It took a while for the scouts of the meagre little flotilla to approach Saudade. Three tough-looking men and one woman wearing waxed garments so cracked and ill-fitting they could only have been obtained from a jumble-sale stall. Each tunic bore a clumsily embroidered rosy cruciform decoration on the chest, of which the constant damp of harsh sea travel had unpicked most of the stitches. She recognized the symbol as being the Redeemer’s Rock, so these folk could belong to any one of numerous Clay City Church offshoots servicing the more disaffected and contrarian of the flock.
‘Hoy there,’ Arden said, slipping into a common Clay Capital accent. ‘I’m glad we found such welcome assistance. I wasn’t relishing another night with the Old Leviathan below us and the merrows so hungry.’
‘How long has your boat been drifting?’ one man called to Arden from his position on the tender-boat’s bow. Not unfriendly, but he was not offering to help, not yet.
‘A day and a night. We left Garfish Point on Maunday, late noon.’
The folk exchanged glances and nodded. ‘Must have just missed the embargo then,’ said one of the men.
‘Embargo?’
‘We came out of Morningvale on Hewsday morning, tried to spend a night in the Point,’ the woman said. ‘The whole town is under guard by the Lyonne–Fiction militia. Some criminality afoot. How blessed we were, to have the supplies to keep going this long way around. Others were not so blessed and were confined to the port.’
‘Thank goodness then, for not being tardy in leaving,’ Arden said. Her hands tingled as her coins responded to her ever-tightening fists. She wanted to scratch them. Could they not beg a ride soon and be on their way?
‘No, it is God we must thank,’ the woman said. ‘And the Redeemer Who Walks the Way.’
All four kissed their knuckles and crossed themselves.
So she had been correct in identifying these fellows. ‘Do I welcome Clay Church pilgrims?’ Arden asked hopefully, looking at their chest patches and their familiar shape. The most sacred island around here was most certainly Libro: according to Clay Church tradition, the unnamed holy teacher had placed the soles of His feet upon Libro when He first walked the world, in the days of His brief ministry. It was certainly the last place He’d walked, as He had died at the hands of angry unconverted pagans, tied upon a rock until the tide rose and drowned Him.
Even though the Sainted Isles were shrouded in mystery, Libro remained a virtuous place in Clay lore, with well-kept records from the missionaries who had first ministered upon the green, fertile shores. Arden recalled Sean thinking that the Sainted Isles had been named after the church’s most holy person, and a shy hope bloomed in her heart.
‘Thank the One Who Walks the Way,’ Arden said.
‘Yes,’ the woman replied. ‘We are pilgrims, all of us bound to the Sainted Islands to do our duty by God. One of our congregation – my late husband – he had a vision.’
‘Well, that’s incredibly convenient!’ Arden exclaimed.
They stared at her rather stonily.
Arden coughed. ‘By that, I mean, this vision has become a benefit to all of us, God helping many with the one act of charity. See, I am … I was … on a pilgrimage of my own.’
‘In such a massive craft?’ The woman’s attention went up and down Saudade as if she were inspecting an inappropriately dressed debutante. ‘And built out of such a heretical wood?’ She tutted at the black mangrove, which would have seemed to the woman’s Clay eyes as malign a material as ever was carved into an unholy deepwater idol.
‘I was gifted passage on this ship. I cannot speak for the craft’s amorality, I am afraid.’ By now Sean and David had worn out their patience below decks and had sidled back out through the cabin door to peer down nervously at the pilgrims.
Arden continued, ‘The owner is this young man here, Mr David Modhi of Vigil, and I have paid passage to Libro to recover the body of my dead husband. He … he was taken to the Islands and never returned.’
Something in the way she garbled the last words and gulped a breath afterwards clearly softened the woman’s thorny heart. Madam Pilgrim nodded to one of the men, gestured that he throw a rope to Arden so she might tie on.
Arden lowered the boarding ladder to allow them up onto Saudade’s side. This took time, for by the ill look in some purge-hollowed faces, they were not all of them used to water voyages.
Aboard, the Clay pilgrims inspected the boat with narrow, prying interest. There appeared no malice in their curiosity, only homespun common sense. David showed the menfolk the remains of his engine repair. The woman took off her wide-brimmed hat and offered Arden her hand.
