Inferno

4

Rather than wait for dawn, Stryke insisted they set sail that evening. There was a crimson sunset as they upped anchor and moved away from the island, promising a torrid following day.

So it proved. Even at dawn it was hot, though a constant, moderate wind gave some relief and kept the sails full. The cabins and cargo holds were stifling, and most of the band preferred the relative comfort of the deck. In scattered pairs and groups, the main topic of whispered conversations was Stryke’s treatment of the prisoners. Some backed him, others had doubts. Stryke himself spent most of his time alone at the prow, as though willing the ship onward.

Pepperdyne was amidships, at the wheel. As an islander born and bred, it would normally have been a pleasure, had not Standeven been plaguing him.

“You saw what he did to those soldiers. Didn’t that alarm you?”

“Stryke did what he felt he had to do,” Pepperdyne replied, his response measured. “I can’t say I liked it, but-”

“It was the act of a savage.”

“I’d take what you’re saying more seriously if you didn’t have a cloud over you about that dead orc back in Acurial.”

“How many times do I have to tell you-”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Those two Stryke killed were human beings,” Standeven persisted. “Our kind.”

“And not just a lowly orc, eh?”

“Forget that! My point is that Stryke’s the one with the instrumentalities.”

“Here we go again.”

“They’re our only way home.”

“And there’s no way you’re getting them.”

“That’s not it. I’m saying is he the best one to be in charge of them?”

Pepperdyne laughed. “It should be you, is that it?”

“No! But he’s unstable. He showed that yesterday.”

“Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. But he’s what we’ve got, whether you like it or not. No way is he going to give them up.”

“Of course he isn’t. But I’m thinking that if we spoke to him, reasoned with him, maybe we could get him to take us back home before we get dragged deeper into this madness.”

“You say he’s unstable then you come up with an idea like that. It’s not going to happen, Standeven. Do you really expect him to break off searching for his mate to ferry us home? Not to mention how erratic the stars have been. How could he be sure of getting us home? Or of getting himself back here?”

“So you’re admitting he can’t control them.”

“I’m not sure anybody could. Anyway, I’m not inclined to run out on the band. Not now, when they’re trying to find Thirzarr.”

Standeven was puzzled. “Why?”

“It’s called loyalty. A notion you’re not familiar with.”

“What about loyalty to Humanity? To me.”

“It has to be earned. The band’s done that. You haven’t.”

“Your trust in these orcs is misplaced. This… relationship or whatever it is you’re having with Coilla; they’re laughing behind your back about it, you know. Those who don’t hate you for it, that is. Why don’t you stick with your own?”

“I think you just answered that question yourself. For all of what you call their savagery these beings aren’t devious like you and most of our race. Whatever you might think, they don’t hide their true opinions behind mealy-mouthed words. They speak plain and act out what they feel. I quite like that.”

“And that’s your excuse for your disgusting union with one of them, is it?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you or anybody else. And I don’t have to listen to this shit. Now clear off.”

“Since when did you get to give orders?”

“I’m the skipper as far as this vessel’s concerned, and that makes my word law.” Pepperdyne gave his erstwhile master a flinty look. “And if that isn’t enough for you, I can back it with this.” He took a hand off the wheel and made a fist of it.

Standeven blanched, then, mumbling curses, turned and stamped off. Coilla was coming up the stairs to the wheel as he went down, and he pushed past her wordlessly.

“What was that about, Jode?” she asked.

“The usual.”

“Still keen on the stars, eh?”

“He says he isn’t.”

“Yeah, right.”

“He said something else.”

“So stop creasing your brow and spit it out.”

“What do you reckon the rest of the band think about… us?”

“Do they know?”

“Standeven said they did, and that they’re not happy about it.”

“Nobody’s said anything to me. Well, apart from Haskeer. But he’s always moaning about something, and humans aren’t his favourite race.”

“Maybe we should be a little more discreet.”

“Why? What the fuck’s it got to do with them?”

“Well, it’s not as though our situation’s that normal, is it?” He saw her expression and started rowing back. “Not that there’s anything abnormal about it, of course. I mean-”

“All right, you can stop digging now. It’s rare, yes, but that’s no reason for anybody to get sniffy about it. Anyway, Standeven’s probably just trying to vex you. Don’t let him get under your skin.”

“Expect you’re right. But I’d be happier if-”

“Hold it. Here comes Wheam.”

“Damn it. It’s busier than a town square on market day up here.”

She favoured him with a smile. “Give the kid a break. He looks low.”

Wheam trudged up the steps dejectedly.

“Why so glum?” Coilla asked.

“Oh, this and that,” the youth replied.

“Anything in particular?”

“Dallog just chewed me out.”

“Why?”

“He says we haven’t got enough drinking water on board, ’cos we left in a rush and didn’t load enough, and everybody’s drinking more in this heat.”

“How’s that your fault?” Pepperdyne said.

“He’s not blaming me for it. But he sent me to tell Stryke.” He glanced at their brooding captain at the bow.

“And you’re not keen on the job?”

Wheam shook his head.

“Why can’t Dallog tell Stryke himself?” Coilla wondered.

“Dunno. He seems to be more involved with the other tyros right now. Well, one; Pirrak.”

“That’s his job, isn’t it? Looking after you neophytes.”

“S’pose.”

“How low is the water?”

“Not enough to get us where we’re going, he says.”

“All right. I’ll talk to Stryke about it.”

“You will?”

“Sure.”

