“On a ship we say. Ey. Boy. Aye is a stonebound term, right?”
“Aye, I mean ey.”
“Good, now make your way to the fleet dock, find the bonewrights and ask for Bonemaster Coxward, tell him you are my cabin boy and ask what work he has for you. If you have any family they need to know your situation, so ask him to send a messenger. Tell him any cost will come out of my purse.” The boy stared blankly at her. “Well? Go! And stop for nothing and no one.” And he went, vanishing into the crowd.
“Do you think we will ever see him again?” said Joron.
“We are not far from the fleet dock. It is unlikely Tassar will intercept him between here and there.”
“I mean he may choose simply to run.”
She shrugged.
“Then in that case I will not mourn him. He is unlikely to last the night without us, and I value intelligence in my crew, even in the least of them.” She glanced at him and he felt his resentment rise like a winter tide. “Now come. I think we are followed, and I would find out by who. It will be quieter nearer the docks, make them easier to see.”
“How do you know we are followed?” said Joron. Meas stared over his shoulder into the crowd.
“You get a feel for such things, Twiner.”
“Arses,” said Black Orris.
They turned for the docks. The first sign they approached the deep-water harbour where the bigger ships docked was the sight of their spines rising above the blocky tenements that fronted the harbour. Then came a noticeable thinning of the crowds. The people they did meet were nearly all heading away from the docks, no doubt having attended the sacrifice of the child Joron had seen earlier. Many had the bloody fingerprint on their forehead where the hagpriests had blessed them. Women and men chattered excitedly as they passed, but Meas gave them no attention, keeping her head down.
“A fool’s custom,” she hissed under her breath and pushed a passing juggler out of the way.
“But it keeps our ships safe,” said Joron.
Meas stopped. Turned to him.
“Does it? Or are they just pretty lights that people like?”
“No,” said Joron, “they are the health of a ship. At lastlight, the yellow, we know a ship is dying and must be appeased with another life. The lights are his soul. That is why the black ships are dead: they cannot hold corpselights.”
“And yet, Joron, they still fly and they still fight, do they not?” She did not wait for an answer, only walked away.
He watched her go. The corpselights above a ship had always been something merry to him, something to be celebrated. Those given to the ships were the chosen of the Sea Hag, guaranteed a place by the pyre and passage beyond the storms that circled the world, and yet Meas had no respect for the lights. Maybe because of what had happened to her as a child? Maybe she was bitter at being denied the Sea Hag’s favour?
They rounded a corner and found themselves on the docks. Directly in front of them and strewn with flowers – though they could not hide the blood – was the committing block where the child he had seen earlier would have been sacrificed. Behind the block rose the scrap-built five-ribber Hag’s Hunter, its sides rising like white cliffs. The crew could be heard, singing as they worked. They were drunk, no doubt. A committal day was always one of celebration, and when Joron looked up into the web of ropes and varisk and gion spars he counted eight blue corpselights dancing above the ship. On its pristine white side was a long streak of crimson blood.
A face appeared over the rail and just as quickly vanished. A moment later the shipwife of Hag’s Hunter appeared, standing on the rail and holding on to a rope with one hand to keep her balance. If Joron had thought Meas’s clothes fine, they were nothing to this woman’s. She was festooned with shimmering feathers.
“Meas!” she shouted, her voice ruddy with false bonhomie. “I am glad to see my sither on this celebrated day.” Meas cursed under her breath but did not look up.
“Arse,” said Black Orris.
“I seem to remember, Meas” – as they walked along the dock the woman above followed them, balancing on the rail – “that you said I would never make shipwife. But here I am!” They reached the end of the ship, Meas pointedly ignoring the woman, who nevertheless continued to harangue her. “So what do you say now, Meas! Ey? What do you say now that you are shipwife to the dead and I am married to this fine beast, ey?” She stamped her foot on the rail of the ship.
Meas stopped and looked up at her.
“I never said you would not make shipwife, Kyrie; I said that would you never make shipwife through skill.” She let her eyes run down the length of the Hag’s Hunter. “And I was right, was I not?” She turned her back on the other woman and walked away. Joron followed and behind them the Shipwife Kyrie Gilbryn shouted after them.
“I only told Mother the truth, Meas! I only told the truth!” There was a note of desperation in her voice but Meas did not turn. “It seems we both go a-hunting Meas. Let us see who brings home the prize. Do not doubt I am a better shipwife than you. We shall see who really deserves Mother’s favour!”
When Joron caught up with Meas there was no mistaking the smile on her face.
“Kyrie thinks, Deckkeeper,” said Meas quietly, “that being shipwife is all about the enemy ships you bring back or sink. But she is too impulsive and too desperate to prove herself, it will get her in trouble.”
“Arse,” said Black Orris, and Meas reached up, stroking the bird’s chest and making him coo with pleasure.
They walked further along the docks, seeing fewer and fewer people. Meas led them up a filthy alley, empty apart from rubbish and the thick smell of rotten fish. Without warning – and Joron had no idea how she knew her moment – Meas whirled around. Joron did the same but saw no one. The alleyway was empty. Completely empty.
“You can come out,” said Meas. “I know you are there.”
“Who is there?” said Joron.
“That I don’t know, but an alley like this should be full of skeers looking for food, and none have flown in behind us.” She raised her voice. “So come out. Do not make me come and find you.”
Out of a doorway stepped Anzir, and if Joron had held anything at that moment he was sure he would have dropped it.
“If you have come to avenge your defeat,” said Meas, “then you will have to face us both, and I am a little more skilled then Joron with a blade, and a lot less merciful.”
Anzir looked confused.
“He beat me,” she said.
“She sounds surprised,” said Joron.
“Can you blame her?” said Meas. “Even wearing your shoes I thought she would kill you.”
“Thank you, my Shipwife.”
“I have come to offer him my service,” said Anzir.
“What does Cahanny think of that?” said Meas.
Again Anzir looked confused. “He only pays me; this man bested me. I am his now.”
“I don’t want you,” said Joron. It sounded far more harsh than he meant it to, but the woman did not appear offended.
“You send me away then?”
“I—”
“Wait.” Meas’s hand flashed up.
“You may need a protector. You are no great bladesman and it is no shame to have a shadow to protect you.”