“And you did not quieten her?” said Meas. A rebuke.
“I was—” He paused, looking for the words, and Joron stepped in.
“—waiting for facts, Shipwife. Better to give the crew facts than guess.”
“Hasrin,” said Mevans loudly, “has been in the hulks for a year, so she could not know that Cruel Water was taken back last year. Snarltooth was on far north station, so it’s little wonder few have heard of him.”
“Mevans knows his ships,” said Meas, “so if there are further questions, Dinyl, you can quiet them now.”
Dinyl nodded and stepped back, giving Joron a quickly mouthed “Thank you” as he turned away.
“Who has good eyes, Joron?” Meas said then.
“Farys.” He said her name loudly enough for her to come running. “You have good eyes. Who else?”
“Gulbry, D’keeper, and Karring.”
“Good, find them. You’ll each do two hours on and two hours off on the mainspine perch, to keep your eyes fresh. Scan the sea and watch for signals from the other two ships that they have seen something.”
“Is it a ship we’re looking for, D’keeper?” she said.
“No. Meas will tell us what we search for soon enough. First call the seakeep and tell her to get the wings set, then the shipwife will call us to the rump.”
And so Tide Child unfurled his wings and caught the wind, and the ship slowly turned as the seastay came up, and all around Joron the women and men of the ship pulled on ropes and tied off wings and sang the songs of the deckchilder as the ship did their bidding. Once they had him on course, some wings were taken in, others unfurled by lines of crew standing along the spars. As Cruel Water flew around them towards his station they cheered the smaller ship and his crew cheered back. It filled Joron with worry that the two crews would call to one another, but the ships never came close enough for a word to be understood or an accent questioned, and they flew no flags to be recognised by. Only the blue clothing of Cruel Water’s deckchilder stood out, but shipwives were known for such eccentricities and few even commented on it.
Once Tide Child sat once more with only his top wings out, making a slow and stately white path through the water, Meas called her crew together.
“Come, come, my crew! Stand before your shipwife and hear her talk. Hear what great thing you are to be part of. A making of history, no more or less. So stand and listen quiet for you may not believe what your ears hear.”
At this the shuffling and stuttering chatter that was always part of a crowd died away. Even those men sent by Cahanny, sitting indolent by the beak, sat up a little straighter. Even Cwell and her motley crew of malcontents shuffled a little nearer the rump.
“We have heard that a miracle has happened, my girls and boys, a miracle of high and strange order.” She held them rapt before her for there was nothing a deckchild loved more than a tale of mystery. Even Joron moved a little closer, as if to share the way she held the crew hypnotised, as if a little of the magic in her voice may rub off on him. “We hear tell of the times of the sea dragons, when the keyshans roved the waters of the Scattered Archipelago, taking whatever beast they wished, and all feared them, ey?”
“Ey, Shipwife,” came the reply.
“Well, maybe not all feared them, ey? Not the the women and men of the Hundred Isles. And maybe, they say now, we should have feared them a little more, for none remain. And because we have lost the arakeesians, no new boneships are built, no great boneships of five or six ribs break the water. We recycle what we have, building smaller and smaller, becoming less and less as the weight of bone we have ebbs with every generation.” She jumped her gaze from woman to man and man to woman, making some uncomfortable, some proud, some shy, some surprised she even knew they existed. “Well, that is no more.” She stood straighter on the rump. “An arakeesian has been seen.” This brought gasps of disbelief, shock, and then a sudden and excited chatter.
“Are we to hunt it?” And this shout, though everybody must know the danger was great, was full of joy. Why would it not be? To be the first in generations to hunt such a beast, well, that would be to become immortal in the Hundred Isles.
Meas shook her head.
“Tell me, my girls and boys, if you had only a cock and a hen, would you kill one and still expect eggs? Would you kill one and still expect plump birds to eat when Skearith’s Eye is cold, ey? Well would you?”
A chorus of “No” and “Of course not” and plenty more comments that were more ribald. The shipwife pretended not to hear them, and Joron wondered how she planned to change their minds at a later date when they had to kill the beast.
What would they think to find Tide Child flew the ocean to end the world they had always known?
“Exactly, my crew, exactly. But many are not as wise as you and do not think ahead. And you mark my words, they will want to hunt that lone beast, this wakewyrm.”
“Wakewyrm” was whispered, moving through the crew like tide hissing through shingle.
“If one comes,” she said quietly, “who is to say there may not be two? And if there are two then as surely as day follows night they’ll make more, ey? An arakeesian Bern, that would be a fine thing – right, my girls and boys?”
A huge cry of affirmation in return.
“So what we are tasked with is to keep the beast alive, and doubt not, the Gaunt Islanders will come for the wakewyrm. Raiders will come for the wakewyrm. Fools from islands we pass will come for the wakewyrm. Maybe even some of our own, ignoring the orders of the Bern back home, will turn traitor and hunt the beast.” Again that gaze, pinning each woman and man to the deck. “But will we let them take our future?”
“No, Shipwife.” Little more than a murmur.
“I said, will we let them take our future?” Her voice rising.
“Come on, my girls and boys!” shouted Mevans
“No, Shipwife!” Louder.
“Will we let them, my deckchilder? Will we let them?”
And in reply a great cry:
“No, Shipwife!”
“Then to your places. Pull tight the topwings and keep your eyes open, for a sea dragon awaits us, and a sea dragon we shall find!”
The roar in reply hurt Joron’s ears, and for the first time he truly understood, as he shouted and waved his hat in the air, carried on the current of the shipwife’s words, what his father had meant by being part of the fleet.
Up Flensechannel flew three ships, though from where Joron stood on the deck the seas looked as empty as he had ever seen them, a shifting landscape of grey water cut with the lines of white breakers. Only the topboys were in contact with Tide Child’s consorts. They had travelled like this for two days and Skearith’s Eye had dipped on the third. The sandglass was tipped every ten minutes and when it was, the shout went up: “Tell of the sea, Topboy!” A single, lonely voice in the darkness. The replies came down from the spine-points of the ship: “Ship rising to seaward, ship rising to landward.” Then Joron would nod and remind himself they were not alone.
A deckchild – Hamrish? – he was almost sure that was the name – manned the steering oar behind him and Farys was in the tops. Meas no doubt worked below with Aelerin the courser, and dotted about the ship Joron saw others, but only as hints, impressions of movement in the inky blackness. Tide Child was lit of course – rump and beak held large lights – but they did not throw much light on to the decks. Wanelights marked the rails but also gave little light. It was all too easy to believe himself lost and alone, so he took comfort from those small and shadowy movements that let him know he was not, and he took comfort in the the sadly tolling bell on the slate, and and he took comfort in the hiss of water passing underneath Tide Child, which told him his world travelled and that he was not lost, but on a journey with purpose and destination.