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that now. He could hurt their plans with this expedition and he felt more
committed to it as a result.
"We won't have the water to make it back." Harrison moved aside to let somone
past with an armful of broken casks.
"Plenty of fresh water where we're going," John said.
"Maybe we don't got enough for that."
A pump, connected with pneumatic hoses to the engine room, hissed away. One
hose snaked down into
La Revanche's sump through an opened hatch, and the other led out and up the
stairs onto the deck, spitting the salt water over the sides.
"Make some new casks. Take them to the center of the ship. Gimbal them so they
don't splash. And get some rubber, or rubberized tarp. Then get any big pots
we have and fill them with salt water to boil,"
John gave directions, and Harrison smiled.
"A still?"
"Yeah." John shuffled his straight leg over with his good hand and leaned his
shoulder against the
doorway for bal-ance. "Freshwater still." He grunted. "And while you're at it,
have them make me a cane.
Do it now before people start saying we don't have water. Get them to help
you."
"Right." Harrison still hesitated. "There something else you go need see
first."
John watched a crewman in the far corner who hadn't moved yet. The man stood
still, watching them.
"What?"
Harrison walked over through the undamaged water casks. He looked back. "Close
the door," he ordered. "And you two by the pump, leave."
When the door closed, Harrison and the other crewman pulled the sides of a
cask off. Shaggy fur spilled over the cracked wood and snapped metal.
"What the hell?" John limped forward.
Harrison grunted and pulled the creature out of the cask. It flopped onto the
floor, a thick hand lolling out from its body. The face of the thing had been
blown off, leaving a messy stump on its shoulders.
"What kind of god you think it is?" the sailor asked, crouching next to it.
"Teotl, or Loa?"
John looked at the jagged claws on the heavy, padded hands. And muscle. Even
beneath the fat and blubber he could sense this compact creature could have
killed anyone who had found it alive in the blink of an eye.
"Could be anything," John said. "Wrap it up in something and throw it
overboard."
"Suppose it a Loa?" Harrison asked.
"Suppose it is," John said. "What else can I do? Keep it to rot? Give it a
burial?"
Harrison looked down at the deck. "No. You right."
"Get the still going." John walked out of the locker. "Clean this place out. I
need to go rest." His thigh ached. A small spot of blood stained the front of
the bandage. John avoided looking down. He'd lost a hand to the saw the last
time he'd made this journey. He did not want to undergo another amputation. It
gave him chills just thinking about it.
Best not to.
Better to hope, look forward, and plan. Keep moving.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
A faint frost had formed on the rigging. Oaxyctl pressed his fingers to a
railing and let the cold seep into the palms of his hands. His fingernails
were black and he stank. Black grease and dirt clung to his clothing. He'd
been in the deepest bilges of the ship, moving pump hoses around to suck water
out. They kept taking in water from leaks. Leaks from the shot taken to the
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front of the ship, and the explosion in the rear. Even the massive stuffing
box where the propeller came in through the hull had started to leak.
Now he had a moment to rest, and he chose to clamber up the deck to the
bowsprit. He shimmied out along the long pole and dropped onto the netting
just below it.
Hard work was good. It had kept him from thinking about the attack. It had
shaken him. He still wasn't sure if it was an attempt to capture them all or
kill them all. Remember, he told himself, your god seems to think different
than some other gods.
There was a thought that could keep a man up late into the night.
And it was best not to think about.
So the work was good, it kept his mind away from such things.
The sea remained calm tonight. The days had been getting shorter, it seemed to
him. The moons seemed to be out more often. And the air was getting colder.
It was like climbing a mountain. The higher you got, the colder it got. And
this was the second week of it.
Oaxyctl lay back in the netting and watched the stars, occasionally catching a
bit of lighthearted spray on his back as
La Revanche pushed farther north on the large, almost infinite ocean, until
the last faint bits of orange evening succumbed to the gradual night.
How could someone obey the gods when the gods themselves couldn't agree with
one another?
Oaxyctl held up the bight of a line, the loop flopping over, and tied a
sheepshank.
"You still know your other knots?" John asked. He limped over with the aid of
a cane. Oaxyctl noted that the bandage around John's thigh was stained with
blood from his injury, and John winced in pain as he moved.
"Yes." Oaxyctl pulled the knot apart and demonstrated the bowline, the
sheepshank, a simple square knot, and a sheet bend.
John grunted and sat down next to him. He set the quickly cut wooden cane next
to him. "Isn't there enough land on the other side of the mountains? Why do
the gods think the invasion is necessary?"
Oaxyctl looked down at the rope between his hands. "They do not do this for
land."
"Then what for?"
John was looking for answers. Oaxyctl could hear it in his voice. John will
die, he realized. That bullet wound, it was a killer. Not then, but in the
near future. And John wanted answers before he died.
But when would John die? Oaxyctl wondered. Before or after they found what
they were searching for? The mythical
Ma Wi Jung that all seemed to desire. More important, could he get the codes
out of
John before that time?
"They need more blood. They need more land. More servants. They tell their
people, go here, move over the mountains. Most cannot make sense of these [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]