‘I am Mrs Phillip Cordwain, and these fine fellows are Messrs Tega, Gallo and Le Shen respectively.’
Arden gave a nod and shook the cold fleshy hand in return. ‘I am … I am Mrs Richard Castile.’ She kept her grip light, willing herself not to leak blood through the bottom of her dress-sleeves. ‘My given name is Arden.’
‘Ah, but Mrs Richard Castile is just a fine enough name for a widow to use,’ Mrs Cordwain chided gently. ‘I too lost a husband. Was yours young?’
‘Far too young,’ Arden said by rote, before she turned back. ‘I have introduced Mr Modhi already. This is Mr Sean Ironcup, who is searching for his sister who became lost to the Islands, and left behind three children.’
Nods all round at such a worthy reason. The flotilla had drifted closer, sensing that the greetings had moved up a notch.
‘I have very little available coin to pay for a tow,’ Arden continued. ‘I do have kraken oil in the hold however. If the motor vessels require it, I can give more than enough.’
The man identified as Mr Le Shen nodded and turned to his companion. ‘We could use the fuel, Mrs Cordwain. We were meant to take on provisions in Garfish Point. If we are cursed with anything other than what little rearward winds we’ve been blessed with so far, there will not be enough fuel to get us all to Equus.’
At the very mention of the rockblood island, even the wind seemed to stop blowing.
‘Excuse me,’ Arden asked. ‘Is this flotilla not bound for Libro?’
‘No, it was Equus that my beloved husband – may his soul rest in peace – saw in his vision, Equus the Horse Island, the Burden Town Island, where hard work is rewarded, where the Redeemer once said, God helps only those who help themselves. T’was an epiphany he had, as awe-inspiring as a saint receiving a blessing of the Spirit.’
‘But I … I thought you might want to go to Libro, being that the Redeemer … well, being that He …’ In the storm of panic Arden tried to find the words. ‘Being that He walked the world upon Libro first.’
Mrs Cordwain blinked at her, in the slow manner of a cold-blooded thing who has found its likely supper sleeping.
‘The Redeemer would not think us worthy if we did not do the work first. To Equus we go, to work in God’s service, work the milk from the stone, and draw up the petralactose from the devil’s bosom! Then when we have suckled the devil dry, then we may be invited to join the Redeemer upon the holy isle.’
Now the flotilla surrounded Saudade, and the souls aboard thought it quite the place for a holy hymn. To Arden’s ears it might as well have been a dirge.
‘At least we have such a similar path,’ Arden said uneasily. ‘The Libro island group is only a short ways beyond Equus. If we could impose upon your graciousness with a double payment of …’
Mrs Cordwain’s face turned grey, and hard. ‘Would be a sin to take penitents there, when they have not earned their invitation. Would be a sin for a widow not to see the true work that awaits her in heaven before she returns to her earthly duties.’
A cold sweat stung Arden’s brow with ice. While she tried to think of another tack that would enable her to avoid the chaos of Equus Island altogether, Mrs Cordwain continued, ‘Though one is very much welcome to stay here and wait for a more appropriate vessel to tow this craft, I fear Great Lyonne has stilled all the boats in the Garfish Point ha
rbour for an unspecified number of days. One may be waiting quite a long time.’
‘Devilment, how bad is this?’ Arden fretted.
‘I’m sure it’s not that bad,’ David said. ‘The prospectors go there to make their fortunes, right? Even those pilgrims are taking a detour. We are sitting on a fortune’s worth of kraken oil in this ship. We will arrive rich, in Equus. We have money for the Old Guy.’
She shook her head at his invocation of the payment-collecting spirit of the Sainted Isles. ‘Oil is definitely something the people of Equus are not lacking for, David.’
‘We could be in and gone within a few days.’
‘I don’t want you boys near that cursed place,’ she said. ‘I won’t have it. There’s no getting out once the island has a man’s mind in its grip. Have you not heard any warning I’ve given you? People go there in enslavement to the rockblood industry, they give their labour and die!’
