Sianh smiled. “There we are. And. We could use a larger navy. How does one grow a navy?” He was enjoying this almost too much, I thought as he waited. “One cannot plant a longboat and harvest frigates. There are three options. One may build ships. One may buy ships. Or one must take ships as prizes.”
“I think we’ve only got one option open to us right now,” Annette said. “What money we still have in the coffers won’t cover much in terms of buying ships, but it can buy that powder from this—Tyse fellow.”
“Oh, I’m not sure I advise that,” Alba said. “Personal assessment of his character and motivations,” she replied to Annette’s raised eyebrow. “I don’t believe he’d lie about the state of Fen, but I do think he’d gouge us for every penny he can. I would advise, instead, keeping a good reserve of funds.”
“Very well,” Annette said. “My fleet will leave a small contingent here to patrol near your waters, and the rest will go out on the hunt to see what we can see.”
The first task to tackle with the small but intrepid navy Annette had supplied us was to set protection spells over it, as I had planned to do with the ships we had intended to buy from the Fenian shipyards. Annette was willing to help, although curious and cautious, as though approaching a strange animal for the first time. I resisted reminding her that there was nothing to be afraid of—after all, she had been willing to wear charms I had made at Midwinter.
“I’m not sure,” she said as we walked to the cliff to overlook her miniature fleet of three ships, “of the best way to go about this. You’ll have to tell me.”
“What do you think these ships need most?” I asked. “Protection, luck, strength?”
“Protection, certainly. Good luck, yes. Can you make them impervious to cannon shot?” She was still wearing her men’s coat and a pair of petticoat breeches, but her impish grin was just as I remembered it from Viola’s salon.
“Afraid not. Though—do you anticipate that the Royalists will fire on you to sink you or to tear up your rigging and disable you for boarding?”
“Look at you, learning naval strategy like a wee cabin boy on his first cruise!” Annette laughed. “We have cannon and powder and shot, and those are worth taking, not to mention the ships themselves. But these are not Fenian ships ferrying supplies—the ships themselves are our assets. I wouldn’t put it past the Royalists to want to simply sink them. They’ve a large navy—they would use our ships, if they could capture them easily. But I doubt they’ll take any risk to do so.”
“Then it would be best if the hulls as well as the sails were charmed.” I assessed the three ships at anchor with a thin sigh. Embedding charm in wood was harder than in cloth, and the expanse of dark, weather-hardened wood stared back at me, daunting.
But I had to. “It will be easier if I’m closer,” I said.
“Want to come aboard? I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Within the hour we had returned by longboat to the largest of the three ships, a Serafan frigate with lower, sleeker lines than a Galatine ship. “Ever climb up the side?” Annette asked. “It’s a regular riot.”
“Afraid I haven’t,” I said, staring at the rope ladder with trepidation. When we were children, Kristos used to climb trees, and drainpipes, and stacks of barrels, and anything else our working-class quarter could offer up for adventure. I preferred to stay on solid ground.
“Don’t fret, we’ll stay in the longboat as they pull her up. I’m not very steady on the ropes, myself.” But I saw her glance at the ladder, once more, and I had a feeling Annette’s lithe, nimble figure had found itself quite at home climbing among ropes and rigging. As she offered me her arm to clamber out of the longboat onto the deck, I felt the taut sinews of new muscles under her coat.
“Now. Should we get you a chair, or something to drink, or anything?”
“No, I’ll have to move about the ship.” I mapped its features, its construction and materials as I planned how to most efficiently lay a charm. I considered asking if there were specific places she was most vulnerable, if there were weaknesses or liabilities inherent in her design. But I knew that, in the end, I needed to cast over her entirety.
So I started with the bow and moved forward, weaving a tight net of protection and luck, nestling it over the seasoned wood of the ship’s hull, and driving it into the grain. The wood resisted; it was sturdy oak to begin with, and then hardened from years of service in the water and sun and wind. I pressed, slowly, carefully, determined to write good fortune over each inch clearly and completely. No shoddy, half-completed charm from me, not with so much on the line.
It took well over an hour to complete the first ship, the sails and rigging taking the charm more easily than her hull, and I refused Annette’s suggestion of joining her for tea in her cabin before moving on to the other two ships. She watched me warily. “What?” I half snapped.
“No one said we needed to finish today,” she said. “And there’s still the rest of the fleet, to the south.”
“I’m doing a thorough job,” I replied wearily. Annette couldn’t even see the golden grid embedded in her ship; I didn’t want to try to defend my diligence to someone who couldn’t see the proof herself.
“That’s not really what I meant,” she said. “Go on ahead to the next ship, then. I’ve some ledgers to balance here.”
By the end of the second ship, I was wishing I had accepted Annette’s offer of tea. The sun was warm for autumn, I reasoned, and it had been a long time since that morning’s meal of hot cooked oats. I pressed on to the third ship, using the short trip in the longboat to clear my head. I closed my eyes and was surprised when a strong arm yanked me back from sleep.
“You were ’bout to fall in the drink,” the oarsman nearest me said. I flushed and abandoned the idea of a rest. My legs shook as I stepped onto the last ship, but I had pressed through work before; deadlines in the shop and of course the cursed shawl had demanded my full concentration and effort. It was time to dig into those reserves now, I resolved, and began to cast.
The threads of light I pulled wavered, strangely brittle under my manipulation. Before I could begin to weave it into a crosshatched net, several threads snapped, springing back like Theodor’s violin strings when they broke. I pulled at them, but the more I tugged, the tenser and thinner they became, until more of the threads snapped and recoiled.
I expelled frustration through my nose in a terse sigh, and tried again, but my knees threatened to buckle and my vision seemed, suddenly, two-dimensional and flat. I blinked, hard, and pulled at the light one more time.
Instead of light magic, blackness washed over me, and I felt myself falling.
27
I WOKE TO A POUNDING HEADACHE AND THE KIND OF NAUSEA that churns an empty and very hungry stomach. I struggled up on my elbows, surprised by the faint scent of damp canvas and a creaking cot beneath me.
I was in Hamish’s field surgery. I pushed a coarse wool blanket aside and would have stood up if the bayonet of a headache lancing through my eye hadn’t roared to life. Instead I sank back with a sigh.