Part 11 (1/2)
”Turn back!” yelled Jagu to the rowers, but they were too far away to hear his voice.
”If only Abbot Yephimy hadn't been so stubborn, we could have used Sergius's Staff.” Celestine could only stare at the dark-winged daemon, eaten up with frustration at their helplessness. And yet, even as she clutched the wet rail of the s.h.i.+p, the creature halted in midair.
It shuddered.
Suddenly, it let out a wailing cry, inhuman and desolate. Then it began to plummet toward the waves, losing its hold on its human burden.
”Can it sense the Angelstone?” Jagu leaned far out over the rail, straining to see what was happening.
”Be careful, Jagu!” Celestine grabbed hold of him, fearful that he might be swept overboard.
For a moment daemon and man disappeared below the surface. Then a whirlpool began to churn the waves. The sailors shouted out and cursed, gripping the sides of the rowboat as it was thrown sideways, almost capsizing. And out of the spinning water, Celestine saw a shadow rise, dark as smoke, and speed away, low across the waves.
The sailors gently laid the two fishermen down on the deck. Celestine went to help them but Jagu put a hand on her shoulder. ”Wait.”
The younger of the two began to retch, spewing up a lungful of seawater. He forced himself to his knees, turning to the older man who lay motionless beside him. Celestine watched in growing distress as he tried to revive him.
”Come on, Kuzko.” The fisherman laid his head against the other's chest, as if listening for a heartbeat. ”Don't desert me now!”
The old sailor's head lolled back, mouth gaping.
She saw the fisherman lay him back down on the deck and gently close his eyes. One of the sailors came up and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. Only then did the fisherman crouch beside the still body and weep.
Celestine opened the cabin door and took a long, appraising look at the young fisherman, who lay deep in exhausted sleep. In spite of his untidy black curling hair, rough beard, and skin dark-tanned by wind and sun, there was something about him that suggested he was no ordinary fisherman.
Jagu was busy discussing their itinerary with Captain Peillac. She felt a little guilty acting on her own initiative, without his approval, but she was certain that the young man's features were familiar.
”I know know you,” she whispered. ”We've met before. But when... and where...” you,” she whispered. ”We've met before. But when... and where...”
He began to mutter in his sleep, twisting and turning, as though in the grip of a nightmare. Mumbled words escaped his salt-dried lips.
”Drowning... I'm drowning!” He flailed wildly as though fighting to stay above the waves.
She caught hold of his hand. ”You're safe now.”
He sat bolt upright. Eyes of dark violet-blue stared into hers. ”I- I'm so sorry. I was dreaming.”
”It must have been quite a dream.” Gently, she released his hand.
He nodded, still staring at her. ”I've seen you before. You sang in Mirom last winter. You're Celestine-”
”De Joyeuse. I'm flattered you remember me.” I've seen eyes of that unique hue very recently. Can he be one of the Orlovs? I've seen eyes of that unique hue very recently. Can he be one of the Orlovs?
”Celestial in voice as well as in name,” he said. ”How could I forget?”
”The daemon creature that attacked you,” she said, ignoring the compliment. ”That would be enough to give anyone nightmares.”
”That was not what I was dreaming about. My s.h.i.+p went down in the Straits some months ago. The old man, Kuzko, rescued me. And now-” He choked on the words. ”Now he's dead.”
”You don't talk like a common sailor.” She was looking at him curiously. ”What's your name?”
”Andrei.”
”Andrei?” she said, her mind racing. My s.h.i.+p went down in the Straits... My s.h.i.+p went down in the Straits...
”Where are you bound?”
She made an effort to focus her thoughts. ”Why, to Swanholm, to sing for Princess Karila's birthday at the request of the Emperor's wife, Astasia.”
”Astasia,” he repeated, p.r.o.nouncing the name with affection, almost reverence. ”Demoiselle de Joyeuse,” he said in Francian, ”may I confide in you?”
”He says he's Andrei Orlov, Crown Prince of Muscobar?” Jagu stared at Celestine, his brows drawn close in a frown of disbelief. ”How can you be sure he's not an impostor? Or out of his mind?”
