by R J Barker
Meas nudged him.
“Try not to breathe in too much gossle, Twiner. It can be disorientating, at first anyway, and it is known to make people foolish. We will need our wits about us.”
Cahanny, and Joron had no doubt it was him from the way he held himself – he strutted like a fighting bird – came forward. A small man dressed in tight fishskin and with his right arm missing below the elbow, Joron wondered whether he was born so or if he had lost the limb in a fight. He had a face like an eating root, that fat round kind that sometimes came out of the ground looking like a wizened human head. Joron wondered how old he was. Cahanny brought up his one hand and tugged on his left ear, an ear that stuck out nearly as much as the right one, and then coughed.
“Lucky Meas.” A voice like a hinge creaking, and now he was nearer Joron could see he had the tight shiny skin of someone who had been badly burned. Two of the fingers on his left hand were also fused together. “I never thought I would see Lucky Meas walk into my drinking hole.”
“Well” – Meas shrugged – “then we are as surprised as one another, ey?”
Cahanny laughed, but there was little humour there. His eyes roved over Meas, appraising her, but not as a woman or man appraised another, more as a trader appraises goods before making an offer.
“So then, Lucky Meas” – Joron wondered if everyone in the Hundred Isles now made her name sound like a joke – “how can Mulvan Cahanny help you?”
“I think it’s how I can help you, Mulvan Cahanny.”
He took a step towards the bar, a plank balanced on two barrels in front of a stack of eight, shaking his head as he did.
“Oh no,” he said and picked up a beaker from the gion-stalk plank, taking a sip from it. “Sooner see a keyshan breach in Bernshulme Bay than expect Lucky Meas to help a man like me. You must be wanting something, unless you’ve come to close me down.” He put his cup down. “But I reckon you’ve come a little short-handed for that.”
“I have heard you have a cargo that you wish transported,” she said. He said nothing, only stared. “And as I now command a black ship, I have a little more autonomy than most shipwives.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” He grinned. “See, you – shipwives and Bern and Kept – you all think you’re better than us Berncast. But now you have fallen, you see what you really are – the same as everyone else, only with the right amount of fingers and toes. You’re just another criminal now, despite your storied name, Meas Gilbryn.” He took another sip of his drink.
“Do you want your cargo moved or not?”
“Who’s your man?” He used his cup to gesture at Joron, who felt a tremor run through him.
“He is my deckkeeper.”
“I generally make people fight, to prove themselves to me.” Another sip and now he did not even do them the courtesy of looking at them; instead he stared at the stacked barrels of anhir. “No point dealing with anyone who can’t look after themselves, or who doesn’t want my trade enough to fight for it.”
“Who do you want me to fight?” said Meas.
“Oh, not you, Meas,” said Cahanny, turning from where he leaned on the bar. “I do not doubt you can fight. But what about him?” He pointed with his damaged fingers at Joron, who could not hide an involuntary swallow – a movement that gave away his fear. Cahanny grinned again.
“My deckkeeper,” said Meas, “wears new boots and as such is in no fit state to duel anyone for your pleasure.”
“Then we have no deal to make, Lucky Meas,” said Cahanny and turned back to studying his barrels.
“Very well,” said Meas. “We are done here, Twiner,” she said, making for the door.
But before they were had gone two steps Cahanny called out:
“Wait!” He was smiling again. “What do you want in trade, Meas Gilbryn? Let me know that before you leave.”
“Nothing you would not want yourself anyway.”
He tapped his beaker on the plank.
“And what do you mean by that?”
“This cargo is valuable?” Cahanny nodded and she continued. “So you would wish to send guards with it?”
“Not generally. Those I deal with usually know better than to betray me.”
“I run a ship full of criminals condemned to death.”
“Could be said of any fleet ship,” said Cahanny.
Meas allowed herself a smile at that.
“Possibly, though let us say my criminals are a little more, well, committed, than most.”
“These guards of mine, if I felt the need to send them,” he said, “they would be under your command while on your ship, I take it?”
