The Bone Ship's Wake

by Rj Barker

  Message delivered and they flew on to the rendezvous, and each day they flew the Hundred Isles fleet grew as more ships joined them. Meas continued to alternate between the woman he knew and a woman trapped in a deep darkness that he did not. At those times she seemed insensible to him and he could not break through to her.

  “I do hear you, Joron,” she said one day.

  “Sorry, Shipwife?”

  “When you speak to me, and I seem lost.” She was looking at him, but also looking past him. The way you unfocused your eyes in mist, to try and catch movement out on the water within the thick clouds. “But it is as if my mind is becalmed and I cannot get enough wind in my wings to reply; it is worse when there is nothing to do, this mental becalming.” He nodded.

  “I will ask one of the deckchilder who brings our food for some dice,” he said. She nodded, but he did not think dice would be enough to distract her and, in any case, even when he asked none were brought.

  And they flew on, Joron always listening to the action on the deck above him, the ringing of bells, shouting of orders, hoping for some clue as to their position and how much further to the meeting with his ships. Talking of what he had heard with Meas when she was with him, thinking of how to reach her when she was lost in her darkness. Talking to her of Mevans, of Coughlin and of Coxward and the many others lost along the way – of the crew who remained and how they had fared without their shipwife. His own darkness threatened to overwhelm him, worry about the Gullaime, worry about their plan, worry about the growing sores on his back and face, worry about the madness the rot brought. He understood why Meas was so lost in inaction. Felt despair lapping against his consciousness.

  “Joron!” The voice calling to him from the surface, while he dreamed of drifting beneath the waves. “Joron!” Rising and rising to answer the echoes of a voice suspended in the sea, a memory held in water. “Joron?” Eyes open. Meas’s face above him in the dark.

  “Ey, Shipwife?” The words automatic, even though he was barely awake.

  “Shh,” she said, “listen.” He did, sitting up as she leaned back. Heard the knock of varisk on bone, heard soft feet moving across slate, heard hushed voices and movement at the side of the ship.

  “Taking on cargo? More crew?” She shrugged then moved over to the bowpeek.

  “I am sure it is on the other side,” she said, “but curiosity demands I look.” She pushed the hatch out a little and Joron went to join her. No flukeboat there, or clue to what was happening. Only the ghostly glow of the bone hull, stretching out behind them, and the luminescent trail of night-time creatures, alarmed and shining to show the warship’s passage. In the distance he saw the glow of corpselights from the rest of the fleet.

  “Must be thirty ships or more out there now.” He put his head back in and Meas let the bowpeek shut.

  “Ey,” she said. “Brekir would be wise to stay away when she sees how many ships are here. I do not think Karrad means her, or I, to escape.”

  “He promised,” said Joron, “he needs my cooperation.” Meas shrugged.

  “Were I in his position, and of his temperament, I would let our fleet go, take you away from here. Then hunt them down once you were over the horizon, and how would you know any different?”

  “Deckchilder talk,” said Joron, “I would find out eventually.” Meas nodded.

  “Ey, which makes me suspect that, even were we to do as he wanted, you would not live long. He only really needs the threat of you to make the Gaunt Islanders back off. His eye is on Bernshulme and his power there.” She looked at him. “He cares for little else and does not forgive a slight; among the Kept grudges are a matter of honour and it is a hard habit to break, I reckon. They have not learned the reward of forgiveness.” She sat down and he realised he was losing her. “It is hard thing to do,” she said, voice fading, “to forgive.”

  When he woke the next morning, to the same breakfast of porridge they had been served every day, he found Meas pacing the small cabin. She did not pace out of boredom though, not pacing like a caged animal. She smiled to herself as she walked, one hand holding her bowl, the other a spoon. Back and forth, back and forth.

  “You feel it, Joron?” she said.

  “Feel what?”

  “Try it,” she said, “stand on the deck, and take your boot off.” He did, sliding the boot off his good leg, feeling self-conscious as he had tried to keep his boots on until it was dark. He had taken to sleeping in them so she did not see the sores on his leg. But she paid no attention to the sores, nor his hisses of pain as the boots pulled away scabs. Then he stood. Felt the cold of the deck on his foot. Felt the ship around him, its movements transferred to his body through his leg and his bone spur.

