her first goal.
She dropped her hands to her side and gingerly brought the pouch she’d
draped over her shoulder from her side to her front. She carefully pulled the
drawing board, already prepared with a sheet of paper, and found the
charcoal stick she’d rigged by pulling on the string she’d tied between it and
the board. And now, with gray all around her, Lorana quickly sketched.
The light from the rising sun gave Lorana a chance to reappraise the image
in differing lights, and to compare her rendering with the sea’s majesty. The
sun was just over the horizon when she was finally satisfied that she’d got
the best rendering she could. It was just as well, she decided: Her fingers
were tingling with the early morning cold.
“Ahoy up there!” a voice called up to her. “What of the morning?”
“Light winds, scattered clouds, red skies,” Lorana responded, stowing her
supplies in her sack and starting back down the mast. She heard a groan
rise up from the deck.
She made her way back aft to the tiller where Colfet had the watch. “Why
the grumble on the weather?” she asked the grumpy mariner.
Baror made a sour face and spat over the rail. “Sailor take warning,” he
answered shortly. Lorana’s brows arched a question.
Baror shook his head. “The old saying goes: ‘Red sky at night, sailor’s
delight; Red sky at morning, sailor take warning.’ There’ll be a blow for sure,
but I already knew that.”
Lorana had heard from others that Baror had broken his arm years back
and was convinced he could tell when the weather was going to change by
the way it ached.
“I just hope we get into harbor before it catches us,” he added, rubbing his
arm.
Lorana sidled away from the sour seaman. Of the three mates, Baror was
her least favorite. Lorana had never managed to catch him without a bitter
or angry look on his face. For a while she had wondered if the old break in
his forearm had left him in constant pain, but she had come to realize that
Baror was simply the sort that could not pass up a chance to complain or
moan.
Down on the deck, Lorana found that the sea spray had grown thicker, and
she shivered from the chill. She started down below but stopped, glancing
back at Baror. He was staring at her intently, as though seeing her for the
first time. Quickly she turned and resumed her descent.
Captain Tanner came up the gangway opposite her.
“Good morning,” he said.
Lorana nodded and started on her way, but as she did a loud thump on the
deck above was followed immediately by a groan and a string of
curses—first from Colfet and then from Baror.
“Lorana!” Baror called curtly. “Get back here; Colfet’s done himself a
mischief!” In a lower voice, which still carried, he muttered, “Who’ll relieve
me now?”
“Come on,” Tanner told her with a jerk of his head.
“I’d better get my gear,” Lorana said, dashing back down to her cabin.
“Good idea,” Captain Tanner agreed.
Lorana was back on deck in less than two minutes, with her healer’s bag
and a warm coat. A bit of numbweed stilled the worst of Colfet’s pain and
grumbling, while a quick inspection showed her that the ulna was broken
midway between elbow and wrist.
“Could be worse,” Colfet observed when she told him. “And now
I’ll
have a
weather gauge.”
“Come below to my cabin—I’ll have to set it,” Lorana told him.
Tanner looked alarmed. Catching sight of a seaman coming up on deck, he
called, “Gesten, Colfet’s broken his arm. Help him down below so that
Lorana can go ahead and get set up.”
“No, it’s all right!” Colfet called back, putting his weight on Lorana, who
nearly buckled in surprise. “Lorana’s a stout lass, we’ll manage. Besides,
the weather’s picking up—you’ll be needing all hands to trim sail.”
Getting the large seaman down below to her cabin was much harder than
she’d figured, but Lorana felt that she’d proved herself “one of the boys” by
doing so.
In the cabin, she threw her pack at the far end of the table and rummaged in
the lockers for bandages and the other material she’d need.
When she came back and sat opposite to set the burly Colfet’s arm—which
she was sure would be child’s play compared to Grenn’s wing—she
noticed that he was gazing intently at her. She felt her face getting hot as
she reached across to gently roll the seaman’s shirtsleeve up away from
the break.