‘It can’t all be rockblood mining,’ Sean added churlishly. ‘Maybe the pilgrims aren’t being so absurd by wanting to go to Equus first.’
‘Really now?’
‘Listen, Leyland used to say Libro was an island in decline. Farming and fishing, and not much of either. But think, we could have real financial opportunities in Equus. I’ve had enough of being a farmer.’
‘Leyland used to say? Sean, that mendacious man was only thinking about the wealth in his pocket, and was willing to sell his grandchildren for it!’ She shook her head in exasperation at Sean’s optimistic ignorance. ‘He was willing to kill me for his fortune, and he certainly as hell was responsible for Jonah Riven sailing after him to his death!’
The galumphing of feet interrupted them, for the pilgrims on the flotilla had decided it would be a fine opportunity to stretch their legs all about the decks, to pull out the sheet anchors and unspool the rope coils from where they had been neatly placed and put the most impossible knots in them. Earlier on Arden had counted at least thirty travellers, with some spare children to round out the misery. Having them climb all over Saudade was like having Mr Riven’s body desecrated all over again.
‘You’re terrified of going there, Mx Beacon,’ Sean said. He was not willing to concede. ‘Is it because the Equus folk won’t do any sort of stupid ritual for Mr Riven? Because from what I hear they would more likely celebrate his death and spit upon the krakenskin coat rather than give him a proper funeral!’
Arden opened her mouth in speechless affront, then glared at David.
‘You told him about that, Mr Modhi?’
‘I didn’t mean it that way, I was only discussing history.’ He turned to Sean. ‘Come on, Cup, we agreed we wouldn’t say anything!’
‘I never agreed to this! Look where we are, D! Stuck in the middle of the ocean with nowhere to go but into the water because we’re chasing a dead man’s ghost!’ He sat up as tall as his palsy would allow him. ‘A dead man hated by everyone! All Mx Beacon’s effort is about Mr Riven. We are an afterthought! A burden so she can enact a sinful worship to a demon!’
As David vacillated between defence of Mr Riven and supporting his friend, Arden waved them down. ‘Mr Ironcup, I agree with you.’
He glared at her suspiciously. ‘What?’
‘I should have let you both slip into hiding on Fiction and not dragged two innocents along with me on this cursed expedition. Jonah would never forgive me a Deepwater Rite on his behalf if I put you both in danger on Equus. Imagine if Bellis’ people recognized us.’
Sean Ironcup, having puffed himself up for a fight, deflated somewhat. Sullen as a silenced child, he held David’s hand and watched Arden pace the map room.
Then Sean gave up his crumb. ‘Bellis Harrow won’t ever go back to Equus,’ he grumped. ‘It’s impossible for her.’
‘This is the deduction you’ve come up with on your own? Sean, when she got kicked out last time she was a silly girl, and now she is a woman with an army. Argument with the locals won’t keep her away.’
‘Not even her army can make her welcome! When my family were on the Fine Breeze,’ he paused, because the little boat had belonged to Arden and its theft was still raw, ‘the sailors came across us in their white boat. Sehn … Sehn …’
‘Sehnsucht,’ David said.
‘Go on,’ Arden said warily.
‘I stayed hidden as they boarded. I overheard the sailors talking. About the people of Equus who had cast Bellis out, and of a man who lived there.’
Something about the way David said ‘man’ gave Arden pause.
‘Someone who put the fear of God into Bellis Harrow,’ David finished. ‘A rival on Equus Island. She had no power over him and it vexed and scared her. Even now. Maybe this is someone who could keep us safe better than the Libro Islanders ever could.’
Arden tried not to let the disappointment at being left out of this confidence show. ‘Should I not have been informed of this theory earlier?’
The two young men hunched down in defiant shame. Clearly the mutinous pair had already been discussing potential scenarios that hadn’t involved Arden. Maybe they’d even been planning for a time when they could not rely on her at all.
David shrugged, deeply apologetic at having been caught out. ‘We should have shared it. I’m sorry.’
Arden sighed again. ‘And who was this rival?’
Sean spoke. ‘They said a name. ‘Miah … Miah Anguis. Like the sea-serpent.’
