This sail did no such thing. After folding its wings, it waddled over to her and gazed down upon her with its demonic eyes.
‘Sail, you have an augmentation,’ Tay said, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt.
‘The name’s Windcheater,’ said the sail, and Tay immediately clicked a switch on her belt. From the top of a flat rectangular box attached there, a device the shape and size of a candy bar launched into the air and began slowly to circle the two of them. The sail tracked the course of this device for a moment.
‘Remote holocorder,’ he declared. ‘X-ten-fifty, full spectrum plus anosmic, with a transmission range of five hundred kilometres. Why do you want to record me?’
‘Because you’re a legend, and obviously part of the whole story,’ Tay replied.
Windcheater shook his head. ‘If you like,’ he said. ‘Right, you ready?’
‘What?’
The sail made a low growling sound, then abruptly launched itself. Tay yelled in shock and closed her eyes against the dust. The next thing she knew, long bony claws had closed around her waist and her feet had left the ground.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
Windcheater gave no reply.
‘Put me down, dammit!’
Windcheater snickered. ‘You sure about that?’ he asked.
Tay looked over her shoulder and down, to see her island rapidly receding.
‘OK, don’t put me down,’ she said. Even though angry and not a little frightened, she felt some satisfaction in seeing her holocorder speeding along beside them, recording every moment.
Sprage drew deep on his pipe and chuffed out a cloud of smoke that drifted down the length of the Vengeance like a confused djinn. He rocked back in his chair, clumped his boots up on the rail of the foredeck, and gazed across the white water marking the reefs around Olian Tay’s island. Though now certain that Rebecca Frisk was back on Spatterjay, he was in no screaming hurry to find her. A brief conversation with the Warden had confirmed that she would never be leaving the planet. He and the rest of the Captains could take their time, in deciding how to deal with her — not that there would be a lot of debate on that, as she would most certainly end up in a fire — then slowly and inexorably they would hunt her down. Sprage gave a grim smile at this thought.
‘That sail’s got something,’ said Lember from the cabin-deck.
Sprage glanced at the creature winging out from the island. It had probably caught a rhinoworm, though why it was heading out from a landward direction he couldn’t say, unless it had flown with its prey from the sea on the other side of the island. Watching its continued approach as he pondered what must happen in the coming days. The Jester and the Orlando were moored up, and by now, through the slow message-carrying of the sails and, in some cases, through Polity-issued radios, nearly all the Old Captains should know — barring those still out in Deep-sea. Soon the rest of them would be arriving, and it would be time for the Convocation. Before then, Sprage would send for Olian Tay, as she would be a pain for years if he let her miss this. Then would come a slow but sure search, island by island, atoll by atoll. Sprage felt sure it would be the Warden who would detect Frisk first, but that would not stop the Captains from searching, even though the Warden had assured him that they could have her eventually. All of those who had once been slaves of Hoop carried just too much emotional baggage to keep out of it all.
‘Hey, it’s carrying someone!’ shouted Lember, now gazing through Sprage’s tripod-mounted binoculars. Sprage dropped his feet from the rail, stood, and walked to the front ladder of the forecabin, puffing on his pipe. Soon he was up standing beside Lember.
‘Spot who it is?’ he asked.
Lember jumped back from the binoculars, and glared at his Captain. Sprage might be ancient, but he certainly moved soft.
‘Can’t really see,’ said the crewman.
Sprage gently pushed past him and, moving his pipe so it jutted sideways from his mouth, he put his eyes to his binoculars.
‘Olian Tay,’ he said, and stepped back to watch the sail come in to land.
This sail was a big one, and the boom of its wings had its smaller kin on the spars flinching back. It deposited Olian on the main deck then, hovering above her, it stretched out its neck towards the other sail.
‘Bugger off,’ it said succinctly.
The smaller sail hurriedly released its grip on the spars, furled its wings, hauled itself higher up the mast and launched away from Windcheater. The bigger sail now descended and quickly settled himself into position.
‘Interesting,’ said Sprage.
Lember watched as Olian climbed to her feet then came stomping towards the forecabin.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘You don’t often see them doing that.’
Sprage faced him, pointed a finger to one side of his own neck, then pointed down at the sail’s head.
‘Ah,’ said Lember, squinting at the aug Windcheater had acquired.
Sprage moved away to the ladder and climbed down to the main deck. As Tay approached him, her face was flushed and there was a touch of exhilaration in her expression.
‘I was just about to send for you,’ he said. ‘Interesting times.’ He turned to regard the new sail, that had swung its head round the mast to watch the two of them.
‘They are that,’ agreed Tay.
Just then, Sprage spotted the holocorder sliding around them in a wide arc.
‘I would guess you know about Frisk?’ he said with a raised eyebrow.
‘I know about her — and I want to be in at the kill.’
‘Like you were with Grenant?’ Sprage asked, fixing his attention back on the sail.
‘If possible,’ said Tay, trying to keep an impassive face.
Sprage nodded as he once again puffed at his pipe. After a moment he said, ‘Welcome aboard, sail, how are you called?’
‘The name’s Windcheater,’ said the sail. ‘And I’ll want paying for this.’
The sun edged over the horizon, and turned umber clouds to turquoise silk. About their business over the sea, three sails glided across the face of this orb as its light revealed a ship far out on the water, and decked it blue with gleams of emerald. Ambel stared at the vessel for some time, then turned to Peck, crouching by the rail and staring down into the water. Peck looked distinctly unwell in this morning light. The scars on his face were livid and his eyes were dark with blood.
‘What is it, Peck,’ Ambel asked him at last.
‘Bugger,’ muttered Peck.
Ambel waited for him to continue. It took him a while.
‘It calls me, Captain,’ Peck said.
‘It calls to us all. It’ll call to any who listen.’
‘It called and I went,’ Peck confessed.
‘What have you done, Peck?’ Ambel asked calmly.
Peck rested his forehead against the rail. ‘Wouldn’t stop. It had its hunger. I fed it to shut it up,’ he said.
Ambel glanced back at his cabin and considered, having spent the night in there, how the head had been strangely silent.
‘Did you release it?’ Ambel asked.
‘No, Captain.’
‘What did you give it, then?’
‘Remains of the baiting steak.’
Ambel was about to make a reply to that when Boris yelled down from the nest, ‘It’s the Ahab!’
Ambel shaded his eyes to gaze out at the distant ship.
‘Now what’s Ron doing out here? Last I heard he was off after a load of turbul,’ he observed.
‘Maybe it calls him, too,’ said Peck.
Ambel stared down at his crewman and wondered if that might be true — for the Skinner called in different ways. Perhaps Ron was coming to deliver some long-avoided Convocation decision on the matter. But he would soon know, as the Ahab was heading straight towards them. Ambel walked back to the door of his cabin and locked it. The next time he went in there, he would take with him a harpoon wet with sprine. He didn’t like to think about what might be going on inside his sea-chest.