Page 130 of The Iron Dagger
Bryan grinned and turned towards the galley steps.
BOOM!
Bryan flew off of his feet, landing crumpled against the ship’s railing.
The deck heaved with the swells, and he was so dazed that he could not find his feet. He clung to the nearest thing he could find, a rope securing a barrel nearby. Men were shouting, and the rain pounded. It blew in his face, and he flicked water out of his eyes. Then he realized that he was sliding sideways, and anything that wasn’t secured was sliding with him.
Bryan grasped at the railing, pulling himself up to peer over the edge.
Splintered boards floated on the sea, and smoke rose from a hole the size of a doorway in the side of the ship. Waterpoured into the breach, pulling the ship into an awkward tilt. The men were screaming now. Some had the sense to run to the lifeboat, tugging at the ropes and trying to lift it over the side.
BOOM!
A second explosion sent the men careening over the edge, and the lifeboat shattered into a thousand burning bits. Men were in the water, smoke thickened the air, and Bryan tried to swallow his panic.
The steamship was closer now, and he could see the sides. They were not painted with the blue of Norwen, but with purple—Montag’s colors. Some sort of cannon was on the deck of the steamship, the black insides of the barrel pointed directly at them.
The ship creaked, and a horrid sucking sound rose over the cacophony of the rain and waves. Water began to spill over the railing, and with a shout, Bryan realized that the deck was almost level with the surface of the water. The waves thrashed against the sinking ship, and he watched in terror as the swell of one reared up and curled over the railing where he stood.
His hands were ripped from the wood as it dragged him into the sea. He flailed in the water, unsure which way was up or down. With furious kicks, he felt in the water for a rope, a board, anything solid.
He collided with something hard, and the little air he’d managed to gulp was punched from his chest.
Lungs searing, begging for air, he kicked and swam blindly, his clothes like weights hanging from his limbs. When he opened his eyes they burned with salt, and all he could see was a chaotic swarm of bubbles, as thick and blinding as a snowstorm.
Then he felt something smooth and large under his hands. It buoyed him to the surface, dragging him, helpless, through the water.
His head burst into the air, and he took a gasping breath. Rain peppered him in stinging drops, and he could see nothing through the deluge.
Before he could take another breath, an enormous wave slapped his face, and he was tumbling backward into the depths again. The smooth shape was under him in a moment, pushing him to the surface.
He tried to grasp it, but his hands only met with a sleek, somewhat oily hide. It was some creature that carried him, and this time when Bryan surfaced, he caught sight of a spotted gray body.
The seal pushed him upward, and he was able to rise above the waves for a few precious seconds, enough to get several lungfuls of air. He kicked and thrashed, trying to kick free his boots, which felt as heavy as boulders. Finally his feet were free, and he began to look about for some debris. A piece of the mast floated nearby, as thick as a tree, and Bryan swam towards it. He clung to it, adjusting his grip as it began to roll.
When it was stable, Bryan looked around frantically. There had to be some survivors, some other members of the crew floating nearby.
“Hibbert!” he yelled, his voice rough and water-choked. “Miles! Wilburton!Anyone!”
The wind snatched at his voice; he may as well have been screaming into a cushion. He shouted until his voice gave out, but there was no answer. It was as though the ship had never been.
The mast fragment rode the waves steadily, and Bryan rested his cheek against it, trying to will reality to disappear.
This could not be happening. This was only a dream.
The only sounds were the wind and the rain. No screams, no crackle of fire.
The steamship.
Bryan opened his bleary eyes, suddenly alert, but the steamship was already a speck in the distance, barely visible under the cover of the storm. It had gone as quickly as it came.
Why? Why would Montag target them?
Bryan couldn’t think. He clutched the broken mast and let it carry him. Minutes or hours could have passed. All that existed was the rain and the rise and fall of the sea.
He felt heavy.
After several moments, he realized it was because he was no longer floating. He was lying on something. No, he was being dragged.
