'Have to go back to the flying ship. Why can't we stay on board this one?'
'We don't know anything about it,' Sturm protested. 'For all we know, it could founder in the first squall we hit.'
'So could the Cloudmaster.'
Stutts fidgeted as the two humans argued. 'P-please! I am returning n-now.' He hurried out the door.
Sighter shrugged. 'I'd like to explore this vessel some more, but my place is with my colleagues.' He bowed and pushed Rainspot out the door ahead of him.
Alone with Kitiara, Sturm said with annoyance, 'Are you going or staying?'
She crossed her arms stubbornly. 'Staying.'
'Then you're staying by yourself.' Sturm went out on deck. A cool wind was blowing in from the south, and the caravel was heeled under sail to the north. Purple-black clouds closed to sea level and charged with the wind. In minutes, both ships would be engulfed.
Sighter and Stutts shinnied up the rope with little trouble.
By the time Sturm had reached the top of the mainmast, they were climbing over the flying ship's rail. The Cloud master was whipping about like a fish on a hook, and Sturm watched the bouncing rope with trepidation. He took hold.
Rain, light and warm, puffed ahead of the storm. Sturm shook it out of his face. The gnomes had sheeted in all the
Cloudmaster's sails, but the air bag itself caught the wind, dragging the flying ship behind it. Sturm hauled himself hand over hand toward the bobbing craft, trying not to think about the tossing waves eighty feet below.
The first blow of rain hit like a wall, soaking Sturm to the skin in a second. He continued to inch higher, but the
Cloudmaster scarcely grew closer the longer he climbed.
'Halloo, Sturm! Halloo!'
'Wingover, is that you?' he shouted in reply.
'Sturm, can you hear me? The rope is wet and stretching under your weight! The strain is too much!' cried the unseen gnome.
'I'll go back!'
Sturm could barely see the Cloudmaster's gray outline.
'We'll try to come back for you!' Then faintly, 'May Reorx guard you well!' Wingover cried.
Sturm all but slid down the hawser to the waving mast.
The stout oak yard swung into him, hitting him hard in the ribs. His breath rushed out, and he lost his grip on the rope.
Sturm landed against the sail and clamped on as hard as he could. The powdery soft canvas gave way under his grip, and tore slowly down to the deck. Sturm landed, blind, wet, and breathless, in the caravel's waist.
The gnomes cut the rope at their end. The Cloudmaster soared into the driving clouds and was lost from sight.
Kitiara rolled Sturm over. 'Can you stand? Can you walk?' she cried above the howling wind. He nodded dumbly. She dragged him to his feet, and together they stag gered aft to the sterncastle. Sturm collapsed on the deck by the captain's table to collect his breath. Kitiara circled the room, closing the shutters and cranking the louvers tight.
'You all right?' she asked out of the darkness.
'Yes.'
'Are the gnomes gone?'
'They — had to cut loose to save the ship.' He coughed painfully.
Kitiara struck sparks from the sea captain's flint and lit a fat candle on the table. The wavering flame threw weird highlights on the dead captain's skull. Sturm wrung out his kerchief and draped it over the skull.
'He does tend to stare at you, doesn't he?' said Kitiara.
She put out a hand to steady herself. The deck was rising and falling with the regularity of a water wheel.
'We'll have to trim the sails,' Sturm said. 'If the right gust hits us, we'll capsize.'
'I'm not going up any rigging in that blow,' she replied.
Out came his sword. 'You won't have to. I'll cut all the stays on the lowest sails. They'll blow away, and that should do it.' He went to the cabin door.
'Wait,' she said. She found a painter line in the captain's locker and brought it over. 'Hold your arms up.' He did, and Kitiara reached around his chest and tied the line.
'Don't do any swimming while you're gone,' she said.
He lowered his arms. 'I'll try not to.'
Sturm threw open the door and received the storm's full blast. He staggered to the mainmast and slashed the lines to the mainsail. The torn canvas flopped like a live thing, crackling out from the main yard. He ducked under it and pushed on to the foremast, likewise hacking away the stays there. With only topsails and spritsail set, the going was eas ier. Sturm made it back to the sterncastle.
'It is steadier,' Kitiara said.
'What do we do now'!' asked Sturm as water dripped from his clothes and hair.
'Let's explore below,' Kit suggested.
'Have you forgotten the curse?'
Her amusement evaporated. 'I haven't forgotten. But if this is a sample of what's on board, I'm not much worried.'
She patted the captain's kerchief-covered skull. The head toppled off the neck bones and hit the table with a thump. It lay, eyes up, staring at the mortal intruders on its ship.
Chapter 33
A narrow hatch covered a ladder that led down into the caravel's dark bowels. Kitiara lay flat on her belly and poked the candle into the hole. Warm stagnant air waft ed out, but no obvious danger loomed. She climbed down and Sturm followed, hand on the pommel of his sword.
They'd entered nothing more interesting than the ship's rope locker. It contained only rope, sailcloth, and chain.
Kitiara poked around, looking for more treasure. All she found were dead rats. Like everything else dead on the ship, the rats were a mere jumble of bones.
'Isn't it strange,' Sturm whispered, 'that all we ever find are bones?'
They passed through a light wooden partition into a larg er space, a cargo area. Here Kitiara's candle shone on some thing more sinister than rope and cloth. They had found an armory, replete with swords, spears, shields, bronze breast plates, shirts of mail, lances, bows, blocks of lead for sling pellets — enough to equip a small army.
'These are dwarf-forged shields,' Sturm said, pushing a round buckler aside with his toe. 'See, they have the mark of the Thorbardin Armorers' Guild. That breastplate bears the mark of the Thanes of Zhaman.' He picked up the breastplate. The cold iron was polished to a finish like mir rored silver, and though fully a third of an inch thick, it was remarkably light.
'These are first-quality arms. Why would pirates need so many weapons?' he said.
'Maybe they are captured stocks.'
'Maybe, but space is precious aboard a ship. They might keep good items for their own use, but not this many.'
'What's through there?' Kitiara hissed, pointing forward.
