“You don’t sound optimistic.”
“Well, not my place really. Pettar’s t’one with t’flair in that department.”
“I suppose he’s also the one sorting out getting you both trading licenses, now the steward’s finally got his way?”
Breadgrinder turned Phaylan a wary eye as he mumbled his reply, but Phaylan’s mind had already wandered.
Fond memories of Pettar had come back to him, how kind and considerate he’d been, especially to Lord Nephril during their long, hard slog over the Gray Mountains to Nouwelm. Such strong memories they made Phaylan slow to realise how straight the canal had become, and how shallow its cutting ahead.
Before long they could see the canal diverge from the Southern Hills, out onto a vast plain, a few buildings returning to its reinstated banks. Something else lay further ahead, though, something plainly huge, that something sitting directly in the canal itself.
Movement below drew Phaylan’s gaze back to Dialwatcher, now at the end of the bowsprit, frantically waving that way. Some of the crew had joined him, all intent on the sight, but its true nature was to remain a mystery for a little while longer.
In that time, they left the cutting well astern and returned to an open view, one again bordered by low quaysides. They revealed an arid landscape, a flat plain of brown and ochre, small plumes of dust trailing a warm breeze that blew in from the southeast. The sky, though, appeared huge, humbling, a vast vault of cloudless pearlescent green shading to violet at the horizon.
“I wonder,” Phaylan dared think. “I wonder how much of Leiyatel’s embrace will reach us here,” and fervently hoped his dissolving spittle hadn’t whispered the truth.
“Bleeding Nora,” Breadgrinder gasped, startling Phaylan. The man hurriedly squeezed from the wheelhouse and clattered his way heavily down to the deck.
Phaylan now remembered the engers’ warning and so rushed to the door. “All crew to their quarters. Secure all doors,” and slammed the wheelhouse one tight shut to keep out the air.
“I’ll not be diverted by wonders and end up losing my crew like Sconner did, not if I can help it, not after the sacrifice he made to bring home his lesson.”
Soon, only the Nouwelmers stood on deck, both on the bowsprit, both intent on what lay ahead. The ketch’s puttering engine inexorably pushed them on, nearer and nearer the unfathomable sight.
“May Leiyatel preserve us,” Phaylan finally uttered as he doused the engine. He moved forward to the spray-shield windows and there stared out and up.
A colossal expanse of rust-streaked metal reared from the water, so vast it had denied its own now unmistakeable shape of a prow.
“How ... how on Earth...” The gigantic ship, now monumentally in their way, simply left him gawping like a wide-eyed child first set down before a mountain’s might.
28 To a Difficult Decision
The camper van’s shadow stretched out along the road ahead when they came to stop for a walk to ease their cramped legs. Falmeard climbed ahead up the valley’s northern slope, Nephril and Prescinda ambling behind over the scrubby ground.
During the day, the valley had remained broad and shallow, once more steadily but gently rising to the east. What they’d taken to be the start of a range of plum-coloured mountains had turned out to be no more than hills guarding the valley’s southern rim. They’d ripened in the evening sun, lifting shiny highlights proud of their purple shadows.
Prescinda stopped, looked the other way and shielded her eyes against the reddening sun, hoping to see Dica. Only the crown remained, encircling Mount Esnadac’s silhouetted summit now peeping above the valley floor below.
“’Tis a way away now,” Nephril said as he followed her gaze.
“It is. It seems to have dwindled so quickly, though, for such a mighty place.”
Silence engulfed them, not a breath of air nor the sound of life about, so still and empty. Even the loose earth beneath her feet felt lonely somehow, tired and forgotten.
She had to speak, to break the stifling spell. “Why are you so keen to get us there before the steward’s party, Nephril?”
He looked away, up the side of the valley, seeing Falmeard already well ahead. “Our ancient companion has long had his own purpose, Prescinda, one none of us understands, he no better than any. I, though, can at least make a guess of sorts.”