David nodded emphatically. ‘Miah Anguis, Mx Beacon. An Equus man called Miah who made Bellis afraid. Her army wouldn’t cross him. Sean heard her go quite spare and maybe – maybe Mr Anguis might be the one to shelter us.’
Arden rubbed her temples with her sharp-twanging hands. She wanted desperately to agree with them about this safe harbour Bellis could not breach, but they were grasping at straws. Without proof, their saviour story was a figment of desperation and hope. Many violent denizens of the Lyonnian underworld had dealings in Equus, drawn by the potential criminal profits of the unregulated prospectors’ island. Even if someone was formidable enough to resist an orientis-empowered Bellis Harrow, trying to win the help of such a one would be next to impossible.
‘Even if this person exists, I cannot for the life of me see how we could buy an influential man’s assistance without anything to exchange.’ She frowned at them both. ‘And don’t mention kraken oil again. Like I said, it has no value on a petralactose island.’
‘No, we could trade something else entirely. See, that bastard Leyland …’
‘Helena Tallwater’s father-in-law, David. And she is Sean’s sister. His family still.’
Sean’s complexion had permanently settled into a shade of mauve. ‘Leyland thought he’d sell your blood to some Islanders to gain entry. He told me it was because crude rockblood won’t burn, not unless something sets it alight. A catalyst he said …’
David jumped in, and finished off. ‘Sanguis ignis blood has value! I could sell them my blood in return for our safety.’
Arden could barely talk from the disbelief at what she was hearing. ‘No, you are not going to bleed yourself! Devilment, David Modhi what are you—’
Another voice said: ‘One could always just go home.’
Arden stopped, and turned about to face the direction of the sudden voice. It had been so familiar …
‘Good day, Miss!’ David said to the visitor, standing up and giving a little bow. So caught up had she been in her miserable conversation, Arden had failed to notice the entry of another person into the map room.
Chalice Quarry, in a floppy hat and pilgrim’s tunic, leaned on the map desk casually and spun a brass protractor on one end. ‘I said darling, you could just go home.’
‘Chalice?’
‘Hello, darling,’ said her erstwhile stormbride. ‘It’s been a while.’
3
Arden knew
Arden knew she could not truly forgive all that had happened between her and Chalice Quarry. The lighthouse assistant’s friendship with Arden had merely been a
rat’s-coat disguise, for Chalice had turned out to be a Lyonne Order agent, a woman vowed to keep eyes upon. And what about Jonah’s death, that Chalice had both aided and witnessed? Arden should rightly throw her out on her ear.
But all she could do was stagger into the arms of the one other familiar face on this empty sea. Close to tears, she clutched the sturdy shoulders close. ‘I am so angry, and I haven’t forgiven you one bit.’
‘And justly so. It’s all gotten rather away from us, this situation.’
As Arden suspected, Chalice wore the same style of dress as the other pilgrims, from her trousered skirt to the hastily embroidered rocky crucifix upon her tunic. She released herself from Arden’s embrace and made a stern face at the two young men.
‘Boys, a private moment, please.’
Muttering apologies, David half-dragged a protesting Sean upstairs, leaving the women alone in the map room. Even though she was shorter than Arden, and as stout as a tugboat, she’d somehow passed for any one of the menfolk clambering all over Saudade’s broad decks.
‘How could I have overlooked the smallest fellow in the group with the biggest bosom? A right imp, Chalice Quarry, to have not revealed yourself to me straight away! Oh, these people should have seen the horns on your head and your cloven hoof.’
‘Even the devil can be charismatic sometimes, as we are all too well aware.’ Chalice pushed her hands on either side of Arden’s cheeks. ‘Someone looks only a little better than when I saw them last. My dear, you are half-drowned and going dusty with ichor meritis poisoning. And who did that hair? Certainly not me. Why, you’re fraying like a night-lady’s corset.’
It was all Arden could do not to hug her and sniffle a teary spot into Chalice’s scarf. Chalice who she loved and hated in equal measure. Chalice, enemy and friend.
She choked, unsure if she was laughing or crying. ‘Oh, devils! You mendacious vixen. You utter fiend, why chase me all the way out here? Don’t tell me of a secret sanguinity for finding lost people, or I will be utterly affronted.’
Deepwater King Page 6