by R J Barker
Dinyl nodded and Joron thought it strange that the man who had seemed so sure of himself on the docks, who had far more experience than Joron, should look so uneasy on the rump of the ship despite his fine clothes and experience.
When the flukeboat came round, Meas dropped down the side of the ship like there were no obstacles; no hooks or spines or spikes. Joron followed, slowly and carefully, every foot placed with care, every hand also.
“Look lively, Joron, Tide Child won’t bite those who serve him.” Of course this was a lie; with his many serrations and barbs he most assuredly would. But then Joron was in the boat, thanks to a helping hand from Mevans, who then went to join his picked deckchilder at the oars. “Row for the first of the two-ribbers, the one called Cruel Water,” said Meas quietly.
“You know these black ships?” said Joron.
“I know one of them. The first is Cruel Water under Shipwife Arrin, a good man. The other I do not know, but they have seen our intent and also lower a boat. We made good time to this place, Joron, better than I expected, but I would have this meeting over as quickly as possible and be on our way. The less time the three ships spend close enough for deckchilder to shout to one another, the happier I will be.”
“I was surprised you brought both me and Mevans if I am honest, Shipwife. Cwell holds no love for you.” She turned to him, and for a moment her eyes were full of fury and he did not understand why, but it faded as she saw the sense in his words.
“You think my crew may mutiny while we are away? It is possible, but not yet, I think. And Cahanny wants his cargo delivered, so for now we can rely on those he sent. Besides, the deckchilder have enjoyed working the bows each day. That will buy us a fair amount of goodwill no matter how Cwell and her cronies may whisper. So for today I do not worry unduly.”
“Very well, Shipwife.”
“There is one thing I ask of you, Deckkeeper. Mevans, I enrol you in this also.”
“Trouble is it, Shipwife?” said Mevans, leaning in towards them. “You have the sound of trouble in your voice.”
“Maybe. I do not know yet. I want to know what that cargo is that Cahanny brought aboard my ship.”
“They guard it day and night,” said Joron as the oars of the flukeboat beat the sea.
“They do,” said Mevans. “They even have a man who sleeps on the damn things, down in the hold amid the stink. It does no one any good to sleep in the hold. He’ll catch greenleg or blacklung, you mark my words.”
“I did not ask for your words,” said Meas, her voice stark. “I do not care what they do and don’t do. I asked you to do a thing and I expect you to do it. Do you understand?”
“Ey, Shipwife.” The two men said the words together.
“And how goes it with the gullaime, Joron?”
“I have had trouble gathering all the things it—” he began.
Meas stopped him with a glare.
“Do not think I have not noticed you about the windtalker, Joron Twiner, and how it makes you nervous as a laying-night virgin. You think you are the only one who finds the beasts unnatural?” She did not let him reply. “You will never gather all it asked for, so take the windtalker what you have, first chance when we return to the ship, and find a way to make it like you.”
“Like me? But—”
“I say the same to you as I said to Mevans. I do not ask what you think of a thing, I only ask that you do it.”
The conversation ended as Mevans and his small crew, in perfect unison, lifted their oars so all four stuck straight up into the air, and the flukeboat coasted to a gentle stop against the side of Cruel Water. A rope was thrown down, and a ladder followed it to help them up the tumblehome. “Mevans, wait here. Twiner, come with me.” Meas grabbed the ladder and pulled herself up. Joron followed, trying not to think about the spikes and spears of bone erupting from the side of Cruel Water, and though none could say he did a creditable job of scaling the ship’s side he did not embarrass Tide Child either.
Joron did not know what he had expected of a Gaunt Islands ship – skulls and bones and rotting flesh, perhaps – but what awaited him was as far from his imagination as possible.
The shipwife, Arrin, was a tall thin man whose uniform of fishskin and birdleather was dyed a deep, deep blue. Joron had expected them to not have uniforms, to wear rags maybe, but though the cut of his coat was different and the patterns embroidered into his trousers and his two-tailed hat were silver, it would have been easy for him to mistake the shipwife for a Hundred Islander.