“Ey.”
“And how many of these guards do you think I should send?”
“Twenty,” she replied.
Cahanny laughed.
“Not a chance. Five.”
“Fifteen. I can do with no less.”
“Ten,” he said.
“Very well, I can accept that. Send them to the fleet dock. They must bring their own weapons.”
“Agreed.” The two stared at one another until, eventually, Cahanny broke the silence. “You have not asked what you transport or where it goes.”
“I care not what it is, and where it goes must wait upon my schedule.”
“What if I have a timetable?”
“You do not,” she said. “You are too relaxed.”
Cahanny shrugged. Then laughed.
“I like you, Lucky Meas. I think we can do business, you and I.”
“Yes.” She headed for the door. Stopped. Turned. “Oh, while I remember . . . Black Orris. I heard you have him and I am sure he can bring you no joy. I will do you a favour and take him with me.”
Cahanny let out a chuckle.
“Oh, Black Orris brings me no joy at all, but you do not fool me. You want him, and I give nothing away for free. So what can you offer me now, Lucky Meas? As our first deal is done, we must have another.”
Meas knew what Joron knew: that they had little else to offer Cahanny.
“I have money,” said Meas.
“As do I,” said Cahanny. “I like having things people want, that people value, Lucky Meas. I find it very useful.”
A silence. An impasse.
“I’ll fight for him,” said Joron. He almost brought his hand to his mouth upon saying it, he was so shocked by his own words. But after the shock came a wave of self-belief. He could do this. “You did want me to fight, right?”
“Joron,” said Meas, “you need not.”
“He has offered now,” said Cahanny. “And I thought a fleet officer never went back on their word.”
“Ey, I have offered,” said Joron. He felt giddy, like when he took the first hit of anhir on a morning when he had not touched any for days. “We get Black Orris whether I win or not, right?”
“Aye,” said Cahanny. “Just prove to me you want him.”
“I forbid this,” said Meas.
“We are not on your deck now,” said Cahanny, and he seeded his next words with spite. “Are we, Shipwife?”
“It is not like we fight to the death, is it?” said Joron. He felt himself grin, but the grin fell away and the feeling of self-belief went with it at the looks on the faces of those around him. Hard, unforgiving, feral.
“What other type of fight is there?” said Cahanny. “Anzir, come forward.” From behind Cahanny came a woman far bigger than Joron. Her shoulders bulged with as much muscle as any Kept, and Joron felt himself become light-headed once more. It was as if since meeting Meas he had been led from one near-death situation to another, but this time he had jumped in himself – feet, in his fancy new boots, first.
Anzir had a short sword at her side and a small round shield on one arm. Everyone in the drinking hole moved back to create a rough circle. Fear burned through Joron. Anzir’s strength was obvious. He imagined the damage she could do, the way her sword would cut through him. The flensing of flesh from bone, the parting of his guts, the smashing of
his skull, the grinding between hulls.
Anzir flexed her muscles, cut the air with her sword. A killer. Joron knew enough to know a killer when he saw one. Hag’s curse, he was no duellist.
Think.
He needed a leveller. He coughed. Spat.
“You want entertainment, right?” His voice felt thin, small. But it was heard.
“Aye,” said Cahanny.
“Well, Meas mentioned I have new boots, and the fight will not last a turn of the glass if I wear them.”
“I doubt it will last even a quarter-turn,” said Cahanny. “It is the blood that I like to see, if I tell the truth.”
“But would you not like it to take a little longer? For the loser to bleed a little more?”
“Take your boots off then, if you wish a moment more of life,” said Cahanny. “It is not a hard puzzle to solve.”
“But my feet are still sore hurt, and your woman is in rude health. It will still not be even near a fair fight.”
“It was never going to be that.” Cahanny and his men laughed.
Meas gazed at him, her tongue exploring her upper teeth in thought. Was there amusement in her eyes? Did she laugh at the prospect of his death?
“Do you have some proposal, Deckkeeper?” she said.
