll drop the landing-boat and row for shore.”
“Thank you, Captain Deimos.” Sidonie met his gaze. Shivering and feverish, she was still very much in possession of her faculties. “I’m very sorry to have put you and your men in this position.”
His face softened. “You didn’t, my lady. My lord Ptolemy Solon did. But I reckon if I were D’Angeline, I’d be proud to serve you.”
I fetched my things from our cabin, or at least what I could wear. My sword-belt, Dorelei’s vambraces, the torc the Cruarch had given me. I found a piece of oilcloth and carefully wrapped Bodeshmun’s talisman in it, stowing it in my purse along with the croonie-stone and a handful of coins.
“What if we founder?” Sidonie asked. “You’ll be weighted down.”
“What if we don’t make it past the blockade?” I countered. “I don’t mean to be taken alive.”
She swallowed. “Did Joscelin ever teach you how to perform the terminus?”
“No.” It was the act of last, desperate measure for a Cassiline Brother unable to protect his charge, one that ended in the death of both protector and protected. “Sidonie . . .”
“Imriel.” She took my hand and laid it against her heart. “Believe me when I tell you I would far rather die by your hand than be restored to Astegal. Even if he is tolerably good in bed.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I settled for nodding.
“Thank you.” Sidonie released my hand.
We watched the blockade approach. All along the ship, Deimos’ men stood by with lit torches. Gods, it was going to be a near thing. If he gave the order too soon, we’d go up in a blaze before we reached the harbor. Too late, and the Carthaginian ships wouldn’t have time to maneuver out of the way.
“Where’s Kratos?” Sidonie asked.
I glanced around. “I don’t know.”
“Now!” Captain Deimos shouted.
The fire caught instantly in a dozen places, sudden and terrifying. It raced along the railing, crawled along the hull, raged upward along the lines. Now Deimos’ men ran wildly to-and-fro, dashing buckets of water on the flames. It wasn’t for the sake of show; the ship was at risk of becoming an inferno.
We were still under sail, bearing down on Carthage’s blockade, close enough that we could hear shouts of alarm ringing out over the water. Through the flames and billowing smoke, I could see banks of oars churning the waters and ships moving, getting hastily out of our way. My eyes were stinging and my lungs starting to burn. I wrapped my arms around Sidonie as though I could protect her from the fire.
“Here, my lord!” Kratos’ voice, harsh and coughing. He flung a sodden bed-linen sheet over my shoulders. “Drape yourself and her highness. Cover your mouths.”
I obeyed gratefully, then saw he hadn’t one for himself. “What about you?”
Kratos shook his head. “No time.”
It was a piece of madness. Sailors dashed, hurling buckets, but they’d done their job too well. The entire ship was ablaze. The sails were on fire, and our progress was faltering. We’d won our way past the blockade, but we hadn’t cleared the mole.
High overhead, one of the yardarms gave way, crashing to the deck in flurry of fiery sparks. Someone cried out in agonizing pain. Sparks landed and sizzled on the damp linen wrapped around us. The ship wallowed, flaming.
And behind us, looming through the smoke and flames, the Carthaginian war-ship that had dogged our wake passed the blockade and continued its pursuit.
“To the landing-boat, men!” Deimos’ voice roared. “To oars!