Chapter 22 #3
“We have an understanding, then.” Captain Oannes’s gaze cut to our guide in a silent order.
Lakhmu stepped in and said, “Follow me.”
Turning on his heel, he took off. With one final glare at the captain, my father trailed after the leering fishman.
The rest of us followed, Rust in front of me and Mackiel taking his place at my back, slipping through a doorway that put us beneath the foredeck.
Circular glass windows let in enough daylight to navigate the cramped space.
Wooden barrels were stacked and wedged between the wall and the railing, forming a narrow walkway to a hatch in the floor.
Without so much as a glance to ensure we were still behind him, Lakhmu disappeared down the hole.
Shifting the weight of his bag, the alpha gestured for us to stay back. Rifle hanging from his shoulder, he followed Lakhmu, descending each rung slowly, his muscles coiled and ready for an attack.
When he hit bottom, Dad shouted, “Clear.”
I descended the narrow, steep ladder into darkness next, my footsteps echoing ominously. Dad waited, gaze affixed to the shadows beside him. I reached the bottom, and as my sight adjusted to the dim light, a blue arm reached for me.
I drew my daggers, but Dad lunged between Lakhmu and me in a blur.
He clamped onto the fishman’s wrist and twisted it behind his back, shoving his face into a wooden pillar.
With a flash of metal, the alpha’s sword pressed against the side of the fishman’s neck, in position to decapitate the male.
“You will not lay a fucking hand on my people. You got that?”
One side of Lakhmu’s face was smushed against the pillar, allowing me to see his widening grin. The creep appeared to be enjoying the altercation.
“I was only trying to move her so she did not block the way for the others.”
“I don’t care.” The alpha tightened his grip. “You touch her, you die. That goes for the rest of your crew, too. Spread the word.”
Rust joined us, watching Mack’s back as he made the climb.
“As you say.” The malicious gleam in Lakhmu’s eyes promised he’d welcome violence. “Now release me so I can show you to your quarters. We cannot set sail until I am above deck with my brothers.”
The alpha withdrew his sword and re-sheathed it.
Pulling Lakhmu away from the pillar, he shoved him in the direction opposite to me.
The fishman stumbled, then reestablished his footing, releasing an eerie chuckle as he strode down a passageway.
My father threw me a seriously unnecessary warning glance to keep my distance, then followed.
Lakhmu led us to a musty room in the aft of the ship.
Fragmented light drifted in from two portholes so covered in grime I couldn’t see out of them.
Dad’s steps stirred up dust, the motes dancing in the faint rays of sunlight as they tickled my nose and made my eyes water.
I fought back a sneeze, afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop if I started.
Beneath each porthole, a large wooden trunk, covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, was bolted to the floor.
Four worn, gray linen hammocks hung from the ceiling in the middle of the space.
“The sick bay?” the alpha asked, sounding outraged. “You expect us to sleep in the infirmary?”
Lakhmu sneered. “It is none of my concern what you do in here, but unless you want to bed down with the crew,” his gaze drifted to me, and a wicked promise glinted in his eyes, “you will accept these accommodations. We do not often take on passengers—at least, not willing ones—so this is all we have to offer.” With that eerie revelation, he turned to leave.
“Can we at least get a broom?” I asked, stopping him by the door. “Maybe some washrags and a bucket of clean water?”
One long finger tapped out a little tune on the wooden frame before he studied me. “And what would I get in exchange?”
My father growled at the suggestion in his tone.
“A clean sick bay,” I replied.
He inclined his head. “As you say.”
I had no clue whether that meant yes or no, but I wasn’t about to ask.
Either he brought the supplies, or he didn’t.
Only time would tell. Dad opened one of the wooden storage boxes and peered inside, but whatever he saw there made him drop the lid, wipe his hands on his pants, and set his gear on top.
He and Rust kept their rifles on their persons, slings tight against their chests.
I sheathed my daggers and rushed to the nearest porthole. Ancient wood creaked and groaned beneath my boots as the ship rocked and swayed with the tide. Prying the window open, I took in a lungful of fresh air, staring out at the ocean waves.
When I leaned back in, the room still stank, so I crossed the space and threw open the other porthole to create a cross breeze.
With the fishmen out of sight and surrounded by the safety of my packmates, a little tension eased from my shoulders as I absentmindedly let my gaze sweep across the receding land… and froze.
The dragon stood on the dock.