“Ey. I do, Shipwife. Make her wear my boots,” said Joron. He knelt and started taking them off.
“Wear your . . .” Cahanny looked at him, then at Anzir. A smile crossed his face. “Well, let it not be said Mulvan Cahanny organises an unfair fight or passes over a chance for real amusement. Anzir, put on his boots.”
“They are too small,” she said.
“Do I need to cut off your toes then, so you know to obey my orders?”
She shook her head, hooked her sword on to her belt and took the boots from Joron. He watched as she sat down and forced her feet into them – it was plain they were a poor fit. He felt Meas behind him.
She whispered into his ear.
“I have always taught that if you cannot fight well, fight clever. This is cleverly done, Joron, but she will still be dangerous, so do not be overconfident. Force her to move a lot and when she falls, that is your moment.” He nodded. “One more thing.” He looked round at her and she slapped him hard across the face. “A little pain is good for clearing gossle from the system, Twiner, and you are plainly under its influence. Now, go to it. Fight well.”
Anzir stood and took a couple of steps, her balance off. Everything in Joron screamed at him to attack her straight away, the way he had with Meas when they first met. But she had not even drawn her sword yet, and he was sure that to attack before she was ready would mean neither him nor Meas ever left Boneship’s Rest.
“Unhook your blades,” said Cahanny. They obeyed, Joron’s arm feeling like something alien to him as it took on the weight of the curnow.
Opposite him Anzir unhooked her blade but did not move, only planted herself and waited, short blade in one hand, small shield on her other arm. He was tempted to test her, but Meas had moved around the circle so she stood behind Anzir, and as he took a step forward she shook her head. So Joron took a step back and waited. It was not a long wait. The expectant silence of the spectators changed to something else. First catcalls, then jeers as the two combatants stood, unmoving.
“Hag’s tits, Anzir,” came the shout from a woman in the crowd. “Finish him. It’s plain he barely knows one end of a sword from the other.” Anzir did not move, she simply watched him from deep blue eyes. Her hair was shorn close to the skull apart from three braids falling from the top of her head. The crowd started to chant her name.
Cahanny looked bored.
“Kill him, Anzir,” he said. “We do not have all day.” Anzir swallowed, and Joron knew she did not want to move, that she felt unsafe in the unfamiliar boots. But she had been given an order and, like any good soldier, she obeyed.
The woman went for a straight attack, reckoning on Joron’s lack of skill to let her in close to finish him. And she would have been right to do so – usually, but fear inhabited Joron, it set his nerves jangling and his legs and arms felt like they would jump from his body while at the same time he could not move. He was rooted to the spot, not by the woman’s advance – and she came on as death, deadly as the Hag’s judgement – but by Meas’s gaze.
Anzir’s sword came up.
Joron felt the Hag’s breath on the back of his neck.
The noise of the room rushing in his ears.
Meas’s mouth opened, and the command “Move!” danced in the air, a song between them.
That word gave permission to his frozen body to do what he wanted, as if it were the wind that made him fly. He leaped to the side. Anzir’s sword punched through the space in the air he had left, and she staggered forward, trying to right herself only to be betrayed by the boots. She could not keep her balance. Joron, with the speed fear lent him, was on her, bringing his curnow down on the back of her neck, but, at the very last, he pulled the stroke and used the flat of the blade rather than its edge. The impact knocked Anzir to the floor, and then his blade rested on her neck. The crowd’s screams for blood faded as Mulvan Cahanny started to clap – slow, single handclaps.
“Well, finish her then, Deckkeeper.”
“There is no need,” said Joron. “I have won. My father once told me a senseless death will follow you right to the bottom of the ocean for the Hag to see. So I will not cause one.”
“I will have a crowd with me when I meet the Hag then,” said Cahanny. “But this is your victory. Take it how you will.”
“I will have my boots,” he said to the woman on the floor. She rolled over, looked up at him and nodded. Joron turned to Mulvan Cahanny. “And now you will bring Black Orris to my shipwife. As you promised.”
