The Mad Ship

‘It will be all right,’ Sessurea tried to reassure her. ‘You are just weary. And hungry. We all are.’

‘Weary unto death,’ Maulkin confirmed tiredly. ‘And hungry almost to mindlessness. The demands of the body overpower the functioning of the mind. But listen to me, both of you. Listen and fix this in your minds and cling to it. If all else is forgotten, cherish this. We cannot go south again. If we leave these waters, it will be to end. As long as we can think, we must remain here and seek for One Who Remembers. I know it in my stomach. If we are not renewed this time, we shall not be renewed. We and all our kind will perish and be ever after unknown in sea or sky or upon the land.’ He spoke the strange words slowly and for an instant, Shreever almost recalled what they meant. Not just the Plenty and the Lack. The earth, the sky and the sea, the three parts of their sovereignty, once the three spheres of…something.

Maulkin shook his mane again. This time Shreever and Sessurea both opened their gills wide to his toxins and scalded his memories into themselves. Shreever looked down at the tumbled blocks of worked stone that littered the sea-bottom, at the layered barnacles and sea grasses that were anchored to the Conqueror’s Arch in an obscuring curtain. The black stone veined with silver peeped through only in small patches. The earth had shaken it down and the sea had swallowed it up. Once, lives ago, she had settled upon that arch, first flapping and then folding her massive wings back upon her shoulders. She had bugled to her mate of her joy in the morning’s fresh rain, and a gleaming blue dragon had trumpeted his reply. Once the Elderkind had greeted her arrival with scattered flowers and shouts of welcome. Once in this city under a bright blue sky…

It faded. It made no sense. The images wisped away like dreams upon awakening.

‘Be strong,’ Maulkin exhorted them. ‘If we aren’t fated to survive, then at least let us fight it to the end. Let it be fate that extinguishes us, not our own lack of heart. For the sake of our kind, let us be true to what we were.’ His ruff stood out full and venomous about his throat. Once more, he looked the visionary leader who had seized Shreever’s loyalties so long ago. Her hearts swelled with love of him.

The world dimmed and she lifted her eyes to a great shadow moving overhead. ‘No, Maulkin,’ she trumpeted softly. ‘We are not destined to die, nor to forget. Look!’

A dark provider skimmed lazily along above them. As it swept over their heads, it cast forth food for them. The flesh sank slowly towards them, wafting down on the current. They were dead two-legs, one with chain still upon it. There would be no struggle for this meat. One needed only to accept it.

‘Come,’ she urged Maulkin as Sessurea unwound from them and moved eagerly toward the meat. Gently she drew Maulkin up with her as she rose to accept the bounty of the provider.

1 THE MAD SHIP (#ulink_8e64ef9c-2d44-54c6-a3f7-c40dc2b649ed)

THE BREEZE AGAINST his face and chest was brisk and chill, yet something in it hinted of spring soon to come. The air tasted of iodine; the tide must be out, exposing the kelp beds just offshore. Under his hull, the coarse sand was damp from the last heavy rain. The smoke of Amber’s small fire tickled his nose. The figurehead turned his blind visage away from it then reached up to scratch his nose.

‘It’s a fine evening, don’t you think?’ she asked him conversationally. ‘The skies have cleared. There are still some clouds, but I can see the moon and some stars. I’ve gathered mussels and wrapped them in seaweed. When the fire is stronger, I’ll rake away some of the wood and cook them on the coals.’ Her voice paused hopefully.

Paragon did not reply.

‘Would you like to taste some, when they’re cooked? I know you have no need to eat, but you might find it an interesting experience.’

He yawned, stretched, and crossed his arms on his chest. He was much better at this than she was. Thirty years hauled out on a beach had taught him true patience. He would outlast her. He wondered if she would get angry or sad tonight.

‘What good does it do either of us for you to refuse to speak to me?’ she asked reasonably. He could hear her patience starting to unravel. He did not bother to shrug.

‘Paragon, you are a hopeless twit. Why won’t you speak to me? Can’t you see I’m the only one who can save you?’

Save me from what? He might have asked. If he’d been speaking to her.

He heard her get up and walk around his bow to stand in front of him. He casually turned his disfigured face away from her.

‘Fine, then. Pretend to ignore me. I don’t care if you answer me or not, but you have to listen to what I say. You are in danger, very real danger. I know you opposed me buying you from your family, but I made the offer anyway. They refused me.’

Paragon permitted himself a small snort of disdain. Of course they had. He was the Ludluck family’s liveship. No matter how deep his disgrace, they would never sell him. They had kept him chained and anchored to this beach for some thirty years, but they’d never sell him! Not to Amber, not to New Traders. They wouldn’t. He had known that all along.

Amber continued doggedly. ‘I spoke directly to Amis Ludluck. It wasn’t easy to get to see her. When we did speak, she pretended to be shocked that I would make the offer. She insisted you were not for sale, at any price. She said the same things that you did, that no Bingtown Trader family would sell their liveship. That it simply wasn’t done.’

