by R J Barker
Solemn Muffaz nodded to Gavith, who ran to the bell on the rail at the fore of the rump of the ship.
“Clear the ship!” shouted Solemn Muffaz. “Clear the ship for action or feel the cord against your backs, you sluggard slatelayers. You sunfish-slow lot.”
And like kwiln on a beach, disturbed by a sankrey’s shadow, they moved. Running hither and thither. Joron had seen this same action at the start of the journey, when none knew what they must do. But Tide Child was a different ship now. What he saw was not the chaos it seemed. Women and men knew their places on the ship, knew their jobs, knew what had to be done. Coxward and his bonewrights could be heard below collapsing the underdeck officers’ cabins. Gavith ran below to drag the hagshand’s chest of saws and knives down into the lowdeck in the bilges where the hagbower was, and where those cut or broken in action would be further cut and broken in hope of life. Dinyl would be watching as Farys, bowsell of the underdeck, had her crews secure the hammocks against the hull, check the bowpeeks, make sure they could be opened, and ensure that the bows, each lovingly named and carved, could be trussed and untrussed as easy as each woman and man could put on their clothes on waking.
Joron walked to the rump rail to look out over the ocean behind Tide Child, the sheer size of the rolling wave they climbed tilting the ship crazily, making him feel like a skeer, staring down as the crew of Cruel Water behind them worked their ship in a similar frenzy. No doubt Snarltooth, climbing the wave behind, did the same, and he hoped Meas was wrong about Brekir. Joron had seen the shadow of distrust on his shipwife’s face. He turned from the rail to see Meas jump the last few lengths of the spine to the deck. She looked around at the bustle on the deck and said nothing – as good as any word of approval – then came over to Joron.
“Three ships, just as was reported to Arrin. A four-ribber, though I think it is a newer one, so smaller than Tide Child, and a pair of two-ribbers in escort.”
“And corpselights?”
“They all fly them, but the two-ribbers are on their lastlights and the four-ribber also, but for one light which is on second light.”
“So their condition may not be as good as was reported, and we may have an advantage in size.”
“Yes,” said Meas. “We are matched at least, I reckon. And if they are surprised by our tactics we will get in a full side of shot, do plenty of damage with our first loosing, and put those lights out. That will hurt their morale.”
“We will take shot coming at them. From at least two of the ships.”
“We will,” said Meas, and she held herself straighter. A stray gust of wind picked up the tails of her hat and blew them about, twisting them around one another and just as quickly untwisting them. “We will have to bear it. It is my plan and we are built stronger than Cruel Water and Snarltooth, so it is rightly our burden.” She looked out to sea, over the bustling deck of her ship. “Have a team with ropes ready to fix any broken rigging. And bring up twisters and wingshot for the gallowbows. First pass we’ll do our best to take down their wings and spines. A ship can’t fight without wings to fly it with.”
“And if they do the same to us?” Dinyl came to stand by them.
“We shall come in at an angle to them; it is a hard thing to judge, hitting a spine, even harder from an angle. Then we will be loosing straight along the decks of the ships to either side of us and, trust me, to be loosed into from behind does fearful damage. Whatever pain is doled out to us on the way in will be paid back tenfold.” Dinyl nodded his head. “But, you should know, Deckholder, it is not done to invite the Hag’s misfortune before a battle. So I’d thank you to throw some paint at the base of a spine and clear the air.”
“Of course, Shipwife,” he said, then walked to the pot at the base of the rumpspine, dipped his hand in and splattered blue paint on the bottom of the spine. “For the Hag, may we not see her soon,” he whispered.
“How long till we intercept them, Shipwife?” said Joron.
She shrugged and looked up into the wings as they cracked and shuddered in the wind.
“Steer us four points on the for’ard shadow, Barlay,” she said, then turned to Joron as the ship heeled over and the great boom came across the deck to collect wind from a different angle. “If the wind holds and they decide to come to the bow? A couple of hours. If it doesn’t or they choose to run, then more.”
“Do you think they have seen us?”
She nodded. “Ey. The course they fly. I suspect they have run parallel to us for a while, just over the horizon where we could not see.”
“That sounds like they knew we were coming, Shipwife.”
