“For what?”
“Well” – Joron glanced towards where the island of pink and blue and white grew moment by moment – “as we are about to attack that island, I imagine it will be to do with that. It would not do to have you and your men running about without knowing your goal, ey?”
“No.” Coughlin narrowed his eyes. “No, it would not. I will come.”
Joron nodded to him. From the corner of his eye he caught Cwell watching as she braided together two ropes.
“Mind your head on the overbones,” said Joron. “You are a tall man and not well fitted out for a ship.” His words brought a chuckle from the deckchilder nearby, and Coughlin licked his lips as if he tasted the air to find out whether Joron mocked him or not. There was tension, but only for a moment, then Coughlin nodded.
“Lead on then. I would know what I take my men into on the land, for I know it is not your element.”
Joron let that small jibe go and led Coughlin down into the gloomy underdeck, hoping the man would crack his head on an overbone despite his warning, but like many warriors he had a keen awareness of the world around him. Joron suspected, that, even without the wanelights, he would have found his way without injury. Something Joron was not sure was true of himself.
In Meas’s cabin they once more entered a world of light. The desk sat in its ruts, Meas behind it and the bonemaster before it. On the desk was a hard round shiny brown thing about the size of a child’s fist. Both Meas and the bonemaster stared at it.
“You wanted me?” said Coughlin abruptly.
“Ey, I did.”
“To talk battle?”
“No,” said Meas, her voice quiet, “not yet.” Coughlin’s wide brow wrinkled questioningly. “I will ask you a question, Coughlin. And I ask you to give me a truthful answer. I will hold nothing against you.” He opened his mouth to speak but Meas held up her hand. “Wait. Just know, that before you say a word to me, I am shipwife. I know all that goes on within my ship.”
“You spy on those you should trust,” he said.
“Or those who I trust spy on those I cannot. It matters not. But I will ask you my question, so listen.” She let a brief silence settle before carrying on. “Cwell, as I well know, is Cahanny’s relation – niece, I believe.” Coughlin nodded. “Has she asked you to get her off the ship?” Joron saw Coughlin’s eye’s widen, only momentarily, but enough to give him away. “I know she has,” said Meas. “But I do not know where or when.”
Coughlin glared at her, and Joron wondered if he would go for the eating knife at his belt, but then he shrugged.
“She did not ask. Cahanny told me I was to get her off the ship at the earliest chance.”
“And now we have seen an arakeesian, maybe she is not so eager to leave. Maybe there is a betrayal planned at Arkannis?” said Meas.
“She liked that idea but was more interested in leaving the ship. You should let her if it is what Cahanny wants,” said Coughlin. He did not look worried or scared.
Joron wondered at how free he was with such information, and at the smile that crossed Meas’s face.
“Do you know what that is, Coughlin?” said Meas, and prodded the brown thing on the desk with the tip of her knife. It spun a little and Joron recognised it. It was a set of three-lobed serrated jaws. They were shut now and no longer attached to a body, and Joron thanked the Hag for that.
“No doubt,” said Coughlin, “it is some hagfilth from the depths that kills as soon as looks at you.”
“Well,” said Meas, and she sat back in her chair. “You are half right – the second half. It is not from the depths though. Deckkeeper, will you tell Coughlin what this is?” She tapped the object with her knife again.
“It is the mouth of a borebone,” Joron said.
“So? Some ship thing,” said Coughlin. “I do not see what this has to do with Cwell or me.”
“It is a small borebone, that one,” said Meas. “These jaws can grow as big your head, even yours, Coughlin. They live in ill-kept ships, eat through the bones of the hull, or the crew, if they come upon them unawares. They like the dark, see. Live in the bilges so they are seldom seen until it is too late, and suddenly your ship is sinking underneath you and the longthresh are gathering in the water to feast.”
“So,” said Coughlin, still plainly confused. “This is an old ship and ill cared for, a ship of the dead. But thank you for telling me it is unsafe. Cahanny wanted me to stay with the cargo once Cwell was off, but maybe we shall take the cargo and stay on the island.” He smiled at Meas and, to Joron’s surprise, she smiled back.
“Bonemaster,” she said, “would you expect to find borebones on Tide Child?”
Coxward shook his head, the flesh of his jowls wobbling.
“No, Shipwife. I had him out the water, bilges emptied, whole thing checked well because I knew he would have to carry me back safe as well as your crew. There were no bore-bones aboard before we set sail.”
“You must have suspected something was wrong if you were checking for them,” said Coughlin.
“I was not expecting borebones,” said Coxward, “but a good bonemaster checks the bilges, and because I know Tide Child’s keel is not the best I have been diligent in those checks. One of my girls found this thing yesterday.” He pointed at the jaws. “She was lucky – only lost a couple of toes to it before we killed it – but where there is one this size there will be more.”
“So?” said Coughlin. Joron could feel his discomfort. Clearly, Meas had brought him here for a reason, and it was tied to the borebone jaws before them, and to Cwell, but Coughlin could not make the link any more than Joron could. “The fat man missed something when he went over your ship.”
“I missed nothing,” said Coxward, and there was a hardness in his voice that made Coughlin look again at the man, as if reassessing him.
“Tell me, Coughlin,” said Meas. “What is your relationship with Cahanny like?”
Coughlin stared at her, a muscle twitching underneath his eye.
“We are both strong-willed men,” he said.
“Would he remove you if he felt threatened?”
Coughlin shook his head, but Joron could see doubt on the man’s face. Trying to understand what Meas was steering towards. Some doubt there, and worry.
“I have been with him a long time,” he said. “Many of his men are as loyal to me as they are to him.”
“So to move against you would split his organisation, ey?”
“Aye,” said Coughlin. “So he would never do it.”
“And he trusts you to smuggle arakeesian bone for him.”
“What I do is of no—”
“I only ask because, if you do, that is the only bone on this ship that has not been checked for borebone eggs. And you are ordered to make sure Cahanny’s niece is off the ship at the earliest opportunity. Off on dry land. Safe. Do you see the course I steer, Coughlin?”
“I . . .”
“Maybe your master could not move directly against you, but he would benefit, I imagine, if you vanished at sea.”
“He . . .” Coughlin looked around the cabin – at the walls, the white floor, the heavy desk. Finally his eyes rested on the borebone jaws. “He would not.”