Smoke and Iron (The Great Library #4)(20)

“And the charges?” Khalila asked. Thomas held up a small box in one hand and a quart-sized glass bottle full of green liquid in the other.

“The powder charge in this box will fuse the lock on one of the bridge doors so it can’t open,” he said. “The Greek fire will cut open the other.”

“Careful with those,” Glain said, and Khalila understood her nervousness. There was enough Greek fire in that glass to ignite half the ship. “You trip, and we all end this voyage on the bottom.”

Thomas gave her a faint smile. “I’m large. Not lumbering.”

No one had happened on them in the workshop, which was a bit of a miracle, but someone would surely notice Thomas—who was very noticeable—toting a bottle of Greek fire. Swords and daggers could be concealed, and Khalila now carried a belt full of blades beneath the fleece-lined robe, out of view. She sighed and hunted up another wooden box that fit the bottle, and padded it with rags. Thomas latched it shut and hefted it, along with the other items. It didn’t look innocent, but at least it didn’t look as openly guilty.

Glain didn’t bother to conceal anything, and there wasn’t much use arguing with her.

The first man to spot them in the corridor heading for the cabins was, happily, one of the sailors Khalila disliked the most; he’d threatened to disembowel Dario, for one thing. He seemed instantly suspicious and opened his mouth to say, “What do you think you’re doing around—”

He never reached the end of that question, because Glain stepped forward and slipped a dagger neatly between his ribs. Khalila caught her breath, because every instinct in her shouted that it was unnecessary . . . but she knew better. They were outnumbered and about to enter a very dangerous fight—one that would determine more than just their own fates.

He could have given an alarm. Glain had stopped it.

The sailor was dead within seconds, and nearly silently. They dragged him into a storage locker, and they slipped quickly back to Santi’s cabin, where the captain and Dario waited.

“About time,” Dario said, and pulled them in. He checked the hall and closed the door. Khalila stumbled into him as the ship took a breathtaking lurch; the storm was worse again, though she couldn’t imagine how much more violent it could possibly get. “Did you find anything?”

For answer, she unfastened her outer robe and began to remove swords and daggers. A pair for each of them, and a few spares. She’d been clinking as she walked and gained almost half again her weight from all the metal. It was a relief to lay it down, except for the sword and dagger she kept. These, she belted on outside the fleeced robe this time. Let them notice. She no longer cared. They all looked warlike and piratical now, especially Dario, who seemed most suited to the occupation by looks. And Glain, toting the industrial rivet gun on her shoulder.

“Plans, Captain?” Khalila asked. He was looking thoughtfully at the weapons.

“Questions,” he said. “No one found you in the workshop?”

“No one,” Thomas said. “Lucky.”

Santi didn’t seem to believe it. “Even on such a stormy day, that seems odd.”

“We did kill a man on the way back,” Glain offered. “Quietly.”

He nodded at the point but still looked troubled. “I don’t know if this is some kind of trap, but we don’t have much choice. If we wait, we’ll be into the strait, well past our port.”

Khalila said, “If we don’t take action, Anit will simply carry on as her father commands. She has nothing to lose from it. But . . . I do believe she’s hoping we will find a way. She may have even kept her crew away from the workshop. She’s not a fool. She’d guess how we’d proceed.”

“Agreed,” Dario said. “That girl’s a fiendishly good chess player.”

“Then we move,” Santi said. “Khalila, you have steady hands. Set the explosive charge to fuse the bridge door we don’t intend to enter. When we hear the blast, we’ll burn through the other side, quietly. Hopefully, the crew’s attention will be drawn the wrong way.”

“And what’s she to do if it draws everyone straight to her?” Dario asked. “I’d better go with her.”

“No,” Santi said. “We’ll need the four of us when that door does open, because even if Anit doesn’t fight us, her captain and bridge crew will. There are seven of them. I can’t spare you, Dario.”

“I’ll rejoin you as soon as I can,” Khalila promised. “I’ll be all right.”

Thomas put the small box in her hands. “There’s a small self-starting fuse,” he said. “The charge will stick to the door; it’s magnetic. Put it over the lock, just here—” He demonstrated on their cabin door. “Pull the tab to start the fuse. You can leave it to do its job then.”

“How long is the fuse?”

“About ten seconds,” he said. “Long enough to get to safety.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. Steady. Steady and calm. But the ship was pitching wildly, and she put the box under one arm and held tight to a handhold as the ship groaned like a living thing, rolled sharply to the left. Kept rolling, as if it intended to overturn . . . and then, suddenly, righted itself.

“They should be steering into the storm, not putting their starboard side to it,” Dario said. He looked wretched again, but grimly determined. Khalila watched as a chair skidded from one side of Santi’s cabin to the next. She was grateful that the Greek fire was cushioned, but Allah preserve them all if Thomas dropped that box.