“I’m Chien, you idiots,” Duvalier said tightly.
“Where to?” the one who spoke English asked.
“To Kokkola harbor—where else?” she said.
They looked at each other uncertainly. “Where is Herr Von Krebs?”
“There is a problem with the Finns. He is smoothing things out. Hurry, I haven’t all night!”
They raised anchor and used the pilot motor to move away from the island. Once into a better breeze, they worked the sheets and caught a favorable wind for the harbor. The sleek white vessel kicked up a wake.
Speaking of the wake…
The black thing she’d seen returned, this time multiplied a hundred times over, rising and falling in the bay waters.
“Christ on his cross,” Duvalier said.
The crewmen expressed alarm in German, variants of “what the hell,” it seemed to her.
“Faster!” she cried. “Surprise is essential!”
One of them stood still, looking from her to the pursuers as though trying to figure out the connection.
The lights of the harbor side were distinct now. She could make out details on the dock and wharf.
The black backs of the Big Mouths were gaining. Did this thing have a siren? Fireworks? Anything?
“Have you a flare gun?” She mimicked the firing and sputtering of a flare.
One of the men nodded and pointed to a small box strapped just below the wheel. She took it from its bracket and opened it. It was similar to the ones she’d seen in Southern Command’s arsenal, perhaps a little larger. She aimed it over the pursuers and fired.
Dazzling white light shone in the harbor. She saw, briefly, the details of the Big Mouths, eyes and teeth breaking the water briefly as they pursued.
The sailors moved, trying to shorten sail.
“Don’t,” she said, pointing the empty flare pistol.
Now they could hear shouts over the water.
The crew had had enough. They moved toward her. She drew her sword and struck first, cutting down and across, opening up the first from shoulder to groin. The second saw what had happened to his mate and he turned to run, perhaps for a weapon, perhaps to hide belowdecks. She leaped after, slashing at his legs, and opened the tendons behind his knee. Wanting no delay, she slashed again across the buttocks.
She left him flopping there in a growing pool of his blood.
They were almost at the wharf when she made it back to the wheel.
At the last second she threw the Windkraft hard over. The sails flapped and sagged, fighting to do their duty. The stern came up hard against the wharf, just missing a fender and crushing and splintering woodwork.
She left the wounded crewman to the mercies of the Big Mouths and cat-jumped to the dock. Soldiers, police, and a few Finnish men in civilian clothes were gaping out at the bay. Dozens, if not hundreds of the Big Mouths were rising out of the water and climbing onto the wharf and docks.
“Varo! Varo! Varo!” she shouted, as loudly as her small frame could manage, jumping and pointing out into the bay.
CHAPTER NINE
That same day, just a few kilometers away, Ahn-Kha had his first secret voting session.
As usual, he sat near Sime. Sime was almost Golden One–like in his ability to control his temper in social situations, hide his thoughts so that even his eyes revealed nothing, and moderate his words. If he ever gave up his role as the United Free Republic’s political fixer, he would be welcome among the Golden Ones in Western Kentucky.
The full sessions of the conference had a president presiding over them, though she (in this case) had no powers other than to call votes and announce results. By tradition, the president was the delegate from the host freehold, in this case Finland’s representative of the Baltic League. The president was also the last to cast her vote. With thirty-seven voting delegates, the ability to break ties was her privilege, at least in theory. The votes tended to be massive majorities in favor or against—for example, the first vote of any session was always an all-delegate ceremonial vote to continue the war against the Kurian Order. It passed 37–0.