He asked his wife, 'Where's Matty? It's time that boy learned real sailing. Sharin' treasure will see us through the winter.'
'You'll not take Matty on this voyage.' The fishwife's tight lips suggested no compromise. 'Coin' to corsair is bad enough, but goin' after the woman Strongheart is plain foolish.'
Crooked-Nose frowned. 'It's just made-up stories they tell 'bout her. I never believe a tenth what I hear 'bout anyone.'
'Neither do I,' retorted the wife, 'but if even a tenth of what's touted about Strongheart is true, she'll break Drumfish in half and hang Rimon's head from her spritchains-and yours too.'
Chapter 12
'Is that a smile?' called Simone above a keening wind. High aloft, she and Adira toed a thin rope and leaned over a thick yard to furl a balky sail.
'I'm just glad to be at sea!' called Adira. 'Even in this bathtub of a bay!'
'We have to make landfall some time!'
'Don't spoil my fun!' Yet Adira glanced at the distant coast called the Goat's Walk. Jagged rocks and cliffs were topped by dark pines. Surf exploded on hidden rocks, a deathtrap for any careless ship that careened too close. Yet despite an angry ocean and gloomy skies, Adira Strongheart laughed to feel a sturdy ship reel under her feet and wind blow in her hair, even if she weren't the ship's master.
The Conch of Corn's was a sturdy caravel like an upturned shoe with high castles fore and aft, buoyant as a cork and easy to maneuver, though it lost miles of steerage way to leeward. The ship carried four stubby masts, acres of gray-brown linen sails, and miles of yellow- and black-tar rigging. Low and stable, she was packed with timber, hides, and raw copper to be sold in Garaboss on the Cape of Hope at the bay's southern end, or else wrestled round the cape to southern cities like Kalan and Enez and Bryce.
Yet always the threatening coast trickled by to port, until secretly Adira cursed the benighted mission that would take them inland. Initially she had discounted local sailors' tales and hoped to land in a jolly boat at Fulmar's Fort. But unless the clashing surf and ugly rocks eased, beaching was impossible. Adira's Circle might have to stick with the ship and debark at Garaboss, then buy fresh mounts and backtrack eastward. Meanwhile, somewhere Johan's sedan train threaded that unrelenting forest, and only the gods knew what mischief he pursued.
Still, two days out of Buzzard's Bay, Adira Strongheart shrugged cares away and enjoyed a holiday. Her Circle of Seven had rated bargain passage because they could make sail-most, anyway. Sergeant Murdoch, late of Yerkoy's land-hugging infantry, hung head down over the gunwale strangling.
As the wind picked up, the sailing master had called to shorten sail, so Adira and Simone furled damp canvas. They'd shucked sea boots and climbed barefoot to better grip the toe rope, their only suspension sixty feet aloft.
Simone's large brown eyes turned westward. 'This coast is fey. That horizon brims with dirty weather.'
'Your eye is jaundiced,' countered her captain, temporarily her mate. 'This coast blows foul year 'round. Kiss a fish! I've lost the hang of reefing!'
The job got done, and the topsailmen slid down the ratlines. All except Adira, who climbed the futtock shrouds another six feet and rapped on the crow's nest like a door.
'Hello, Adira!' Peeking over the rim of the tub, with big eyes green under a crown of flat red hair, Whistledove Kithkin looked like a child playing hide-and-seek. The brownie was too small for most shipboard tasks but proved eagle-eyed at lookout, so now bunked in the mainmast crow's nest. At the far end of the mast's enormous lever, the nest rose and dipped while yawing a dizzying circle, but Whistledove liked the sensation and seldom came down.
'Shall I send up Heath to help keep watch?' asked Adira. 'Two can see twice as far as one.'
'Really?' Unused to the pirates' straight-faced jokes, the brownie was often puzzled. 'That doesn't-'
'Forget I spoke,' said Adira. 'I'm just making the rounds. Are you content?'
The brownie had no complaint, though even the pirate chief found her iron-hard stomach bubbling in the wild pitch and swing. She peered to windward, eyes watering, to study the waves and sky, then slid down the lines to thump on the quarterdeck.
