Chapter 58
The crew stands in a ring around Rougeina, who sits on a crate with her back to them, hood pulled up over the smooth blank of her face.
flipping through his Codex.
gripping the edge of the crate. Her shoulders are shaking. Without a mouth, she can't speak. She writes in the dust on the deck with one finger:
I CAN STILL SEE. I CAN'T TALK.
crouching down next to her.
pacing up behind Rougeina. It sniffs her, then stops. Its ears go flat. It backs away, hackles up, and growls, low and uncertain, at its own mistress.
turning toward the sound. She reaches out a hand. The panther flinches from it.
slowly lowering. That's the worst moment of the arc so far, and it has no dialogue at all.
Kompis walks up the gangplank with a sheet of paper torn off a post.
A Trisdel bounty notice. A drawing of Räva's fox grin: WANTED, THE FOX. Bring her nose to the Hounds. And under it, smaller, a second notice: a drawing of Kompis, with a mark in the corner of a white tower and the number three.
ASSET OF ARCHITECT THREE · ABSENT WITHOUT LEAVE · RETURN TO HANDLER.
(He points at Rougeina. She nods.)
folding the notice.
On the far side of the market, the white Hound-ship lifts off the dock and drifts toward the Marka, low, its hound-head prow sniffing.
at the wheel, hands tight.
already standing on the rail, eight blades drawn, hood up. Faceless. Ready.
The Hound-ship comes alongside. Hooks of Ledger-light whip across and bite into the Marka's rail.
Hounds swarm over, sniffing, chains swinging.
Smurjan walks the Sightline down the boarding ramp, three precise palm strikes, three Hounds into the sea.
Bakasura bites a boarding ramp in half.
Trollmage, who's been napping on purpose all afternoon to store spells, casts MACRO : SLIPPERY = 40 and forty Hounds fall on their backsides at once.
A net of Ledger-light falls toward Kompis. Mingus tackles him out from under it.
Rougeina Swaps in among the Hounds, a faceless red-haired ghost, cutting chains. A Hound swings around, sniffing, and his brass grille finds… nothing. No scent he knows. No plate. He swings wild at empty air.
behind him. She knocks him out with the pommel of a blade.
on his own deck, white-bearded and grey-coated, the only unmasked face, watching through an old brass spyglass.
raising a hand.
Ten Hounds hit Kompis together. Ten chains of Ledger-light wrap around his arms, his legs, his chest, his throat, white light searing, and pull. He's dragged across the deck toward the Hound-ship's ramp, boots scraping, fighting.
On the other end, the whole crew pulls back: Vigolas with both arms around Kompis's waist, Drekk holding Vigolas, Smurjan holding Drekk, Trollmage hanging off the back. A human chain, heels dug into the deck.
And at the very front, between the Hounds and their prize, Mingus stands with his teeth sunk into one of the Ledger-chains, growling through it, pulling with everything his eighty pounds have, his gold fur glowing faintly at the edges. Almost. Not yet.
Above it all, faceless, Rougeina Swaps along the line of chains and cuts every one of them in a single silver-rose streak.
The chains snap. Hounds go tumbling backwards onto their own ship. The crew falls in a heap on the Marka's deck with Kompis on top.
standing on Kompis's chest, the faint gold glow at the edge of his fur fading. Just a dog again, wagging, licking his face.
The Hound-ship pulls away into the darkening Current, damaged. From its ramp, Brannvik calls across the water, calm.
shouting back.
The crew bandages, eats, collapses. Rougeina sits apart at the stern with her hood up.
The panther pads slowly over to her. Sniffs her hand again, very carefully. Then, after a long moment, lies down at her feet, facing away from her, but touching. Not sure. Trying.
resting on the panther's back. Her shoulders shake once.
alone at the wheel in the dark, looking out at the market island's fires. He hasn't said a word all evening.
joining him, quiet.
Footsteps on the gangplank: heavy, unhurried, familiar. The sound of a chain dragging along the boards. A big shape, coming up out of the dark.
turning. His face goes white.
lit by the deck lantern. A huge woman in a battered sea-coat, broad as a door, an anchor on a chain slung over one shoulder, salt in her braids, grinning the biggest grin in the world. She spreads her arms wide and laughs: a big, booming, generous laugh.
"MARKA": Drekk! There you are, you miserable old crab! Did you miss me?