“You’ve a soft touch,” Colfet said appreciatively. Lorana glanced up at him
to gauge his expression. Feeling her face redden in the intensity of his
look, she jerked her eyes back down to the break.
“You’re lucky you didn’t break the skin.” She probed the break gently. Colfet
winced. “Numbweed won’t help, I’m sorry.”
“Nor fellis,” Colfet agreed grimly, dragging a lock of his cloud-white hair
away from his face with his good arm. He drew breath over his teeth with a
painful hiss. “No matter, do what you need. I’ll keep my eyes on your
drawings while you work, if that’s all right.”
Lorana had forgotten the drawings she’d hung in the cabin to dry out from
the sea’s damp. She’d nearly run out of paper with all the sketches the crew
and Captain Tanner had begged her for. Not that she hadn’t been eager to
oblige; the journey in
Wind Rider
had given her many new subjects to draw.
She had got good likenesses of dour Baror, sour Minet, and several of
Captain Tanner—who, Lorana admitted to herself secretly, was more than a
little rewarding to look at.
The only one she’d got of Colfet had been when he’d caught a fish. It
wasn’t her best, because she had to sketch fast to catch the action, but the
seaman had been so impressed that he’d forgotten the fish in favor of
finding a safe place for her drawing.
“A right fine likeness,” he had said at the time.
With Colfet diverted by the drawings, Lorana could time her move to match
the bucking of the ship. She eyed Colfet, eyed the break, felt the ship, and
quickly jerked—
“Aaaaah! Shells, why don’t you just break it again?” Colfet shouted, face
red with pain. Lorana had just missed the motion of the sea, painfully
jamming the two broken pieces over each other.
“I’m sorry,” Lorana whimpered, tears starting in her eyes, “I tried—”
“Are you all right?” Captain Tanner shouted from above them.
“That’s what you get for having a woman aboard,” Baror added in a bellow
of his own.
“Rogue wave!” Colfet called back, rolling his eyes at Baror’s complaint.
“Lorana didn’t get the timing right.”
He looked across at Lorana, licked his lips, and shouted, “She’ll get it this
time, I’m sure.”
Lorana nodded fervently, “I will, I’m sorry, Colfet—”
“No need to apologize,” Colfet said a bit brusquely. “Just do it right this
time.” The old seaman licked his lips.
Lorana bent her head over her work. Colfet studied her closely in the
silence.
“There,” Lorana said, deftly finishing the binding. “How’s that?”
Colfet inspected the splints bound around his forearm. “Feels right.” His
face brightened. “You did good work, lass. You’ve the makings of a good
healer.”
“Now, how about some wine with a bit of fellis juice to ease the pain?”
Lorana asked, rising from the table to pull a flask from the locker.
Colfet’s face brightened at the thought of getting drunk for a good reason,
but then shook his head. “You’re a good lass, but the captain might need a
hand, and we’ll be in that new sea hold before nightfall. I can wait until
then.”
The old seaman’s face grew thoughtful. He shifted his arm carefully.
“With this, I’ll have to let Baror take first mate,” he told her. “He’ll be captain
when
Wind Rider
finishes this cruise.”
He pursed his lips, frowning. “You might not want to stay aboard, then.”
“But I was hoping—”
“Baror doesn’t like women,” Colfet interrupted. “You know that.” He paused
and leaned in closer to her. “He doesn’t like dragonmen much, either. And
for the same reason.”
Lorana looked intrigued.
“His first wife ran off with a dragonman,” Colfet told her. “I can’t say as I’d
blame her—he was never much to look at, and his idea of romance would
bore a fish.”
Lorana made to comment, but Colfet held up his good hand to forestall
her.
“I suppose he might have changed his mind,” Colfet went on, “if only his
second wife hadn’t died in the Plague. He blamed the dragonriders for not
helping soon enough.”
“Oh!”
