by Rj Barker
Some of the older hands, the most experienced deckchilder, were watching Coult’s ships break away and he knew that if Karrad’s ships moved to intercept, it would not be long before the crew realised what he and Meas had.
“It is hard, is it not, Joron?” He turned to find Aelerin wrapped in a stinker. “That fleet hanging over us like skeers above a corpse.”
“Ey,” he said. “I only wish they would act. It would give me something to do.”
“I would have thought,” said Aelerin, “that a deckkeeper always has something to do.” He smiled at the courser, aware they could not see it under his mask, but would pick it up from his eyes.
“We have trained our crew too well, it seems,” he said and Aelerin laughed. “Are you not busy with our charts?” The courser shrugged.
“The further north we go,” they said, “the less choices our course gives us. I have planned all possible routes.”
“So you, also, have been too efficient?” he asked. Aelerin grinned at him.
“Ey, though I did not work for long before exhausting our opportunities.” Joron leaned in closer to them.
“Do you know where she plans to take us? After…”
“The charts are not complete up here,” said Aelerin quickly. “A shipwife would know the waters better than any chart.”
“That is a very complimentary-to-Meas way of saying ‘no’, Aelerin.”
“It is true though,” said the courser. “Mostly I have charted us escape routes, ways into the those islands to the north-west that will be difficult for Karrad’s bigger ships to traverse. It is hard to find a channel deep enough for us, but not also for their bigger ships.”
“To go into the islands was my idea, I am sorry if it has caused you problems.”
“Come with me,” said Aelerin and he followed them, down into the bowels of the ship and into the courser’s cabin, the walls elaborately decorated with drawings of winds and current. Aelerin took a chart from a rack by their bed and rolled it out on a drop-down table. “At this time in the cycle of years, the Northstorm is far down the archipelago, most of the real ice is consumed by it.”
“How far is the storm’s edge from Namwen’s Pass?”
“Two weeks at most.”
“That does not give us much room.” Aelerin shook their head.
“If we are denied the pass and left with no other choice, we take this channel here, Barcles Bight.” They pointed to a place between two of the bigger north-western islands on the map. “In open sea we will be caught. This channel between islands is deep enough for Tide Child but too shallow for the Arakeesian Dread to follow, as well as being too narrow for ship to ship fighting. Further in it is a mess of small islands.”
“That is good,” said Joron. “They will go around though.”
“Ey, but it will free us of them for a while, I think Meas fears the Dread’s broadside more than the rest of that fleet combined.”
“With good reason,” said Joron. “And what of these islands, Aelerin? When I mentioned it to Meas I was speaking the first thought into my head. You dissembled before, but do you think there is somewhere big enough for us to defend? Live on, even, among them?”
“Not here, no,” they said, “but the shipwife will have a plan.” He nodded, but suspected she did not. Fought back a sudden feeling of helplessness, sure that if the Gaunt Islanders had turned against them they were lost.
“Only the day is undecided,” he said under his breath.
“Sorry, Deckkeeper?” said Aelerin.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just that Meas has not shared anything with me.” He looked away. “Has she told you something?” The courser shrugged. “Aelerin, I will not let her know you shared her confidences, but it would be good to be forewarned.”
“She has told me nothing,” Aelerin added quietly.
“But you have gleaned something from her?” The courser shook their head.
“Nothing more than we already knew, that Meas plans to run the fleet through the edges of the Northstorm.”
“A wrecker’s course,” said Joron.
“Ey,” said the courser, “I think her hope is that they will lose far more ships than we will.”
“It is good to know she rates our seacraft so highly,” said Joron, as he leaned over the table, looking at the chart.
“But storms care naught for skill,” said Aelerin. “And the Northstorm cares less than any other. It is a great risk she takes.”
“Desperate times,” said Joron quietly, “call for desperate measures.” He turned, some sixth sense telling him they were watched, and there in the doorway stood the Gullaime, considering them with her bright eyes. Shorn’s head pushed its way out of her shoulder feathers. The Gullaime blinked twice then turned away, shuffling back to her nest cabin.
“How long do you think she was there for?” asked Aelerin.
“I do not know,” said Joron, “but I wish the Gullaime had not heard that I consider us desperate, she will worry, and I would not have her worry. She tends to pull out her feathers.”
He left Aelerin in their cabin, and as he walked along the underdeck Farys approached with Barlay.
“D’keeper,” she said, “the oarturner would like to show you something.”
“Very well,” said Joron.
“It is in the hold, D’Keeper,” she said and he had to fight not to look crestfallen, not to look worried about whatever new problem they had discovered that was important enough to need his attention.
He left Farys and followed Barlay into the hold, there he found two deckchilder, Stark and Ashton, standing and looking uncomfortable while they waited for him.
“Well,” he said, “what is it?”
“It is only…” began Stark.
“That we have made a thing,” said Ashton, but neither looked at him, instead finding the floor intensely interesting.
