1st Draft Fridays - A Fistful of Deception: Book #4, Chronicles of Marsdenfel

Year 253 of the Bynding - @ boat - Harvestime, part IV

Aldrik closes the door after him without my having to ask, which lets me focus on opening the sidescuttle. A ward slices my fingertips, and I miss the alchemy stash I never was able to replace while I was on the continent.

That’s one nice thing about going back to Pardyam. I think I figured out a way to make Ir’s tear bombs more effective, too, so I might even be able to restock by barter rather than with cash. I figured out years ago that it’s easier to negotiate a better deal if you find the right person to barter with.

Blood drips from my stinging fingers, which ironically makes it easier to keep the sidescuttle from squeaking. The wood and metal are naturally silent, and with my magic-filled blood on it, I barely have to give a thought to the matter.

Aldrik draws in a sharp breath.

I curtly cut him off before he can say anything. “Hush. I’m fine.”

Once the window’s open and the ward is therefore inactive—but not deactivated, which would alert whichever mage is running it—I twist up my net belt so it’s more of a rope. The wall has hooks, intended for privacy curtains when this cabin is in use, and the belt reaches from the ones on either side of the sidescuttle an back. I use the ends of the belt to yank myself up, but I don’t push myself through. I instead do enough of the motion to illustrate it, then offer the ends of the belt to Aldrik.

He shakes his head. “You first.”

And of course we’re arguing about this. “My belt.” I look pointedly over at the sidescuttle and back at him.

“I promise I’ll retrieve it.”

I’m sure he intends to, but I know what I’m up to and can therefore adapt if something goes wrong. He doesn’t have that advantage.

Besides, Cappie might assume he’s chasing me, if he comes after. “You go first, you can help the water catch me.” Boots sound against the decking up above the ladder that leads down into the hall. “Hurry.”

Aldrik’s lips press into a thin line, but he must hear the sailors above, because he promptly drops his bundle, takes the belt ends, and hauls himself up. It’s harder for him than it was for me—it takes a few tries for him to get the height and angle right—but he manages, with a minimum of grunting.

Boots land in the hall outside as he goes through.

Someone’s guessed we’re not what we seem, and their next step will be to toss us in the brig, presumably for Quiller to figure out what to do with us once we hit port.

Another dizzy spell makes me stumble as I grab our things and toss them out the sidescuttle, trusting Aldrik to catch them with his magic—that’s one benefit to traveling with a water mage-Bridged-to-elemental. But I’m slower than I should be as I pull myself up, push out of the window, and twist to face the window and face the decking.

The door to the cabin opens.

I adjust my grip to hold the windowsill with one hand and one end of the belt with another. Someone’s knife buries into the hand holding me up as I tug the belt free.

My decades of doing this sort of thing means I grit my teeth rather than cry out—which tells the seamen that I’m a lot more experienced than they assumed. So does the detail that I end my tug on my belt by plucking the knife from my hand, and I automatically kick myself off the side of the boat so I fall far enough out to miss the undertow.

Now Quiller will be seeking the two of us. Lovely.

I hit the water at a good angle, and my sliced-up fingers and cut hand blaze with pain. Dizziness hits, too, and I sink further than is wise before I start swimming back up for air.