had thought possible only on gargoyles. ‘You sound like . . . like one of them, Dread!’
‘Who?’
‘Us.’
Lenk met the boy’s whirling gaze without blinking, even as Dreadaeleon frowned.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you.’
‘You sound disappointed.’
‘Well, the comparison was rather unfavourable,’ the wizard said, shrugging. ‘Not that I’m not thrilled you’re still alive.’
He still sounded disappointed, but Lenk made no mention of it. His eyes went over the boy’s head of stringy black hair, past Asper’s concerned glare, through the mass of wounded sailors to the object of his desire.
The smaller escape vessel dangled seductively from its davits, displaying its oars so brazenly, its benches so invitingly. It called to him with firm, wooden logic, told him he would not survive without it. He believed it, he wanted to go to it.
There was the modest problem of the tall priestess before him, though, arms crossed over her chest to form a wall of moral indignation.
‘What happened at the railings?’ she asked. ‘Did you win?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’
‘In a manner of . . .’ She furrowed her brow. ‘It’s not a hard question, you know. Did you push the pirates back?’
‘Obviously, we were triumphant,’ chimed a darker voice from behind him. Denaos stalked forwards, placing a hand on Lenk’s shoulder. ‘If we hadn’t, you’d like have at least a dozen tattooed hands up your skirt by now.’
‘Robes,’ she corrected sharply. ‘I wear robes, brigand.’
‘How foolish of me. I should have known. After all, only proper ladies wear skirts.’ As she searched for a retort, he quickly leaned over and whispered in Lenk’s ear. ‘She’s never going to let us by and she certainly won’t come with us.’
Lenk nodded. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have been a problem. He would just as soon leave her to die if she insisted. However, she could certainly call the sailors’ attentions to the fact that they were about to make off with the ship’s only escape vessel. Not to mention it would be exceedingly bad judgement to leave the healer behind.
‘So just shove her in,’ he muttered in reply. ‘On my signal, you rush her. I’ll cut the lines. We’ll be off.’
‘What are you two talking about?’ Asper’s eyebrows were so far up they were almost hidden beneath her bandana. ‘Are you plotting something?’
‘We are discussing stratagems, thank you,’ Denaos replied smoothly. ‘We are, after all, the brains of this band.’
‘I thought I was the brains,’ Dreadaeleon said.
‘You are the odd little boy we pay to shoot fire out of his ass,’ the rogue said.
‘I shoot fire out of my hands, thank you. And it requires an immense amount of brains.’ He pulled back his leather coat, revealing a massive book secured to his waist by a silver chain. ‘I memorised this whole thing! Look at it! It’s huge!’
‘He raises a good point,’ Denaos whispered to Lenk. ‘He might try to stop us.’
‘I can handle it,’ a third voice added to the conspiracy. Kataria appeared at Lenk’s side, ears twitching. ‘He weighs even less than me. I’ll just grab him on the way.’
‘I thought you didn’t like this idea,’ Lenk said, raising a brow.
‘I don’t,’ she replied, sparing him a grudging glare. ‘It’s completely unnecessary. But,’ she glanced sidelong at Lenk, ‘if you’re going to go . . .’
The moment stretched uncomfortably long in Lenk’s head, her eyes focusing on him as if he were a target. In the span of one blink, she conveyed a hundred different messages to him: requests for him to stay, conveyance of her wish to fight, a solemn assurance that she would follow. At least, he thought she said that. All that echoed in his mind was one voice.
Stop staring at me.
‘Yes, good, lovely,’ Denaos grunted. ‘If we’re going to do this, let’s do it now.’
‘Do what?’ Asper asked, going tense as if sensing the sin before it developed.
‘Nothing,’ Denaos replied, taking a step forwards, ‘we’re just hoping to accomplish it before—’
‘By the Shining Six,’ the voice cut through the air like a blade, ‘who wrought this sin?’
‘Damn it,’ Lenk snarled, glancing over his shoulder at the approaching figure.
Despite rumours whispered in the mess, it was a woman, tall as Denaos and at least as muscular. Her body was choked in bronze, her breastplate yielding not a hint of femininity as it was further obscured by a white toga.
Hard eyes stared out from a hard face, set deep in her skull and framed by meticulously short-trimmed black hair. Her right eyelid twitched at the sight of them all huddled together, the row