Ben Galley [Scarlet Star 01] Bloodrush (epub)

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.Perhaps it was because he ruined so many of his good clothes.Merion winced as he felt the acid-burn on the back of his throat.His hands were slimy and his chin wet.Even without looking down, he could tell his rather expensive coat was already soiled.He closed his eyes and pushed himself to try and enjoy the gentle swaying and pitching and rolling … More laughter erupted from the bow as Merion introduced his innards to the sea once more.When he had finally finished, he stared up at the horizon, as Rhin had suggested.It hadn’t helped yet, but there was always hope.The Iron Ocean was a desolate place—a desert in its own right, only one of rolling granite-coloured waves, of whirling foam and drifting, sapphire-blue ice.The day was cold and grey, as it had been since they left Port’s Mouth.So cold and bitter was it that the sea spray froze in the blustery air as it rose up to sting Merion’s cheeks and knuckles where he hung over the Tamarassie’s rusted railing.Barely more than a converted tramp steamer, the ship was a bucket of rust and poorly-painted metalwork.A pile of iron and varnished wood, she sat low in the ever-heaving waters of the corpse-cold ocean, fat with cargo and passengers seeking fortune on the new continent.She didn’t steam so much as waddle towards the city of Boston, far, far away in the hazy, cloud-smeared distance.From where he stood, Merion could hear the slapping and deep resonant churning of the ship’s twin paddles, sticking out of the ship’s ribs like the fat wheels of a cart, buried to their necks in the water.A jagged-topped funnel sat squat behind the bridge, and the sickly soot-smell of the thick pillar of smoke it belched into the cold air was not helping Merion’s stomach one bit.It seemed his father had left little money for a luxurious voyage in his final will and testament.Perhaps Witchazel had cut a larger-than-normal fee.In any case, the Tamarassie was a far cry from the ocean liners Merion had seen in the penny dreadfuls, or rising proudly against the murk of the Thames shipyards.Merion wiped himself as best he could and tottered across the metal and wood deck towards the door he had left open.He could still hear the tittering mirth of the sailors, who seemed to have spent the whole voyage lounging about on deck.Merion ignored them, and went below to his all-too modest cabin.*Rhin was enjoying a biscuit in his usual spot atop the edge of Merion’s largest trunk, where it was piled in the corner with the others.He had shed his armour, but still wore his little knife at his hip, no more than an inch-long shard of black Fae steel.To the innocent bystander, the faerie’s blade might have seemed insignificant, a pinprick.But the Fae had learned long ago which arteries, veins and nerves were the … tender areas of men, when humans had still been young and wild, before their gunpowder and their machinery.In Rhin’s hands the biscuit was as large as a dinner plate, but he was making a considerable dent in the side.Rhin had a sweet tooth—well, more of a sweet fang.Sugar to him was like rum to a sailor.His eyes were half-closed as he chewed and his crystalline wings fluttered.There was a bang and a thud on the wall outside the cabin, and Rhin fell back into the trunk with a soft thud.As the metal lock started to rattle, Rhin was already half buried in a dark blue shirt, skin and armour shimmering as it became translucent.Faerie skin is a marvellous thing.Its magic delights in tricking the eye, adapting to the colours and light.It is one of the oldest spells of the faeries, and their most coveted.Within moments, he was more shirt than faerie, and his black knife spared not a glint.‘It’s me,’ said a hoarse voice, thick with phlegm and retching.There was a quick buzzing, and Rhin hopped up onto the lip of the trunk.‘So it is.Feeling better?’‘Not in the slightest.How long?’‘One thousand two hundred and fifty-six miles to Boston.No, wait.Fifty-five.Four days maybe.’This particular faerie trick never failed to boggle Merion’s mind.Rhin could tell you the distance between any two points on the map as quick as a flash.Rhin had tried to explain it to Merion a dozen times, but the boy could never understand it.All Merion knew was that it actually wasn’t magic, as he had originally guessed, but something to do with magnets and poles.An inner compass, so the faerie said.‘I’m going to sleep,’ Merion sighed, dropping down into the tiny cot that was fighting for space with his luggage.A broom cupboard would have offered more volume.‘Again?’ Rhin asked, rolling his eyes.‘There’s nothing else to do on this cursed boat.The faerie couldn’t argue with that, and he shrugged as Merion covered his face with the dubiously stained blanket that had come with the cot.*Something sharp began to slice through Merion’s slumbers and mangle his dreams, shred by shred.He could hear a distant clanging, the muted notes swirling around his head.Slowly but surely, he was dragged from the sucking depths of sleep.The first thing he saw was Rhin waving to him from the trunk.The biscuit was nowhere to be seen.‘Rise and shine, Lordling.’‘What is that infernal racket?’ Merion mumbled, wiping the drool from his face.Rhin pointed at the wooden ceiling as if the answer was written amongst the flakes of peeling varnish.‘Ship’s bells.Better go and have a look.’The prospect of going back on deck was about as alluring as a sausage from a leper’s pocket.Merion sighed, something of which he was quickly making a habit.‘Who knows, it could be important,’ Rhin coaxed him.Merion frowned.‘If you’re so bored, then why don’t you go and have a look?’Rhin thought for a moment, and then shrugged.‘Fine by me.’Merion sat upright and immediately regretted it.He clamped his mouth shut, expecting to be sick, but nothing came.The nap had done him good.‘No, you can’t go out there alone.The ship is stuffed to bursting with sailors and passengers [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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