“Speak,” she said. “I will listen, as will Twiner. And we will sit, not stand like we owe you some allegiance or meet you in honour.”
Karrad shrugged. “By all means take the weight from your feet. Twiner’s feet are particularly filthy and you do me a favour to remove them from my floor.”
Everything that was Joron tensed, but he showed none of it. For in that moment of Meas taking the blame for Tide Child’s grounding the ebbing tide of loyalty he had been feeling towards her rose once more. He did not know why, or understand it; maybe it was that she was the nearest he had to a safe port in this room and that was all. But it did not make it any less true or real in the moment.
Joron sat opposite the man who had made sure he was condemned to a ship of the dead, and, in so doing, he heard of the miracle that would make him part of a legend.
Thirteenbern called out,
Give the child to the ships!
And the sea came to her rescue
As word left the Bern’s cruel lips.
Anon., “The Song of Lucky Meas”
“There is an arakeesian coming,” said Karrad.
It was as if all the air was stolen from the stuffy little room. Oh, the wanelights still burned and they could still breathe, but for a moment Joron was light-headed. An arakeesian? A sea dragon? Their bones were the building blocks of fleets, but no keyshans had been seen for over three generations.
“Is this a joke?” said Meas. Though Joron could tell she felt it too, the excitement, the wonder, the awe at even the possibility of it.
“No,” said Karrad. “I wish it was.”
“Why have I heard nothing?” she said.
“A number of reasons, Meas,” he began. “Chiefly because you are now shipwife of a black ship and no one wants to speak to you.” They locked eyes and Karrad was first to look away. “But there are other reasons. My spy network is still the best – I get the news first. At the moment all the people who know of this beast are in this room.”
“How sure of this are you?”
“As sure as I can be.”
“What of your spy?
“She had an accident.”
“A poor reward.”
“Some secrets are too precious to risk on one life, Meas. My spy rests comfortably by the Hag’s fire and her children are not too Berncast – no missing limbs or such, only a few marks on their skin. They will find themselves invited to attend the schools of the spiral bothies. She would think it a good trade.”
“Did you ask her?” said Meas. “A military school makes a poor mother, as I well know.”
“You always have had a mouth on you, Meas.” He saw the true Karrad then – vicious, unpleasant, cruel – but it was gone as quickly as smoke in a storm. “Because we know of the arakeesian first, we can get to it first. Before the Gaunt Islanders or the Hundred Islanders.”
“What?” The word escaped Joron’s lips involuntarily.
“Quiet, Joron,” said Meas, but he could not have said any more if had he wanted to. He was out of his depth and drowning here. Who were these people? What he thought Meas was changed and twisted in front of him. First he had met the loyal and respected shipwife, then had come the political plotter, and now, despite what they had said to him, it seemed she really was an outright traitor. But if she was not loyal to the Hundred Isles, who did she fight for?
Why did she fight?
What else was there?
“How sure are you of this keyshan, Indyl? You know how deckchilder talk.”
“Absolutely sure.” He opened a drawer in his chest and took out a rolled chart, spreading it across the desk. “In the old days they called the first arakeesian of the season the wakewyrm, so I have named it that.”
“You think there will be more?” said Joron. Karrad looked up at him, becoming utterly still for a moment before answering.
“I hope not.”
This made no sense. More arakeesians meant more ships, and the fleet sore needed them.
“It has been spotted here” – Karrad pointed at the map – “coming in near Soris Isle in the far south where it is too cold for anyone to live.”
“This is how no one knows?”
“Aye,” he said. “And it is small, for an arakeesian, I am told, but it is still many magnitudes bigger than anything else in the sea.”
“And you need us for this why?” said Meas.
“There are old charts in the Grand Bothy, long forgotten. I have dug many out and hidden them, but I cannot be sure I got them all.” Karrad looked worried. “The arakeesians always followed the same routes, which is what made them easy to hunt, though they were hard to kill, of course.”
“Yes, yes, that is why the black ships were instituted,” said Meas. “This is not news.”
“Well, exactly,” said Karrad. “Though when you read the old accounts, most of the killing was done from towers overlooking narrow straits. The black ships were mainly a punishment.” He gave her a small, unpleasant smile. “Now, follow the red line on the map. That is the course the keyshan should take, mostly past deserted isles – there are few places it will be seen. They always keep to the deep channels.”
“So,” said Joron, “you want us to go back to what the black ships were intended for and hunt you an arakeesian?”
Karrad stared at him as if he were a fool.
“Of course not,” he said. “I want you to keep it alive.”
“Alive? But we need its bones.” He stared at Karrad then added, “For our ships,” because the man did not seem to understand this most basic need of the Hundred Isles. “And we need ships to fight the Gaunt Islanders. They are massing in the south – everyone knows this. They will attack soon.”
“You have told him nothing of what we do, Meas?” Karrad said this with a sneer on his beautiful face.
“I did not know how much you would reveal of us and our cause, or how much I should. Or even if he could be trusted.” Her words like a knife in him, even though he was not sure in this moment that he could be trusted either. “But as it seems you are happy to share everything, you may as well fill him in.”
“Very well.” Karrad nodded at her. “How long have we fought the Gaunt Islanders, Twiner?”
“For ever.”
“And why?”
“Why?” He had no answer. It was what Hundred Islanders did. What they had always done. Eventually he said, “They steal our children.”
“Why?”
“To sacrifice to their ships.”
“Why?”
“To light the corpselights and give them good fortune in the fight against us.”
“And, in turn, we steal their children for the same, and when neither side can steal children we sacrifice our own. And all for what?”
“I . . .” Joron found himself lost. Karrad was talking as if everything he knew, had been raised with, was somehow wrong. “It is what we do,” he said.
“We steal children to keep fighting each other so we may steal more children. In turn we attack them and they attack us to avenge the children taken. And so it goes – round and round and round. But what if there is no need to steal children? Eh, Joron Twiner? What if killing each other is not the only way?”