Apart from one thing. The man was missing half his right leg and walked upon a limb carved from varisk. Such a thing would never be allowed in the Hundred Isles – a one-legged man commanding a ship – and it was all Joron could do not to stare.
Meas stopped before him and touched her hat. Even a week ago Joron had still thought of that hat as his, but she had opened his eyes to what he should be and how much he lacked, and now he found it difficult to imagine that hat sitting comfortably on his head. Arrin’s deckkeeper stood behind him – a small, squat woman wearing the same shade of blue and a one-tail hat, her hair sticking out from beneath the hat and the colours of command shining in it, freshly dyed. The crew that awaited Meas and Joron were also dressed in blue. They were not tidy – their clothes were mixed and matched and poorly dyed – but despite this they presented a strangely uniform appearance, and if they did indeed eat children, Joron thought this crew the smartest group of child eaters he had ever seen.
“Arrin,” said Meas, clasping the man’s forearm.
“Meas.” He returned the gesture. “I fair did not believe it when I was told you commanded a black ship.”
“Well, life is full of surprises, Arrin, as you well know.” She turned to his deckkeeper. “Oswire,” she said. “Well met.”
“Well met, Shipwife,” said Oswire, but there was frost in her words.
“Shipwife Brekir comes across from the Snarltooth.” Arrin leaned in close to Meas but Joron caught his words on a tricksy zephyr of salt-rimed wind. “She knows who you are, but not what we are about, not yet. And neither do my crew outside of Oswire and a few I trust.”
Meas nodded, and as she did Shipwife Brekir, a tall woman with a scarred, dark-skinned face, climbed over the rail. That surprised Joron too – to see the mirror of his own skin when he had thought all Gaunt Islanders were pale as clouds.
“Do you plan without me?” she said, her accent strange in Joron’s ears, her tone morose as if she believed the world existed simply to put obstacles in her way.
“Not at all,” said Arrin. “We wait for you, and now you are arrived I will have my hatkeep bring food and drink to my cabin.”
The meeting was swift, the food good, though Brekir was a damp presence at the table and talked of little but what her ship and crew were lacking, and how this held her back. However, when Meas told Brekir what they searched for he saw the woman’s eyes widen, and her face – which had borne an expression that seemed frozen at some particularly trying part of her life – showed some excitement.
“Well, I see why we must protect it, though I reckon every woman and man with a ship will be set against us.”
“You are right in that, Brekir,” said Meas. “But I can help us in that. Tide Child carries a gullaime of rare power, and against all but fleet ships that will give us the advantage once we have found our quarry.”
“And how do we do that?” said Arrin.
“I shall show you.” And then it was all charts and talking. Meas explained how she intended to find “the quarry” as they quickly decided to refer to the sea dragon. “See here.” She pointed at the chart with a knife. “From where we know the quarry was first sighted it will stick to deep water where it can, for that is where its prey is: saw arms, sunfish, hullbiters and the like.”
“Hag save us from hullbiters,” said Arrin, “I once had one attach to Cruel Water, and it was half through the hull before we got it off. Killed four of my crew too.”
“A hard way to die,” said Brekir, “but is there any other way in the isles?”
“The only deep-water channel in this areas is here, at Flensechannel, which runs toward Skearith’s Spine, and if we search, line abreast, I reckon our topboys will be able to see the ship nearest to them and cover the channel from isle to isle.”
“We will have to tell our crews what we look for,” said Arrin. “Otherwise they may not believe their eyes. It is not a thing we can keep secret.”
Meas nodded.
“You are right, Arrin. And that excitement may stop them wondering too much about the other black ships. It could work to our advantage.”
“If they believe us at all,” said Brekir.
“What crew does not believe the words of its shipwife, ey?” Meas smiled at Brekir who nodded back, though with little commitment.
“Time is our enemy now,” said Arrin.