Wheam broke out in a grin. “Thanks, Coilla. I was hoping you’d say that.”

“I figured. Now lose yourself while I sort it.”

He went off with a lighter step.

She looked to Pepperdyne. “Where’s the map?”

He hauled it out of a pocket and handed it to her. “Think you can get Stryke to wear a stopover?”

“Sounds like we’ve no choice.”

“Rather you than me.”

“He’ll see the sense of it.”

“In his present mood?”

“Leave it to me.” She unfolded the map. “Where are we?”

He leaned over for a look, then pointed. “Around there.”

“So the nearest place to stop would be… here?” She jabbed at a string of islands, two quite large.

Pepperdyne nodded. “They seem as good as any. Assuming they have water, of course.”

“How far are they?”

“Half a day. Less with a favourable wind.”

“Right.” She waved the map under his nose as she left. “I’ll bring this back.”

“Good luck,” he muttered.

Coilla was aware of the band’s eyes on her as she made her way to the prow.

Stryke must have heard her approaching, but he didn’t turn or speak.

“Stryke?” she said, then more firmly, “ Stryke.”

“Come to tongue-lash me about those prisoners?”

“No. That’s done.”

“What, then?”

“Something you need to know, and act on.”

He turned to face her, and she saw that he looked haggard. “What is it?”

Coilla drew a breath. “There’s been a screw-up on the rations.”

“What?”

“We left in such a rush-”

“We can do without food for a couple of days.”

“Sure. But it’s the water.”

“Shit.” His features darkened further. “Whoever’s responsible should get a whipping for this.”

“Give it to yourself.”

“That’s close to insolence, Corporal.”

“Maybe. But it’s closer to truth. If we made a mess over the provisions it’s because you were driving the band too hard.”

“I’d drive it to its bloodied knees when I’m trying to find Thirzarr.”

“When we’re finding Thirzarr. You seem to have lost sight of what we are. We’re the Wolverines. We look out for our own. But we won’t get a chance to do that if we die of thirst.”

Stryke mulled over her words. At length he said, “Where do we get water?”

She showed him the map. “We’re here. The nearest islands are these.”

“When would we get there?”

“Jode reckons not long after noon.”

“Suppose we rationed the water.”

“Dallog wouldn’t have raised the alarm on this if he thought that’d work. I know you’re frantic about Thirzarr, Stryke, and any delay’s a pisser, but we’ve no option.”

Again he weighed things up. “Do it. But I don’t want to spend any more time there than we have to.”

“Got you.” She jogged back towards the wheelhouse.

They altered course immediately. The winds stayed friendly, even increasing by a few knots, and they made good time. Not long after the sun passed its zenith they spotted one of the necklace of islands. It was tiny, little more than a rock jutting out of the ocean, and they passed it by. The next two or three were about the same. When they reached the first of the bigger islands it proved almost as barren, and in any event there was nowhere to land, unless they wanted to climb sheer cliffs. A couple more minor islands came into view, and true to form they were tediously small and desolate. Everyone on board started to worry. Stryke paced ominously.

The second large island was a different proposition. Even from a distance they could tell it was verdant, so Pepperdyne steered the ship towards it. Stryke ordered the ship to circle the island, and they found that it, too, was protected by tall cliffs. But not on every side. There was a long stretch of beach, its fine, almost white sand stroked by gentle, foam-topped breakers. The beach stretched to a dense, sun-dappled jungle. Stryke had Pepperdyne take them in.

They dropped anchor as near to the shore as they could. The three boats their stolen goblin ship carried were unlashed and lowered. Stryke decided on leaving just a skeleton watch and taking most of the band as the landing party. He wanted a quick excursion, and the more hands the better. Standeven was one of those left on board, to his and everyone else’s relief, and the rest of the watch were told to keep an eye on him.

Before setting out, Stryke told Haskeer to hail the island.

“Why warn ’em?”

“Because we’ve come peaceably. If anything lives here I want them to know that.”

“Our ship’s done a pretty good job of announcing us anyway,” Jup said.

“I still want to make ourselves known,” Stryke insisted. “Do it, Haskeer.”

“Why me?”

“You’ve got the biggest mouth,” Jup told him.

Haskeer glared at him, then cupped his hands and bellowed.

Stryke got him to repeat several times. There was no response.

“We saw no signs of habitation, and there are no ships. It’s got to be deserted,” Jup argued.

“Probably,” Stryke agreed. “But we won’t take any chances. There’ll be three search parties. Haskeer, you lead one; and you, Jup. I’ll take the third. We’ll decide the groups once we hit the beach. Now move.”

They swarmed over the side and filled the boats.

The trip was brief, and soon they were splashing ashore through the shallow, crystal-clear water, colourful fish darting from their path. On the beach, Stryke addressed them.

“Our only job is to fill those.” He pointed at the heap of canteens and cow-gut sacs they’d brought. “You know what to do; look for natural springs or anywhere that might catch rainwater. And hurry. I don’t want us lingering here or-”

Jup was signalling him with one hand and pressing a finger to his lips with the other. He pointed at the jungle. The whole band quietened and looked that way.

They stood in silence for some time, scanning the greenery. It got to the point where they began to think it was a false alarm. Then there was movement in the foliage. Restricted to just one or two places, making it unlikely to be the wind, it was accompanied by a rustling and the snap of dry twigs.

In the undergrowth there was the briefest flash of what appeared to be a pair of vividly red eyes.

“Looks like we’re not alone after all,” Coilla said, reaching for her blade.