  “Choppy,” he said, waited a moment, listened, “but the wind doesn’t seem to be getting up.”

  “Ey,” Meas grinned at him, “and listen more, wait for it, wait.” He listened, as the ship bucked and twisted in subtle ways most would not notice, just enough to let him know it did not run as smoothly as it once had. He heard deckchilder shouting, heard the ever-present chatter of the gullaime they had brought from Bernshulme below, heard the shipwife shouting. But was there an edge there now, something brittle, as though he were stretched, angry – no, not angry. Frustrated. “You hear it?” she asked.

  “I do,” he said, “and I feel the ship too, something is not right here.”

  “I think we are near our destination,” Meas said.

  “What makes you think so, Shipwife?” She grinned, and he would never have believed that lost soul he saw just the other evening could live within her. This was his shipwife, full of energy, full of hope and knowledge and sure in herself.

  “Ship does not run well, as you say. His Shipwife is all on edge and I reckon I know why.”

  “And why is that, Shipwife?” He could not keep the grin from his face. This was his Meas, all thought and knowledge of the sea and the ships that flew it.

  “I cannot be sure, you understand.” She raised a hand to his face, pointing at him. Her one eye full of life and light.

  “Of course.” She nodded back, the grin still on her face.

  “Last night, what we heard?” He nodded. “They were changing crew, taking off deckchilder, bringing on seaguard.”

  “That is why the ship runs badly,” he said.

  “And why Barnt is so out of sorts,” she smiled.

  “Why risk the running of the ship?”

  “Because they have a big fleet to call on, and they do not think the risk is from our fleet. But they still expect some sort of trick. Maybe that we will try and storm this ship, though I doubt they will allow more than an honour guard aboard. Definitely not enough to take a ship.”

  “But they are being careful.”

  “Ey,” said Meas. “They are.”

  A knock on the cabin door.

  “One moment,” said Joron, “I am not yet fully dressed.” He pulled on his boot, wrapped the scarf around his face to hide the shame of his disease before nodding to Meas. She opened the door. Behind it stood the ship’s deckholder, a smartly dressed woman called Vertis.

  “The shipwife wishes to see you both on deck,” she said. Meas said nothing, only stared at the woman. “Are you deaf?” said the deckholder.

  “I have a rank,” said Meas without moving, iron in her voice, “and so does Joron. And we outrank you, D’older, so I would ask you to address us correctly.” Vertis looked them over.

  “You both look Berncast to me, and the imperfect hold no rank in the Hundred Isles, so do as I say.”

  “I will not,” said Meas. “Now decide if you wish to inconvenience your shipwife with unneeded delay, or if you will act as an officer should and show the courtesy required to your superiors.” Vertis stood there a moment, anger radiating off her, and then she stepped back and gave a mocking bow.

  “Please, make your way to the deck, Shipwife,” she said, but there was little respect in her tone. Meas ignored it, her point having bee
n made.

  “Come, Deckkeeper,” she said. “I fancy a walk, it has done my mood no good to be stuck in that little cabin for so long.” She gave Vertis a smile and swept past, followed by Joron, who did not even give the woman a glance. Up through the ship, the dark underdeck, into the bright light of the maindeck. Meas glanced around, smiling to herself as she saw the crew was mainly men, mainly seaguard just as she had surmised. Barnt stood on the rump of the ship with his deckkeeper, Tassar and Cwell. Tassar stared at Joron, and there was clear hatred there.

  Meas did not immediately make her way to the rump and the waiting shipwife. Instead she paused. Glanced to landward where the rest of Karrad’s fleet could be seen, holding station on the horizon. As she counted the masts Joron came to stand beside her, he looked out to seaward, joy rising within in him at what he saw there, but he did not speak, did not comment. Only waited for his shipwife to turn, for her to see the huge dark shape that sat at its seastay on the still water of the ocean, her Tide Child.

  When she turned she did not react, not immediately, it was more as if she simply stopped, took in a sharp breath. “Oh,” she said. Became utterly still, as if by not moving or breathing she could make this moment last longer. This golden moment, the crests of the wavelets and the tops of the black ship gilded by the light of Skearith’s Eye. The only noise the chink of rigging and the lonely cry of skeers. Then she spoke, not to Joron, not to the seaguard around her, or to any of those stood around on the slate. Words said only to herself as she stared at the black ship.