“It is indeed,” said Meas. “Joron, ready my flukeboat. We return to Tide Child and start the search here. We will sail between Cruel Water and Snarltooth. Our ship is the tallest and our topboys can cover the greatest area of sea. It’ll be a day until we reach Flensechannel so that will give us time to practise flying in formation.”
“And what of night?” said Brekir.
“We’ll slow but all have lights and oil so we can make sure we are seen. And I reckon a keyshan is big enough to show up even at night.”
“Dangerous to have fire and oil so near a ship’s wings,” said Brekir.
“Dangerous to be on the crew of a black ship – lethal, most would say,” said Arrin.
Brekir stared at him, tapping the table.
“What if the mist comes in?”
“We must simply hope it does not, Shipwife Brekir,” said Meas, “or our mission could be over before it even starts. Now, I first heard this creature called the wakewyrm, which is as good name for it as any other.”
“Wakewyrm,” said Arrin, standing. He winced as he transferred his weight to the wooden leg to give Meas a salute, hand across his breast. “It is a good name.” Then he turned to Joron. “You are wondering about my leg? Why I am not a tailor or stonebound?” Joron nodded at the Gaunt Islander shipwife. “We do not cast away our damaged and wounded like you do.” Was this an insult? Joron did not know the man well enough to read him, not yet.
“Do you say you are better than us?” he asked.
Arrin smiled and shook his head.
“There are those on this ship who definitely believe so.” His eyes flicked to his deckkeeper but his smile did not falter. He laughed quietly at the look Oswire gave him.
With that the meeting was over. Meas flung herself down the side of the ship with her usual abandon. Joron followed, careful with his feet and hands until he sat safe in the fluke-boat and Mevans gave the signal to leave.
Four oars cut into the water, stirring the surface and sending the life beneath darting away in terror at this strange, large creature that passed over them. The crew of the flukeboat remained unaware of the fear their passage caused the tiny creatures of the brine beneath, and if they had been aware they would have been uninterested. They may not have known what was to come, but they were experienced deckchilder and knew the feel of action, knew something was coming, how it made the air come alive with tension. They felt that and it pleased them. Mevans glanced at the woman who rowed opposite him and they shared a smile and a nod because, though action brings its own terrors and the possibility of pain and maiming and death, it can also be addictive. It is a feast that once tasted is never forgotten, and the women and men of Meas’s crew had supped at that table often. Since losing her they had been starved.
Up the tumblehome of Tide Child, Joron a mite more comfortable with the climb, a little more familiar, and when they stood on the slate deck there was a small contingent ready to meet them, led by Dinyl.
“Welcome back, Shipwife,” said Dinyl, hand to breast and a small bow which Joron did his best to memorise, the formalities of the Bern as much a mystery to him as the bottom of the ocean. If Meas noticed the bow she gave no sign.
“Pull up the seastay,” she said, striding past him to the rump. “Let out his wings.” She glanced to seaward where the pair of two-ribbers were already filling their wings with wind, slowly turning, voices calling back and forth as heavy booms came over and the ships leaned into the air “Put us between those two ships. Cruel Water is nearest; the other is named Snarltooth. I want the sharpest-eyed topboys on the spinepoint, Deckholder.”
“Ey, Shipwife,” Dinyl said. “Hasrin says she knows Cruel Water from when she was deckkeeper, says it was lost to the Gaunt Islanders.” He licked his lips, the warning given to Meas. “She also has been wondering about the other ship, saying she does not recognise it from her time in command.”
“And you did not quieten her?” said Meas. A rebuke.
“I was—” He paused, looking for the words, and Joron stepped in.
“—waiting for facts, Shipwife. Better to give the crew facts than guess.”
“Hasrin,” said Mevans loudly, “has been in the hulks for a year, so she could not know that Cruel Water was taken back last year. Snarltooth was on far north station, so it’s little wonder few have heard of him.”
“Mevans knows his ships,” said Meas, “so if there are further questions, Dinyl, you can quiet them now.”
Dinyl nodded and stepped back, giving Joron a quickly mouthed “Thank you” as he turned away.