He turned back but seemed to look through her, his mind elsewhere. “He forsook that purpose, as thou dost know, but it would never have stayed forsaken forever. One day it would have taken him this way, I have no doubt, after he’d seen Geran off and so passed beyond her current distraction.”
“But how does that...”
“The steward, and indeed the guilds, are symptoms, mine dear, symptoms only of Leiyatel’s demise.”
“But the two of you saved her, Nephril. She never did die.”
He watched the sun give last light to the castle’s crown and stared, as though seeing that fateful time once again. “Leiyatel did indeed die. The first Leiyatel be no more for another now reigns in her place. One grown from her own seed I agree, but like all seeds, not completely true to its parent.”
“I still don’t see...”
“Neither do I, mine dear, neither do I.”
“But you’ve an idea haven’t you?”
Nephril this time stared at her not through her, and for quite a while.
When he did speak, it was with some reticence. “I suspect the steward and his own are but exemplars. Convincing evidence of Leiyatel’s failure. More telling a message than Falmeard could ever deliver.”
A cry wavered to them from the slope above, Falmeard’s now darkening shape jumping and pointing towards the head of the valley. Prescinda turned as Nephril did and stared that way but could see nothing of note. When she turned back to Nephril, over his shoulder she saw Falmeard racing back down.
“Whatever could it be,” she said as his cries grew louder. “What is it, Falmeard?” she shouted, but he seemed not to hear, only stopped and again pointed up the valley.
“Whatever has he seen?”
“Whatever it be, ‘tis getting too dark to go and spy out ourselves. We should be getting back before we lose the light.”
Feeling Falmeard’s footfall vibrate beneath her feet, she turned to see his bright eyes racing towards them. “I’ve seen them,” he said, excitedly, pointing again. “Beyond the curve of the hills. One at least.”
“One what?” Prescinda asked.
“One of the skyscrapers, maybe even two but I couldn’t be sure. It was the setting sun that picked them out and made me look their way.”
Prescinda could see the surprise in Nephril’s face, albeit indistinctly in the failing light.
“Come on,” he said, “we must return afore we end up breaking an ankle. Tell us more when we get back, Falmeard, whilst I make us some supper.”
The fast encroaching night meant they could barely see the camper van when they approached it, although its whiteness was certainly a boon. Falmeard was first in and the one fumbling for matches, the lamp’s bowl soon ringing worryingly as he got at its wick.
A flare briefly lit their confined space, the match’s pungent stench clawing at Prescinda’s nose. When the metallic smell of burning naphtha replaced it, Falmeard reset the glass upon the lamp. Its amber light finally welcomed them home.
“Are you sure Leiyatel’s been altered to stare this way, Nephril?” Prescinda said as she slumped down. “It’s just that I’m a bit out of breath after our dash and that’s not like me.”
“I signed the order mine self,” he assured them, “and watched much of the preparation. I know the steward well enough. He will hath given the order soon after our meeting and so all should be well in place by now, fear thee not.”
“Well, all right,” Prescinda said before breathing deeply for a while, but Nephril threw her a rather concerned look as he squeezed past to the stove.
Between the clatter of pans, he asked Falmeard to descri
be again what he’d seen but it didn’t take long to gain agreement. What Falmeard couldn’t be sure about, though, was how far away they were.
“Not knowing their size makes it hard to tell,” he said, “but at least we know we’re going the right way.”
“Behind the hills thou say?”
“Aye. You can see the valley bending that way so we should get a better view tomorrow, later in the day.” He looked down at the dish Nephril had placed before him. “Stew again?”
Prescinda watched him spoon some into his mouth. “Falmeard?” she asked, making him mumble incoherently. “How would you have carried enough to live on, you know, if you’d done this journey on foot like you were meant to?”
Falmeard stopped chewing, swallowed and glanced at Nephril who answered for him.
“Falmeard need not eat at all, Prescinda, nor drink...”
“Nor rest or sleep,” he himself added.
“Oh, of course,” was all Prescinda could find to say, but then went quiet, thinking as she herself absently began to eat.
