Acheron. That was the name of the river. At least she thought it was. Or was it the Styx? It wound around the false Paradise and Beulah before bending in a wide arc toward the basin below.
Eva fixed the direction in her mind and set out. She should be able to descend and, if her luck held, bypass the battlefield entirely.
The journey to the river took far longer than she had expected, but nothing troubled her along the way. Hours had passed, yet the daylight remained unchanged. A well-trodden path ran beside the river. Posts stood at regular intervals, and thick tow-ropes lay coiled along the banks.
Up ahead, scattered fragments of conversation drifted down the path. She slipped into the shadows among a cluster of rocks.
Long stone piers stretched into the dark water, lined with heavy bollards and iron rings set into the masonry. Beyond them stood enormous rectangular buildings with narrow slit windows and iron doors. Numbers were painted on their sides. Probably storehouses. For weapons. Ammunition.
Men and women lounged in idle conversation, thick leather harnesses draped across their shoulders. Near a towering counting-house stood wheelbarrows and shoulder yokes waiting to be lifted.
The constant thunder of the cannons had faded into the background. Eva started as a trumpet blared somewhere along the river. She turned toward the sound.
A magnificent galley glided past. Its sails were furled tightly against the yards, while a web of ropes stretched from the tall mast to prow and stern, where carved horns curved proudly upward.
Several dozen oars extended through the openings in the hull, dipping lazily into the water as the current carried the vessel downstream.
Had they seen her? There had been no cry of alarm, no sign at all that she had been noticed.
The galley swung wide, its prow turning back toward Greed.
“Heave-ho!”
“Ho!”
“Heave-ho!”
“Ho!”
The oars strained against the current. Inch by inch, the galley eased alongside the pier. The gangplank dropped and the captain stepped ashore. He walked with a swagger. A gilded breastplate gleamed beneath a crimson cloak draped from his shoulders, and a sword hung at his belt, more ceremonial than functional. His helmet concealed both face and hair, making it impossible to judge his age—possibly even his gender.
A crazy idea dawned on her. She tried to push it away, but it wouldn’t let go. He seemed just about her size and weight.
A clerk with an ink-stained hand stepped from the counting-house, marking his ledger with a quill. Then he waved to the waiting workers.
They began hauling sacks and stacking them in a giant cargo net. A massive crane of black timber and iron bands towered overhead, its chains thicker than a man’s wrist. One of the workers attached the hook. Beyond him, men with corded muscles strained inside a tread-wheel, and the bundle slowly rose into the air. Other workers guided it with ropes as the net descended into the hold.
The crane swung around and lowered the net to the dock to be loaded again. Soldiers began to disembark in columns and form ranks. They wore long blue military coats with high collars, cross belts, and rows of brass buttons.
“Company! Atten-tion!”
The company stood rigidly awaiting orders, muskets held against their shoulders.
“Stand easy.”
The soldiers relaxed slightly, clasping their hands behind their backs. None moved. None spoke.
The crane hoisted again. A bag tore, and thousands of silver coins came clattering to the ground, some rolling across the dock, others splashing into the water.
The soldiers didn’t break formation or even flinch. The workers barely seemed to notice. They simply continued loading, lowering, and loading again. When the last load was stowed, the officer approached the captain, snapped his heels together, and gave him a sharp salute.
Several of the workers glanced toward the soldiers, their eyes appraising. Not in awe or respect, but as though evaluating livestock.
The officer turned and barked an order. The column pivoted as one and marched toward the road leading into the smoke. The captain handed a receipt of purchase to the clerk. The clerk returned to the counting-house. And the workers returned to wherever in Hell they had come from.
The captain turned and began to walk back toward the galley. It was now or never. She started to move toward him—then froze. He turned toward her.
She remained as still as possible, scarcely daring to breathe. He hadn’t seen her. She exhaled slowly and quietly. He stepped around the side of the building. Eva’s dagger flashed into her grip, and she darted after him.
He faced the building, leaning against the wall. A sigh of relief escaped him as water trickled below. In a heartbeat, Eva was behind him, her dagger pressed to his throat. He began to tremble violently. The splashing became sporadic.
“Turn around,” she said evenly. “Slowly.” She eased the pressure of the dagger.
He turned. Then his hands darted down to cover himself.
“My god, man,” Eva exclaimed. “You sell soldiers for silver in Hell, and you a worry about me seeing… that?” She pointed at it with her dagger. He stumbled backward, stepping into the wet spot.
“Sword,” she said.
He fumbled at his belt with one hand.
“Lose it!” she snapped.
He scrambled with both hands and dropped the sword. Eva was not impressed.
“Your armor,” she said. He removed the cloak, then his shoulder guards. And then his helmet. Eva blinked. He was just a boy. Couldn’t be any older than twenty. Tears streamed down his face.
“Your shirt.”
He peeled it off.
“Your trousers,” she said. Then added, “Keep your boots I don’t need them.”
He glanced down, horrified. Then a slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“You’ve come to the wrong part of Hell if you think I’m wearing your smallclothes,” Eva snapped.