  “I never thought to see you again,” she said, a half smile on her thin lips.

  It looked to Joron as if Meas stood a little straighter, put on another set of armour at the sight of her command, grew just a little taller at the proximity of her ship. She nodded toward it, then laughed to herself. “I like to think they can see me, Joron,” she said. “A foolishness.” But Joron did not think so, he had no doubt that every eye on that ship was locked upon Wyrm Sither, hoping for a glimpse of their shipwife. Joron in turn stared over the water, hoping for sight of the Gullaime and his watching was rewarded with a flash of bright robes, a movement not quite human that he felt sure was his strange friend. Now his turn to smile, though he had little time for enjoyment. Meas was striding up the ship, invigorated. Barnt met her with a nod. Joron and Meas had whispered of this moment, rehearsed their positions, decided what they could and couldn’t live with and the best way to get the things they absolutely must have.

  “Signal for my flukeboat, Barnt,” said Meas immediately, “and I will go over to my ship then send back the Gullaime.” Barnt seemed taken aback for a moment. Did not speak, only stared at Meas.

  “I am not used to being ordered about on my own ship,” he said. Meas dropped her gaze to the deck.

  “Forgive me, Shipwife Barnt, I forget my place as prisoner. Old habits die hard, ey?”

  “Indeed.” Barnt looked at her. “And I am not so foolish as to simply send you across so you can raise your ship’s wings and fly away.” Meas looked up.

  “It insults me,” said Meas, “that you believe I would run away and leave behind a member of my crew who has done so much for me.”

  “My apologies,” said Barnt, “I thought it common knowledge that you ran away.” He let the insult hang in the air for a moment. “I will send Cwell across.” And Joron felt cold, would they trust Cwell aboard Tide Child? He was not sure.

  “Will not work,” said Cwell. “Some deckchild on an island may take my word, but whoever commands Tide Child will want to speak to another officer.” She spat on the deck. “Right stuck-up lot they are, pretending they be fleet and all.” Barnt stared at her, touched the scar on his face as he considered this, then turned back to Joron and Meas.

  “Very well,” he said. “My flukeboat will take Twiner across, he will return with the gullaime and then we will let you go back to your ship.” Meas nodded, as if considering this.

  “What if he runs?” said Cwell. Barnt grinned at her.

  “After all that work he has done to get Meas back? No, and we also know how much that gullaime cares for its kin.” He looked down the deck. “Deckmother! Bring up those gullaime we have stored below so it can see what we offer.” The deckmother nodded and called a group of seaguard to her before heading down to the hold.

  “If I may make a suggestion before I leave?” said Joron.

  “You may make one,” said Barnt, smiling at Joron, so confident in his position on the ship. “I do not guarantee I will listen.” The first of the gullaime was brought on deck, part of a long line, chained at the foot to the next one. Around them came windshorn, and what struck Joron as odd, so odd he did not speak for a moment, was their silence. He had very rarely seen gullaime be truly silent.

  “I have two suggestions,” he said. “You are obviously familiar with gullaime?”

  “Only as much as I have to be to work my ship, but yes, I know their ways.”

  “Well, you will know how foolish and skittish they can be.”

  Barnt nodded, “Were we not here to look after them, I am sure they would throw themselves into the sea.”

  “Exactly,” said Joron. “Well, Tide Child’s gullaime is the very shipwife of such foolishness. It is stubborn, resentful, capricious and most of all, suspicious.”

  “I do not doubt it,” said Barnt, and Joron smiled, for in many ways what he had told the man was true.

  “Well, firstly, if you send your boat I doubt it will get into it. It prizes familiarity above all things. It will be far quicker for you to allow Tide Child to send a boat across for me, then I will go back and bring the Gullaime.”

  “Can it not just bring the Gullaime straight to us?”

  “It will need convincing,” said Joron. “And for that you must send either Meas or myself.” Barnt let out a small laugh.

  “You wish to get some of your deckchilder on my ship,” said Barnt. “I am no fool.” Joron looked about him.

