The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [59]
Then the ship began to descend. People were continuing to leap to the safety of the perch, but the acceleration was already increasing. Atiana saw Grigory’s sister launch herself from the gunwales, but she didn’t leap far enough. She fell screaming a moment later.
Grigory was still fighting against the men who were holding him back. Tears streamed down his anguished face. Nikandr stood near the edge of the quay, swinging a rope. He tossed it to the deck and shouted at the soldiers to take hold. They pleaded with Grigory to come, but he ignored them. Over a dozen men anchored the rope behind Nikandr and took up the call, their voices becoming more and more insistent as the pace of the ship’s descent increased.
Atiana thought surely Grigory had decided to spend his last moments with his father, but just as the ship’s main deck was dropping from view, he seemed to sense for the first time what was happening around him. He looked toward the perch, and then stood and grabbed the rope. The men on the eyrie bore down to hold Grigory and the soldiers. As they began heaving in time to pull them to safety, the ship’s tall, flaming sails slipped from view. Then it was gone, leaving only black smoke curling high into the cloud-stippled sky.
CHAPTER 16
Even while pulling Grigory to safety, Nikandr watched in wide-eyed horror as the yacht slipped from view. A great cacophony of snapping wood and rigging followed. Grigory was finally pulled up to solid ground. He immediately stepped to the edge of the perch, screaming in rage and confusion. Nikandr tried to hold him back, but Grigory shoved him away.
Father and Ranos arrived and ordered the streltsi to escort everyone inside. “For your cousin, if not for yourself,” Iaros said to Grigory when he appeared reluctant to leave.
Grigory looked at young Ivan, who stood nearby shaking with fear, though he was clearly ashamed of it.
“Stop your trembling,” Grigory said, “and get yourself inside.”
Ivan looked afraid to take a single step.
“Go!”
Ivan shivered, looking smaller than a boy his age ought to, and then complied.
To Nikandr’s surprise, Grigory pulled himself taller and faced Father like an equal. “I will not hide indoors like some shivering child, not while there is any chance of survivors. My men and I will accompany the effort to save them.”
This was of course a demand that a rescue effort be waged, for no mention of one had been made so far. Grigory had always been a bold young man—he was Stasa’s son after all—but he had never seemed so much like his father as he did just then.
Father did not balk at Grigory’s tone. He merely nodded and turned to the sotnik of the streltsi. “Take the ships. Have the Broghan scour the area around Radiskoye. The Tura should search the rest of the island. And have men accompany Grigory to the harbor. Send two waterborne ships to the cliffs and have them search for survivors.”
“Father,” Nikandr interrupted, “let me take the Broghan down to the sea. Help from Volgorod will arrive too late.”
“Nyet. The winds at the base of the cliffs are too dangerous.”
Grigory stepped forward and pointed a finger at Father’s chest. “No effort will be spared, Khalakovo.”
Father turned calmly. “Take yourself away, Bolgravya, before I have you dragged and thrown in with the women.”
Grigory glanced at the nearby ships, knowing that any delay could mean the lives of his family below, and then he turned crisply and strode away.
“We cannot risk it,” Father said once he was out of earshot.
Nikandr lowered his voice. “But if there’s any chance that some survive, we should take it.”
“Nikandr is right,” Ranos said. “And despite Grigory’s brashness, think on what is going through everyone’s minds. It’s bad enough this happened in front of the entire Grand Duchy. If we’re to save any face, we need to show our best effort.”
“I cannot risk more lives,” Father said.
“Nikandr has done it before, Father. With Jahalan and Udra, he’ll be safe.”
Father hesitated, his gaze wandering to the smoke trailing up