(Those of you just joining here, start with Sian 1)



Callan shut down the engine after fumbling across the field of switches and knobs and levers. Another switch doused the lights.

Locke put down the magazine and stood. By moonlight, he approached Callan. "Why the mystery, old friend?"

"See that light?"

"Barely. Yes. Yes, I see it."

"That's the Kestrel. How are we going to get near it without Marcarius hearing us?"

"Hey! Who turned out the lights?" The smooth voice was Ressa's. In a second, her lean outline emerged from the stairwell, followed by Ceili's more generous figure.

"I just Saw the Kestrel Reign. Too much closer, and Marcarius might see us."

"Callan, if you can barely see her at this distance, there's no chance he can see us."

"No, old friend. At this distance, I can identify her from the photos Ressa showed us. I spotted her quite some distance ago."

Ressa approached the laptop's glow. "That would match where the location beacon is." She leaned toward the bow. "It has to be her. I don't see any other lights out there. How long has she been there?"

"A pretty long while. She stopped moving after about ten minutes, then hasn't moved since." Callan traced the approximate route the other ship took. "So how do we get near it? Locke and I don't have any ideas."

Ressa smiled, the soft light from the screen giving it a sharp overtone. "You already have it down." She tapped a button, then urged a lever forward. "See? We'll just sail toward her with motor low and quiet."

"Ow!" Ceili stumbled and yelled from the stern. "Let me guess -- in the dark, right?"

===

They approached the Kestrel from its rear, Ressa pointing out it gave them the best view if Marc or Sian was visible. As the drew closer, Ressa cut back on the engine. By the time Locke jumped off the bow with the mooring line, the Triple-D's engine was off. Only momentum nudged her enough to lightly bump the larger craft.

Locke lashed the two together, then waved. Callan, Ceili and Ressa's eyes long adjusted to the dark. The Kestrel's blazing lights turned night into day and forced the three to shield their eyes until they re-acclimated. They all grouped on the swim deck.

Callan eyed the twin stairs to the main deck. "I know Marcarius isn't this blind. He must have felt that bump, if nothing else."

Locke grimaced. "He could be... otherwise occupied."

Callan bristled. His neck stiffened and tendons stood out. Then, he swallowed, and it faded. "Well," he said as if it were everyday conversation, "if he's distracted, that will make it easier for us." He cocked his head toward the nearest stair. "Shall we?"

Locke nodded and bared a fierce grin. He grabbed the handrail to the other stairway.

The two burst onto the deck. It was lit, but silent. They left it still silent as the glided toward the smoked glass door. The inside shone even more, revealing the chaos inside. The leather bench running along two-and-a-half sides of the great room was bent in one place, torn in the other. A scattering of glass shards glittered on the tan carpet.

Callan's eyes followed the the bench along the right side, the back wall, then the left side until it joined the mini-bar. His eyes grew large and he lunged for the door latch. It cracked when he pulled the panels apart. Locke followed as he burst in, urged in by the prone foot barely visible under some debris.

Marcarius. His robe laid open, his pride purple, almost black. His neck was untouched, and his face still flushed. As the four watched, his head flopped to one side and coughed up blood.

Before anyone else could react, Callan had his hands at the robe's lapels, jerking Marcarius upright. "Where is she?! What did you do to her?!"

A twitching eyelid stilled. The orb behind it found Callan, then found focus. His mouth opened. Bloody spittle trickled out, then words. "Mel... Melatova has her. Sian's with Melatova."