Sea Of Ghosts Part 12

'I believe it was cholera,' Truan said. 'We left the place long before the city filled with refugees. One of the benefits of being in s.h.i.+pping is that one owns s.h.i.+ps.'

Air bubbled up through one of the jellyfish tanks. The pale blue creatures inside s.h.i.+vered.

'I had family in Weaverbrook,' Granger said.

Truan raised his eyebrows. 'I had no idea you hailed from that part of the world, Mr Swinekicker.'

A key clicked in the lock. The jailer came in carrying a tray of tea.

'Haven't been back to see them in a while,' Granger said.

'I can sympathize,' Truan said. 'Nothing is more important than family.'

The jailer set the tea down on the table. 'Anything else, sir?'

'That will be all,' Truan replied.

Granger looked at the jailer's tattoos. 'This can't be easy for you,' he said. 'A man with a history like yours, running around like a boot boy after his master?'

The jailer glanced at Truan and back at Granger, and in that moment Granger finally understood Truan's real ident.i.ty.

He grabbed the amphora and leaped to his feet, barging past the jailer and knocking him off his feet. He raced down the stairs and was halfway towards the front door before he heard angry shouts and footfalls coming from behind. Evidently the jailer had recovered enough to come after him. Granger ran on, his chest cramping at the sudden exertion. His scarred lungs were not used to such exercise. The air seemed full of acid, but he ignored it. The bitter taste in his throat was worse. Creedy had lied to him, tricked him into coming here.

Ethan Maskelyne's accent had been good, but it hadn't been perfect. Granger had spent enough time in Evensraum to know the difference. But he hadn't been sure of his suspicions until the jailer had confirmed them. An Ethugran jailer might be paid enough to treat an Evensraum captive as his master, but he would never believe it to be true. Granger's comment should have humiliated and angered the man. And yet the only emotion in the jailer's eyes had been fear. Fear of what Maskelyne would do to him.

He reached the front doors and burst through them. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a blizzard of paper whirling around the scribes' desks. Maskelyne's man had already reached the bottom of the steps and showed no sign of slowing down. Granger plunged out into the sunlight of Averley Plaza.

The beer drinkers lounged about in groups. A few turned to glance his way as he came storming out of the Imperial jail with the heavy amphora still clutched in his arms. Children shrieked happily as they played about the empty market stalls. The Drowned observed it all with their dead stone eyes, their faces frozen in eternal grimaces of agony. But Creedy was nowhere to be seen, and his launch was no longer moored at the dock.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Creedy had managed to get him away from Hana and Ianthe.

Granger stood in the centre of the plaza, wheezing. He needed a boat, any boat, to take him home.

Someone seized his arm.

Snarling, the Imperial jailer looked more like a street dog than ever before. His face was flushed, his eyes narrowed. 'Where do you think you're going?' he said through his teeth. 'n.o.body runs out on my boss.'

Granger smashed the amphora across his head.

The jailer dropped to the ground, his head and shoulders drenched in oil.

Granger hardly gave him a second a glance. He was already running along the dockside, looking for a boat.

There were few to choose from, and no pa.s.senger ferry boats at all. Almost all of the market traders had already gone home, and none of their customers remained. A score of unguarded whaleskin coracles bobbed against the steps, but they would be too slow. Two fishermen sat repairing their nets on the wharf side above an old closed-deck barque, but their deepwater hull was too wide to negotiate Ethugra's narrower channels. Such a vessel would be forced to head out of the Glot Madera and circle around almost a quarter of the city before heading back in through Halcine Ca.n.a.l. Granger pa.s.sed three more barques before he finally came upon a suitable craft.

She was a Valcinder sloop a true ca.n.a.l boat, as sleek, quick and narrow as any in Ethugra. Her captain lay snoozing on the open deck, with his boots propped on the gunwale and a Losotan newspaper draped over his head. He woke with a start when Granger jumped down beside him.

'What? Who the h.e.l.l-' He was young and dark, dressed up in one of those smart black uniforms they sold in the Losotan markets all braid and b.u.t.tons.

Granger took him for a hire captain or a smuggler. No one else bothered to look so neat. 'Take me to Halcine Ca.n.a.l,' he said. 'I'll pay.' He began unravelling the bow line.

The Losotan blinked. 'I'm waiting for a fare.'

'You got a fare,' Granger replied.

'Not you! I'm supposed to take an Imperial administrator to Chandel.'

Granger threw the bow line at him and kicked off from the wharf. 'I'm in a hurry,' he said, 'and I'm taking this boat to Hal-cine Ca.n.a.l, with or without you at the helm. You'd better choose quickly' he inclined his head towards the retreating dock 'because you're running out of time to jump.'

