The Vampire Megapack. Nina Kiriki Hoffman

say we all,” muttered Khafir-Amun.

      “Is there a lantern I can take with me?” Sant-Germainus asked, for although his eyes did not require the extra illumination to see in the night, he knew better than to forge off into the fading light with nothing to light his way.

      “I’ll find one for you,” Rutgeros said, and went forward in the chilly, malodorous hold, moving carefully among the groups of worn out oarsmen who sat on the floor, bent with fatigue.

      “So you really are going to speak to the monks, are you?” Khafir-Amun asked Sant-Germainus.

      “The captain insists,” said Sant-Germainus, resignation in every aspect of his body.

      “Just like that? On your own?”

      Rutgeros returned, carrying a simple oil-lantern, its wick just starting to burn. After blowing gently on the wick to increase its brightness, he held it out to Sant-Germainus silently; Sant-Gemainus took the oil-lantern and studied it for a brief moment, then looked att Khafir-Amun. “He has promised to kill you and all those he took from the Morning Star if I do not persuade the monks to feed and help us. I have no doubt he would carry out his threat.” His face was impassive but there was a glint in his dark eyes that revealed the contempt he felt for the captain. “That is not the way I would prefer to mark the remembrance of my birth.”

      “I see. So you aren’t likely to do anything other than what the captain requires,” said Khafir-Amun. “He’s a clever old devil, Captain Argourus is.”

      “Do you admire him?” Rutgeros asked in disapproving surprise.

      “No,” said Khafir-Amun. “But many pirates would simply cut their losses and strand the captives and the injured on this island to fend for themselves. At least we have something more than thirst and starvation ahead of us.” He listened to the outburst of activity on the deck, and smiled. “Ah. Someone has caught a fish. As soon as the men get the fire going again, we will have a little to eat.”

      “I hope the fish is of good size,” said Rutgeros.

      “Or that more are caught, and soon. They will put the fish in with the driest of the beans that are left into the pot, and anything else that we can still safely eat that hasn’t been washed overboard.” Khafir-Amun touched the charm that hung around his neck on a hin brass chain. “We will not die tonight, or tomorrow.”

      “If I can convince the monks to aid us,” said Sant-Germainus, going toward the ladder, his oil-lantern raised.

      Khafir-Amun coughed discreetly. “I have some information to pass to you, which Ynay told me: none of us from the Morning Star are permitted to take you ashore, or to go with you. We are hostages, to gain your compliance. The captain said you must stay with his men as far as the shore, and then go on your own. If you aren’t back by dawn, he will throw one of us into the sea at noon, and another at sunset, and then he will storm the monastery with his men, and take what they want.”

      “Why did he not tell me himself?” Sant-Germainus asked, preparing to climb to the deck.

      “Because he said there was nothing to discuss, and he wanted no argument from you—it would avail you nothing.” He lowered his head. “I am sorry to have to tell you, but it is something you have to know. Ynay insisted that you be informed.”

      Rutgeros, listening to this, said softly to Sant-Germainus. “If you can escape, my master, do it. We are all dead men in any case.”

      “This is an island, old friend—where can I escape?” said Sant-Germainus as he began to climb into the brilliant red light of sunset.

      * * * *

      The boat that provided a crossing from the boat to the shore was small enough to have difficulties in the swells. Six oarsmen tugged and pulled while Ynay held the steering-oar in the stern. The overcast sky caught the low light from the sinking sun; the lambent light making the sky appear to be filled with lava, and lending the land ahead a smoldering shade of orange. Sant-Germainus sat in the middle of the boat, vertigo threatening to claim him as the oarsmen plied their way through the raucous sea.

      “There are no houses anywhere I can see,” Sant-Germainus forced himself to say.

      “Your steersman said that this cove isn’t sheltered enough for that. According to him, there is a small village around the point to the west, or there was eight years ago.”

      “And you’re planning to go there, are you?”

      “As soon as you are safely landed, yes. I’m sorry you have to go ashore at night,” said Ynay to Sant-Germainus, pointing to the eroded peak on the west side of the cove. “They say spirits hold this island at the dark of the year, and not all of them are helpful, or inclined to give aid to visitors.”

      “I will keep that in mind,” said Sant-Germainus. He held his abolla closed; the oil-lantern rested on his knee. As the shore grew nearer, he took stock of the rocky inlet and the narrow beach. “How many of you will remain here while I visit the monastery?”

      “Two will remain,” said Ynay. “The captain wants the boat to go on to the fishing village as soon as you are landed. They will have something we can eat.”

      Sant-Germainus thought that over, and disliked the conclusions he reached about this decision. He would have liked to have a knife with him. “Are there wild animals on the island, do you know?”

      “Goats and some pigs,” said Ynay. “There are also a few sheep; the monks maintain a flock for their own use.”

      “In folds at this time of year, I suppose,” said Sant-Germainus.

      “Very likely,” said Ynay, and wiped his face as the boat rode through the first breakers.

      “Do you know where the monastery is?” Sant-Germainus asked. “I can not see anything from here.”

      “On the northeast corner of the island, on a rocky crest,” said Ynay, and ordered the oarsmen to slow their efforts. “Front oars, prepare to land.” The boat rocked up, then down, and as the bow fell, the two front oarsmen jumped out into waist-deep surf. They took hold of the bow-line and began to drag the boat toward the sand while the other oarsmen pulled in their oars. The bottom scraped and the boat leaned to the port side as the two front oarsmen tugged the boat out of the water. Ynay climbed out of the boat and held it steady for Sant-Germainus, who struggled over the side and into thigh-deep water; his senses rocked as he tried to move out of the spent waves and onto the sand. Although the water was unpleasantly cold, it would have been disorienting to Sant-Germainus had it been warm and still. His first stride almost sent him off his feet, and he flailed to keep from toppling under the water. His hands sunk like talons into the side-rail of the boat, and he clung to this as he made his way the five steps it took to get onto the beach where he sat down, panting, beyond the touch of the water. He looked westward where the orange light was now tinged with violet and tarnished silver, and the sun was a brilliant pool of brass hanging just above the horizon, blocked in part by the cliff at the western edge of the cove, and the mass of Captain Argourus’ ship.

      “Not much light left,” said the lead oarsman from his place at the top of the narrow swath of sand. “And the tide is coming in.”

      “High water should be at the edge of the sand, against the cliff,” said Ynay.

      “And the tide is coming in,” said Sant-Germainus.

      “The two of you who remain here should find shelter up there.” He pointed to a broad ledge on the face of the cliff, slightly higher than Ynay was tall.

      “Is that high enough?” The second oarsman shook his head. “I don’t want to be trapped on a ledge for half the night.”

      “If the winds stay down, you should be fine there,” Ynay said.

      “There’s a shoulder a little higher up. It would provide a little protection, and surer footing,” said Sant-Germainus as he studied the rocky face. “You can see that part of the cliff fell