Shadows of Falling Night

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Black Sea

Ellen was a little nervous about the gulet, and the more so as preparations for departure went on through the night until the very slightest paling appeared in the east and the city lights lost some of their harsh brilliance.

“They’re asleep,” she said, climbing back up the steep staircase to the chilly darkness of the deck, somehow emphasized rather than relieved by the lights of the city. “At last, at long last. Over-excited. It happens at their age.”

Adrian nodded, abstracted. “And their blood doesn’t help. This is the middle of the day, for them.”

“Afternoon nap, then. Is the ship okay?”

“Our Tulip is a sweet little thing and should serve us well. We’re about ready to cast off.”

She wasn’t nervous of the ship itself. It was a pretty enough craft, essentially a biggish schooner with two masts, a sharp bow, a cruiser stern and a low deckhouse that was the only break in its long smooth lines. She was no expert on boats, but the slim sleek shape of the Lale-the word meant “tulip”-appealed to her aesthetic sense in a way that made her confident Adrian was right about her being a sweet little thing.

In her experience objects that looked perfectly suited to their purpose usually were, and she could tell how something looked at a glance. It was one of those cases where aesthetics were extremely practical.

What bothered her was that Adrian was the only one aboard who really knew what he was doing. Sometimes his omnicompetence was irritating, sometimes reassuring, and sometimes both at once; and sometimes it was a bit disturbing because it reminded her of how much older he was than he looked, since not even his abilities would have enabled him to learn all that by his mid-twenties. This time it was a little of all of those. It was reassuring that he was an expert sailor, but the only thing she’d ever done in boats was ride in them, and she had about as much seamanship as she did skill at polo. The others…

“Eric?” Adrian said, when the owner’s scratch crew had finished carrying bundles and boxes below and departed pocketing sums big enough to be satisfying but just short of being large enough to excite suspicion. “Do you have any experience with oceangoing vessels?”

“I’m from New Mexico. Lots of beach, no ocean.”

“You were a marine.…”

The dark stocky man shrugged. “Mostly I was a marine in fucking Afghanistan. I used to see kids in the villages make little boats out of wood chips and straw and float ’em down the irrigation canals sometimes, and that’s my nautical experience. But hey, I’ve got the training, so you ram this sucker on a beach and I can land and set up a perimeter. If I had a squad to do it with. Getting us there is the squids’ business.”

He and Adrian shared a smile, leaving Ellen baffled.

“The engine?” asked Adrian.

The ex-policeman gave a slight quick nod. “Now you’re talking, diesel engines I can handle. Trucks, generators, armored vehicles, and my dad ran a garage and I helped him all through high school. This one can’t be all that different from what I’ve worked on.”

“I hereby appoint you chief engineer. Go take a look.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” the man said, snapping off a salute and disappearing below.

“Peter?”

The scientist had been looking around in admiration, tracing the rigging with his eyes. “I’ve sailed a small boat on the lakes when I was a kid,” he said. “Emphasis kid, emphasis small boat. As in, one hand on the tiller and one hand on the rope. I can safely say that I understand the hydrodynamics of tacking. Also, I’ve read all the Patrick O’Brian books and I can talk about Napoleonic-era British frigates by the hour.”

“Better than nothing, and we won’t be using the sails unless we must. A rig like this can be handled from the decks in any case, and it’s all high-geared winches. Familiarize yourself with it, as far as you can.”

Peter’s eyes traced what was to her a cat’s cradle of complexity soaring up to the masts. “Looks pretty simple,” he agreed. “No flying sails, nothing fancy.”

Eric stuck his head out of a hatchway. “Full tanks, and she’s ready to go. Danish-made marine diesel, it’s old but it looks like it’s been well kept up. I’ll be hopping like an eight-armed monkey if it needs anything but the on-off switch, but I’m pretty sure I can keep it going. It’s got a pretty good outfit of spares and tools, as far as I can see.”

“Good. I could sense that the owner believed the description he gave, but he might have been mistaken.”