'You're not stealing this boat!'

'Then I'm a paying pa.s.senger. Less trouble for both of us.'

The Losotan glanced between Granger and rapidly increasing gulf between his boat and dry land. Then he shook his head and climbed back to the helm. 'We've got to do this fast,' he said, 'or I'm going to lose a whole bunch of gilders.'

Granger grunted. 'Fast suits me just fine.'

Even before they reached his jail, Granger knew he was too late. The flap giving access to his rooms had been torn off and now lay floating on the oily surface of the ca.n.a.l. He leaped onto his wharf, leaving the Losotan hire captain to tie up, and ran up the steps to his garret.

The place was a mess. His cot, furniture and clothes lay strewn across the floor. Even the kitchen cupboards had been torn off the walls and smashed.

But they didn't have enough time.

They had been looking . . . for what? Trove? His savings? It didn't matter. A quick glance was enough to tell him that this had been a rush job. They had started to search the place but had been interrupted. A few floorboards lay ripped up, but the rest were untouched. Piles of tools and junk remained undisturbed where they'd always lain.

Granger didn't dare to let himself hope. He ran downstairs to the cells.

Their cell door had been forced open, torn partially off its hinges. A feeling of dread gripped him as he waded along the corridor towards it.

He expected their cell to be empty. Every bone in his body told him that he'd find his prisoners missing. And so he wasn't prepared for what he did find when he heaved the broken door aside and staggered through.

They had taken Ianthe, of course.

But not Hana.

She was lying on her back in the shallow brine, wearing the fancy dress he'd bought for her, a faint wheezing sound coming from her mouth. Almost her entire body had been submerged. Grey blisters covered her arms and legs, and patches of sharkskin had already begun to creep across her face. Her eyes stared at the ceiling from underneath an inch of seawater. Evidently she had swallowed some of it, for her breathing sounded painfully thin and ragged. And yet even now she was still trying to stay alive, forcing her mouth above the waterline to suck in air that her ruined lungs could barely absorb.

Granger approached, careful not to make waves in the brine around her, and squatted down beside her. He was still wearing his whaleskin gloves, and he reached one hand underneath her head to support it and his other hand under her chin. Her eyes moved under the water. She saw him and took a sharp intake of breath.

'Don't try to speak,' he said. 'Try not to make any sudden movements. Most of your body has already changed, and you need to keep the sharkskin wet. If I lift you out, it's only going to hurt you even more.'

She took a gulp of air, but didn't move.

'Was it Creedy?' he asked.

She tried to nod, but he held her chin firmly.

'Don't nod,' he said. 'Can you move your hands? Make a fist for me.'

Under the water, her hand moved away from her side. She clenched it.

'How many others were with him?'

She held out two fingers.

'Two other men? Make a fist for yes.'

She clenched her hand again and then relaxed it.

'Did you recognize them?'

Her hand didn't move.

'Do you know where they took her?'

A look of distress came into her eyes, she tried to shake her head, but Granger restrained her. 'It's all right,' he said. 'You need to keep still.' She was neither one thing nor the other. Part human, part Drowned. In this condition her lungs wouldn't last much longer. He could hardly hear her breaths now.

'You can't survive like this,' he said gently. 'Your lungs have been contaminated. They're failing. Soon you won't be able to breathe air. If you keep your mouth above water, you'll die.' He kept his gaze fixed firmly on hers. 'I'm going to push you under.'

She panicked and struggled against him.

He held her firmly. 'You'll feel like you're dying,' he said. 'But you won't. The toxic shock will knock you unconscious, but there's a decent chance you'll wake up again. You'll go on living.' He could see the terror in her eyes. They both knew she might never regain consciousness not everyone did but Granger had no other option. 'I'll find Ianthe,' he said. 'And I'll kill the men who took her.'

Her hand shot out of the water and gripped his glove. Her throat bobbed and she let out a gurgling, choking sound. She was trying to speak. 'Hhhhhh . . . guuuuuh.'

'You don't have to say anything.'

'Maaaaahhh . . . Awwwwd.' She tried to lift her face up out of the brine, but he stopped her again. 'Maaa.s.ss.'

'Maskelyne? They mentioned Maskelyne?'

She nodded.

'You let me worry about him,' he said. 'Ianthe's in no danger. They want her to find trove.'

She relaxed her grip on his glove. For a long moment she just looked up at him from under the water. Finally she nodded.

Granger pushed her head under and held her there until she stopped moving.