“Who has good eyes, Joron?” Meas said then.
“Farys.” He said her name loudly enough for her to come running. “You have good eyes. Who else?”
“Gulbry, D’keeper, and Karring.”
“Good, find them. You’ll each do two hours on and two hours off on the mainspine perch, to keep your eyes fresh. Scan the sea and watch for signals from the other two ships that they have seen something.”
“Is it a ship we’re looking for, D’keeper?” she said.
“No. Meas will tell us what we search for soon enough. First call the seakeep and tell her to get the wings set, then the shipwife will call us to the rump.”
And so Tide Child unfurled his wings and caught the wind, and the ship slowly turned as the seastay came up, and all around Joron the women and men of the ship pulled on ropes and tied off wings and sang the songs of the deckchilder as the ship did their bidding. Once they had him on course, some wings were taken in, others unfurled by lines of crew standing along the spars. As Cruel Water flew around them towards his station they cheered the smaller ship and his crew cheered back. It filled Joron with worry that the two crews would call to one another, but the ships never came close enough for a word to be understood or an accent questioned, and they flew no flags to be recognised by. Only the blue clothing of Cruel Water’s deckchilder stood out, but shipwives were known for such eccentricities and few even commented on it.
Once Tide Child sat once more with only his top wings out, making a slow and stately white path through the water, Meas called her crew together.
“Come, come, my crew! Stand before your shipwife and hear her talk. Hear what great thing you are to be part of. A making of history, no more or less. So stand and listen quiet for you may not believe what your ears hear.”
At this the shuffling and stuttering chatter that was always part of a crowd died away. Even those men sent by Cahanny, sitting indolent by the beak, sat up a little straighter. Even Cwell and her motley crew of malcontents shuffled a little nearer the rump.
“We have heard that a miracle has happened, my girls and boys, a miracle of high and strange order.” She held them rapt before her for there was nothing a deckchild loved more than a tale of mystery. Even Joron moved a little closer, as if to share the way she held the crew hypnotised, as if a little of the magic in her voice may rub off on him. “We hear tell of the times of the sea dragons, when the keyshans roved the waters of the Scattered Archipelago, taking whatever beast they wished, and all feared them, ey?”
“E
y, Shipwife,” came the reply.
“Well, maybe not all feared them, ey? Not the the women and men of the Hundred Isles. And maybe, they say now, we should have feared them a little more, for none remain. And because we have lost the arakeesians, no new boneships are built, no great boneships of five or six ribs break the water. We recycle what we have, building smaller and smaller, becoming less and less as the weight of bone we have ebbs with every generation.” She jumped her gaze from woman to man and man to woman, making some uncomfortable, some proud, some shy, some surprised she even knew they existed. “Well, that is no more.” She stood straighter on the rump. “An arakeesian has been seen.” This brought gasps of disbelief, shock, and then a sudden and excited chatter.
“Are we to hunt it?” And this shout, though everybody must know the danger was great, was full of joy. Why would it not be? To be the first in generations to hunt such a beast, well, that would be to become immortal in the Hundred Isles.
Meas shook her head.
“Tell me, my girls and boys, if you had only a cock and a hen, would you kill one and still expect eggs? Would you kill one and still expect plump birds to eat when Skearith’s Eye is cold, ey? Well would you?”
A chorus of “No” and “Of course not” and plenty more comments that were more ribald. The shipwife pretended not to hear them, and Joron wondered how she planned to change their minds at a later date when they had to kill the beast.
What would they think to find Tide Child flew the ocean to end the world they had always known?
“Exactly, my crew, exactly. But many are not as wise as you and do not think ahead. And you mark my words, they will want to hunt that lone beast, this wakewyrm.”
“Wakewyrm” was whispered, moving through the crew like tide hissing through shingle.
“If one comes,” she said quietly, “who is to say there may not be two? And if there are two then as surely as day follows night they’ll make more, ey? An arakeesian Bern, that would be a fine thing – right, my girls and boys?”