“Right, you can detect lies but not dumb ignorance?”

“There is a dark cloud to all silver linings.”

Cheba came on deck and crossed her arms. Adrian looked at her and visibly decided not to ask about her maritime experience. She nodded and spoke.

“This boat-”

“Ship,” Adrian said.

“-this boat has plenty to keep us going for weeks. I think it was meant for a dozen people. Rich people. There is enough space for that many in the cabins. I will start breakfast in a few hours. Huevos rancheros. Also I will make coffee, lots of it. These moros know about coffee, at least.”

“I suppose I could do an inventory of the paintings in the staterooms,” Ellen said mock-helpfully.

“If it comes to a fight, Peter and Cheba and Eric will be absolutely essential. You three get some sleep if you can, we will be standing watch and watch. From the description the ship has more hull speed than Harvey’s; it was worth a few hours till dawn to avoid trouble with the harbor police.”

They nodded-they had been up much longer-and disappeared.

Adrian put an arm around her waist. “I will show you the bridge.”

That was in the glassed-in front part of the deckhouse just forward of the rear mast. The interior was polished russet wood, and the wheel might have come from a galleon on the Spanish Main; there was a semicircle of built-in couch at the rear done in colorful cushions and Turkish kilims. Besides the scents of wax and cloth, there was a faint undertaste of cinnamon and musky incense. After all the Barbary Corsair Oriental decor the touchscreen controls flanking the wheel were a little incongruous.

Adrian brought them up and ran her through the menus. “In theory we could run the engine room from here,” he said. “But the electronic controls were all added on later and I do not fully trust them. When these fail, it’s always at the worst possible time. We will need Eric. But most of the routine tasks are not very complex. Here, take the wheel.”

She did, with him standing behind her and resting his own hands lightly on the wheel as well. She was half expecting it when his teeth lunged for her throat, and she stifled the scream as the overwhelming strength of his body pinned her against the wood-

“Okay,” she murmured some time later. “Okay, that’s it…no-”

His mouth clamped on her neck and fire ran out to the tips of her toes. So tempting…

“Adrian! Earwax!”

A heart-stopping moment, and he released her. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I thought…”

“I was. Honey, it’s the hint of danger that gives it that edge, but that was the edge. It’s a good thing everyone else was asleep. Sort of fun forcing myself not to yell, too.”

“And fortunate that there were so many rugs and cushions here,” he said, helping her untangle the clothing, particularly the parts that had been used as impromptu restraints.

“Yupper. I like the odd bruise, but in moderation.”

They had just time to shower and change before everyone was stirring. The engine was a quiet rumble beneath their feet as the Tulip’s sharp prow turned down the Golden Horn, Adrian threading them expertly between everything from cockle-shell pleasure boats to giant bulk carriers. All the adults crowded into the wheelhouse once they were out of the harbor proper, holding their plates and eating while Adrian explained the controls.

Cheba raised an ironic eyebrow at her before soberly concentrating on the lesson, being uncomfortably acute as usual. Adrian was an excellent teacher, and he was right; she could read the ship’s passage through the water through her palms on the spokes of the wheel. They could also see the children running up and down the deck, with shouts of “avast!” and “belay!” and waving of imaginary cutlasses.

My God, is Leon really trying to walk like Johnny Depp? she thought, feeling a spark of brightness.

The morning was clear and chilly, whipping escaped strands of her platinum hair around her face when she leaned it out one of the windows and bringing a flush to her cheeks. The water of the Bosporus was a dark purple blue streaked with white foam. There was a long, slow corkscrew motion to it, and sunlit bursts of spray came flying down the deck each time the bows broke free. The Rumeli lighthouse loomed over to the west, an octagonal white spike on the edge of Europe catching the sun rising out of Asia. Then the coastline fell away to east and west as the Black Sea opened up before them. Besides cooking the promised breakfast, Cheba also proved to be the best at holding a heading.