Back upstairs, Granger peeled off the heavy whaleskin gloves and laid them on the top stair banister. If Hana was going to wake from her toxic shock, she'd do so some time within the next few hours. He'd need to carry her body to the opposite cell then lower her through the hole in the floorboards into deeper brine. But he'd wait until she was aware of what was happening. He didn't want her to wake up alone.

Creedy would have taken Ianthe straight to Maskelyne, which meant she must have arrived at his island keep by now. A direct a.s.sault on Maskelyne's fortress would be impossible without the a.s.sistance of the Imperial Navy, and Granger wasn't in a position to arrange that. Stealth might get him to the fortress walls, but he would be unlikely to find a way inside. He'd have to wait until Maskelyne took Ianthe out onto the open seas to dredge for trove and then attack Maskelyne's s.h.i.+p directly. He'd need a deepwater vessel, a crew and weapons.

And Granger had none of them.

He heard a boat's engine thrumming in the ca.n.a.l outside. Something about it disturbed him. In the six years he'd lived in Ethugra, he'd grown accustomed to such noises: the post boat, his neighbours' vessels, the pa.s.senger taxis. He didn't recognize the sound of this one.

Quickly he ran to the window and peered out.

She was an old iron straight-sided coastal barge of the sort that used to bring whale oil into the city from the depots and sh.e.l.l keeps out by the Ethugran Reef. A fat bow wave surged before her as she sped along Halcine Ca.n.a.l. Granger spat a curse when he saw the crew waiting aboard.

Hookmen.

Six of them stood on the barge's deck, wrapped in bulky whalers' oilskins. Half of them clutched harpoons, flensing poles or head-spades, but the rest carried knives. The helmsman wore a brine mask and goggles, but the rest were naked-faced, scarred and bearded hard men from the former gutting stations along Dunvale Point. They were looking Granger's way.

He grabbed his whaleskin gloves and pulled them on. Then he ran downstairs and waded along the corridor to Hana's cell.

She was as he'd left her lying unconscious in the shallow brine.

Granger scooped her into his arms. As he half-dragged, half-carried her out to the corridor, he could hear through the open cell window the barge cut her engines, followed by the sound of boots pounding across his wooden jetty.

In the opposite cell, he pulled her over to the hole in the floorboards. His chest was tight with agony again, and his breaths seemed to whistle in his throat. Now he could hear raised voices coming from upstairs.

'I'm sorry, Hana.' he whispered into her ear. And then he eased her body down through the hole.

Most of the air had already gone from her lungs, and so she slipped away into the brine and crumpled gently onto the floor of the flooded room below. A cloud of sediment rose around her, muddying the tea-coloured waters.

Granger dragged one of the broken pallets across the opening to hide it, and turned as the first of Maskelyne's Hookmen came through the door.

From their appearance they might have been Drowned men themselves. Their leader stood half a foot shorter than Granger, but he was far stouter and more heavily muscled. Sharkskin covered most of his naked forearms like a skin of cracked cement. He had daubed the wounded flesh with some greasy white tincture. Five gutting knives with wooden handles and blades of varying curvature and length hung from loops on the front his padded oilskin. He grinned, displaying wide brown teeth, as the others filled the doorway behind him.

'h.e.l.lo, Tom,' he said. 'How are you doing, Tom?'

Granger scowled at him. 'I know you?'

'Don't think so, but I know you.'

'What do you want?'

'I don't like that tone of voice, Tom,' the other man replied. 'Why are you taking that tone of voice with me?' He stepped forward, pus.h.i.+ng out his chest as though challenging Granger to reach for one the knives hanging there. 'I mean, you're a f.u.c.king Drowned lover, aren't you, Tom? You shouldn't be speaking to me like that.'

Granger had seen his type in a hundred bars and back alleys. He had no patience with this fool.

'Get out of my house,' he said.

The Hookman grinned. 'That's not nice, Tom. We're only doing a job here.' He looked down at the pallet covering the hole. 'I mean, you sound like someone who wants their face shoved in the f.u.c.king brine. Why would you want that, Tom?'

There were four others blocking the doorway behind, but they couldn't all push through the door at once. Since he wasn't getting out of here without a fight, Granger thought it best to have the fight on his own terms. No sense in waiting.

He slugged the Hookman in the face.

Granger's blow was as hard as any he'd ever given. The Hookman grunted in surprise, but he didn't go down. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d had a neck like a girder. Granger brought his other fist up in an uppercut, striking the other man under the chin. He heard the blow connect. It should have broken the Hookman's jawbone.

But it didn't.

The shorter man came at him in a rage, pummelling his stony fists under Granger's ribs.