“Do you seek to send me to my death, Indyl?” said Meas.
He shook his head.
“No. Never.” And strangely, Joron believed that. “I have the bolts. We have them. They will kill the beast with one hit.”
“You hope,” said Meas.
“I am sure,” said Karrad. “You only need to get your ship out of the way once the bolt has been loosed in case its thrashing smashes your ship.” Meas and Karrad stared at each other over the desk, as intent as lovers. Then she gave a small nod. “Good,” said Karrad. “Good! Load them on to Tide Child just before you leave. I will put them in my warehouse.”
“Why not now?” said Joron.
“Because,” said Meas, “he cannot be sure no one else knows of them.”
Karrad nodded.
“No one has ever died from being too careful.”
“That,” said Meas, “may be the most truthful thing you have ever said.” She tapped the desk as Karrad relaxed back into his chair. “How many of these ‘friends’ will there be?”
“A pair of Gaunt Islands two-ribbers will join you. Black ships like your own.”
“There are other things I will need, Indyl, or I will fail before I even start.”
Karrad nodded, his oiled chest shining in the weak light, a smile on his face.
“Tell me, and if I can help I will.”
“Tide Child’s keel is cracked. It must be fixed and the mainspine rebuilt before I can fly the sea.”
“The ship is already out of the water and with the bonewrights. They work on him as we speak.”
“And no slapdash job simply because he is a ship of the dead. I know what they think of black ships.”
“I have taken steps to ensure the ship will be well cared for.”
“I need provisioning for at least four months.”
“It is unlikely to take so long, two months at most.”
“The provisions are also for ballast. Tide Child could be a fast ship if he is weighted right.”
“Very well.”
“I need bolts, shot, wingbolts, cutters and hagspit oil. And decent weapons for my crew.”
“Not a problem. Weapons we have.”
“I need more crew too, not only deckchilder. A ship should have seaguard, and if we must fight on land, as you say, we will need them.”
“I have access to criminals only; the seaguard answer to Thirteenbern Gilbryn and she says they harbour only the best of us, so, of course, the seaguard commit no crimes.”
Meas let out a snort.
“Even those seaguard that brought us here?”
“They risk a lot for me, Meas. Do not mock them.”
She looked away from him.
“Very well. Give me more crew than I need, and I will train twenty as soldiers. I’ll need arms and armour for them.”
“Is that is all?”
“No. I need a gullaime.”
“I have heard you have one.”
“Not one that is any use. It will not obey.”
“How else do you think a gullaime ends up on a ship of the dead, Meas? You are lucky to have one at all.”
Meas leaned forward, her lips peeling away from her teeth like those of a furious animal.
“What use is the creature if it will not obey, Indyl? It is like no other gullaime I have met, it does not know its place. What if it simply decides to wreck us?”
“Look upon it as part of the ballast you require.”
Meas made to stand.
“Keyshan’s rot take you and your mission, Indyl Karrad. I need a gullaime or—”
“A long time ago, Meas,” he said softly, and she paused, “you told me you were the best, and I said surely it was your crew that made you the best. Do you remember what your answer was?”
She did not look away, was not in the least cowed, and no one would have believed that this was a meeting of one of the most powerful men of the Hundred Isles and a condemned criminal.
“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth.
“You told me a shipwife makes their crew, not the other way around. So, Shipwife, make your crew.”
“I did not talk of a crew of criminals and a mad windtalker.”
“You will have to work with what you have,” he said to her. “And now I think we are done.” He glanced at Joron. “Kindly get that murderer out of my rooms.”
Meas did not reply, only stood and turned her back on him.
“Come, Joron.”
He followed her out of the carved door and down through the building. She stopped before the street door as if she wanted to speak to him, but before she spoke, he did.
“You knew.”
“Knew what?” She did not turn, did not give him the courtesy of her full attention.
“What I did. Why they put me on the black ship. You knew I killed his son.”
“It never hurts to have your enemy wrong-footed.”
“I thought he was your friend.”
She laughed then.
“Oh my deckkeeper, you have so much to learn. I am Lucky Meas, greatest shipwife the Hundred Isles has ever known.” Now she turned, little visible of her in the dim light but the gleam of her eyes. “People like me, Joron Twiner, we have no friends.”
On their way back to their stinking room in Fishmarket Meas had them stop off at a cobbler on Hoppity Lane, where, by tradition, those born with a leg or foot missing carried on the trade of shoe making. From there they went to Handy Alley, where by tradition those with an arm or hand missing carried on the tailoring trade. As they walked through, the left-armed catcalled the right-armed and vice versa, but Meas ignored them all in favour of a tailor she knew well. Then they went to claim what sleep they could before morning, which, as Meas warned him, was when the real work would begin.
But sleep would not come to Joron. He was angry. Meas’s use of his history as a tool to try and manipulate Indyl Karrad filled him with a fury he barely understood. She had treated the memory of his father as carelessly as Jion Karrad had treated his life. And twisted up within that anger was worry. The cobbler had measured him for boots, good ones, and the tailor for a fine jacket and trews, but he had no way of paying for either. All his iron had gone down his throat long ago. How would he tell her that when the time came?
Beneath it all another feeling struggled through the tide of resentment and apprehension: excitement. An arakeesian. No one in living memory had seen a living keyshan, and that he may be be one of the few that did filled him with awe. Oh, he had no doubts about the danger of their mission, none at all. But if a man was to die then what a thing to die for. A sea dragon.
And if somehow he could bring its bones back to Bernshulme? If anything could win him freedom from the black ship then it would be that. Maybe. Karrad and Meas had spoken of the long war ending, and maybe such a thing was a worthy, a grand dream, even. But it was a dream, and if life in the Hundred Isles taught you anything it was that dreams did not come true. The Hundred Islanders warred to defend themselves, and the Gaunt Islanders murdered for the joy of it. To even think that there could be peace with them was the sort of capricious trick the Maiden played on the unworldly.
Where did he stand here?
Where were his loyalties?
Imagine – to turn over two traitors and the body of a keyshan? Revenge on Indyl Karrad, and he would be respected. Be someone. Of course Meas would be finished but why should he care?