“The smoke from the towers at Keyshanhulme Sound will have warned them,” said Meas. “But now, at this time and place, whether they knew or not makes little difference. They will be very sure we are coming soon enough.”
“Shall I bring up the gullaime?” Once again Joron looked up into the wings, the whistling mass of ropes, cloth and spars that swayed above.
“No, this wind suits us,” she said. “We shall come in as though we intend to go side on side and then turn sharply, as I said. I do not think the speed advantage the gullaime could give us is worth risking it falling to an unlucky shot. We will bring it up as we turn to engage, have it guide in the wingbolts, and if we can crack one of Wavebreaker’s spines then the battle is half won.”
Tide Child’s crew then had an hour of quiet with little to do but fret, and many a deckchild spattered paint at the base of the mainspine. By the time the three ships of the enemy were in plain sight of all, little black showed through the patterns of red and blue paint left in hope of the Hag’s protection.
“Wavebreaker’s a big one,” Joron heard Karring say to Old Briaret.
“Ey, big enough, but not as big as us.”
“He ’as corpselights too.”
“Ey, but we have Lucky Meas, ain’t it. So I reckon they is already part with the Hag.”
Joron smiled and walked on along the deck.
His shoes no longer hurt his feet.
It was strange to him that they sailed so serenely, that the weather was so undramatic and clear, that there was no sense of panic in the crew around him when inside he was screaming as he watched the enemy ships get larger and larger.
There is my death, he thought. There is surely my death.
He could make out the gallowbows on the three white ships, see they were all strung and ready, see the corpselights dancing around the spines, see the purple wings flap and change shape, inflate and deflate as small course corrections emptied and then filled them with wind. On the Wavebreaker he watched a woman or man – he could not tell from this distance, but someone much like him – staring out across the sea at Tide Child. Soon I will try to kill you, he thought, and you me, but if we met in an inn maybe we would be friends. His familiarity with the shipwives of Cruel Water and Snarltooth had robbed him of any belief the Gaunt Islanders were the monsters of childhood tales – it seemed odd that he had ever believed such a thing.
He smiled to himself. When this is done I shall get Mozzan to tie my hair like his.
He found himself standing before the mainspine and crouched, dipped his hand into the paint pot and spattered paint on the deck, bright red against the black. Soon there will be more red, he thought, but it will not be paint. He straightened and peered across at the enemy ship, trying to find his double but failing. There was some activity around their centre gallowbow. He was sure he heard the sound of it launch, saw the figure at the trigger stand back as if to watch the shot, and then, five or so lengths from Tide Child, a plume of water shot up as a wingbolt crashed into the ever-shifting sea.
Laughter on Tide Child’s deck. An easing of tension.
Meas stood at the rumpdeck rail.
“Barlay,” she shouted, “ease us a little closer, make us a little more tempting.” She grinned at her deckchilder. “Let them insult the Hag by firing at her domain when they stand no chance of hitting us.” More laughter. �
��And let the Hag know . . .” She turned, dipped her hand in the blue paint and spattered some on the deck. Then she drew a blue line across her face. “Let her know I come. Lucky Meas is here, and she should know that when we loose our bolts, my girls and my boys, we shall not miss. The time of blood and pain comes, but it shall be their blood ey?”
A rousing shout of, “Ey!” and Joron noticed Hasrin, the ex-deckkeeper, was one of the first to raise her voice.
“And their pain, ey?”
A louder, stronger shout of, “Ey!”
“Then stand to your posts, listen to Joron, listen to Dinyl and listen to Solemn Muffaz. Listen to your bowsells and most of all listen to me. We do this for each other, and we look to Tide Child and the Hag to watch over us.” She paused. Sand dropped through the glass as she stared at her crew, gathered on the slate. The sea flew by. “Are you ready, my women and my men? Are you ready? For I am ready.”
“We are ready, Shipwife!” The shout came from Solemn Muffaz, at the back of the crowd.
In answer the whole deck raised their voices: “We are ready, Shipwife. We are ready!”
“Then, to war!”
And they ran to it.