Then, without hesitation, she thrust her dagger between his ribs and held it.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She stepped closer and wrapped him in her arms. Blood flowed down between them, soaking into her dress. Warmth spread across her skin.
She held him until his heart stopped beating and lowered him gently to the ground.
She wasted no time. She stripped off her boots and dress and pulled on his trousers. They fit snugly around her hips. Next came the shirt, then the breastplate. It pressed tightly against her breasts, but not unbearably so. She clasped the cloak around her neck and fastened the sword to her belt.
She slid her feet into the boots, then folded her dress and laid it at his side.
“You’ll be fine when you wake up,” she said with a soft sob. She’d watched the dead rise here time and time again. She lowered the helmet over her head and strode toward the galley.
–
“You’re not the captain.” It was a statement of fact. The helmsman walked toward her slowly. He was middle-aged, with grizzled hair and the rough muscles of a working man. His clothes were as coarse as the captain’s were fine.
“No,” she said. “You are. As soon as I get where I’m going.”
The helmsman’s gaze flicked toward the cargo hold. His eyes shone.
“Keep the silver,” she said. “I don’t care about it.”
“Welcome aboard, Captain.” He extended a hand. Eva ignored it.
“Never cared much for the little arsehole anyway,” he muttered with a smug grin.
“Cast off!” Eva shouted, forcing her voice as deep as she could. The helmsman repeated the order.
The oarsmen below deck began to row.
“Heave-ho!”
Grunt. “Ho!”
“Heave-ho!”
“Ho!”
“Swing about!” Eva hollered.
The helmsman drew his sword.
“Hold!” he cried. The galley began to spiral. Some oars pulled. Others fell still.
“How many keys did the captain have?” Her hand drifted toward her pocket.
“You’re bluffing.”
She backed away slowly, inching toward the hatch below.
“Even if you get to the rowers, they’ll just be chained again, when it’s all over,” he said.
She drew both daggers, ignoring the sword at her hip.
“Silver does me no good if I’m dead.”
“You can’t die,” she said. “You’re already dead.”
She didn’t back down. She stepped closer.
“And…” she said. “You will never get this chance again. Never.”
“The captain is very persuasive,” he said at last, shrugging. Then he sheathed his sword.
“Swing about!” he ordered.
The galley began to move again.
The galley sped downriver, the banks blurring past on either side. The battlefield stretched without end, smoke rising into the darkness while cannons and muskets echoed across the barren expanse. Ahead, the river twisted ever downward until at last it emptied into a vast subterranean lake—or perhaps an inland sea.
Eva walked back to the stern. The helmsman steered with two great oars, one to port, and one to starboard, linked together and working in unison to keep the galley centered in the current. Very different from the tillers she knew from the Dark Lands, but the principle was the same.
“What are they fighting for?”
“The love of God. Human rights. Who the Hell knows anymore?”
Eva watched the smoke drifting over the battlefield.
“Why don’t they just stop?”
He began to answer when a cannon roared. A plume of water erupted mere yards from the bow. Eva ran to the rail. Cries rose from a group of soldiers clustered around a cannon on a stone outpost that nearly blended into the rocky shoreline.
“Evade!” Eva and the helmsman shouted the command together.
The galley lurched to starboard. But not fast enough. A cannonball slammed into the hull, sending splinters flying. The helmsman abandoned his post and sprinted for the ladder below. Eva followed, ducking on the way down.
Water rushed through the gash torn in the hull. Rowers chained to narrow wooden benches thrashed in panic. Eva gagged at the stench. Icy water surged around her legs, and her feet began to go numb. The helmsman vanished through a door at the stern.
“Help me!” one of the slaves pleaded. Eva plunged a hand into her pocket and grasped the keys. One of them had to release the slaves. She knelt beside him and followed the chain downward. There was no way to save them all. Still, she had to try.
The water was unnaturally cold. She could no longer feel her fingers. She searched for a padlock. Nothing. The chains were attached to… nothing.
She clenched her fists. “What the Hell is wrong with you?” she screamed.
The helmsman reappeared. The water was nearly waist-deep now. He was hauling one of the largest bags of silver on his shoulder.
“Let it go, man—”
Another cannonball crashed into the hull, and the galley lurched violently. Eva slammed into the wall. Water surged through the breach, filling the vessel. Then it swallowed her whole.
She drove upward, arms stroking desperately. Something wrapped around her foot. A chain. She kicked free. A hand grasped her—she shoved it away. Bodies thrashed all around her. She fought her way through them.
She hit wood. She groped, sliding her hand along the surface. She caught hold of a splintered edge. Sharp pain lanced through her hand, but she ignored it and pulled herself out. At least she hoped she did.
She tore the helmet from her head and let it sink into the depths. The breastplate was next. She fought her way free of it and felt its weight fall away. Her lungs burned. Starbursts danced across her vision. She thrust upward with long, desperate strokes. Time seemed to freeze.
Up.
And up.
She broke the surface with a violent gasp. Oily water flooded her mouth. She flailed until her arms found a piece of shattered timber drifting nearby and clung to it.
The current seized her and dragged her downriver. She held on for dear life.