Paragon could not keep down the slow smile that gradually transfigured his face. They still cared. How could he have ever doubted that? In a way, he was almost grateful to Amber for making the ridiculous offer to buy him. Maybe now that Amis Ludluck had admitted to a stranger that he was still a part of her family, she’d be moved to visit him. Once Amis had visited him, it might lead to other things. Perhaps he would yet again sail the seas with a friendly hand on the wheel. His imagination went afar.

Amber’s voice dragged him back ruthlessly. ‘She pretended to be distressed that there were even rumours of selling you. She said it insulted her family honour. Then she said –’ Amber’s voice suddenly went low, with fear or anger. ‘She said that she had hired some men to tow you away from Bingtown. That it might be better all around if you were out of sight and out of mind.’ Amber paused significantly.

Paragon felt something inside his wizardwood chest squeeze tight and hard.

‘So I asked her who she had hired.’

He lifted his hands quickly and stuffed his fingers in his ears. He wouldn’t listen. She was going to play on his fears. So his family was going to move him. That didn’t mean anything. It would be nice to be somewhere else. Maybe this time, when they hauled him out, they would block him up level. He was tired of always being at a list.

‘She said it was none of my business.’ Amber raised her voice. ‘Then I asked her if they were Bingtown Traders. She just glared at me. So then I asked her where Mingsley was going to take you to have you dismantled.’

Paragon began desperately to hum. Loudly. Amber went on talking. He couldn’t hear her. He would not hear her. He plugged his ears more tightly and sang aloud, ‘A penny for a sweet-bun, a penny for a plum, a penny for the races, to see the ponies run…’

‘She threw me out!’ Amber roared. ‘When I stood outside and shouted that I’d take it to the Bingtown Traders’ Council she set her dogs on me. They damn near caught me, too!’

‘Swing me low, swing me high, swing me up into the sky,’ Paragon sang the childish rhyme desperately. She was wrong. She had to be wrong. His family was going to move him somewhere safe. That was all. It didn’t really matter who they hired to do it. Once they had him in the water, he’d go willingly. He would show them how easy it could be to sail him. Yes. It would be a chance to prove himself to them. He could show them that he was sorry for all the things they had made him do.

She wasn’t speaking any more. He slowed his singing, then let it die away to a hum. Silence, save for his own voice. Cautiously he unstopped his ears. Nothing, save the brush of the waves, the wind nudging sand across the beach and the crackling of Amber’s fire. A question occurred to him and he spoke it aloud before he remembered he was not speaking to her.

‘When I get to my new place, will you still come to see me?’

‘Paragon. You can’t pretend this away. If they take you away from here, they’ll chop you up for wizardwood.’

The figurehead tried a different tack. ‘I don’t care. It would be nice to be dead.’

Amber’s voice was low, defeated. ‘I’m not sure you’d be dead. I’m afraid they’ll separate you from the ship. If that doesn’t kill you, they’ll probably transport you to Jamaillia, and sell you off as an oddity. Or give you as a gift to the Satrap in exchange for grants and favours. I don’t know how you’d be treated there.’

‘Will it hurt?’ Paragon asked.

‘I don’t know. I don’t know enough about what you are. Did it…When they chopped your face, did that hurt?’

He turned his shattered visage away from her. He lifted his hands and walked his fingers over the splintered wood where his eyes had once been. ‘Yes.’ His brow furrowed. Then in the next breath he added, ‘I don’t remember. There is a lot I can’t remember, you know. My logbooks are gone.’

‘Sometimes not remembering is the easiest thing to do.’

‘You think I’m lying, don’t you? You think I can remember, but I just won’t admit it.’ He picked at it, hoping for a quarrel.

‘Paragon. Yesterday we cannot change. We are talking about tomorrow.’

‘They’re coming tomorrow?’

‘I don’t know! I was speaking figuratively.’ She came closer suddenly and reached up to put her hands flat against him. She wore gloves against the night’s chill, but it was still a touch. He could feel the shapes of her hands as two patches of warmth against his planking. ‘I can’t stand the thought of them taking you to cut you up. Even if it doesn’t hurt, even if it doesn’t kill you. I can’t stand the thought of it.’

‘There’s nothing you can do,’ he pointed out. He suddenly felt mature for voicing that thought. ‘There’s nothing either of us can do.’

‘That is fatalistic twaddle,’ Amber declared angrily. ‘There’s a lot we can do. If nothing else, I swear I will stand here and fight them.’

‘You wouldn’t win,’ Paragon insisted. ‘It would be stupid to fight, knowing you couldn’t win.’

‘That’s as may be,’ Amber replied. ‘I hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t want to wait for it to be that desperate. I want to act before they do. Paragon. We need help. We need someone who will speak to the Bingtown Traders’ Council for us.’

‘Can’t you?’

‘You know I can’t. Only an Old Trader can attend those meetings, let alone speak. We need someone who can go to them and convince them they should forbid the Ludlucks to do this.’

‘Who?’