Fengel offered a hand and hoisted his steward to his feet. "Thanks, Captain," said the little man. As he brushed himself clean of the dirt, Fengel made to turn back for their guide. Henry grabbed his elbow. "Captain?"
Fengel looked back. "Yes, Mister Smalls?"
The gloom of the nighttime jungle made it difficult, but he saw the concern on Henry's face. "Are you feeling all right, sir?"
Fengel frowned at the other man. What an odd question. "Pardon? I'm feeling perfectly fine, Mister Smalls. Why do you ask?"
Henry shrugged, uneasy. "Well sir, you have to admit this is a little odd. Do we really need that gemstone so badly?"
Fengel stiffened. "I have made my orders clear, Mister Smalls. You may either help carry them out, or return to the Dawnhawk."
The little man sighed. "Yes, sir. Never mind, sir." He peered into the gloom ahead. "But...do you trust this creature?"
Fengel followed his gaze. "I have never heard of its kind before, these Draykin. But we all know the rumors; strange things populate this land. To answer your question, Mister Smalls: as much as I need to. It speaks Perinese, and wants to help us steal the Lantern. That is enough for now."
Sarah Lome tripped on the log and let out a curse. Henry turned back to help her up. Fengel moved on ahead to catch up with Rastalak. Their odd guide waited impatiently ahead. Without a word it led them deeper into the jungle.
Night reigned. The space beneath the canopy lightened a little as the moon came out, silver shafts of needle-thin luminescence descending to the loamy forest floor. What had seemed a strange and alien world changed yet again. The plant life seemed to writhe with their passing. Hanging vines were mistaken for snakes, and hanging snakes for vines. Insects chirped a singsong rhythm, falling quiet as the pirates passed them. A big cat growled, eyes flashing gold in the undergrowth for only half a moment before it slunk away.
Rastalak led them onward. The creature would move quickly through the jungle, pausing to wait impatiently as Fengel and his Men caught up. Other times Fengel would stumble over the Draykin, stopped somewhere ahead, squatting on its haunches and listening quietly to their surroundings.
That was how he found it now. Fengel pushed aside the last of the fronds between them and halted, panting. The air down here was thick and muggy, deeply contrasting with the cool breezes blowing above the jungle.
"What are you listening to now?" he asked.
The Draykin held up a hand for quiet. It cocked its head, as if straining to catch a sound. Fengel quieted, listening as well. The only noises he heard were his crew, swearing and stomping through the jungle after him.
"What?" he asked. "What do you hear this time?"
"Please to be quiet," said Rastalak. It listened a moment longer, then shook its head. "Nothing. Thought I heard something. But no, nothing." It straightened. "Please ask your men to be speaking little."
Fengel frowned. "I don't understand. Do you think we've been noticed?"
"No," said Rastalak after a moment. "But we have come to a sacred place."
It pressed into the greenery. Fengel frowned and hissed a call for quiet behind him. Then he pushed after their guide.
To his surprise the ferns parted to reveal a wide, rectangular space. The canopy above opened to a starry sky and a gibbous moon rising in the west. Moonlight shone down on old ruins, the remnants of a squat, pyramidal building dominating the clearing. Its peak had long ago fallen in, and most of the walls along with it. What was left were four partial walls slanted toward the open center, a stretch of flat earth both bereft of foliage and weirdly smooth.
"Follow," hissed Rastalak.
Their Draykin guide avoided entering the ruins, turning to the left to follow the exterior wall. Regretfully, Fengel did as instructed. Though the clear floor of the ruin was free of jungle, the exterior was not. The ferns brushed him, the ground was full of unstable roots, and bugs fell to crawl in his hair or along his jacket. Low-hanging vines constantly plucked at his hat. In all, it was annoying.
Rastalak turned to follow the wall up its western side. Fengel did as well, almost tripping over an especially thick root that seemed to grab at his boots. He cursed under his breath and fought for his balance before moving on. Grumbles and startled yelps echoed up from behind as the others met it.
Fengel thought to turn back, say something to bolster their morale, but stopped. A noise had sounded out in the jungle to their left, out beyond the immediate border. It was unclear— he noticed it only because of how out of place it was.
"Confound this!"
He whirled back to his crew. Henry Smalls stood behind him, sweating and exhausted. Past him stood Gunny Lome. Past her lay Oscar Pleasant, face-down on the earth, having been tripped by the root.