The voices reached me faintly. I thought, What now, blast it, how can things get any-*
* At this point Mr. Fiffengurt's journal is torn in two: the remaining pages are lost.-EDITOR.
"A man it most certainly is," said Isiq, peering through his telescope. "But how did he get there? He has no sail, no mast, even. There are oarlocks, but no oars. How did that boat get so far from land?"
It was a fair question. The Chathrand was six hours south of Ormael now, almost exactly halfway to Simja. Hundreds of men, sweating in the midday sun, gaped at the sight: a forlorn little lifeboat two miles off, with one ragged occupant, seated and barely moving, nagged by shrieking gulls. There was a fighting shield propped in the stern, and some large, lumpy shape beneath a canvas at his feet. They could see no more from this distance.
On the quarterdeck, Captain Rose was speaking to his gunnery officer. Lady Oggosk and Sergeant Drellarek waited at his side.
Isiq and Hercуl stood at the mizzen, with Pazel, Thasha and Neeps beside them. Chadfallow stood a little apart, brooding, wrapped in silence. Pazel had not spoken to him since the doctor shoved him to the deck.
"It is a Volpek lifeboat," said Hercуl. "And that is a Volpek war-shield in the bow, I think. But the man is small for a mercenary. I wish I could see his face."
Thasha took the telescope from her father, and winced a little as she raised it to her eye: Sandor Ott's fist had left a wide purple bruise on her face. The man in the boat had his back to the Chathrand. He was gesturing wildly, as if carrying on an excited debate. His feet rested on a black mound of some sort.
"Those hands of his," she said. "All skin and bones. I've seen them before, I-"