‘I’ve fished here all my life.’
‘Then that’s where we’re going.’ He looked deadly serious, and he still hadn’t moved.
Sharr looked the quiet warrior in the eyes. ‘Have you been on the open ocean, Brand? Do you know anything about sailing? Anything at all? The swells out there block your view of the horizon; there are rollers so high they blot out the view… nothing you’ve ever seen at the beach or boating in the harbour can give you any idea what we’re going to face out there. And it’s cold, chill-your-bones-to-aching cold. If we don’t get swamped and drown, we’ll try to cut the carrack off. And assuming I can accomplish this nearly impossible navigational feat, we will get rammed and die. Or, even better, they will mistake us for their Malakasian comrades, heave to, take us aboard, and then we will die.’
Markus interrupted, asking, ‘So any scenario in which we don’t die, Sharr?’
‘Just one.’ He grinned.
‘Care to elaborate a bit on our role?’
‘You don’t have a role.’ He jumped back to the pier and lowered another wooden crate onto the deck.
‘You haven’t convinced me you can sail out there and sink that ship by yourself, Sharr,’ Brand said.
‘Not by myself, no. He’s coming with me.’ He gestured towards the dockside, where Stalwick Rees, looking more fragile than ever and lugging a massive canvas bag almost as big as he was, moved hesitantly towards the Missing Daughter. They could see his lips moving as he nervously talked to no one.
Brand’s scepticism was almost palpable, filling the space between them. ‘You can’t be serious! He’ll sink this tub before you even catch the outgoing tide.’
Sharr wheeled on him. ‘You really want to come along, Brand? Well, I don’t care, come, then – you, too, Markus, if you’re so determined to die. But we’re not going anywhere without him.’
‘Why?’ Markus said, waving encouragingly to Stalwick.
‘Because he has special gifts.’ Sharr started towards the wharf. He turned to say, ‘Make peace with the gods tonight, boys, because the tide turns just before dawn tomorrow. If you’re coming, I’ll see you here. Right now, I’m off home.’
The Missing Daughter sailed with the predawn tide. A frigid bank of fog had swallowed Capehill overnight and a ponderous gloom had settled over the trawler. The northerly winds that had been raking the Falkan coast for days died suddenly after middlenight, leaving the wharf blanketed in a foreboding silence.
Sharr set his main and spanker in a broad reach, but didn’t bother with the bowsprit; there wasn’t enough wind. He leaned at the helm, watching for the channel marker denoting the last lazy tack to port needed to clear the dogleg that was Capehill Harbour; perhaps then they’d get lucky and catch a bit of breeze. Stalwick and Markus huddled together in the middle of the deck; Brand stood in the stern, watching the fog billow past like a ghostly memory.
‘Any tecan?’ he asked laconically.
‘No,’ Stalwick was quick to reply, ‘but I can make some, Brand. I can. I’m good at tecan, well, not as good as-’
‘Stalwick,’ Markus stopped him, ‘it’s over there, in the canvas bag near the top of that chest.’
‘Oh, right, thanks. I’ll get it going right away, thanks.’ Fumbling, he managed to dislodge the pot and a tin of leaves, struggled to open one of the hogsheads lashed to the mainmast, then finally disappeared to the tiny galley to get the mixture brewing.
‘Thanks, Stalwick,’ Sharr shouted down to him. ‘Goblets in that leather bag on the shelf above your head.’
‘All right, Sharr, all right. I’ll tell you, I was worried, scared even, to go out on the ocean with you three, but I tell you what; this isn’t so bad. I’d rather be able to see something, I would, I’ll tell you, but this isn’t bad sailing at all.’
Still staring at the wall of white, Brand said mockingly, ‘Swells that block my view of the horizon, huh, Sharr?’
‘Be careful what you wish for, my friend,’ Sharr warned. ‘We’re not even out of the harbour yet.’ Like the rest of them, Sharr was dressed in a cotton undertunic, a boiled wool tunic, a leather vest and a boiled wool cloak, all topped with an oiled leather poncho to help ward off the frigid winds. Sharr worried that one of the others, as green as they were, might slip and fall overboard, especially if ice formed on the deck later that day. Layered vestments made winter fishing bearable, but they were not good for swimming.
‘We’ll never catch them at this rate,’ Markus said, helping Stalwick pour out tecan.
‘You’ve got to remember that if we don’t have any wind, they don’t have any either,’ Sharr reminded them. ‘Actually, I’m hoping that carrack passed by last night, with all her sails filled to bursting, so we’ll never catch her – if that’s the case, we’ll make a day of it and I’ll teach you how to haul a net.’
‘All right,’ Markus shivered. ‘I’m up for a bit of fishing today.’
‘That’s not very patriotic of you,’ Brand said, checking the throwing knives he wore at his belt.
‘Call it self-preservation,’ Markus said. ‘Here, tecan’s ready.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, then looked up suddenly and said, ‘Hey, Captain, look at the fog.’ From the south, the sound of crashing waves reached them through the gloom.
‘What?’ Stalwick cried as he turned a full circle, ‘what’s it doing?’
‘It’s moving north,’ Markus said. ‘We’ve found a bit of wind.’
‘Oh, that’s good, right, Sharr? A bit of wind, and we can get going out there, right?’
Sharr tested the wind. He checked the mainsail, let the beam out slightly, then belayed the line. ‘Be careful what you wish for, my friends,’ he muttered again.
By the dinner aven, there was a stiff wind blowing north and the Missing Daughter was running before it like a schooner. Markus, Stalwick and Brand were clinging to lines and belaying pins as if they were the last handholds outside the Northern Forest. The deck was wet, and icing over, but none of the intrepid seamen were willing to move from where they stood, so there was no immediate danger of anyone slipping over the side.
At the helm, Sharr sang off-colour songs, obviously enjoying himself. ‘You don’t get too many days like this!’ he cried above the breeze. ‘Look there, that’s Raven’s Point! Great whoring mothers, but that’s got to be a new record, for a fishing boat, anyway.’ He looked at the others as the Missing Daughter rolled over an enormous swell and buried her bow halfway up the following trough. ‘You boys all right?’
‘Fine,’ Brand managed without letting go of the ratline he had looped about his wrist. ‘I’m thinking of spending all my winter Twinmoons on the water once this business is finished.’
‘Markus,’ Sharr shouted, ‘Brand just made a joke – he must be terrified!’
The handsome lieutenant, soaked to the undertunic and shivering hard, said, ‘I’m too scared to talk right now. I’d rather my life end in silence.’
Sharr laughed. ‘You’re not going to die in this, Markus. It’s a beautiful clear day!’
‘Isn’t it a bit… um… lumpy?’ Stalwick asked miserably.
‘A bit,’ Sharr acknowledged, ‘but the old girl’ll hold together, don’t you worry.’
‘What happens if we don’t spot that carrack today?’ Markus was doing his best to scan the horizon for sails.
‘We’ll stay off the wind for the night,’ Sharr pointed north, ‘then jibe, close haul and creep south again tomorrow morning. It wouldn’t be wise to do that before first light, though. And if the wind changes with the tide, which it might well do, we’ll come about and enjoy a nice run down the coast.’
‘You mean stay out here? All night?’ He sounded completely horrified.
‘Of course,’ Sharr said, laughing. ‘We’d not make it home now anyway, not tonight – we’re against the wind and the tide.’
‘I see.’ Markus swallowed hard. ‘It’s just- Well, to be honest, I never thought we’d be out here after dark.’
‘You afraid of the dark, Markus?’
‘Out here?’ He braced himself as the trawler crested another swell. ‘Yes, actually, quite.’