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but
only inches, and Brutus cried out in agony when it did so. The ship
itself seemed to scream with him in empathy, straining wood and
creaking lumber wailing in their own version of pain. The ship, like
her captain, was dying.
    Ahmed could see beneath the
spar now. It was more than just a weight. It had not broken cleanly.
A sharp spindle had sunk deep into Brutus's belly, passing right
through him and into the planks below.
    Brutus leaned his head back and
looked up at what should be the sky above him, sighing. “It is
no use! Do not behave like a woman!”
    Ahmed shook his head, trying to
stay focused. There was much shouting and screaming from elsewhere
on the ship, but it was only here that mattered for now. “We
try again!”
    “Even if we get it off, I
am still dead! There is no time!” Brutus's eyes rolled in his
head as he struggled against his wounds. “You must recover my
papers and bring them to the prince! Swear it to me, prelate, in the
name of Ilaweh!”
    Ahmed ground his teeth. The
water had grown higher now. It was lapping at his knees.
    Brutus grabbed Ahmed's head and
pulled their faces together. The captain’s face was a mask of
pain, but his eyes burned bright with purpose. “Swear it!”
    “By Ilaweh, I swear .”
    “Quickly then. In my
footlocker. There is an oilcloth bag.”
    Ahmed opened the locker, and
found the bag at the very top. “This?”
    “Yes. It must reach
Prince Philip. Go quickly. If you don’t clear the wreck, it
will drag you down with it!” Brutus gasped with pain and fell
silent, eyes closed. For long moments, Ahmed thought the captain was
dead, but at last he opened his eyes and sighed, “There is but
one thing more. I ask a favor of you, not for duty, but for
friendship.”
    Ahmed felt his guts churn,
certain what Brutus would have him do, and sick with the knowledge,
but he accepted the burden nonetheless. “Name it.”
    “Do not let me drown,
brother.”
    Ahmed clenched his jaw and
nodded.
    Brutus waved his hand and
pointed. “My sword. There. It is a fine weapon, Ahmed. It has
slain many. It’s yours now. Use it well.”
    Ahmed took the scabbard and
drew the blade from it. The metal sang as it quivered in the air.
Brutus smiled at him. “You were right, brother. Go. Save the
world.”
    Ahmed raised the blade. “I
will try, brother. Ilaweh is great.”
    “You will succeed .
That is not a hope, it is an order !”
He chuckled softly, then grew somber. “Ilaweh is
great,” Brutus sighed. “I am ready.”
    Ahmed struck Brutus’s
head from his shoulders with a single, swift blow and silently gave
thanks to Ilaweh for guiding his hand . He shook the blood
from the sword, sheathed it, and stood a moment, knowing it was
unwise, but feeling compelled. A comrade had fallen, one Ahmed had
come to call friend. Brutus's passing should be marked. No words
were needed. Brutus was not that sort of man. But a few seconds of
silent respect was appropriate, and worth risking.
    Ahmed managed half a minute
before the ship gave another violent lurch. He heard more
splintering, and new screams from outside. I
know! Hurry up. He moved to the cabin door, tried the
latch, and felt his belly fill with ice. The door wouldn’t
budge.
    Calm
yourself. If it is Ilaweh’s will, you will live. It
was easy enough to accept in theory, but unlike Brutus, he had no
one to spare him from drowning.
    He tried the latch again,
making certain he had actually released it. No good. There was
something heavy blocking the door on the other side. Ahmed took a
deep breath. The water was rising quickly, almost to his hips. He
was running out of time.
    He hurled a shoulder against
it, and felt the weight on the other side shift. The door yielded
slightly, perhaps an inch, but no more. He tried again, and a third
time, but it was the same.
    Ahmed could feel the panic in
his heart, yowling and searching for an exit like a cat in a shower.
He crushed it down, knowing that it would do him little good.