“Show him,” said Barlay, “if you cannot bring yourselves to speak to him.” Stark nodded and Joron saw she held a roll of black material. Ashton took one end and they began to unroll it until he saw they had made a pennant. A long, thin triangle of black material. Embroidered upon it was the winding body of a keyshan, tail at the thin end of the flag and head at the thick end. Over one of the keyshan’s many eyes there was a patch and on the patch an eye was picked out in tiny pearls, just like on Meas’s own patch. At first, Joron could not speak, he only stared. Then he knelt to run his hand along the material.
“We made one for each spine,” said Stark. “On the other ships too, childer ’ave been doing the same.”
Joron leaned back on his heels. “How many know about this?”
“Only those involved in the making of ’em,” said Barlay. “Will you ask the shipwife if we can put ’em up?” Joron stared at the flag, thinking.
“No,” he said. The two deckchilder looked crestfallen.
“Have we done wrong?” said Barlay.
“Not at all,” said Joron. “Take them to the tops, and be ready for my order. I will send word to the other ships on the next messenger boat.” He smiled beneath his mask and then laughed to himself. “Even the greatest shipwife who ever lived can enjoy a surprise on occasion, ey?”
Back on the deck, he wandered to the rear where Meas stood, staring out over a grey and choppy sea at the three ships which had broken away from her fleet. As he stood by her she gave no sign that she had noticed him, though of course she had. A moment later she passed him her nearglass.
“Three points to seaward off the rump,” she said quietly. He lifted the nearglass to his eye, a circle of sea. He steadied himself, got used to the rise and fall of the ship before scanning along the horizon. Finding the main body of Karrad’s fleet, trying not to think about how many ships he saw there. No sign of the Dread. Then he moved the circle again, altering focus to keep the horizon a clear line and found three ships – the mighty Arakeesian Dread, a tower of billowing white wings, and a pair of two-ribbers.
“He moves to stop th
eir escape,” said Joron.
“Ey,” she said, staring across the water. “So, they do wish us to remain on this course.”
“It could simply be he wants us out of Hundred Isles waters,” he said, though with little commitment.
“Is that what you really think?” she said.
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Exactly. I feel more and more sure every day that Karrad expects us to turn up and find Namwen’s Pass closed to us.”
“Do we steer away?” She shook her head.
“No, as we said, who knows which of us Tenbern Aileen will decide to cross.” She stared at him. “A man who can raise keyshans is a formidable enemy, Joron. We should not presume that just because Karrad thinks a thing, then that thing will be. Maybe Aileen is drawing him further out, not us.” She turned so she was looking toward the beak of Tide Child. “No sign of Brekir yet.”
“No,” said Joron, and he felt something within him wilt like gion in the dying season.
“Still, it is early to expect her, it’ll be tomorrow morning before I ask the topboys to keep an eye out for Snarltooth.”
“And if the pass is closed?” he said.
“Well, then it becomes about desperate choices, Deckkeeper,” she squinted into the distance, “and we will make those desperate choices.” He nodded and passed her the nearglass back. “Signal Coult, tell him to return to his station. We know what we need to know now. Remain on a course to the north-east along the spine.”
“At least the weather is relatively fine,” he said. She turned to him, grinned.
“For a day trip, ey, Deckkeeper. A fog, or a howling gale with poor visibility would suit us better.” Meas touched the rim of her hat with a bent finger. She looked tired. “I will be in my cabin.”
For the next four days the weather stayed fine and Tide Child, together with the black fleet, made good progress, though there was no sign of Brekir and Snarltooth. Little changed on board ship apart from a growing feeling of dread as even the most intractably minded deckchild began to realise this was not normal, that the enemy fleet shadowing their movements signalled something, and not something good. That they should have sighted Brekir and they had not. The Arakeesian Dread and his consorts chose not to return to the main fleet, instead they held station further out from Skearith’s Spine; in sight, but apart from their fellows.
“Fallen out, do you think?” said Joron one evening. Meas shook her head and took out her nearglass, raising it to her eye.
“No, they are putting themselves in a good position, tactically, in case we try and break out that way when we get to Namwen’s Pass.”
“Three ships cannot hold us all,” he said.
“You have never seen the Dread loose his entire weight of shot,” said Meas quietly.
“No,” he said, and he was glad of that. Twenty gallowbows a side on the Dread’s maindeck, and he did not want to ask how many below, though he knew it had three decks of bowpeeks. Tide Child, he felt sure, could weather at least one broadside, the smaller ships he was not sure about, and the brownbones, well, they were not designed for fighting. “I imagine it is terrible,” he said eventually.
“Nothing we have can stand against it, Joron,” she lowered the nearglass. “One broadside will leave even Tide Child a smoking wreck in the water. It will rip every wing from our spars. I have seen it,” she glanced at him, “I have even commanded it done, when I was deckkeeper aboard him.”
“There will be a way, Meas,” he said. “There is always a way.”
“Is there,” she said, and straightened up. “Maybe there is, ey?” She put her nearglass away and set her two-tail a little harder on her head. “I have a job that requires a little delicacy, Joron,” she said. “I would have you talk with Farys. I want her to leave Tide Child, and for her and the babe to go aboard one of our brownbones.”