  “You think my flukeboat’s crew of ten are capable of taking on all these seaguard? I am flattered,” said Joron and Meas chimed in.

  “I am surprised you have such little faith in your own people, Shipwife.” If Barnt realised he was being manipulated he did not show it, remained aloof.

  “There is no fear of your rabble on my ship,” he said.

  “What he says is true,” said Cwell, “the creature is ungovernable and will answer only to him or the woman.” It seemed that the world paused for a moment while Barnt considered this. It would not destroy their plan if they did not have their own people in the boat, the gullaime were what counted, but Joron would feel a whole lot more comfortable with some of those he knew backing him up. Then Barnt sighed.

  “If it will speed up the transfer then by all means, I will signal for your boat.” Joron nodded.

  “Thank you,” he said. “There is one other thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “The Gullaime is more likely to come across if its people are not chained.”

  “How would it know? It cannot see.”

  “I ask you to send some across with me, as a goodwill gesture. Let them tell it.” He leaned in closer. “I know you have no love for me, but anything that will placate the creature on my ship is worthwhile. That is if you do not want to have to explain to Karrad why this exchange fell apart.” Barnt stared at Joron, plainly frustrated.

  “Very well,” he said, “Deckkeeper, have the gullaime unchained and sort out a windtalker to go with Twiner to his ship.” He lowered his voice. “But know this, Twiner. I will have your shipwife stood by me, and at the first hint you plan some sort of treachery, I will put a crossbow bolt in her head, you understand?”

  “I do, Shipwife,” he said with small bow.

  “Good,” he said. “Then I will have the signal made to bring your flukeboat across.”

  40

  The Boarding of Wyrm Sither

  Joron left the deck of Wyrm Sither, needing help from Solemn Muffaz to find his place in
the flukeboat that bobbed alongside, bringing condescending grins from those aboard the bigger ship, but Joron did not care. He only knew that the touch of Solemn Muffaz’s great sturdy hand on his arm as he was helped toward the beak felt like coming home, and caused something that had been wound tight within him to loosen, just a little. The big man did not meet his eye and Joron realised he must get used to command again. Without speaking Joron stood in the beak of the small boat and he did not look back at the white ship behind him, or at Cwell and his shipwife on its rump as the windtalker was brought aboard. He focused on the black ship before him, and the crew that lined its rails, silently watching as the flukeboat rowed across the sea between them, causing panic to the tiny fish and creatures scudding below.

  There was a strange tension on that flukeboat, and he reckoned that every deckchild at the oar was expecting to hear the echo of commands from behind as one of Wyrm Sither’s gallowbows was spun up, the unmistakeable order of betrayal. But Joron had no worry of such a thing. What they believed he had was worth too much for them to simply betray him, no matter how much Barnt and the Kept, Tassar, may like to see him floundering in the water as food for longthresh. Stroke by stroke they approached Tide Child and Joron was gladdened to see many faces he knew among them, and saddened by thoughts of Mevans, who he would not see until he sat at the Hag’s bonefire to beg his forgiveness.

  Solemn Muffaz preceded him onto the ship, then eager hands helped him up and he was brought aboard with the confused windtalker from Wyrm Sither. Once more Joron stood in his rightful place on the deck of Tide Child. He looked the ship up and down, saw new gallowbows well and smartly trussed, the slate clean enough to eat from, the wings furled and well kept, rigging chinking and chattering and swaying in the growing breeze. On the rump stood Brekir and the Gullaime in her colourful robes, which made his heart sing. Madorra skulked behind, a haunt of misfortune. With them was Farys, dressed in the hat and blue jacket of a deckholder and it pleased Joron mightily that Brekir had seen fit to clothe her so. To recognise her officially, a thing he, as only deckkeeper, had never been able to do. He saw Gavith, one-armed now, but still busy at a task by the bonerail. He wanted to greet him, say how happy he was that he had recovered well enough to be back on deck but he did not manage to catch his eye. It was ever natural that, for a deckchilder to avoid an officer’s gaze. Even so Joron felt a stab of pain as he had thought Gavith more familiar with him, had half pegged him as a prospective hatkeep and for him to take such a position he would need to be less shy of officers, just as Mevans had been.