Ran to their gallowbows, ran to the rigging, ran to their places on the deck and ran to take up curnow and wyrmpike and bow. Each and every one radiated a fierce joy, and Joron knew that joy, had felt it. And he hoped he would feel it again because now, in this quiet moment while they bore down in their enemy, he felt only terror.
A hand on his shoulder.
He turned to find Meas by him.
“Hold fast, Joron,” she said quietly. “Try and know what they know.”
“What is it they know?” It felt like he gasped the words.
“That where we head is unavoidable. Soon as run towards it as run away. Sooner get it over with.”
“Is that how you think?”
“I try not to think. The hard bit comes soon. We – you and I and Dinyl – must stand on the rump and look unconcerned while those ships loose at us. I know it is not easy. But I saw something in you that day on the beach, and you have not let me down.” She looked into his face. “You will not let me down. And you know by now that I know my business. Trust in that. Trust in me.” He gave her a nod, a small smile. “Now, stay busy. A busy deckchild has no time for fear.” And she moved on, as did he, scouring the decks for work to do as Tide Child carried them towards action. The fear was not gone, but her words had hardened something in him, and he would stand, he knew that.
He would stand because there was nowhere to run to.
He would stand because she had asked him to.
A second projectile was launched at them. Came nearer but still fell short.
Meas kept Tide Child on a course converging with the Gaunt Islanders, level with the leading four-ribber.
“They’ll hit us soon,” said Solemn Muffaz from where he stood before the rump, “if they can shoot straight.”
Another bolt, again into the sea. Joron returned to the rump to stand with Meas and Dinyl.
“Should we untruss the bows, Shipwife?” said Dinyl.
“Not yet, Deckholder. Wait until we are truly under shot. It will give the deckchilder something to do.”
Meas shouted for Tide Child to straighten his course.
A fourth bolt. Again only the sea was hurt, and the sea healed quicker than any woman or man.
“Poor shooting that,” said Solemn Muffaz. “I’d cord that bowsell if they were mine.”
“Time soon enough for you to judge our own bowsells, Muffaz,” said Joron. To his amazement his voice neither wavered nor broke. He could have been discussing the weather or his shoes for all the care he showed.
“Aye, so right that is, D’keeper. Hag knows, they spend more time cuddling up to them bows than working ’em, and if I find them slack I’ll be cording ’em for sure.”
“You can keep your cords off me, Mother,” said Karring as he passed. “For my bow will wreak a terrible toll or it ain’t named Vile Billy.”
“Vile Billy, is it?” said Solemn Muffaz.”You’ll be first for the cord, Karring, mark me.” But Joron heard the humour in the man’s voice and Karring walked away smiling.
They were struck low on the hull, and the ship rang with the impact. It took all Joron had not to duck, to hide from flying bone splinters and shards of bolt, but he did not. He managed to freeze like he had felt nothing, heard nothing. And no splinters came flying for the bolt had hit too far down.
“About time they started shooting straight,” said Meas.
“Ey, Shipwife,” said Muffaz. “But ’tis wasted shot at this range.”
“It will raise their morale a little,” said Dinyl.
“And ours,” said Meas, raising her voice. “See, my girls and boys, they shoot, they even hit on occasion, and yet they cannot damage Tide Child’s hull. He stands as strong as any wall. What need have we of corpselights when our ship is so stout?” There was a general murmur of agreement that made Joron smile, until another bolt rattled against the hull. Meas turned, watching the three ships opposite them. “I think we should act now,” she said to herself then shouted. “Full wings!”
And the unacknowledged tension was broken. Women and men raced to obey, pulling themselves up the rigging and letting down the last of the wings. The flying rigs were put out, extra wings that stuck out from the side of the ship, and Joron felt Tide Child leap forward. Behind them Cruel Water and Snarltooth followed suit, though not putting up quite as much wingcloth as Tide Child; the smaller ships were lighter and faster, and needed to do less to keep up.
Meas watched as they gained on the ships opposite them.
“Coxward,” she shouted, and the bonemaster came running.
“Ey. Shipwife?”
“I want to do a hard turn. Will the keel take it?”
Coxward licked his lips and scratched at a sore on his arm.
“I don’t rightly know. Tide Child is a strong ship but we set off too early from Bernshulme. Is it not a little late to be asking?”
