Thumps from the cabin, the scraping of boots, another muted cry.
Emancipor Reese licked his lips-yes, he was doing a lot of that, wasn’t he? Bloodwine, where have I heard that name before? Toblakai, said Master. Them giants, the barbaric ones. Tree sap, aye, mixed with wine and that’s fair enough, isn’t it?
Rhythmic creaking and pounding now. Womanly gasps and manly grunts.
Emancipor blinked down at the sword in his hands. The overlong, near two-handed grip. The rounded silver and onyx pommel, well-weighted and gleaming as if wet.
Desperate cries moaning through the door’s solid oak.
He thought back to that bottle’s neck, then looked down at the sword’s handle and pommel once more. Oh. One mouthful? Just the one? Gods below!
“You hear that?”
Birds Mottle squinted over at Gust Hubb. “Hear what?”
“Water. Rushing-I think we’re holed!”
“No we aren’t-feel it-we’d be sluggish, Mael’s tongue, we’d be knee-deep down here. We ain’t holed, Gust, we ain’t nothing so shut that trap of yours!”
They were whispering, since both understood that whispering was a good thing, what with Heck Urse creeping ever closer to the head in his search of whoever had done that scream and maybe finding what was left of the poor fool or even worse, nothing at all except maybe smears of sticky stuff that stank like wet iron.
“I hear water, Birds, I’d swear it. A rush, and clicks and moaning-gods, it’s driving me mad!”
“Be quiet, damn you!”
“And look at these nails-these new ones-look how they’re sweating red-”
“It’s rusty water-”
“No it ain’t-”
“Enough-look, Heck’s at the head.”
That did what was needed in silencing Gust Hubb, apart from his fast breathing right there beside her as they crouched on the centre gangway running the length of the keel. Both strained their eyes at that wavering pool of lantern light fifteen paces ahead. They watched as the black, warped door was angled open.
Then Heck Urse’s silhouette blotted out the glow.
“Look!” hissed Gust. “He’s going in!”
“Brave man,” Birds Mottle muttered, shaking her head. “I shoulda married him.”
“He ain’t that brave,” said Gust.
She slowly drew her knife and faced him. “What did you just say?”
Gust Hubb caught nothing of that dangerous tone, simply nodding ahead. “Look, he’s just peeking in.”
“Oh, right.” She sheathed her knife.
Heck leaned back and shut the head’s door, then, drawing his lantern back round, hurried back to where they waited.
“Nothing,” he said. “No one and nothing there.”
Gust Hubb yelped and clapped a hand to the bandaged wound on the side of his head.
Heck and Birds stared at him.
“Something nipped me!”
“Something nipped what, exactly?” Heck asked. “It’s a ghost ear now, Gust Hubb. It ain’t there, remember?”
“I’d swear…”
“Your imagination,” Birds Mottle said. Then she turned back to Heck Urse. “So what do we do now?”
Someone was coming up the walkway and they turned to see Ably Druther clambering closer.
“We did a search and all, sir,” Heck said as the first mate arrived. “Didn’t find nothing and no signs neither.”
Ably crouched, drawing them all into a huddle. “Listen, the whole damned crew is awake and eyes are rolling every which way-finding nothing won’t work-”
“They do a count?” Heck asked. “Who’s missing?”
“Rope braider Briv.”
“Sure it was her?”
“That’s what I was told. The short one with the orange hair and the stubbly legs-”
“Was Gorbo there?”
Ably Druther nodded.
Heck and Birds exchanged a glance. “You sure of that?” the former asked.
Ably Druther scowled. “Aye, he was the one reporting Briv missing.”
Birds Mottle snorted. “Was he now?”
“I just said he was.”
“And nobody else missing?”
“Well, just that fat passenger, the one always fishing.”
“Ow!” Gust Hubb clapped a hand onto the bandage again.