Trade Secret [on hold]

Best Served Cold

Connie breathed in deeply, trying to eke out every bit of oxygen the device could give her. The miniature machine had wrapped itself around her jaw and forced her lips apart, pumping air into her lungs from a ring-shaped tank around her neck. Attached to the tank was a tubular watertight containing her minimal earthly possessions, a bit of food, and a map. A length of rope was coiled around her waist for using in the event that it was needed.

It was much too dark here, at dusk and in the shadow of the half-ship no less. Connie wished for a moment that she'd brought more than a phosphorus glowstick to light her way through the sea.

From what she could gather from the map she had filched from the offices and a reference to the stars, she was headed west-ish. Last they had checked, they were somewhere close to the Americas, so west was the direction to be going.

Connie struck out for wherever. Maybe she could find that island the crew'd been talking about before.

It was slow going, and she immediately regretted not at least taking a coat. Or a blanket. Or - damn it, she was going to die out here, wasn't she.

Glancing back at the looming half-ship, Connie halted swimming and debated her options. She could turn back and lose the only chance she ever had of getting her father back, but she would be safe and unlikely to die. Or she could continue on and drown, or catch a cold, and she might not even find Sebastian.

But if she went back, Alistair would surely know what she had done. He'd probably tie her to the deck until they reached some form of civilization and send her off somewhere.

That did it.

Connie dipped her head back underwater determinedly, and struck out for the west.

She had been swimming for what felt like hours now. The sky was now firmly and inky black, chinked with stars. At least it's clear, she thought drearily. So I can navigate, sort of. The only half remaining of the Salamander was now a small blob on the horizon, nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the landscape.

It was getting colder, but she was getting more hopeful by the second, though her tired arms and legs were not. 

She found herself arguing mentally with Alistair. I'll show you. I'll get my father back. And Captain Hanbury! And then you'll have to listen to me! I don't care if you're the captain now, but I'm not on your ship anymore! 

Connie was so absorbed in ther own thoughts that she didn't notice the black monolith until it was smack dab in the middle of her vision.

It was a ship. Well... if one could even call it that. It was more of a tank, that sliced through the waves without any sails at all. Even if it had sails, there wasn't much wind. White froth churned in its wake as it sped menacingly towards her. And it was fast. In the time that Connie had to stare at it and recognize its being a ship, it had grown considerably in size.

She paused for a second, and, realizing exactly what it was, started waving her arms. "Ho!" she shouted. "Down here!" Another ship! Maybe it could take her to land, and from there she could get to her father and the captain.

The ship slowed very little, but it still approached at an alarming rate, passing her a few dozen lengths to her left before coasting to a stop. Connie could now make out the words, painted in silver on the prow. The Midnight Sword. And there was the hum... the hum of engines.

Oh, bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad bad. Connie immediately froze, trying to make herself as small and unseen as possible - a mistake, for doing that caused her to sink rapidly in the water. But it was no use: there was a ladder uncoiling from the side of the ship, and a grating female voice calling from the deck high above.

"Oy, mates! We've caught ourselves another one."

And then the sky came unstuck.