“She is our deckholder,” he said, affronted that Meas should send away his own picked officer. “The child has not made her any less quick-witted or fierce or—”
“I want them to survive, Joron,” said Meas, and she sounded so tired, so worn down. “That is all. I want them to survive. With all the death visited on Bernshulme, Karrad would be a fool to throw every civilian with us into his vats for hiyl, and he is not a fool. If we lose he will take the brownbones unscathed I am sure. Farys is a capable deckchild, she will find a way for her and young Muffaz to survive.”
“She will think this punishment,” he said.
“And that is why I cannot tell her,” said Meas. “You must.” She leaned in close. “And more than this, those brownbone shipwives are still only that, they are not fleet. She is fleet; I will send a letter with her that, when it comes to it, puts the brownbones under her command.”
“She will still not like it,” he said.
“When has what we like mattered?” Meas shrugged. “That is not the way, Deckkeeper, we work for the good of all.” He nodded and stepped back. “Joron,” she said. He turned. “The Gullaime as well. A warship is no place for children.”
“Without her, I cannot…”
“I will send you to her, if that is what is needed.” He nodded.
“Shipwife,” he said with a smile, “I can order Farys to do as you say. But the Gullaime will do what she wishes, as we both know.” Meas gave him a nod.
“Ey, well, do your best. I grew up without a mother. I would not wish it on anyone else.”
Later, once he had finished his duties, he went down into the underdeck. First to visit the Gullaime who sat upon her nest, imperious as any Bern.
“What want?” she croaked as he entered.
“The shipwife,” he said, “is worried for your safety and that of Shorn. She has given orders that you leave—”
“Not leave!” squawked the Gullaime, and she shuffled upon her nest, raised her beak toward the overbones. “Too important,” she said haughtily. “Too important.”
“Then maybe Shorn should go over to—” And the Gullaime let out such a screech so loud and piercing that Joron had to cover his ears. “There are people on the other ships who would—”
“People?” she squawked, standing up from her nest, eyes open wide, body angled for outrage.
“Not people,” said Joron quickly, “other gullaime and—”
“Other!” screeched the Gullaime and this gave rise to such a squawking and hissing and snapping and biting and throwing of things that Joron was left with no option but to retreat from the nest cabin, glad he had escaped without being bloodied. Even once he had left the noise from within continued.
He decided it best to leave the Gullaime and to find Farys. It had been days since he had seen her in anything but passing on the deck. She and little Muffaz were in the d’older’s cabin, the smallest of all. He had offered her his own but she would not take it. Joron knocked before entering. Found Farys nursing the child and felt he should not be there, for to feed a child was sacred to the Maiden and men had no part in it.
“Come in, Deckkeeper,” she said. Then, as he slipped in through the door, she removed little Muffaz, who was fast asleep, from her breast and laid the child in her bed. “She feeds so much,” said Farys, “I believe she will become the size of her namesake.”
“A strong body never held anyone back in the Hundred Isles,” he said.
“No,” said Farys. “When this is all over, when we follow Meas’s new ways, she will be a shipwife one day.”
“She will,” said Joron. He sat by her as she watched the child sleep.
“You can touch her,” said Farys, “I am not worried she will catch the rot from you.”
“I am,” he said. “And I come with hard news.”
“Meas is sending me away,” said Farys.
“Not as punishment,” he said, hurrying the words out, surprised she had pre-empted what he had come to say. Though he should not have been. She had always been a clever one.
“No,” said Farys, “I understand what the babe means
to those aboard. If they think us safe they will fight harder.”
“Meas will give you command of the brownbones, if it comes to battle. But if we lose, she feels sure Karrad will want as many people as he can get, since Bernshulme is sorely lacking in them now. She wants you and the child to be safe.” Farys looked up at him, the scarred skin of her face twisting her mouth.
“Without Meas, we will never be safe,” said Farys quietly. “And I cannot shake the feeling, D’keeper, that the shipwife is getting ready to die.” She could not look at him, instead turning to the child. “She is perfect, my little Muffaz, not a blemish or spot upon her.” Then she turned back to him. “We must not lose. For you know what they do to the first perfect child of a woman. They will take her for the ships. They will pretend I, a rough deckchilder, am somehow welcome among the Bern, and quietly vanish me. Though I will not care; if they take my little Muffaz away I will not want to live.”
“We will not allow that to happen,” said Joron as he stared down at the gently breathing babe. “I will give my last breath if I have to, Farys, but I will not allow it.” She stood. Put her hand on his arm.
“I know,” she said. “You are a good man. You have always been good to me. And you must make sure that the shipwife never loses hope.” He nodded, unable to speak. “Thank you,” said Farys. “Now, I must pack.” He nodded and left, wondering if he would ever see her again. Wondering if you could grieve for the loss of someone who still lived.
52
The Tightening of the Noose
They spent the rest of the morning watching Coult’s Sharp Sither, Last Light and Waveturner bringing themselves back into formation.
“The Dread still isn’t moving back,” said Meas, peering through her nearglass.
