Instead, he simply said, 'I just wondered if you were all right, that's all.'
There was no reply.
'It's just, I've noticed you using those dulce leaves a lot.'
When it came, the Rshun's voice was stiff and restrained. 'Headaches, that is all.'
Nico nodded, as though the gesture could be seen in the dark. 'One of my grandfathers was the same,' he said. 'Not that he really was my grandfather. I just called him that. He died defending the Shield. I remember he took the leaves, too. When I asked him about it, he said it was because of his eyes. Because they were starting to fail him, and all the squinting made his head hurt.'
The bunk creaked, indicating that the old man had turned his back to him.
'My eyes work fine,' he muttered. 'Go to sleep now, boy.'
Nico sighed, rolled on to his back to stare up into blackness. He knew that sleep was still far away.
Somewhere over his head, in the captain's cabin, a pair of boots paced back and forth throughout the night.
CHAPTER SIX
The Birds of War By sunrise there were no more signs of sails. They had passed the imperial naval formations some time in the night, while Nico had tossed and turned in his hammock, or slept in brief intervals that were filled with unpleasant dreams. Ash had already risen when Nico finally awoke to an empty cabin, the early light fattening the open window as the horizon dipped within its frame. The ship was climbing.
He listened to the men's talk in the busy gloom of the common room, as he held himself steady and bleary-eyed against the galley's serving counter and piled buttered keesh and seedcakes on to a platter. The crew were in better spirits at having crossed the Mannian blockade in the night, and at least were no longer scowling at him. Still, there was a sense that it was not over yet.
Nico ate his fill, his body still craving the nutrition it had been starved of for over a year. As he took his time over a tarred-leather cup of chee, he thought of beggar's broth, and wondered what Lena and the others he knew were doing back in the city. He even thought about his mother. Slowly, he began to properly waken.
He had barely finished his chee when he was startled by the most unexpected of sounds – a hunting horn calling out from the upper deck. The men froze and silence flooded the room.
The horn sounded again, with three high notes. Footfalls hammered across the planking overhead.
Instantly the men erupted into action with quick oaths and a general jostling towards the deck stairs or the cannon positioned along both sides of the wide room.
Sunlight flooded the low-ceilinged space as gun ports were opened up. Nico rose with panic in his chest. Amid the chaos, men outside shouted and heaved on ropes to pull the ends of the small guns out through the openings; a man shoved past him, not pausing to offer his pardon; others scurried for cartridges of blackpowder and cannon shot, or laboured with buckets of old nails, pebbles, coiled chains, forever cursing at people to get out of their way. A breeze played through the gun ports, dispersing the normally smoky atmosphere of the room, and carrying with it the sounds of snapping canvas and of the hull tubes burning fuel. Curiosity drew him towards one of the openings. With the ship still climbing, he shuffled across to the daylight, stopping himself with a palm laid against an overhead beam.
One of the sailors manning the gun poked his head out through the port. Nico leaned sideways until he could see past both man and gun.
A white speck, heading straight towards them.
'Bird-o'-war,' the sailor announced as he brought his head back inside and wiped his grim face.
Nico was possessed with a sudden urge to find Ash and to be at his side. He turned and hurried towards the steps. Berl was in front of him, loaded down with an armful of weapons.
'Take one,' the boy said, as they both climbed the steps.
Nico grabbed the first thing that came to hand, a stubby blade encased in a sheath six inches wide.
The weather deck was in bedlam. Sailors already armed with swords or axes were helping each other into tunics of leather armour. A group on the quarterdeck had set up three long-rifles on tripods by the starboard rail, next to the small swivel-mounted cannon. Others held bows, kneeling as they strung them. He could not see Ash anywhere.
Nico looked down to examine the weapon in his hand. Its handle was of simple wood, sanded smooth by use. He pulled it out of its sheath to reveal an ordinary meat cleaver. It felt ugly in his hand, weighted for a single brutal motion, and for a moment, when he thought of using this against another human being, he shuddered.
He kept it with him anyway as he made his way across to the other side of the deck, scurrying the last few feet as the ship leaned on its axis and tilted sideways. The starboard rail stopped him sliding further. A hard wind gathered his hair about his eyes.
To his right, up on the quarterdeck, Captain Trench peered through an eyeglass as he chatted to Dalas. His weariness seemed all but gone now, if not in the pallor of his skin or the soreness of his eyes, then at least in the way that he stood at ease, and how he spoke with decisiveness. The sun was rising behind the bird-of-war.
The skyship was approaching from starboard, but the Falcon was passing it on its north-westerly course. Nico shielded his eyes. Ahead of them, and further off to the east, another skyship was approaching on a course that would bring it across the Falcon's path.
Like talons, he thought, closing their grip on us.
'Boy!'
He swung about. Through a parting in the scrum of men, he spotted Ash kneeling alone on the foredeck. The old Rshun beckoned him with a flick of his head.
Nico walked the length of the ship by making careful use of the rail. The Falcon was levelling off, making it easier for him. He climbed the steps and approached the old man.
Ash nodded. 'You're late.'
'Late? For what?'
'Your morning session. Had you forgotten?'
'Ash, in case you hadn't noticed, we're in a bit of a fix here.'
'I told you before. It is master, or Master Ash. Now sit.'
'But we don't have time for this!'
The old man sighed.
'Nico, there is no better time for you to learn than when I am in the field and going about my work. This' – and he tossed a hand about, while a gust of wind tried to snatch it from him – 'is my work.'
Nico had no response to that. With a frown he took up the same kneeling position as the old man, setting the meat cleaver to one side.
'Now, remember, focus on your breathing. Follow it as it moves through you.'
This is absurd, said Nico's mind. For a moment he tried to focus as instructed, but through the struts supporting the rail he could see the second enemy ship growing steadily nearer. It was no longer just a dot but a bead of white.
'Relax,' the old man said.
It was odd, but as Nico inhaled and his heart began to slow from its previous breakneck pace, the activity on the decks began to quieten too.
A hush descended upon the creaking ship. All ears listened to the drive tubes pushing them forwards.
There was nothing left for the men to do now but wait.
Nico closed his eyes and found that it helped. Within moments a vague sense of detachment came over him, so that he could tolerate the increasing pain in his legs and back. He observed himself inhaling cool air, then exhaling. A moment of emptiness; then the pain worsened and brought with it a return of his thoughts. Through his eyelashes he peered at the bird-of-war. It was closer still.
The ship's bell rang out the hour, sounding as though it was simply another routine day aboard ship. Save that there was none of the customary coarse laughter, and very little talk.