Bena Younger heard the terrible shriek and cowered lower in the crow’s nest.
Oh yes, my darling daughter, the night begins! Many are the terrible secrets of Laughter’s End, an’ could we fly wi’ wings of black now’s the time to leave the nest, dearie! But who in this world can flee their terrors? Hands o’er the eyes, ye see, and voices t’drown out all sordid griefs, an’ the mind has wings of its own, aye so beware the final flight! Into the abyss wi’ all flesh left behind!
The stars swirled strange overhead and the Suncurl wallowed as if the wind had gasped its last. Black waves licked the hull.
But we are safe, darling, ’ere above the squalid fates. Like queens we are. Goddesses!
As yet another scream railed from the darkness below, Bena Younger realized that she did not feel like a queen, or a goddess, and this reach of mast and the nets of cordage creaking almost within reach did not seem nearly high enough for whatever horrors were unveiling themselves beneath the deck of the Suncurl.
While beside her, Bena Elder crooned and moaned on, with hair standing on end and fluttering about, brushing her daughter’s face like the wings of moths.
“Who was doing that screaming?” Heck Urse demanded, reaching his lantern as far ahead as he could, the shadows dancing about the hull of the creaking ship, the rough, damp timbers of the ceiling brushing the top of his head. He peered into the gloom of the hold, sweat beading cold on his skin.
Others were awake now, but few had ventured beyond crowding the hatch leading from the crew’s berths, and Urse recalled-with a sneer diffident in its bravado-seeing all those white rolling eyes, mouths open, round and dark like the tiny pocks in cliff walls where swifts nested. Cowards!
Well, they hadn’t been soldiers, had they? Not a one of them, aye, so it was natural they’d look to Heck and Gust and Birds Mottle, not that any of them was quite free with their professions. No, such things came by obvious, in this hard confidence and the like when things were fast swirling down into some dark ugly pit. So here he stood, crowded by Birds and Gust both, with lantern in one hand and short-swords at the belts of the two soldiers at his back, Hood bless ’em.
“Briv’s gone missing,” Gust Hubb said, interrupting his endless praying to deliver this detail in a strained, squeaking voice. “Said he was coming down ’ere for a cask a something.”
“Briv. Cook’s helper?” asked Birds Mottle.
“No, Carpenter’s helper.”
“Was he named Briv too then?”
“He was, and so’s the rope braider, named Briv.”
Heck cut into this stupid conversation. “So Briv’s gone missing, right.”
“Carpenter’s helper, Briv, aye.”
“And he went down ’ere, right?”
“Don’t know,” Gust Hubb said. “I suppose he did if that was his screaming, but we don’t know for sure now, do we? Could be one of the other Brivs doing the screaming, for all we know.”
Heck turned round to glare at his one-eared companion. “Why would one of the other Brivs be screaming, Gust?”
“I wasn’t saying one was, Heck. I was saying we don’t know where Briv did the screaming, if any of ’em.”
“Why does it have to be one of the Brivs doing the screaming?” Heck demanded, his voice rising in frustration.
Gust and Birds exchanged a glance, then Birds shrugged. “No reason, love.”
“Unless,” said Gust, “all three was going for the same cask!”
“That’s not the question at all!” Birds retorted. “What’s a carpenter’s helper doing getting a cask of any kind? That’s the question! Cook’s helper, sure, makes sense. Even the rope braider, if’n he was looking-”
“She,” cut in Gust.
“The Briv who braids ropes is a ‘she’?”
“Aye.”
“Well, my point was, you get wax in casks, right? And pitch, too, so there’s no problem Briv the braider coming down here-”
“Listen to you two!” Heck Urse snapped. “It doesn’t matter which Briv-”
There were shouts from the hatch above.
Gust snorted. “They found Briv!”
“But which Briv?” Birds demanded.
“It doesn’t matter!” Heck shrieked. Then took a deep breath of the fetid air and calmed down. “The point is, nobody’s missing, right? So who did that screaming we heard down ’ere?”
Gust rolled his eyes, then said, “Well, that’s what we’re down here trying to find out, Heck. So stop wasting time and let’s get on with it!”
Heck Urse edged forward, pushing the lantern still further ahead.
“Besides,” Gust resumed in a lower tone, “I heard a rumour that Briv the braider isn’t Briv at all. It’s Gorbo, who likes to dress up like a girl.”
Heck turned again and glared at Gust.
Who shrugged. “Not too surprising, there’s one of those on every ship-”
“And where did you hear that?” Heck demanded.
“Well, it’s just a guess, mind. But a damned good one, I’d wager.”
“You know what I wish?” Heck said. “I wish whoever cut off your ear hadn’t cut off your ear at all.”
“Me too-”
“I wish it’d been your tongue, Gust Hubb.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say, Heck. I wasn’t wishing no one cut off any part of you, you know. It still hurts, too. Stings fierce, especially now I’m sweating so much. Stings, Heck, how’d you like that? And then there’s the swishing sounds. Swishing and swishing-”
“I’m going to go to the head,” Heck said.
“What, now? Couldn’t you have done that-”
“It’s up there, fool! I’m going to check it, all right?”
Gust shrugged. “Fine by me, I suppose. Just make sure you wash your hands.”
“That scream wasn’t no jhorligg,” Emancipor Reese asserted, licking suddenly dry lips.