The Blinding Knife
Page 182
“You’re a red wight,” Kip said again.
“Kip,” Gavin said. “I think you’ve had too much wine. Why don’t you—”
“You traitor!” Kip shouted at Andross. “You monster!”
“Grinwoody, get the young drunkard out of here,” Andross said. “Now!”
He was a red wight. How couldn’t everyone see it? So maybe reds usually went insane in more conspicuous ways, but how could it have gotten past them? Did they just not dare to ask? Were they all too afraid, hoping someone else would take the risk first? Surely there should be ways to deal with old drafters who hid themselves away.
But the rules didn’t apply to Andross Guile. The rules never had. He was the man whose mansion that he never even visited was taller than mansions were allowed to be. He was the man who’d raised two sons who had become Prisms, who’d held on to a seat on the Spectrum without even bothering to go to the meetings. But he was no man; he was a monster.
Grinwoody seized Kip by the front of his tunic and hauled him away. Kip didn’t know what came over him. He broke Grinwoody’s hold, just as he’d learned in his training, and stabbed his fingers for the man’s eyes. Grinwoody brought his hands up, palms forward. Kip snagged two of the man’s fingers with each hand and yanked down in a fingerlock.
The wiry old man dropped to his knees, surprised, and Kip kicked him in the chest, sending him flying, tumbling down the steep stairs to the ship’s waist.
Kip charged Andross Guile to tear off his hood and spectacles, to show Gavin what Kip was certain of. He was almost on top of the old man when he saw the knife Andross drew.
It was too late to stop. The old man jabbed the small blade straight at Kip’s stomach. Kip swept it aside and crunched into the old man and into Gavin, who’d stepped in to intervene.
Kip tore the old man’s hood back and felt the knife cut along his ribs. Andross Guile was spitting fury, deep in the grip of red, attacking as fast as he could, determined to kill. He grabbed Kip’s tunic with one hand.
It was a tangle of limbs. Gavin was trying to knock Andross Guile’s attacks aside so he didn’t skewer Kip. Kip landed a punch on Andross’s face, then couldn’t reach him as Gavin wedged his shoulder in front of Kip’s right arm. Another stab got through, piercing Kip’s left arm.
Andross Guile’s spectacles, knocked askew by Kip’s punch, now fell off as the fury raged through him. He attacked like a madman. Gavin drove him back until all three hit the railing.
A whistle was screeching, sailors were screaming, the muffled percussion of Blackguards’ boots coming up steps from the cabins belowdecks. They’d never make it in time. Kip only saw Andross Guile’s eyes—the halos broken, red throughout. A red wight.
Kip didn’t even remember drawing his own knife. Didn’t know how it had gotten into his hand. Letting Gavin get between himself and Andross Guile, he swung his right hand out behind and around his father and stabbed the old bastard. He caught him in the meat of the shoulder.
The old man’s eyes lit up. He screamed.
Something cracked across the back of Kip’s head and the weight of another body joining the fray crushed them all against the railing. When Kip turned, he saw it was Grinwoody. Grinwoody, old but Blackguard trained. Two bare knives were in the middle of the circle between eight grasping hands. The tangle of limbs became a momentary deadlock.
Kip’s knife was the longer by far, and while he was trying to keep Andross from stabbing him with the smaller knife, both Grinwoody and Gavin looked to the longer blade at the same time. It was in a bad position. Kip was straining it toward Andross, but if someone pushed it up and twisted instead—Kip had no leverage to stop from impaling himself.
In a split second, Gavin’s eyes flicked up to Kip’s. Kip saw that his father had the same thought—but then the desperation in Gavin’s eyes was replaced by an odd calm. A decision reached. A choice made. Peace.
A flurry of motion as both Grinwoody and Gavin released their holds at the same time. Grinwoody’s hands got there first, and Kip’s knife shot up, straight at his chest—only to be diverted at the last second by Gavin’s pull. Pulling the knife into his own chest.
Everyone stopped fighting, but not all simultaneously. Kip staggered backward, horrified. His release of the dagger meant Andross Guile’s force was unopposed. The dagger slammed all the way to the hilt in his son’s chest.
Gavin’s mouth opened in a silent scream and even Andross drew back, aghast. Gavin sagged against the railing. Then his eyes widened, and widened again, as if something new was hurting him. And so it was. The dagger was growing.
Andross Guile didn’t see it. He was pulling his cowl back over his face and picking up his spectacles. When he turned and saw a full-length sword through his son, he merely said, “The Blinder’s Knife. Excellent. Grinwoody, retrieve it.” Whatever momentary humanity had afflicted him, it was gone now.
