Page 81 of The Sea Witch
He pressed a hand to his chest and looked wounded. “Oh, no, pirates think I’m untrustworthy. I’ll soak my pillow with my tears.”
“Can you open it?” Stasia demanded, ignoring Pasquale entirely.
Alys kept her hands on the bars. Summoning the deft maneuverings of a bee, she channeled that energy into the lock. She worked and manipulated the tumblers, navigating the metal until, at last, the lock sprang open.
She pulled open the cage door. Pasquale immediately stepped out.
“Here,” Stasia said testily. She placed her hand on the bracelet and it glowed an angry red. Pasquale hissed, but made no complaint.
The bracelet fell to the ground, split in two.
Pasquale drew in a breath. One moment, he was a man, the next, he was a sleek and handsome falcon. He flapped his wings once, twice, before taking to the air with a shriek. Then he flew into the night without even a backward glance.
Alys and Stasia sped through the hole in the fortress wall, and then down to the beach. Women were scrambling into the waiting boats, assisted by Jane and Thérèse. Olachi had commandeeredthe boat moored at the dock, and helped the freed captives to climb in.
“Have we got everyone?” Alys shouted to her.
“They are all here,” Olachi called back.
With the cutters full, and each captive safely aboard, the boats put out to sea. As depleted as the witches’ magic was, they summoned a last burst of power to help them reach theSea Witchfaster.
Cheers rose up from the cutters, fifty women celebrating their freedom. Alys looked back at the burning fortress, the flames writhing high against the night sky.
Many hands helped them onto the ship. The crew was already waiting with water and bandages and food. There was barely any room on the top deck as the freed women took up all available space. Space was made so wounded escapees could lie down upon the deck as the crew draped them with blankets. Fatima, the ship’s doctor, moved steadily through the injured, caring for them with calm skill.
One hand pulled Alys up, helping her onto the top deck. Alys looked up into Ben’s set and stern face. His gaze flicked over her, a pleat of concern between his brows.
Turning away from him, she cupped her hands around her mouth. “Raise anchor and make for open water!”
As the crew scrambled to carry out her orders, Alys strode to Olachi, who bent over two women sitting on the deck. One of the women had her eyes closed and her head resting in the other’s lap. Olachi pressed a cloth to the escaped prisoner’s side, stanching the flow of blood, though the woman’s dark brown skin looked wan. There were bits of ash in her natural curling hair. It appeared that a bullet had grazed her ribs. Yet she bore her wound without complaint.
She opened her eyes and spoke to Alys in a lyrical language.
“Effia wants to know if this ship is better than the last two she sailed on,” Olachi translated.
“This ship will take you to wherever you want to go,” Alys answered. “And our doctor’s going to heal you.”
After Olachi provided a translation, Effia gave a small smile before closing her eyes again.
“Did everyone make it?” Alys asked Olachi.
“We lost no one. But a dozen are wounded. The spells I know are for diplomacy and the settling of disputes. I know little of healing magic.”
“Fatima,” Alys called.
Composed as always, the ship’s doctor appeared beside her, carrying a painted wooden box that gently rattled with tools and bottles. Fatima’s hair was covered by a black scarf and her amber eyes flashed with incisive knowledge. She had rolled back the sleeves of her loose black shirt, revealing sepia forearms that were well-toned from her careful, precise work.
“Captain,” Fatima said with a nod.
“Your report, Doctor.”
“Twelve of our guests have serious lacerations. There are a few minor scratches on some others.”
“And the landing party?”
“Thérèse and Jane are unharmed. But I have to see to the gravely hurt.”
Effia seemed to understand the conversation, because she spoke to Olachi.
