Chapter 11 Dockside Chaos
Fisk pulled me tighter against him before I could think about it too much.
“After this,” he murmured near my ear, “you’re free to leave. No strings.” His hand settled firm on my shoulder again. “But right now you stay with me. That’s how you survive tonight.”
I nodded even though neither of us pretended it was a choice.
We waited until the last pair of boots clattered past our hiding place. Fisk tipped his head down toward mine.
“Ready?”
Strangely enough, I didn’t flinch.
“Always.”
Then we slipped out from between the crates like smoke in the dark, leaving nothing behind but shadows and the faint creak of wood.
We moved like one shadow, slipping from cover to cover. The scrape of our boots on old planks was the only proof we were flesh and not ghosts. Fisk dragged me down the slipway, the sound of men chasing us swelling behind with every breath I took.
The searchers had split up. Their voices rose and fell through the dark like a restless tide.
“They’re here somewhere! Check every corner possible!”
“Check the barrels!”
That last voice came close. Too close. Twenty feet maybe. Less.
Fisk’s hand clamped around my waist and hauled me down behind a stack of crates stamped with a black octopus sigil. My back hit the wood hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. I tried to quiet my breathing, but my heart pounded so loud it felt like the whole dock could hear it. The air reeked of brined fish and old rope.
I edged my head around the crate.
Three men blocked the path to the ship.
One swung a length of chain in loose circles. Another leaned on a wicked hooked gaff. The last held a pistol like he’d been born with it in his hand. All three looked meaner than the loudest drunk in my tavern on festival night.
Panic tried to claw up my throat.
I shoved it back down.
I’d stared down ugly odds before. Usually for bad tips and worse jokes. The difference now was simple. Tonight the price was my life.
That was when I noticed the barrels.
They lined a makeshift ramp beside us, ready to be rolled onto some merchant boat. A few were half empty, oily brine leaking through warped staves. Others looked newer, their lids crusted white with salt.
An idea sparked in my head. Reckless. Stupid.
Perfect.
“I have an idea,” I whispered.
Before Fisk could answer, I twisted out of his grip.
His fingers caught my wrist. “Wait—”
Too late.
I slipped free and darted low between the cargo stacks, moving as quietly as I could manage. The air down there felt colder, sharper. Each breath burned my lungs. I fixed on the barrels and started measuring distance without meaning to. Which one would move easiest. How much force it would take.
Behind me, Fisk shifted to follow, slower, careful not to draw attention.
My boot hit a loose plank.
It rocked under my weight.
I stumbled, arms windmilling for balance. My hand grabbed the nearest barrel to steady myself.
Bad choice.
It sat right at the top of the ramp, heavy but not braced. My weight tipped it. For one hopeful second I thought I’d caught it.
Then gravity took over.
The barrel rolled.
And I went with it.
The ramp dropped away beneath me as the thing thundered downhill, dragging me along. My boots skidded uselessly. Splinters ripped into my knees as I half rode, half clung to the cursed thing like some drunken sailor at sea.
Time stretched out in that strange slow way disasters have. The men at the dock turned toward the noise, confusion written all over their faces.
The one with the gaff moved first.
He swung the hook toward me just as the barrel smashed into his shins. The crack of impact echoed across the pier. He howled and folded like wet cloth.
The man with the pistol jerked in surprise and fired. The shot blasted past my ear and chewed a splinter out of the dock.
The barrel jolted again and threw me loose.
I hit the planks hard on my side. White sparks burst across my vision. The barrel rolled free, slammed into the last thug, and sent him sprawling before tumbling off the pier with a huge splash.
For a heartbeat the three of them were nothing but a pile of confused limbs and curses.
No one even looked at me.
Then Fisk roared.
The sound rolled over the dock like thunder. He came crashing into the mess of men with fists already flying.
Adrenaline wiped the pain from my knees. I scrambled up and snatched the fallen gaff off the planks. It felt familiar in my hands, like grabbing a broom behind the tavern bar.
The pistol man staggered upright.
I swung.
The hook caught him clean across the temple. He dropped like a sack of grain.
Fisk already had the last man pinned to the boards, elbow grinding into the thug’s throat.
For one dizzy second we just breathed.
My mouth tasted like copper. Fisk wiped sweat and someone else’s blood from his brow. The path to the ship lay open.
Not for long.
More men poured down the dock behind us, shadows with knives closing the distance.
“Move!” Fisk barked, grabbing my shoulder.
I didn’t need telling twice.
We ran.
Arms and legs everywhere, half stumbling, half flying toward the ship. Behind us the thugs were still untangling themselves, but the gap shrank with every pounding heartbeat.
Right at the edge of the dock, a hand shot out and grabbed for my ankle.
I stomped down hard.
Bone cracked under my heel. The hand vanished with a scream.
I jumped for the gangplank and nearly missed it. My foot slipped on the wet wood, but Fisk caught the back of my shirt and hauled me up like I weighed nothing.
We tumbled onto the deck of The Ghost together. We were on the freaking Ghost. Why were on The Ghost? My thoughts of why Fisk brought us to this boat as a deafening sound shattered my thoughts.
A pistol cracked behind us.
I ducked out of instinct, but the shot sailed wide.
We didn’t stop moving until the dock fell away and the world narrowed to creaking ropes, the groan of the hull, and dark water slapping softly against the ship’s side like it approved of our escape.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Then Fisk turned toward me, eyes bright and a little wild, and grinned.
“Hell of an idea, Tavner Keeper.”
A laugh burst out of me before I could stop it. Sharp. Breathless. It felt like breaking the surface after being held underwater far too long.
I ran with Fisk across the deck, my legs barely keeping up. The edges of my vision blurred from pain and too much adrenaline. Out on the water, flashes of wild light cracked through the dark. Talon’s doing. Flares maybe. Firecrackers.
Something worse caught my attention. Blue and red bursts painted the wharf in jagged color, shadows jumping like mad things across the planks.
We’d barely made it halfway across the deck when boots thundered up behind us.
The ship lurched under the sudden weight.
Three men jumped the gap from the dock and slammed onto the deck.
Fisk spun first. His elbow snapped back and caught the closest one square in the throat. The man folded and pitched over the rail with a splash before he could even shout.
The second one came straight for me.
Mean eyes. Half an ear missing.
His hand tangled in my hair and yanked me backward so hard stars burst across my vision. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. Instinct moved faster than thought. I drove the heel of my palm up into his face.
Something in his nose crunched.
He let go with a howl.
But the damage was done. My balance was already gone. I stumbled backward toward the rail, boots sliding across the wet deck.
Something round rolled under my foot.
Another damned barrel.
My heel slipped off it and the deck vanished beneath me. My arms pinwheeled uselessly as the world tipped. I tried to stay on the ship. But it was no use. Next thing I remember seeing is the Dock rushing up in front of me.
I heard Fisk shout my name.
I turned when I heard his voice. I saw him lunged for me, hand outstretched. For a strange, suspended heartbeat, the world slowed. I saw the sharp line of his jaw. The wild green in his eyes. The raw determination in the way his arm stretched toward me. For half a second I believed he might.
Then my temple slammed into the splintered edge of the dock.
Pain exploded bright and red across my skull.
The world collapsed inward.
As everything faded, I tasted salt and blood thick on my tongue and had one dim, drifting thought. Maybe it was still better than drowning.
Then the dark took me.