She wiped his face again and said, ‘I have some things I have to do, then I’ll be back. We need you and Hoyt, both of you, so I’m going to see if I can help.’ She kissed him lightly on the lips. ‘I’ll be back. Promise me you’ll still be here.’
Steven didn’t answer.
Hannah joined the others on deck. To Alen and Gilmour, she said, ‘How do we know when my mother’s opening her portal?’
THE CARRACK
‘The Missing Daughter?’ Markus asked, looking down at the trawler from the pier. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Danelle and I have two sons.’ Sharr tossed a coil of rope beneath the transom. ‘I thought it was funny.’ As Markus chuckled, he added, ‘She didn’t.’
Markus laughed again. ‘I’m surprised she didn’t make you change the name.’
‘She wanted me to, but then I told her what it would cost to have it redone, to re-register with the harbourmaster, blah, blah, blah and so on.’
‘Not bad, Sharr, quick thinking.’ Brand gave him a quick, uncharacteristic smile, then stowed the buckets of pitch he had carried on board.
‘She floats,’ Sharr shrugged.
The Missing Daughter looked like the unholy offspring of a sloop, a barge and a booacore boat. Her broad beam, the starboard winch and a short-armed crane made her a steady vessel kitted out for hauling weighted traps and gill-nets. Her two block-and-tackle outriggers were ideal for dragging nets, or – when the fishing was right – trolling the offshore banks for giant sharks, billfish, even tapen. Above the tiny forward cabin, her mainmast was rigged fore and aft, and had a crow’s nest high above, perfect for spotting distant schools of fish on calm days. She had a spanker to keep her steady while hauling nets or traps, and a bowsprit that jutted out so far that she had to be backed into a slip or left moored on a buoy. A number of Capehill’s unsuspecting dockers had found themselves knocked into the greasy waters beneath the packing warehouse after being whacked by the Missing Daughter’s bowsprit.
‘What are those lines?’ Markus pointed to ropes running from the bowsprit to the middle and top of the mainmast.
‘Haven’t done much sailing, have you?’ Sharr kicked off his leather boots and tugged on a pair of oiled galoshes.
‘I’m a farmer,’ Markus protested, ‘the closest I’ve ever come to a boat is a hollowed-out log my brothers once launched on the pond in my uncle’s orchard.’
Brand searched for a second pair of waterproof boots. ‘How’d that work out for them?’
‘It didn’t,’ Markus said. ‘It was seaworthy for just about as much time as it took my brother to shout, “We’re going down!” Then they did.’
‘That-’ Sharr pointed to the lower line ‘-is standing rigging for the bowsprit sail. You can see it reefed there along the spar.’
‘It looks big for a boat this size. You, uh, have anything you need to tell us, Sharr? I mean, does a really long bowsprit make up for shortcomings in other arenas?’
‘It’s massive; I admit,’ Sharr grinned. ‘I rigged it myself, in my own image. It’s for when I need to be a bit quicker than the other boats working the banks or chasing the big schools. That bow sheet gives me a healthy edge.’
‘So then, what’s that tall one?’ Markus shielded his eyes and squinted towards the top of the mainmast.
‘That’s a little surprise, something I unveil only when necessary.’
‘A second sheet?’ Brand held a wrinkled, salt-stained boot against his own sole, checking the size.
‘Exactly,’ Sharr said. ‘But it’s more than that, it’s almost a spinnaker. I only use it when the wind is just right, or when I have to hustle my aged bones out of harm’s way – the Malakasian navy and I don’t always see things from the same perspective.’
Brand scoffed. ‘This old barrel can outrun a naval cutter?’
‘Good rutting lords, no!’ Sharr laughed. ‘Look at her – she can barely get out of her own way.’
‘So why the giant sheet?’
‘When the navy arrives, my goal is never to outrun them-’ He checked that his sons had belayed both outriggers. ‘I just need to be faster than the next trawler on the water.’
‘Let the navy busy themselves with the slower deer in the herd.’ He handed Brand a great coil of line.
‘Something like that,’ Sharr said. ‘But it won’t matter for much longer.’
‘Because we’re going to win?’ Brand asked.
‘Because we’re going to die.’ Sharr ignored the outriggers and fell into a comfortable chair he had fixed to the deck.
‘But I thought you said this was a fast boat.’ Markus finally summoned enough courage to step on board.
‘Left foot first,’ Sharr warned, ‘left foot!’
‘Why?’ Markus said.
‘Better luck.’
‘You just said we were going to die!’
‘Yes, but there’s no sense inviting misfortune, is there?’
‘Rutting whores!’ Markus stepped on board with his left foot. ‘Any other absurd superstitions I need to know about?’
‘Plenty.’ Sharr dug in his pockets for a pipe. ‘I’ll keep you informed as we go.’
‘To die.’
‘Yes, to die.’
‘What makes you so certain we can’t do it?’ Brand asked.
‘Have you ever seen a merchant carrack? It’s a four-masted beast with cabins, two and three cabins, stacked on top of one another, giving her a great swollen arse to windward. We could hide my little boat beneath her mainsail. Merchant carracks are like galleons with allergies. Pragan miners use them to transport quarry stones to Orindale, huge piles of rocks, any one of which would send my little boat to the bottom in a blazing hurry. And if that isn’t terrifying enough, she could ram us to splinters without feeling so much as a nudge. Oh, and she’ll be fast; on a northerly wind, she’ll brush past us as if we were swamped.’
‘So unless we’re right in her path-’ Brand started.
‘An unfortunate place to be-’ Markus was already turning seasick-green, even though the boat was still lashed safely to the pier.
‘We can’t catch her?’
‘Catch her?’ Sharr laughed. ‘If we’re lucky, she’ll think we’re Malakasian soldiers fleeing Capehill, and heave to.’
‘To pick us up?’ Brand considered this new option.
‘Yes,’ Sharr said, ‘they’ll reef their sheets and welcome us aboard.’
‘Aboard a Malakasian ship, filled with soldiers, possibly Seron warriors, and some kind of evil magical tree bark?’ Markus asked.
‘Exactly.’
‘I like the run-us-down option better.’
‘Me too,’ Sharr said, ‘but – as much as I hate to quote Gita behind her back – you’re not coming, and neither is Brand. But I do appreciate you two helping me load these crates.’ Sharr avoided eye contact with Brand Krug. He liked Markus Fillin; the two of them had come from similar backgrounds: hard-working parents, strong role models, but Brand was different, difficult to read. Sharr guessed there was brutality in his past, some ugly experience that made the enigmatic freedom fighter keep people at arm’s length.
‘And why are we not going along?’ Brand muttered.
‘Because this is suicide,’ Sharr explained. ‘There’s no point in all of us going out there for no reason. We stand about as much chance of sinking that ship – of even finding that ship – as I do of sailing to Pellia and single-handedly sacking Welstar Palace.’
‘Are there shipping lanes off-shore?’ Brand’s voice was barely above a whisper. At Sharr’s nod, he went on, ‘You know where they are?’