'Have you been drinking seawater? All this is crazy.'
'Only to someone with the imagination of a worm.'
'You're quite something, aren't you? It never entered your head that these orcs have become friends. Well, comrades at least. And you'd abandon them here.'
'Maybe they're… friends to you, but we've been in nothing but trouble since you got us tied up with them. And what are they dragging us into now?'
'We're trying to help one of our own. It's called loyalty, if the word means anything to you.'
'It means getting us killed.'
'Stryke said he'd take us home. I believe him.'
'Even if he kept his word, he'd still have the instrumentalities. I… we must have them.'
'Let it go. It's wild talk.'
Standeven didn't seem to be paying attention. He had a distracted look, and his head was half tilted, as though he was concentrating on something.
'What is it?' Pepperdyne asked.
'Can you hear anything?'
'Hear? Hear what?'
'I've been hearing a… melody. No, not that. It's faint but… it sounds like… voices, singing. There. Hear it?'
Pepperdyne listened. There was only the swish of oars cutting through water and the occasional mummer of other conversations. 'No, I can't hear anything.'
'You must be able to hear it.'
'There's nothing. It's just the sea. It can play tricks.'
He looked bewildered. 'Is it? Perhaps you're right. I can't seem to… I don't hear it now.'
'You've not been getting enough rest. None of us have. That probably accounts for it, and what you've been saying.'
'My judgement's sound,' Standeven replied indignantly. 'I can see the logic of it even if you can't. I have to have the stars. They want me to.'
'What? Get a grip, Standeven.'
'You wouldn't have dared talk to me like that not long ago.'
'That was then. Now's a different game. I don't know what's going on in that devious head of yours, but understand this: if you do anything stupid you're on your own.'
'Obviously,' he sneered.
'Look, there's no way I'm going to — '
He stopped when he saw Stryke rise and make his way to them.
'Everything all right?' the orc said.
It could have been Pepperdyne's imagination, but he thought there was a hint of suspicion in Stryke's voice. He considered telling him what Standeven had just said, but decided against it. 'We're fine,' he told him. 'Just fine.'
On the Gatherers' ship, dawn brought another round of drudgery. The dwarfs were hurried through their usual meal of stale bread and water. Then they were steered, blinking, to the deck, for chores to be handed out.
The slavers had divided the prisoners into arbitrary work gangs when they were first brought aboard, and seemed content to let them carry on. So Spurral and Kalgeck were again in the same group, making intrigues easier. They were assigned to the galley.
It was sizeable, longer than it was wide, and oppressively hot, even so early. A row of wood-burning kilns occupied one side of the room. All were in full flame, with a variety of pans, pots and kettles on their tops, seething and steaming. The two biggest stoves were being used to heat cauldrons of water, vessels large enough to accommodate a crouching dwarf.
The not-too-clean work surfaces were littered with cooking utensils and victuals: principally fish, along with some doubtful-looking meat, wheels of rock-hard cheese and loaves of the musty bread. There were a few bunches of limp, shrunken vegetables.
It was among these that Spurral noticed the protruding hilt of a knife. There were no other blades to be seen. Presumably they had been hidden from the captives, and this one overlooked. She nudged Kalgeck and indicated it with a subtle glance.
As the crewman watching them turned his attention to some bawling, Spurral whispered, 'Can you sidetrack him?'
Kalgeck was taken aback, then resolved and nodded.
While the dwarfs were being gruffly assigned their tasks, he edged his way towards a shelf of stoneware. At its end stood a tall jug. Kalgeck shot an anxious look at the crewman's back. Then he reached up and swatted the jug off its shelf. It went down with a crash and shattered.
Silence fell, and the crewman spun round, looking furious. He strode to Kalgeck, red-faced.
'What the hell you playing at?'
'It was an accident. I — '
'Accident? You clumsy little swine!' He took a swipe at Kalgeck, landing a meaty smack. 'I'll give you accident!' The blows continued to rain down on the dwarf's head and shoulders.
While everyone was distracted, Spurral quickly palmed the knife and slipped it up her sleeve. It had a short blade, but it was razor-sharp, and the coolness of the steel against her skin had a reassuring feel to it.
Kalgeck was still being clouted by the swearing crewman, and his arms were raised as he tried to protect himself. Spurral had a flash of regret at having involved him, and wondered how far the punishment would go. It crossed her mind to intervene and use the knife now. But no sooner had the thought occurred than the human, fury spent, ceased his pounding. He replaced it with even more colourful invective as he ordered Kalgeck to clear up the mess.
Down on hands and knees, gathering the pieces, Kalgeck caught Spurral's eye and gave her a wink.
Their group was set to washing dishes, carrying and fetching, bringing firewood from the hold to feed the kilns, and a variety of other duties. But nothing that involved anything sharp, such as preparing food. The galley crew took care of those tasks themselves, and Spurral feared they might notice a blade was missing. When there was no outcry she concluded they weren't methodical enough to realise.
The morning progressed in a grinding routine. One menial, back-breaking job after another was assigned, with the dwarfs spurred on with curses if they were lucky, kicks and punches if they weren't. At around noon all the captives were allowed out on deck to be fed. As usual, the fare dished up for them was even worse than the crew's own lacklustre chow. But the dwarfs, their appetites sharpened by the ceaseless labour, bolted it anyway.
Slumped on the sweltering deck, waiting for their short break to be rudely ended, some of them catnapped. Others exchanged whispers under disapproving gazes, or simply lounged, exhausted. For Spurral and Kalgeck, sitting with their backs to the rail, it was the first time they had had a chance to confer since Kalgeck's earlier hiding.
'You all right?' she asked from the corner of her mouth.
He nodded. Though his developing bruises seemed to tell a different story.
'Sorry I got you into trouble,' she added.
'Don't be. It was worth it.'
'Yeah. We got our first real weapon.'
'And I pilfered these.' He discreetly opened his hand. In his cupped palm were four or five objects that looked like pegs, made of wood with metal tips.
'What are they?'
He smiled. 'Don't know much about seafaring, do you? They're kevels. You use them to secure ship's ropes. They'll make good shot for the slings.'
She was impressed. 'Smart thinking.'
'When do we act, Spurral? Everybody's ready. Well, ready as they'll ever be. They're just waiting on your word.'
'We have to pick the right — '
Kalgeck kicked the side of her leg and nodded up the deck.
