Half the World

‘Gods damn it I need a drink!’ snarled Odda, as the South Wind scraped alongside her wharf and Koll sprang ashore to make her fast.

‘I might be persuaded to join you,’ said Dosduvoi. ‘As long as there are no dice involved. I have no luck at dice.’ Brand could have sworn the South Wind rose a few fingers in the water when he heaved himself ashore. ‘Care to join us, boy?’

It was a sore temptation after the hell of hard work and hard words, bad weather and bad tempers they’d been through on the way across the Shattered Sea. Brand’s hopes for the wondrous voyage had so far proved a great deal more wondrous than the voyage itself, the crew less a family bound tight by a common goal than a sackful of snakes, spitting poison at each other as though their journey was a struggle that could have only one winner.

Brand licked his lips as he remembered the taste of Fridlif’s ale going down. Then he caught sight of Rulf’s disapproving face, and remembered the taste of Fridlif’s ale coming back up, and chose to stand in the light. ‘I’d best not.’

Odda spat in disgust. ‘One drink never hurt anyone!’

‘One didn’t,’ said Rulf.

‘Stopping at one is my problem,’ said Brand.

‘Besides, I have a better use for him.’ Skifr slipped between Brand and Thorn, one long arm hooking each of their necks. ‘Fetch weapons, my sprouts. It is past time the education began!’

Brand groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was fight. Especially to fight Thorn, who’d been jostling his oar at every stroke and sneering at his every word since they left Thorlby, no doubt desperate to even the score. If the crew were snakes, she was the most venomous of the lot.

‘I want you all back here before midday!’ yelled Yarvi as most of his crew began to melt away into the mazy alleys of Roystock, then muttered under his breath to Rulf, ‘we stop overnight we’ll never get this lot started again. Safrit, make sure none of them kill anyone. Especially not each other.’

Safrit was in the midst of buckling on a knife only just this side of a sword, and a well-used one at that. ‘A man bent on self-destruction will find his way there sooner or later.’

‘Then make sure it’s later.’

‘Don’t suppose you’ve a notion how I do that?’

‘Your tongue’s sharp enough to goad a tree to movement.’ Which brought a mad giggle from Koll as he knotted the rope. ‘But if that fails you, we both know you’re not too shy to stick them with your dagger instead.’

‘All right, but I swear no oaths.’ Safrit nodded to Brand. ‘Try and keep my Death-flirting son off that mast, will you?’

Brand looked at Koll, and the lad flashed him a mischief-loving grin. ‘Don’t suppose you’ve a notion how I do that?’

‘If only,’ snorted Safrit, and with a sigh she headed into town, while Rulf set a few who’d drawn short lots to scrubbing down the deck.

Brand clambered onto the wharf, firm boards seeming treacherous after so long on the shifting water, groaning as he stretched out muscles stiff from rowing and shook out clothes stiff with salt.

Skifr was frowning at Thorn with hands on hips. ‘Do we need to strap down your chest?’

‘What?’

‘A woman’s chest can make trouble in a fight, swinging about like sacks of sand.’ Skifr snaked her hand out and before Thorn could wriggle away gave her chest an assessing squeeze. ‘Never mind. That won’t be a problem for you.’

Thorn glared at her. ‘Thanks for that.’

‘No need for thanks, I am paid to teach you!’ The old woman hopped back aboard the South Wind, leaving Brand and Thorn facing each other once again, wooden weapons in hand, he nearest to the town, she with the sea at her back.

‘Well, children? Do you await an invitation by eagle?’

‘Here?’ Thorn frowned down at the few paces of narrow wharf between them, cold Mother Sea slapping at the supports below.

‘Where else? Fight!’

With a growl Thorn set to work, but with so little space all she could do was jab at him. It was easy for Brand to fend her efforts off with his shield, pushing her back a quarter-step each time.

‘Don’t tickle him!’ barked Skifr, ‘kill him!’

Thorn’s eyes darted about for an opening but Brand gave her no room, easing forward, herding her towards the end of the wharf. She came at him with her usual savagery, their shields clashing, grating, but he was ready, used his weight to doggedly shove her back. She snarled and spat, her boots scraping at the mossy boards, flailed at him with her sword but the blows were weak.

It was inevitable. With a despairing cry Thorn toppled off the end of the wharf and splashed into the welcoming arms of Mother Sea. Brand winced after her, very much doubting this would make a year of rowing beside her any easier.

Kalyiv was a long, long way off, but it was starting to seem further than ever.

The crew chuckled to each other over the result. Koll, who’d shinned up to the South Wind’s yard as usual in spite of his mother’s warnings, whooped from above.

Skifr put long finger and thumb to her temples and gently rubbed at them. ‘Inauspicious.’

Thorn flung her shield onto the wharf and dragged herself up by a barnacle-crusted ladder, soaked to the skin and white with fury.

‘You seem distressed,’ said Skifr. ‘Is the test not fair?’

Thorn forced through her clenched teeth, ‘The battlefield is not fair.’

‘Such wisdom in one so young!’ Skifr offered out Thorn’s fallen practice sword. ‘Another go?’

The second time she went into the sea even faster. The third she ended up on her back tangled with the South Wind’s oars. The fourth she beat at Brand’s shield so hard she broke off the end of her practice sword. Then he barged her off the wharf again.

By now a merry crowd had gathered on the docks to watch. Some crew from their ship, some crew from others, some folk from the town come to laugh at the girl being knocked in the sea. There was even some lively betting on the result.

‘Let’s stop,’ begged Brand. ‘Please.’ The only outcomes he could see were enraging her further or going in the sea himself, and neither particularly appealed.

‘Damn your please!’ snarled Thorn, setting herself for another round. No doubt she’d still have been tumbling into the sea by the light of Father Moon if she’d been given the chance, but Skifr steered her broken sword down with a gentle fingertip.

‘I think you have entertained the good folk of Roystock enough. You are tall and you are strong.’

Thorn stuck her jaw out. ‘Stronger than most men.’

‘Stronger than most boys in the training square, but …’ Skifr flopped one lazy hand out towards Brand. ‘What is the lesson?’

Thorn spat on the boards, and wiped a little stray spit from her chin, and kept sullen silence.

‘Do you like the taste of salt so much you wish to try him again?’ Skifr walked to Brand and seized him by the arms. ‘Look at his neck. Look at his shoulders. What is the lesson?’