Not many sailors wanted to spend much of a voyage aloft. The swells at that height, even on a quiet day, often had the heartiest of seamen hurling their stew; a gentle pitch or roll on deck could be a stomach-churning experience above the topsails. Yet Redrick spent most of the watch and much of his free time as far up in the Bellan’s rigging as he could, balancing effortlessly on his favourite perch, astride a spar rigged for a topgallant and a string of signal flags.
When he was one hundred and fourteen Twinmoons he left Rona’s South Coast and shipped out on a cutter, working for an intrepid businessman hoping to lure seagoing commerce back into Estrad. The journey had been a disaster; they never made it beyond Markon Isle before pirates took the cutter, killed the businessman and drowned most of the crew in the waters off Southport. Redrick was spared, perhaps because of his youth, and forced to sign on with an outlaw schooner, running raids and ducking the Malakasian navy from Southport to Orindale. Over the course of thirty Twinmoons Redrick learned to sail, to screw, to fight and, when necessary, to kill. It was also where he had learned to be comfortable high above the foredeck; pirates weren’t always the best company.
Nor did pirate careers last long. Many died young: ships were lost to the storms that tore up and down the Ravenian Sea, especially during the Twinmoon, and Malakasian naval officers were brutal and merciless. Redrick’s luck couldn’t last for ever, and when it ran out, he’d be captured and hanged by the navy like so many before him. One night he checked his pocketful of silver coins was safely stashed and his good seaboots were firmly tied to his belt, then Redrick slipped over the side and made for the lights of Southport Harbour. He swam as far as he could towards a Pragan vessel hauling nets offshore, eventually hailing the trawler through the darkness.
That had been almost fifty Twinmoons earlier, and now, ironically, here he was, sailing as a forced conscript for the Malakasian navy. The navy had seized the Parofex frigates, famous in shipping circles for the enormous loads they could carry, and when Captain Harwick argued, he had been killed – not just killed, but eviscerated – by the little woman who seemed to be in control of the entire Malakasian military operation in the Eastlands.
The woman had come aboard from a river barge, supervised the careful transfer of one slab of smooth granite, some kind of sculpture or something, Redrick didn’t know what, and then retired to the captain’s cabin with the great grey brick in tow. From there her orders were conveyed to the crew by an army officer who scurried about like a fennaroot addict.
Within a day, the battered and threadbare soldiers who’d come on board with their leader had been joined by what looked to be at least a regiment of tired infantry. They had come on a forced march from Wellham Ridge, and most looked as if they were about to collapse from fatigue and exposure. They were wet and cold and many had already fallen ill with lung infections. Those that had already died had been unceremoniously cast over the side.
Now the Bellan, the Souzett and the Welstar Prince made their way recklessly north, chasing the Twinmoon. All three were big ships with deep drafts and whether there would be enough tide remaining for them to reach the North Sea and make the run to the mouth of the Welstar River was a gamble. Yet it was plain to Redrick that as long as the small woman was in charge, they would bully their way through on piss and anger alone.
Redrick adjusted himself astride the spar, feet dangling above the decks as he ignored the footrope. He had found no reason to descend from the shrouds since Captain Harwick died. He didn’t wish to go near that woman if he could help it. She was undoubtedly powerful, but there was something profoundly wrong about her; anyone who could tear open the captain’s chest with a glance was someone to avoid, even if it meant spending the next Moon up here amongst the clouds.
The Bellan pitched hard to port as she was hit by a rogue wave, a big one that was bouncing back and forth between Falkan and Praga, regardless of the tide. The Narrows north of Orindale had towering cliffs on both sides. Passage through could be quick, especially with a following wind and the tide with you, but there were odd currents and unexplained swells that came and went, whipping the sea into a boil and disappearing just as quickly. Redrick, like many who ran cargo along the Ravenian Sea, could almost pinpoint their location on a chart based entirely on the way the ship was handling through the Narrows. Now he held on with one hand, his back braced against the foremast, watching the swells rolling into whitecaps below. A bit of bread he had been eating for breakfast slipped from his lap and tumbled into the water where it disappeared in the melee. ‘Whoring Pragans,’ Redrick murmured, ‘this is getting rough. Might actually have to go back-’
He stopped dead, his words almost hanging in the air. The woman was on deck, still in her uniform, still without a cloak. She had climbed to the quarterdeck, spoken briefly with the fennaroot-mad officer and then turned to look directly at Redrick Shen, her hair blowing about her face.
The fennaroot addict glanced up, said something to the woman and then pointed at Redrick.
‘Ah, rutting horsecocks,’ he spat, ‘let ‘em come up here and get me.’ He had a filleting knife in his belt, thin but deadly-sharp. ‘Let him climb up here and bring me down himself.’
The fennaroot officer shouted something; Redrick ignored him. It was an excuse he had used countless times: ‘Sorry, but it’s too windy! I can’t hear a thing!’
He changed his mind when he saw that the addict wasn’t climbing the ratlines himself, but was sending Redrick’s crewmates, his friends. ‘Well, you won’t be fighting ‘em, not over this, leastways,’ he muttered, and looked back towards the quarterdeck, where the woman was still staring at him. Redrick felt a tingling sensation, and a visceral certainty that her eyes were fixed on him and if he didn’t hurry himself down there for whatever nightmarish task she had dreamed up for him, she would blast him out of the shrouds.
When he reached the deck, Captain Harwick’s first and second mates, Harp and Spellver, were waiting with the Malakasian officers. Both looked haggard and weary, and both avoided looking at him. This was not going to end well. Redrick glanced east in hopes of catching sight of the Falkan coast. Too far to swim, he thought, too cold, anyway. He braced himself.
‘Good morning, sailor,’ the woman said politely. ‘My name is Major Tavon.’
‘Redrick Shen, ma’am,’ he replied, his hopes rising. This was more courtesy than he’d expected.
‘Remove your cloak and tunic, Redrick Shen,’ she ordered.
He looked around. The wind was blowing winter up their backsides with a fury. ‘Ma’am?’
‘And stupid, I see,’ Major Tavon said, ripping his tunic open with alarming strength.
Redrick tried to back away, but he couldn’t; some strange power was keeping him immobile. He glared at Harp and Spellver, entreating them to help as the icy morning wormed its way inside his clothes and bit his flesh.
Major Tavon considered his naked chest for a moment, then to Harp she said, ‘He’ll do.’ She turned back to Redrick. ‘You’ll do. Come with me.’ As she started back towards the poop deck, she cried, ‘Blackford!’, and the fennaroot addict was there in an instant, looking every bit the major’s personal slave. Up close, however, Redrick could see that his apparent obsequiousness hid fear.
The major told the officer she was not to be disturbed, then ordered Redrick to follow her as she walked along the companionway leading aft to Captain Harwick’s cabin. Redrick, still gripped by the iron talon, followed reluctantly.
‘Give ‘er a good ride, Redrick,’ one of the hands called.
‘Take your time, boy,’ another shouted. ‘We’ll keep this tub afloat for ’ee!’
‘Don’t touch nothing with teeth in it, Reddy.’
Is that what this is? Screwing? I’ve got to ride that old wagon? Demonpiss. He tried to step back, but found he couldn’t move of his own volition. Panic threatened to overtake him.