Once Nephril had settled himself down with the others, silence reigned supreme for a while until Falmeard smiled and answered Prescinda’s unspoken question.
“I can still do them all for the pleasure, mind, those and ... well, and other things.”
Had the light been better, she’d have sworn he’d blushed. “Ah, right. Well, I suppose that’ll greatly reassure Geran.”
The stew eventually filled them enough to bring some contentment, Prescinda and Nephril soon finding better rest on their bunks. They left Falmeard to wash up the pan and the few dishes before he squeezed down by Prescinda’s feet. He tapped his finger on something recessed in the bulkhead, quickly becoming insistent.
“Nephril?” he eventually said. “I think we might have a problem with the naphtha,” which made Nephril sit up.
It seemed they had a bit less than they should have had, quite a bit in fact, a worryingly lesser amount. Nephril scrambled down beside him whilst Prescinda moved out of the way, and he too tapped in the recess.
“Oh dear,” he finally said. “I wonder if we have a leak.”
“Ah,” Falmeard sighed, “I wonder.”
“Wonder what?” Prescinda asked.
“Wonder if our altitude has anything to do with it.”
“Altitude?” both the others said, staring at Falmeard’s embarrassment.
“I never thought. Well, to be fair to myself I didn’t realise the climb involved, and we have, steadily, climbed that is, so the air’s that bit thinner. It means we’re using the naphtha faster than we ... well, than I planned for.” When no one said anything, he sat on Prescinda’s vacated bunk.
“I don’t follow, Falmeard,” she said. “What does it mean? What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, mine dear,” Nephril answered for him, “we may not have enough naphtha for the entire journey, not there and back.”
“Well ... well, we can always walk back the rest of the way ... can’t we?”
Nephril now sat on his own bunk, leaving Prescinda the only one standing. He patted the space beside him and she too sat down.
“Mine dearest Prescinda,” he began, “I fear not all of us may have that option. Falmeard and myself certainly have weft and weave of Leiyatel, and by it gain her succour, but...”
“But I don’t, eh, Nephril? Is that it? I suffer the more, the more distant we are. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Unless we can keep thee protected.”
“From what, Nephril?”
“From the fouler air, mine dear. From the loss of sweetness that Leiyatel has long granted Dica’s own. If we can keep thee within what we ourselves do breath then thou wilt gain that same protection.”
The tale of Steermaster Sconner’s own fateful journey rose to mind, like a spectre. “Within what you breath?” Prescinda said. “You mean within the air of this campervan?”
“I do.”
“Within a campervan that’s likely only going one way?”
“Or,” Falmeard interrupted, “we just turn back now, whilst we still have enough naphtha to get us all safely home.”
Prescinda scowled. “Then I’d be the reason for your failure, wouldn’t I?” and growled at herself. “My own stupid insistence, my own arrogance and ... and yes, my own damned curiosity.”
She knew the decision would rest with her, that she’d have the final say, but what she didn’t know, for the life of her, was which way she should decide?
29 Step Back for a Better View
“By Grunstaan, it’s bloody huge,” Dialwatcher couldn’t stop saying, much to Phaylan’s annoyance, although the man did finally manage to ask, “What on Earth is it?”
Even to his own immense disbelief, Phaylan answered, “A ship,” but could think of nothing more to say.
The wheelhouse was by now a little more crowded and certainly noisier. A hatch at the rear had been opened, installed by the engers to allow the sharing of air with the mess-deck below. It now also shared the crew’s bubbling excitement. Occasionally, a head would pop up for another furtive look. Their chatter swilled in between Phaylan, Breadgrinder and Dialwatcher, where they each now stood, staring out through the spray-shield windows.
“Do you think we can get past,” Breadgrinder asked, but Phaylan didn’t know.
If they could, he thought, it would certainly be a tight squeeze. “Which beam looks to have the most room?”
“If you mean which side then it’s hard to say,” Breadgrinder answered before repeatedly pushing past them to either side of the wheelhouse. “Can thee move t’boat over a bit each way so we can see better?”
