“How many of those with you, Coughlin,” asked Meas, “are loyal to you? And how many to Cahanny?”
“I only brought men loyal to me. Some of Cahanny’s finest they are, and . . .” As his mouth formed the last words his voice died away. Then he roared, “Hag-twisted bastard! He has fit me up. I will kill him for this if it is true. And his Hag-cursed niece.”
“We do not know it is true yet,” said Meas.
“You would know these eggs if you saw them?”
“Oh ey,” said Coxward.
“Come then, we shall open the boxes.”
Coughlin led them through the ship and down into the hold where two of his men stood guard on the boxes.
“Away,” barked Coughlin. “We let the shipwife see our cargo.”
“But Cahanny said—”
“Hag take Cahanny! Open the box.”
“Wait!” said Coxward. He vanished and returned with four bonehammers, flat on one side and viciously hooked on the other. “Best to be ready,” he said, handing them out. “Just in case.”
One of the men took a key from his belt, undid the lock on the box and then opened it, taking a step back in horror, not only at the smell – something damp and foetid and rotten – but at what he saw within. Coughlin did not move, his eyes widened as he stared at the contents of the box. Joron stepped forward. The inside of the top box was alive with borebones, small ones the size of his finger right up to ones the size of an arm, three-lobed jaws working as often on each other as the mess of brown and rotten bone that covered the bottom of the box. The slimy bodies were the same brown as the rotten bone, ribbed all the way along as they squirmed over each other in the sea of slime that oozed from pores along their length.
“Kill them,” said Coxward and started to smash the creatures with the flat of his hammer. Coughlin did the same, and with each blow he spat, “Hag-bent! Berncast son!” punctuating the deaths of the creatures with his voice.
Like this they worked through the rest of Coughlin’s boxes, and it did not escape Joron’s notice that the box of hiylbolts had been hidden away. The last box was empty, the borebones having eaten through its bottom.
“He has killed me,” said Coughlin. “The Hag-cursed man has killed me. And the rest of us. Well, I shall finish his niece off – I’ll have that satisfaction at least.” He turned away.
“No,” said Meas. “We know the borebones are here now, so Coxward can deal with them. And Cwell may have her uses.” Joron could not but feel a little disappointed that Meas intended to let Cwell live. “For now, Coughlin, enjoy her confusion when you refuse to speak to her, and her way off the ship is suddenly blocked.”
“Ey,” said Coxward. “While you help Meas take the island, I will put double teams on the pumps. Cwell will get more than her turn and it is fierce and hard work. By the time you get back we should have emptied the bilges and found any big ones. Then we can sweep for them each day. Once you have the island, find me lime rock and bring it aboard. We shall lime the bilges, and that will kill the rest of them and any eggs.”
“I shall murder Cahanny for this,” said Coughlin, “and I shall do it slowly.”
“Well,” said Meas, “first we must take an island and finish our mission.”
“I can wait,” said Coughlin. “Don’t you worry about it. You have done me a service, Meas Gilbryn, and I do not forget such things.” He paused, then added, “Shipwife.” With that he beckoned to his men and returned to the deck, no doubt to tell the rest how they had been betrayed.
“I truly did not know borebones were such a danger to a ship,” said Joron. “My father never feared them.”
“Well,” said Coxward, “the shipwife and I may have exaggerated the danger a little once we worked out how the beasts must have come aboard.”
“So did Cahanny want him dead?”
Meas shrugged.
“Maybe. Or maybe he bought bad bones,” she said. “Either serves my purpose.”
“If he confronts Cahanny over this, or asks Cwell,” said Joron, “he will know you lied to him about the danger.”
Meas shrugged and gave him a small smile.
“I do not imagine Coughlin is the type to ask questions, Joron. I think he is a man of action.”
“Why did you stop him killing Cwell?”
“Because then I would have had to kill him. I cannot have murder aboard. And besides, Cwell is clearly of value to Mulvan Cahanny. That may be of use to me at some point.” With that she turned and headed back up the ladder to the underdeck, followed by Coxward, who could barely hold in his laughter.
On deck night had fallen and a wind had sprung up, stealing away the stink of the cargo hold from around Joron and replacing it with the salt tang of the sea. Behind Tide Child his two flukeboats followed obediently on their ropes, the larger one with its single wing furled and tied tightly to its spar on the spine. The smaller had its oars set out along the seats for the women and men who would crew it. Both boats bristled with weapons.
Gathered on the deck of Tide Child were the thirty Meas had chosen for the mission: twenty crew plus ten of Coughlin’s men. Coughlin stood at the head of his group, his face still dark with fury, and no doubt in his mind he turned over the betrayal he believed Cahanny had perpetrated on him. He was no longer bare-chested, but wore a jerkin of toughened birdleather sewn with metal strips, more to show wealth than for protection. Those with him were dressed similarly, while the deckchilder wore only their thin fishskin or woven and softened varisk, hardy and good for keeping out the cold, but no use for stopping a weapon. To Joron they looked like different beasts, the men of the rock dressed for land, where there was no fear of heavy clothing dragging you down to the Hag, the women and men of the sea more scared of the embrace of water than the thrust of the blade.
The flukeboats were brought up, Coughlin and his men to go in the larger one together with Meas and ten crew, the rest to go in the rowed boat. Joron scurried down to the underdeck, where he placed the inert body of the gullaime in the harness he had made and then struggled into it. Thankfully, when it was on he found it did not hinder his movements, and the weight of the gullaime was so slight he barely noticed it. When he returned to the deck Coughlin’s men were still gingerly finding their way down the side of Tide Child in the dark and Meas paced impatiently up and down the deck. Joron understood why Coughlin’s men should be so careful; the ship sides were a mass of spikes and hooks, and worse, one slip would put them in the water, where they would be lost to the depths or ground between the hulls of the ship and the boat.
His father’s hand reaching from the water.
Joron’s hands clenched so tightly he felt his nails bite into his palms.
“Good luck, Deckkeeper.” He turned to find Dinyl, small, earnest Dinyl, holding out his hand.
He took it.
“Thank you, Deckholder. I may need it.”
“Do your duty, and come back, Joron,” he said with a smile. “That is what we must do.” He touched the black band around his arm. “It is what we all must do.” He turned away, but not before Joron saw the pain on his face. Poor Dinyl. Joron had never really given much thought to him. He had been a man with a career in the fleet and been forced to give it up for Indyl Karrad. They had all lost much to ride Tide Child’s decks but maybe Dinyl had lost the most, and the most unfairly.