Gavin’s face was a study of pain and betrayal. He was dying, and his own father was only worried about a knife.
Kip was rooted in place. His father had saved him, had sacrificed himself—for Kip. It was so fast, he didn’t know whether to attack Andross again or go to his father. It wouldn’t make any difference now, anyway.
Gavin pushed himself up on the railing that had been supporting him, tried to speak, but couldn’t. He glanced at Kip as if in apology, in farewell, then pushed himself over the edge.
He splashed into the water in the darkness and was lost. The ship was still under sail, a firm breeze helping them speed along steadily. The first young Blackguards reached the stern castle, spread out, bewildered, the sailors shouting, Grinwoody shouting and pointing in the wrong direction, distracting, causing chaos, the whistle from the crow’s nest still shrilling.
Kip didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. He dove into the water.
Chapter 112
The water was cool and the light of the moon and stars did nothing to penetrate its depths. Under the surface, Kip could see nothing. He relaxed his eyes and looked for heat.
There!
Kip swam. He wasn’t an accomplished swimmer, but though his target was facedown and unmoving, Gavin wasn’t sinking yet.
That changed before Kip reached his father’s body. Gavin slipped beneath the waves and Kip took one deep breath and managed to snag his tunic before he got too deep. Kip pulled him to the surface, nearly skewering himself on the sword still protruding from his father’s back. He flailed in the water, but the truth was, he was barely a good enough swimmer to float by himself, even with all his blubber. Swimming for two was damn near impossible.
He wasn’t even able to cry out for help. The flagship gave no immediate signs of turning either. Kip was a good hundred and fifty paces away before the bell started ringing.
Andross Guile didn’t want to find him. He’d delayed the Blackguards as long as he could. The bastard.
Kip finally found a position floating on his back where his buoyancy and one flailing arm mostly kept him afloat and able to breathe. Almost every swell would crest over his head, but if he breathed at the right time, he wouldn’t inhale water.
He shouted, “Help! Man overboard!” But he had no hope that the flagship was going to hear him. It was only now lighting up and beginning to turn. A ship of that size wasn’t going to get back to Kip for ten or fifteen minutes, if it ever found him at all. If any Blackguards had jumped into the water after him, Kip couldn’t see them. More to the point, they wouldn’t be able to see him unless he was lucky enough to get a sub-red.
“Kip,” Gavin said. “I think you’ve had too much wine. Why don’t you—”
“You traitor!” Kip shouted at Andross. “You monster!”
“Grinwoody, get the young drunkard out of here,” Andross said. “Now!”
He was a red wight. How couldn’t everyone see it? So maybe reds usually went insane in more conspicuous ways, but how could it have gotten past them? Did they just not dare to ask? Were they all too afraid, hoping someone else would take the risk first? Surely there should be ways to deal with old drafters who hid themselves away.
But the rules didn’t apply to Andross Guile. The rules never had. He was the man whose mansion that he never even visited was taller than mansions were allowed to be. He was the man who’d raised two sons who had become Prisms, who’d held on to a seat on the Spectrum without even bothering to go to the meetings. But he was no man; he was a monster.
Grinwoody seized Kip by the front of his tunic and hauled him away. Kip didn’t know what came over him. He broke Grinwoody’s hold, just as he’d learned in his training, and stabbed his fingers for the man’s eyes. Grinwoody brought his hands up, palms forward. Kip snagged two of the man’s fingers with each hand and yanked down in a fingerlock.
The wiry old man dropped to his knees, surprised, and Kip kicked him in the chest, sending him flying, tumbling down the steep stairs to the ship’s waist.
Kip charged Andross Guile to tear off his hood and spectacles, to show Gavin what Kip was certain of. He was almost on top of the old man when he saw the knife Andross drew.
It was too late to stop. The old man jabbed the small blade straight at Kip’s stomach. Kip swept it aside and crunched into the old man and into Gavin, who’d stepped in to intervene.
Kip tore the old man’s hood back and felt the knife cut along his ribs. Andross Guile was spitting fury, deep in the grip of red, attacking as fast as he could, determined to kill. He grabbed Kip’s tunic with one hand.
It was a tangle of limbs. Gavin was trying to knock Andross Guile’s attacks aside so he didn’t skewer Kip. Kip landed a punch on Andross’s face, then couldn’t reach him as Gavin wedged his shoulder in front of Kip’s right arm. Another stab got through, piercing Kip’s left arm.
Andross Guile’s spectacles, knocked askew by Kip’s punch, now fell off as the fury raged through him. He attacked like a madman. Gavin drove him back until all three hit the railing.