Phaylan could but it took a while, the engine making slow work of the affair. Eventually he decided on their own port bow and eased the ketch that way.
The term tight was beginning to look a bit of an understatement and so Phaylan had to call for volunteers to watch each side. Their calls soon marked time as the ketch edged forward, the diminishing numbers progressively worrying them all.
“It must be a good thousand feet long,” Phaylan said, “so I’ll need to know when we’ve gone five hundred. Breadgrinder? Do you think you could judge that distance for me?”
“Err, well, I suppose so, I think. Why?”
“Because that’s where our tightest fit will be. The broadest beam’s always amidships.”
By the time they’d reached three of those five hundred, the watches were calling eighteen inches a side. The figures, though, had begun to fall more slowly. By about four hundred, they were at less than a foot and Phaylan had greatly slowed the ketch.
Just then the port-watch urgently shouted a stop.
Despite putting the engine full-astern, the ketch still carried on, first kicking to starboard and then quickly grinding to a halt. The mighty ship’s hull beside them clanged loudly and hollowly as rust showered to their deck.
“Damn,” Phaylan spat, yanked open the door from the wheelhouse and quickly rushed out.
The port-watchmen cringed before the steermaster’s might, blaming a misaligned copingstone for catching him out.
“I were watching a bit too near, sir, not expecting t’bank to be so offset. See, sir,” and he pointed to where the ketch’s torn wood partly hid the offending stone.
“Return to the mess-deck, crewman. You’ve already been out too long. Find volunteer replacements for both watches and have them report to me here, and get them each to bring a crowbar.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” and off he hurried.
Two fresh crewmen soon appeared and readied themselves to help free the ketch.
Phaylan returned to the wheelhouse and put the engine to work astern, but at first little seemed to happen. Just as they were beginning to think it a lost cause, the ketch groaned free, bringing a cheer from below.
The coping stone devoured even more time, the two watchmen working hard to lever it from the bank. Eventually, it slid free and toppled to the water, vanishing beneath its own h
uge splash.
“Still about a hundred feet left, Steermaster,” Breadgrinder said as Phaylan again eased the ketch forward.
It took a good few yards to set the keel straight, a worrying few minutes scraping between the quayside and the ancient ship’s hull. In doing so, the deck became even more seasoned by fresh falls of rust.
This time the watches kept keener eyes ahead until the clearance each side dropped to barely six inches. By now they’d hung the crowbars into the narrow gaps, ready to prise with all their might, but Phaylan managed to keep the keel straight.
“That looks to be about the middle if thee ask me,” Breadgrinder informed Phaylan, and still the watches called half a foot. The ketch continued to edge forward as they now all held their breaths.
When eight inches began to be called, the sighs could almost be heard from the mess room below. By the time it became a foot, grins were in order. Forgetting himself, Breadgrinder slapped the steermaster’s back, almost bringing a grin to Phaylan’s solemnly studied face.
When they at last squeezed out beyond the almighty ship’s high-hanging stern, hoots and cheers went up, leaving them all staring along the unobstructed course of the canal ahead.
After a short break they pushed on, slowly moving away at an angle from the mountains, out towards the southeast. Occasionally, they came across the shells of once formidable buildings, but otherwise the desert now appeared empty. When they looked more closely, though, they could see shallow ridges crisscrossing the ground, as though rows of streets had once stood there a long, long time ago.
Although their heading worried Phaylan, it gave a far better view to the north. From the cutting where the ketch had earlier slipped through, the mountain range rose steadily towards the east before falling steeply to the southeast. Beyond its highest point, and climbing away to the north, they could see a glimpse of even higher ground.
As evening drew in, the course of the canal began gently curving back towards the mountains. When at last they rose directly ahead, now hiding the sun with their western march, something caught Phaylan’s eye. A glint of reflected sunlight came from that distant high ground beyond the range.
An Artist's Eye (Dica Series Book 5) Page 12