“Keep the bow so,” Adrian said, his finger tapping the little icon of the ship that moved along a line on the navigation screen. “The radar alarm is set, and for the present Harvey cannot deviate much from the shortest course to the coast of Georgia; if he did, we would get ahead of him. Peter, Eric, you spell her. I want you all to get the feel of it.”

He yawned and stretched like a drowsing leopard. “Let us sleep for four hours, no more. If there is danger it will come in the night. My sister will take a hand in this pursuit.”

Ellen hadn’t been conscious of how tired she was until she stumbled and almost fell on the steep companionway down to the row of cabins. Now…

“You know, I really wish it was just the two of us,” she said as she collapsed backward onto the bed.

She was barely conscious of her husband undressing her and drawing up the covers; it was a very comfortable bed, and the linen sheets smelled of lavender.

“Then we would be even more tired,” he whispered in her ear. “But I know what you mean. Sleep now, my darling. Sleep, and dream well.”

“Adrian’s after us,” Harvey said, squinting into the rippling brightness of the noon-lit sea.

They’d moved bedding into the wheelhouse of their gulet; that made it easier to trade off, and anyone in the Brotherhood was used to sleeping in the daytime. It was safer then. Running a ship the size of the Çobanoğlu, plus keeping the vital but jury-rigged shielding device going around the bomb, was brutal for only three people. Guha gave a protesting mutter as he spoke, started to put a pillow over her head, and turned one bloodshot eye on him from a nest of blankets and quilts.

Harvey grinned to himself; that was safe enough since he was at the wheel and facing away from them. They’d bought what amounted to an oceangoing sailing yacht, with luxury accommodations for three or four couples and more Spartan ones for as many crew and attendants. And here they were, rigged out like a perpetual sleep-over combined with a labor camp. At least there were showers and a kitchen within reach, and enough storage space for baggage that they could simply throw dirty laundry overboard in a weighted bag. Though when it came to it, he was the only one who could really use the kitchen. Jack Farmer was barely up to grilling hamburgers into tough gray discs, and Anjali Guha could turn any ingredient known to the human race into a glutinous mass.

Well, I didn’t choose them for their culinary skills, he thought. ’Sides which, I am here and I always did like eating my own cooking.

“You’re not probing, are you?” Farmer asked in alarm.

“Nope, just passive, but I recognize his mind. We spent a long time together, and we’re base-linked. I can tell when he’s scanning for me. Plus of course I taught him, back in the when. There were them as reckoned nobody that pureblood could be turned to the positive side of the Force, and I did see the force of the argument, so I built in some fail-safes back when he was just knee-high to a ravening beast. Hopefully he ain’t noticed that he has a real problem with penetrating any disguise Wreakings I do. Case of age and treachery beating genes and strength. Of course if he has noticed, we’re just back to hiding like hell which we do anyway.”

Anjali and Jack exchanged glances. They’d worked together a long time too, and like anyone else in the Brotherhood they’d heard a great deal of gossip about the team of Ledbetter and Brézé. It was lurid and long, and most of it was even true, including the fact that they had managed to kill no less than three of the high Council adepts, not to mention a large quarter of their followers and retainers and relations. More, they’d worked with Adrian personally in California last year and seen what he could do. During that final battle against his sister’s renfields he’d used his mind like a mass of flying razors, like some Lord of Shadow out of the ancient myths ripping men’s lives free of their bodies with a single snarling thought.

Anjali spoke: “You seem very calm about that.”

Harvey nodded. It was a perfectly reasonable question, a professional inquiry and not panic.

“Well, if it was just us, we’d be doing some stretching exercises. So it was nice and comfortable when we bent over to kiss our collective ass good-bye. Adrian is one of the two strongest adepts living, and he’s a smart little bastard besides. The upside is that his sister is doing the best she can to stop him, and she’s the other of the two strongest living adepts.”

Another glance between the two younger operatives. “Are you sure that it is you who are manipulating her, rather than she who is manipulating you?” Anjali said.