A whistle was screeching, sailors were screaming, the muffled percussion of Blackguards’ boots coming up steps from the cabins belowdecks. They’d never make it in time. Kip only saw Andross Guile’s eyes—the halos broken, red throughout. A red wight.
Kip didn’t even remember drawing his own knife. Didn’t know how it had gotten into his hand. Letting Gavin get between himself and Andross Guile, he swung his right hand out behind and around his father and stabbed the old bastard. He caught him in the meat of the shoulder.
The old man’s eyes lit up. He screamed.
Something cracked across the back of Kip’s head and the weight of another body joining the fray crushed them all against the railing. When Kip turned, he saw it was Grinwoody. Grinwoody, old but Blackguard trained. Two bare knives were in the middle of the circle between eight grasping hands. The tangle of limbs became a momentary deadlock.
Kip’s knife was the longer by far, and while he was trying to keep Andross from stabbing him with the smaller knife, both Grinwoody and Gavin looked to the longer blade at the same time. It was in a bad position. Kip was straining it toward Andross, but if someone pushed it up and twisted instead—Kip had no leverage to stop from impaling himself.
In a split second, Gavin’s eyes flicked up to Kip’s. Kip saw that his father had the same thought—but then the desperation in Gavin’s eyes was replaced by an odd calm. A decision reached. A choice made. Peace.
A flurry of motion as both Grinwoody and Gavin released their holds at the same time. Grinwoody’s hands got there first, and Kip’s knife shot up, straight at his chest—only to be diverted at the last second by Gavin’s pull. Pulling the knife into his own chest.
Everyone stopped fighting, but not all simultaneously. Kip staggered backward, horrified. His release of the dagger meant Andross Guile’s force was unopposed. The dagger slammed all the way to the hilt in his son’s chest.
Gavin’s mouth opened in a silent scream and even Andross drew back, aghast. Gavin sagged against the railing. Then his eyes widened, and widened again, as if something new was hurting him. And so it was. The dagger was growing.
Andross Guile didn’t see it. He was pulling his cowl back over his face and picking up his spectacles. When he turned and saw a full-length sword through his son, he merely said, “The Blinder’s Knife. Excellent. Grinwoody, retrieve it.” Whatever momentary humanity had afflicted him, it was gone now.
Gavin’s face was a study of pain and betrayal. He was dying, and his own father was only worried about a knife.
Kip was rooted in place. His father had saved him, had sacrificed himself—for Kip. It was so fast, he didn’t know whether to attack Andross again or go to his father. It wouldn’t make any difference now, anyway.
Gavin pushed himself up on the railing that had been supporting him, tried to speak, but couldn’t. He glanced at Kip as if in apology, in farewell, then pushed himself over the edge.
He splashed into the water in the darkness and was lost. The ship was still under sail, a firm breeze helping them speed along steadily. The first young Blackguards reached the stern castle, spread out, bewildered, the sailors shouting, Grinwoody shouting and pointing in the wrong direction, distracting, causing chaos, the whistle from the crow’s nest still shrilling.
Kip didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. He dove into the water.
Chapter 112
The water was cool and the light of the moon and stars did nothing to penetrate its depths. Under the surface, Kip could see nothing. He relaxed his eyes and looked for heat.
There!
Kip swam. He wasn’t an accomplished swimmer, but though his target was facedown and unmoving, Gavin wasn’t sinking yet.
That changed before Kip reached his father’s body. Gavin slipped beneath the waves and Kip took one deep breath and managed to snag his tunic before he got too deep. Kip pulled him to the surface, nearly skewering himself on the sword still protruding from his father’s back. He flailed in the water, but the truth was, he was barely a good enough swimmer to float by himself, even with all his blubber. Swimming for two was damn near impossible.
He wasn’t even able to cry out for help. The flagship gave no immediate signs of turning either. Kip was a good hundred and fifty paces away before the bell started ringing.
Andross Guile didn’t want to find him. He’d delayed the Blackguards as long as he could. The bastard.
Kip finally found a position floating on his back where his buoyancy and one flailing arm mostly kept him afloat and able to breathe. Almost every swell would crest over his head, but if he breathed at the right time, he wouldn’t inhale water.
He shouted, “Help! Man overboard!” But he had no hope that the flagship was going to hear him. It was only now lighting up and beginning to turn. A ship of that size wasn’t going to get back to Kip for ten or fifteen minutes, if it ever found him at all. If any Blackguards had jumped into the water after him, Kip couldn’t see them. More to the point, they wouldn’t be able to see him unless he was lucky enough to get a sub-red.
