Joron watched as the gap in Skearith’s Spine came into view, the mountains appearing to move as Tide Child approached, those nearer sliding away to reveal the sound. He could just make out ropes tied across the cliff faces to provide handholds for those using the paths that wound their way up to the watchtowers. Both were old and had been repeatedly patched with gion and varisk for so long it had ossified, making them look like giant stone plants reaching out of the basalt into the sky. He could see people moving on top of the further one, little more than dots. As he watched, Cruel Water, under full wing, came past Tide Child to take up station at the front of the convoy, and intercept any boats coming out to investigate them. As if in answer, two flukeboats left the jetty below the further tower and headed towards the centre of the sound. Both were big enough to mount two gallowbows, one to each side, and they were bristling with armed men and women.
“Farys,” said Meas as the girl walked past with a coil of rope.
“Ey, Shipwife?”
“Go below, have the landward underdeck bows untrussed, strung and ready to loose. Those boats are better armed than I would like, and Cruel Water may need some assistance.” She pulled out her nearglass and put it to her eye. “Slow Tide Child by three rocks, Joron,” she said. “I would have us look like we are preparing for inspection.”
One of the approaching boats slowed to let its officers board Cruel Water while the second turned toward Tide Child.
“What is happening on Cruel Water?”asked Joron.
Meas lowered her nearglass. “Oswire speaks with the Gaunt Islanders.”
“Why not Arrin?”
“I expect he takes a calculated risk. By not appearing himself he makes it appear that this is not important to him. The man who has gone aboard is probably insulted; the conversation they are having is exceedingly animated.” She glanced at the approaching flukeboat. “Have them spin the bows of the underdeck, Joron, load them and be ready to open the bowpeeks. But have them do it quietly.” She lifted her nearglass once more. “I don’t like this.”
“Ey, Shipwife.” Movement caught his eye. “More flukeboats are leaving the towers, Shipwife.”
As he headed to the underdeck hatch to pass on her orders, Meas turned her nearglass to the second pair of boats.
“Hag’s teeth.” Joron rejoined her on the rump, and she directed her nearglass back to Cruel Water. “One or two is fine, but the sound is too narrow for us to manoeuvre without coming under the bows of the towers. Fighting three boats full of crew while being shot at by the towers is something I could do without before facing three boneships.”
The first flukeboat approaching Tide Child was commanded by an officer wearing a one-tail hat just like Joron’s, and the two gallowbows on his boat – more a small ship, if not one fit for the open sea – were both loaded with wingshot. Bowsells stood behind them with burning torches.
“They load their wingshot with hagspit, Shipwife,” murmured Joron.
She shook her head.
“I see it. Do nothing except look confident and pleased to see them.”
Joron’s heart beat fast, his breathing becoming shallower.
“I fear I look neither confident nor pleased,” he said as Dinyl came to join them.
“You look rather sick actually, Joron,” he said.
“Thank you, Dinyl.”
Meas watched the deck of Cruel Water.
“Come on, Oswire,” she said under her breath. “Convince them we are their ships.”
The flukeboats kept on coming towards Tide Child.
“How is your Gaunt Islander accent, Joron?” said Dinyl.
The oars of the flukeboat beat, pushing it nearer.
“Poor,” said Joron.
“You joke,” said Meas, watching the boats approach, “but we may have to try it out.”
The Gaunt Islander officer on Cruel Water appeared on the rump of the boneship. He shouted something and waved at the flukeboat approaching Tide Child, which hoisted oars and glided to a stop. The officer on the flukeboat gave Meas, Joron and Dinyl a salute, and the boat turned, making for the jetty. Joron felt he could breathe again.
“Well,” said Meas, “I had thought Oswire surly, but she must be charming enough when duty requires it.”
“And now we have only the three Gaunt Islands boneships to fight,” said Dinyl. “Little more than a walk up the Serpent Road.” He smiled at Joron, who did not share his bravado.
“Full wings!” shouted Meas, and women and men scurried up the spines. Joron watched the wings fall, felt Tide Child pull away. “When this is over I shall owe Oswire a drink of some sort,” said Meas absent-mindedly as she watched Cruel Water drop his wings, catch the wind and start a slow turn to bring himself round into line behind Tide Child. “Deckholder, have the underdeck gallowbows trussed. Twiner, get us on our way before they catch sight of the keyshan and have some awkward questions for us.”
“Shipwife,” said Joron, “could we not use the same trick on the boneships? Pretend to be Gaunt Islanders?”
“I doubt it,” she said.
“Why?”
Meas pointed at the towers. Thick white smoke was pouring from them and figures ran towards the jetty. The flukeboats were turning, though Joron doubted they could catch them now the boneships were under full wing.
“Because now they have seen the wakewyrm.”
They flew for a day, the winds brisk but cold, pushing them forward and plucking at their skin with icy fingers. In idle moments the crew gathered in small groups, standing close and sharing warmth until Meas saw them, shouting that it was work that would keep them warm not gossip. Then they would hop to whatever tasks were nearest. Where once Joron had avoided the underdeck, finding it stifling, now he found excuses to go there for the shelter it provided from the constant freezing wind that made his ears ache. Even there it was cold and the wind, like vermin, found its way into everything. For every gap that was stopped it found two or three more places to squeeze through and chill the skin.
They flew another day.
Tasks previously avoided, manning the pumps or moving cargo, physically taxing work, became more popular for the warmth they gave. Meals were no longer served cold; everything, from the bowls of gluey fossy pet they broke their fast on to the hard bread to the watered anhir was heated, and extra rations of drink were always coming up in steaming buckets, until Meas put a stop to it, claiming her crew spent “more time pissing over the side than working”. Joron found excuses to be in the small galley and watched sadly as their supplies of varisk charcoal dwindled.
They flew another day.
The waves grew, not into the truly dangerous, vertiginous waves that would topple a ship, not yet, but Joron had no doubt the Northstorm would bring them eventually, that it held them in reserve, waiting for Tide Child to displease the Hag. For now the waves rolled like gentle hills, lifting the ship towards the sky before lowering it into the valleys between each wave and the next. It was a soporific motion, as if the sea cradled Tide Child and its consorts. Below them the arakeesian remained unaffected, gliding through the depths with its back-wings down, sometimes surfacing to reveal its glistening skin. Then the waves washed over it once more, and in their wash Joron could see it was not skin at all but tightly packed feathers, ruffled by the water the same way Black Orris’s feathers were ruffled by the winds that drove Tide Child onward.