“Aye.” Cahanny smiled. “Bring Black Orris then,” he said.
A man vanished into a back room and when he returned there was a large black bird on his arm.
“What is that?” said Joron.
“Black Orris,” said Meas.
“Hag’s tits!” squawked the bird.
They left Boneship’s Rest and made their way back to Fishmarket, Black Orris perched on Meas’s shoulder.
“I risked my life for a bird,” said Joron, an anger simmering within him as he pushed past the women and men of Bernshulme, eager and impatient to be about their business.
“Not just any bird, Twiner. Black Orris. Mevans would tell you he is lucky.”
“Arses,” said Black Orris.
“A foul-mouthed bird.”
“Your arses,” said Black Orris.
“Oh indeed,” said Meas. “None more foul-mouthed. He is a corpsebird, from the far northern isles. We picked him up when the Arakeesian Dread stopped there. Mevans taught him to talk, and the entire crew considered Black Orris a symbol of their ship.”
“It is just a bird,” said Joron.
“Arses.”
“Never, Joron Twiner, underestimate what morale can do for a crew. You look at Tide Child’s crew and you fear them. Rightly, I may add.” Meas threaded her way through the crowds. “They had no respect for you, still mostly don’t. But Black Orris will make those who believe a bird can be lucky – and many do – fight all the better. And among those of my old crew, though they may not be many now, when they find out you fought to bring Black Orris to them, well, they will feel much kindness towards you.”
“And how will they know?” said Joron. “I cannot tell them. It would be like I boasted, and all deckchilder hate a boaster.”
“Have you forgotten that we trail a new crew member?”
Joron glanced over his shoulder. He had indeed forgotten about Gavith; the boy barely spoke.
“He was outside.”
“No, he was not. The two on the door had no wish to miss a fight and brought him in with them. I am sure the boy will not be slow to tell the story of how he came aboard the ship, and of the fierce battle his deckkeeper fought to save Black Orris. How, despite most w
ould think him outmatched, he fought anyway and won through his wits.” Meas stopped and turned to the boy. “Ey, Gavith? Will you do that?” The boy swallowed and nodded. “You do understand what I mean?”
“Yes, Shipwife. I am not to tell but I am to tell.”
“That is it,” she said. Then leaned in closer to him. “But if you ever speak of things you hear around the great cabin without my permission, I will have the skin corded from your back. You understand that too?”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Aye, Shipwife.”
“On a ship we say. Ey. Boy. Aye is a stonebound term, right?”
“Aye, I mean ey.”
“Good, now make your way to the fleet dock, find the bonewrights and ask for Bonemaster Coxward, tell him you are my cabin boy and ask what work he has for you. If you have any family they need to know your situation, so ask him to send a messenger. Tell him any cost will come out of my purse.” The boy stared blankly at her. “Well? Go! And stop for nothing and no one.” And he went, vanishing into the crowd.
“Do you think we will ever see him again?” said Joron.
“We are not far from the fleet dock. It is unlikely Tassar will intercept him between here and there.”
“I mean he may choose simply to run.”
She shrugged.
“Then in that case I will not mourn him. He is unlikely to last the night without us, and I value intelligence in my crew, even in the least of them.” She glanced at him and he felt his resentment rise like a winter tide. “Now come. I think we are followed, and I would find out by who. It will be quieter nearer the docks, make them easier to see.”
“How do you know we are followed?” said Joron. Meas stared over his shoulder into the crowd.
“You get a feel for such things, Twiner.”
“Arses,” said Black Orris.
They turned for the docks. The first sign they approached the deep-water harbour where the bigger ships docked was the sight of their spines rising above the blocky tenements that fronted the harbour. Then came a noticeable thinning of the crowds. The people they did meet were nearly all heading away from the docks, no doubt having attended the sacrifice of the child Joron had seen earlier. Many had the bloody fingerprint on their forehead where the hagpriests had blessed them. Women and men chattered excitedly as they passed, but Meas gave them no attention, keeping her head down.