“Sure? Oh, hell no!” Harvey said, laughing at the thought. “I mean, just think about that for a moment. If I was sure it was me on top, it’d be dead certain she was the one calling the shots. That’s a question that can only be answered in retrospect, possibly from the afterlife, which would be difficult because there isn’t one. The big advantage I have is that I’m not sure who’s diddling who. If it were Adrian I wouldn’t even have that, I wouldn’t even try to string him along this way.”

Jack rubbed the soft blond bristles on his chin. “She’s smart too,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, just as smart, but she was raised on the other side. With the usual disadvantages.”

They nodded. That meant solipsistic narcissism, and the bone-deep arrogance of those who thought of themselves as physical, living gods. If it weren’t for that personality pattern, the Empire of Shadow would’ve returned full-fledged long ago, given the power imbalance. Harvey wasn’t quite sure how much of it was genetic, and how much of it was due to the Council’s origin as an alliance of black magicians.

He’d come more and more to the environmental side of the Force as time went on. The example of Adrian strongly suggested genetics were not destiny.

But Satanists almost had to think that way, whether there was an actual Satan to model themselves on or not. There wasn’t, but humans were a very plastic species and could shape themselves into a pretty fair approximation of demons, with sustained effort. Naturally enough, their children tended to catch the contagion by osmosis. Shadowspawn more or less had to be like cats, but they didn’t have to be nasty ones.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t be overconfident too,” Anjali said. “On the other hand, we must not paralyze ourselves.”

Jack snorted. “On the one hand, on the other hand, on the one hand, on the other hand, and so it goes round and round until we disappear up our own assholes with a wet plop.”

“Keepin’ in mind that the question can be sort of academic. Worst case, we are being her instruments for wiping out a lot of the Council. That wouldn’t be so bad.”

“It wouldn’t?” Anjali said, in what was almost a squeak.

“Fellas, that would mean we get to wipe out a lot of the Council.”

“For her purposes,” Jack said.

“For her purely selfish purposes. We’re thinking in terms of winning the war first and foremost, and she’s not. Concentrate on that wipe out a lot of the Council bit. There just ain’t no downside to that; Adrienne may be smarter than her great-granddaddy, but if she takes over with our nuke she’ll have a lot fewer adapts working for her than he does. Plus, it just sort of sets a good precedent.”

Farmer smiled, a remarkably evil expression. “So we’re in a heads I win, tails I win really big situation here, with some and bitch, you did it to yourself thrown in?”

Anjali frowned thoughtfully, and then smiled herself; her smile was much more restrained, but held an equal degree of sly wickedness. For a moment they all shared the pure pleasure of doing unto someone else they truly hated.

Think of it as a bonding experience, Harvey thought.

“Dude, that is diabolical,” Farmer said. “I think we made the right decision.”

“I do try,” Harvey said. “And the Brotherhood knows about her plague, and she don’t know that we know, so that’s taken care of ’cause we have the vaccine stockpiled. Whereas if the dinosaurs on the Council were to do their EMP thing, we would just be purely so screwed. It’s a case where very evil, very powerful and very stupid actually is more dangerous than very evil, very powerful and very smart.”

“Can you tell specifically what Adrian is trying to do?” Anjali said, bringing the conversation back to tactics.

“His Wreakings do tend to have that certain tangy barbecue flavor,” Harvey said. “Right now I’d say he’s just trying to find us and our little bundle of joy. If he starts trying to cast bane, I’ll know it’s him. Problem is, in that event we’re really going to need that help from the would-be bitch goddess of the universe.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t find us, then,” Farmer said.

“Well, about that…So long as he knows where we’re headed he really don’t have to know exactly where we are for a while.”

“But? Oh wise one, enlighten us,” Anjali said sarcastically.

“Sailin’ straight into Batumi ain’t our only option. This gulet is a mite more flexible than your average container freighter. Those giant floatin’ shoeboxes need a lot more infrastructure.”