‘This is a way of asking how much longer our trip’s going to take, isn’t it?’
‘You know I’d feel happier on the island, doing what we could to defend it.’
‘If we find the Source-’
‘Yes, if. If we find it, if we work out how to use it, if we get back in time, then perhaps it could fend off an invasion. We can’t pile all our hopes on a myth, Reeth.’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘Of course I hope it isn’t. But don’t you think there might be just a hint of gold at the end of the rainbow in all this? Quests usually occur in wordsmiths’ stories or fairytales, Reeth.’
‘What are you saying, that we should turn back?’
‘You know I’m not. And I’m no less hopeful about the Source than you are, despite what you might think. But we never put a real limit on how long this is going to take. I’d like to have one.’
‘I promised you we wouldn’t be out here any longer than we had to be. Why the sudden urgency?’
‘That last vision you had. You saw Zerreiss coming. Shouldn’t that ring alarm bells for us?’
‘You’re assuming the vision’s prophetic.’
‘Do you doubt it?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘Then maybe it isn’t too smart to be sailing into his path.’
‘He’s a long way off. I…knew that, in the vision. We could be done before he gets here.’
‘It’s the “could” that worries me.’
‘Look, it won’t be much longer before we get to the island group. We should be sighting them any time now, in fact.’
There was a cry from the lookout in the crow’s nest.
‘This is just too much of a coincidence,’ Serrah said.
‘That’s not landfall. It’s something else.’
They got up. A ship could be seen, well off from the prow. It was triple-masted, and looked sizeable, even from a distance. Caldason and Serrah hurried forward.
Rad Cheross was at the bow, studying the ship through a glamoured spy tube.
‘What is it?’ Serrah asked.
‘That’s an empire vessel,’ the skipper told them.
‘Which?’
‘Rintarah, from the markings.’
‘Is it an attack?’ Caldason said.
‘I don’t think so. The rigging’s set wrong, and I can’t see anybody on deck.’
One of Cheross’s crewmen appeared on the bridge with a pair of hand flags and began signalling.
They let a few minutes pass, maintaining their speed and course.
‘No reply,’ the Captain reported, lowering the spy tube. ‘I reckon it’s adrift.’
Kutch arrived. ‘What’s happening?’
‘We’re not sure,’ Serrah explained. ‘Could be a ship in trouble.’
‘Can you try probing for magical activity, Kutch?’ Caldason suggested.
The ship was nearer now. It looked becalmed. The Rintarah eagle emblem was plain to see on the mainsail.
Kutch closed his eyes and concentrated, knuckles white on the guide-rail.
‘Anything?’ asked Caldason.
‘Nothing,’ Kutch reported. ‘But I’m not sure there would be from this distance.’
Cheross raised his spy tube again. ‘So what do we do?’
‘Get us over there,’ Caldason said.
They crossed in the packet’s largest lifeboat. Caldason led the boarding party, accompanied by Serrah, Kutch and nine of Cheross’s crew. Reeth got one of the crewmen to hail the vessel, but there was no response.
‘Picking up anything, Kutch?’
‘No, Reeth. Not a thing.’
‘All right.’ He addressed them all. ‘We’re all going aboard, bar you.’ He nodded at the helmsman. ‘This could be a trap, so we need to get on fast, and I want weapons drawn when we reach the deck. If there’s any sign of trouble we go on the offensive. Everybody clear? Good. Let’s do it.’
The lifeboat bumped against the hull of the Rintarahian ship. Grappling hooks were tossed and ropes secured. Caldason and Serrah were the first up. Unused to such physical activity, Kutch went last, helped by a crew member.
On board, all was silent, save for the drifting ship’s creaking timbers.
Caldason split the party into three groups. Four men were sent on a sweep, prow to stern, while four others were told to check below decks. He took Serrah and Kutch to the wheelhouse block, where the Captain’s quarters were located.
At the first door they came to, he paused. ‘You stay here while we look inside, Kutch. If you sense anything hostile, shout out.’
‘I will.’
‘And if it comes to a fight, try and stay clear.’
The boy nodded.
Caldason tried the handle. It was unlocked. He kicked open the door and went in fast, with Serrah right behind him.
They found themselves in an unremarkable cabin. The bunk was unmade, and there was a certain amount of everyday clutter. A quick search showed nothing out of the ordinary.
The next cabin was very much the same. An unsheathed, discarded sword, lying by an open clothes trunk, was the only sign of anything amiss.
Kutch went with them when they entered a third, much larger room, evidently the officers’ mess. It had a long oak table, and wall racks holding tankards and earthenware crockery. Several chairs had been overturned, and there was broken glass underfoot. The table was a jumble of plates and cutlery, as though a meal had been interrupted. Hunks of stale bread and platters of rancid meat attested to the fact.
Caldason dipped his finger into a goblet of wine and touched his tongue with it. ‘Sour,’ he announced.
‘What happened here?’ Serrah wondered.
‘I don’t know. But it was quick, unexpected.’
The leader of one of the search parties came in. He was full-bearded and burly, with a ruddy face that spoke of years at sea. There was a thick, leather-bound book under his arm. ‘The ship’s completely deserted,’ he reported.
‘Any bodies?’ Caldason asked.
‘None we could see.’
‘Signs of violence?’
‘Not exactly.’ He looked around. ‘More like in here. As though everybody dropped whatever they were doing to answer an alarm or something. Down below, in the crew’s quarters, the hammocks are still strung. You’d never get that in a well-run command, least of all an empire ship, unless something untoward occurred.’
‘What’s that?’ Caldason said, indicating the book.
‘We found it up by the wheel. It’s the Captain’s log.’ He handed it over.
Caldason unceremoniously swept aside some of the detritus on the table and laid it down. Flipping pages, he came to the last, brief entry. ‘This is dated months ago.’
‘What does it say?’ Serrah asked.
‘Just routine stuff. The weather, a note about some provisions being low, that sort of thing.’ He turned to the sailor. ‘Do you know what these numbers mean?’
The man leaned in. ‘They give the ship’s position on the day this entry was written. If I read it right, they’ve drifted a hell of a long way.’
‘Where were they?’
‘Much further north. Very much further.’
Caldason and Serrah exchanged a look.
‘You know what this ship is, don’t you, Reeth?’ she said. ‘It’s the expeditionary vessel Rintarah sent to investigate Zerreiss. Gath Tampoor sent one too, according to the Resistance.’
‘I think we can assume that met a similar fate.’
‘Yes, but what? What happened here?’
Caldason looked to the apprentice. ‘You’ve been very quiet, Kutch. Can you help us on this?’
‘What I’m spotting doesn’t make sense. Or rather, what I’m not spotting.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Neither do I. Remember what I said earlier, about there being minute particles of magic everywhere, all around us? There are none here.’
‘So?’
‘You don’t get it, Reeth. There are none. It’s like the atmosphere, the very fabric of this ship, has been…cleaned. There’s not the slightest trace of magic. On a ship that would have had a full complement of sorcerers and used the Craft in all sorts of ways.’