Celestine had been expecting this reaction. She forced herself to count to ten before replying. ”You met Prince Andrei last year in Mirom, at Count Velemir's reception, Jagu, didn't you? Before the Revolt?” Their cramped cabin was not the best place for such a discussion; the sea was still choppy and, seasoned travelers though they were, the creaking and pitching of the Dame Blanche Dame Blanche made it difficult to talk about such a sensitive subject without raising their voices. ”You have to admit that the likeness is remarkable.” made it difficult to talk about such a sensitive subject without raising their voices. ”You have to admit that the likeness is remarkable.”
”The same Prince Andrei who went down with the Sirin?” Sirin?” Jagu crossed his arms defensively as he sometimes did when not wis.h.i.+ng to admit that she might be right. Jagu crossed his arms defensively as he sometimes did when not wis.h.i.+ng to admit that she might be right.
”Can't you see what a trump card has fallen into our hands?” she went on, trying to keep her voice low. ”When Eugene forced Muscobar to capitulate, Andrei was believed to be dead. Now that he's alive, there's a rival for the throne. And if he allies himself with Francia, Eugene will find himself in a very tricky situation indeed.”
”And then there's the Drakhaoul.” Jagu pulled out the precious Angelstone and showed it to Celestine; the trickle of darkness that had polluted its clarity had disappeared. ”Is it gone for good? Or could he summon it back and destroy us? We have to interrogate him, Celestine. The Maistre would expect nothing less.”
”Let's leave him to rest a little longer.” She put on her most appealing tone, one that she knew Jagu could not refuse. ”If we bombard him with questions when he's still in shock, we'll only make him more confused.” Although the prospect that Prince Andrei might be able to summon the daemon to his aid was deeply unsettling.
”Help me... Drakhaoul...”
The prisoner was dying. Wasted with fever, the brilliance of his blue eyes dimming, the young man suddenly murmured a few words, barely intelligible. And his jailer had been ordered to summon the Director of Arnskammar Asylum if he said anything, so he dutifully locked the door and set out to fetch his master. For some reason, it seemed that the Emperor had a personal interest in the prisoner.
He had just reached the courtyard when he sensed the sky darken overhead. Glancing up, he saw a stormcloud speeding toward the tower. He stopped, terrified. For he had glimpsed eyes in the whirling darkness, eyes that burned with the piercing blue of lightning.
The director came running into the courtyard.
”What in G.o.d's name-?” he began, then fell silent as both men stared at the top of the tower. The prisoner's cell was shrouded in shadow and little flashes of energy crackled and flickered about the conical roof.
A flash of dazzling light seared their eyes and the top of the tower exploded, shattered stones and tiles showering down into the courtyard. The jailer pulled his stunned master to the ground, covering his head with his hands. As he glanced fearfully up, he saw-or thought he saw-a great winged creature, blue as midnight, wheeling away through the cloud-veiled sky.
”No one could have survived such a lightning strike,” said the director, getting unsteadily to his feet, brus.h.i.+ng the dust from his clothes. The jagged ruins of the broken tower were silhouetted all too clearly against the clearing sky.
”But d-didn't you see it, Director?” the jailer stammered. ”The winged creature... like a dragon...”
”A dragon?” The director gave him a stern look. ”I have no idea what you're babbling about. I will inform the Emperor straightaway that the prisoner died when lightning struck his cell.”
”Captain Peillac has just informed me that we'll reach Tielen by dawn.” Jagu ducked as he entered Andrei's cabin to avoid hitting his head. He set down a bottle of red wine and proceeded to pour with a steady hand. ”So that gives us plenty of time to make the journey to Swanholm.” He handed both Celestine and Andrei a gla.s.s, then lifted his own in a toast. ”To your miraculous survival, my lord Andrei.”
”Miraculous?” Andrei took a sip of the wine. ”If you hadn't sent out your men to the rescue-”
”I was referring to the creature that plucked the old man from the waves,” Jagu said.
Andrei set his gla.s.s down. ”You saw it, then?” A lost, sad look clouded his eyes.