“Yes or no, Bonemaster.”
“’Tis not so easy. Depends on the currents. If we could pull him out and I could look at the keel, I could tell you.” Another bolt splashed into the ocean to seaward of Tide Child.
“We are rather occupied just now, Bonemaster. Hauling the ship out of the water is a little impractical.”
“Anything I say would be a guess,” he said.
“Your guess is worth any other’s certain knowledge.”
He scratched at a sore on his neck.
“Yes, then. That is my guess, but if you do it now you will not get to do it later. The keel will not take it.”
Meas nodded.
“Well, I’ll not save for later what will serve me today.” She walked forward. “Bring in the flying rigs. I want all spare women and men ready to run for the landward rail when we come about. Barlay and Solemn Muffaz, I’ll want all your strength at the steering oar.” Crew scuttled across the spars to bring in the rigs, and Tide Child, moving at a speed so ferocious that Joron saw the beakwyrms now spun through the water at Tide Child’s side, unable to match him as he drew ahead of the enemy ships to seaward of them.
“They are not as fast as us, Shipwife!” shouted Dinyl.
“Few are, Deckholder,” said Meas, “few are.” She glared across at the enemy ships. “Barlay, angle us in towards them. Let them think we are getting ready to come in for a broadside. Bowsells! To your bows!”
“Shall we untruss to loose at them?” said Joron.
“No,” said Meas, putting her nearglass to her eye. “We shall not waste ammunition, but they watch us as surely as we watch them, so let us put on the show they expect to see and they will not think far past that.” She folded the nearglass. “Complacency is the enemy of every officer, Joron. Keep that in mind when you see how we surprise them.”
With a whistle like a man hailing a friend, though its intent was never so amicable, a bolt cut through
the air over the rump of the ship, punching through a taut wing with a sound like a hand on a drum.
“Well,” said Meas as she took a step forward to stand between Joron and Dinyl, “it seems their bowsells have finally got their eye in.” As she placed the nearglass within her coat, Joron noticed her hand shook slightly, and there was a thin sheen of sweat on her top lip despite the cold of the day. Meas took a deep breath, seemed to steady as the ship rocked then shouted, “It begins now, my girls and boys! Now our real work starts! So stand firm!”
As they angled towards Wavebreaker and its consorts, Joron watched the corpselights dancing above the Gaunt Islands ships, four in all – one the blue of firstlight, three the yellow of lastlight – bobbing and weaving in the topspines. Deckchilder crowded the spars and formed little knots around the bows. He knew that sand would have been scattered across their decks to provide grip and absorb blood, just like on Tide Child. Knew that deckchilder would be dipping their hands into red or blue pots of paint at the base of the mainspines and spattering paint there to ask the Hag’s favour. Some would be scared and pretending they were not; some would be filled with joy at the thought of battle; some would be trying to find jobs belowdeck where it was safer, and all would be dreading being taken down to the hagbower, where the hagshand waited to do what they could for those wounded in battle.
He saw the Wavebreaker’s bows launch, the action of the bone arms, their sound stolen by the wind. Bolts flew towards Tide Child. One hit the hull with a solid boom, the others hurtled through his rigging, doing little damage, and flew on. Another volley of bolts, again causing little damage, and it seemed to Joron that Tide Child was still. Oh, the ship moved, almost skipping across the waves, but all aboard were unmoving, waiting, dreading, knowing.
“Stand steady,” shouted Meas. Across from them, the quickly growing Wavebreaker opened his underdeck bowpeeks. “Now he shows his teeth, ey?” said Meas to Dinyl.
“Bravado,” said Dinyl, “Underdeck bows cannot hit us yet.”
“No, they cannot.” Then she added more quietly: “I would have you two move around the ship a little. Let the crew know we go among them, that we do not stand here aloof.” Joron and Dinyl nodded and set off down the ship, as if strolling on a pleasant day. Another round of bolts hit Tide Child. Most were high, but the crew around ducked instinctively, as they heard the whistle of approaching bolts. It took all Joron had not to do the same. He locked his sweaty hands behind his back, holding the fingers of his one hand so hard with the other that they throbbed for want of blood.