Big blond Edsen was master of the caravel, not captain, for on Jamuraan seas only pirate chiefs and naval officers rated that title.
Adira reported to the Buzzard's Bayman, 'Sir, windward grows foul. The waves run gray with whitecaps whipping to spume.'
'Is that so?' Like most seafarers on this coast, Master Edsen wore a faded quilt jacket with a bearskin vest and hat. 'I wouldn't fret, bosun. We're used to slop such as you southerners seldom see. But d'ya mind hustling Gack-Guts below? He's puked up so many dinners sharks're gnashing our rudder.'
'He's-yes, sir.' Adira swallowed her temper. It irked her that a mere merchant master dismissed her keen observations with lubberly gibes. Yet Edsen must assert rank, for Adira was just another hand to the four officers and twenty-one crewmen. Adira commanded only her own Circle of Seven as a bosun.
Duckwalking to the rail, Adira levered the seasick Murdoch over one arm and half-dragged him down the aft companion-way.
White-faced and shaking, the soldier groaned, 'Mother of the Erg, why does anyone go to sea?'
'No flies nor mosquitoes, for one thing, and it's seldom hot. It beats walking or riding.'
Below in cramped passageways and pitch darkness, Adira groped to Murdoch's bunk, rolled him in, and flipped a dusty blanket over him. In the bunk above, she prodded ribs until someone grunted. A female.
'Jasmine?' asked Adira, for it was black. 'I thought this was Heath's billet.'
'It is.' Groggy, Jasmine poked someone deeper in the bunk, then flopped back to sleep. Heath slithered forth, warm as a sun-soaked cat. Adira recognized his scent, an earthy odor of campfires, greenery, and resin from his bowstring.
'Get aloft,' said Adira. 'See if a leviathan stalks our wake.'
'What?' The part-elf reared and banged his head on a beam.
'I jest. Go, but don your jerkin.' Finding her own bunk, Adira fished out her leather jerkin, which was heavily oiled to shed sea spray, and laced it over her thick gray-cabled sweater. She'd bought both items for each of her crew, for this coast sent man-killing cold even in autumn.
Stepping on deck, wind snarled Adira's chestnut hair, making her retie her green headband. The air smelt thick with salt, and Adira had the satisfaction of seeing Master Edsen and his sailing master argue about clawing to windward and dragging a sea anchor. Why fret, Adira wondered, unless a storm threatened to drive them ashore?
The sailing master picked up his trumpet and bawled, 'Starboard your helm! Closer to the wind, you codfish, or I'll flay you to bones! Hands aloft to shorten sail!' So up the ratlines again went Adira and Simone.
When the sails were reefed once more, Adira trekked through the ship to check the rest of her crew. Forward in the forecastle, Virgil and Wilemina slept soundly, for they had night watch. Peregrine, a lubber, trimmed beef in the galley amidships, not happy but not complaining. Finally Adira squeezed down slimy companionways to the bilges to relieve Jedit. The fearsome warrior had been dubbed the ship's cat by
Master Edsen and ordered to kill rats. Adira grinned but saw no rats. Jedit was glad to seek fresh air.
On deck, Adira felt wind kiss her cheek with wetness. She-plunked on a bucket where Simone unraveled old rope to make oakum.
Picking at hemp, Adira said, 'You may be right about the weather.'
Simone didn't gloat. Even speaking the word 'storm' tempted trouble. Impishly she asked, 'Get everyone tucked in their bunks?'
'Ach!' Adira spat. 'I should deep-six the lot. Their romantic foolishness makes me spew. Murdoch chases Wilemina's tail, but the devout virgin hoards her greatest treasure. So Jasmine makes eyes at Murdoch, except he's yellow-dog sick. So now when I rouse Heath, I discover Jasmine sharing his blankets!'
'Go easy on poor Jasmine. Her pride's hurt that a druid must chop onions in the galley.'
Adira snorted. 'It explains why Wil's nose is out of joint. The silly bitch is jealous of something she can't