Colfet nodded. “He found a third wife, but she hounds him unmercifully. I
think that’s why he was so happy to go on this voyage. Still, he’s no reason
to think kindly of women or dragonmen.”
“Well . . .”
“You’ve nothing to worry about as long as Captain Tanner’s aboard,” Colfet
assured her. “And maybe we can sort Baror out afterward.”
Lorana couldn’t think of what to say.
“Land ho!” The cry from above deck interrupted her thoughts.
“We’ll be in port before noon, I expect,” Colfet said.
Lorana nodded. “You should get the hold healer to look at that.”
Colfet started to say something, pursed his lips in thought, and nodded.
“You’re right,” he said, adding with a grin, “but I doubt there’ll be any
complaints!”
As
Wind Rider
neared the coastline, she passed a number of trawlers on
their way back to the new sea hold from their day’s work. The trawlers all
reacted in the same way: At first they turned toward
Wind Rider,
then they
tried to match her course, and then they fell behind as the sloop’s sails sent
her swiftly through the waves.
The ship’s crew grew more and more amused with each unsuccessful
attempt at interception until finally even Colfet had a grin on his face and
ruefully admitted, “I reckon she’s faster than anything my Master has ever
seen.”
As the coastline drew nearer, however, the northern crew began to grumble
about Captain Tanner’s navigation.
“I heard it said that there’s fickle winds out here,” Baror said as he cast a
suspicious look at the captain. “If one’s not careful, a ship could get dashed
on the coastline before she makes port.”
Tanner ignored Baror’s outburst and the others it inspired, contenting
himself with a confirming glance at the binnacle. “We’ll make the sea hold in
the next half an hour,” he said aloud for everyone to hear.
As the half hour crept to its end, with the sun just past its midday height,
even Lorana was worried about their course.
“There’s a huge cliff up ahead,” the lookout shouted. “We’ll hit it in—I don’t
believe it! There’s a great big hole in the middle of it!”
“That’s the port,” Captain Tanner said, suddenly calling out orders to
reduce sail and adjusting his course just slightly as the “big hole” came into
view from the deck. He spared a glance at Baror, telling him, “Prepare to
launch the skiff.” To the crew forward he shouted, “Prepare to make
anchor!”
Five minutes later
Wind Rider
was riding at anchor in the huge bay. To port
they could see the great cavern that had been carved out of the coastline,
while to starboard they could see miners and others laboring to carve a new
Hold out of the cliff face set just behind a pebbly shore. Lorana, Tanner,
Baror, and Colfet were all eyes as the skiff sailed jauntily to the shore.
“Nothing like this at Tillek,” Baror said when he found his voice.
“Nor Ista,” Captain Tanner agreed. “It’ll be safe from all but the worst
winds—and that dock!”
A tall, thin man met them as they reached the shore. “I’m Trinar,” he said
shortly, “Dockmaster here. That your ship?”
“It is,” Captain Tanner replied. “She’s the
Wind Rider,
commissioned for
the Masterfisher at Tillek and on trials from Ista Sea Hold.”
Trinar was impressed. “I heard about it. She looks very pretty, very fast.
Much room for fish?”
Colfet snickered. “She’s built for fast runs of valuable cargo, not fish.”
Trinar looked less impressed. “Well, if you want to stay the night, you’ll have
to unstep her topmasts and bring her to dock here in the cavern.”
“That won’t be necessary—we’ll be leaving with the evening tide,” Tanner
replied.
“Very well then, I’ll get someone to moor your skiff. See me when you’re
ready to depart,” Trinar answered. “The mooring fee is two marks.”
“Two marks!” Colfet hissed. “Didn’t you hear the man say this is the
Masterfisher’s ship?”
“It’s still two marks,” Trinar said. He waved his hand and two burly seaman
approached. “Jalor will take your skiff out, and Marset will show you up to
the hold.”
Tanner held up his hand in an arresting gesture. “How much to put an
anchor watch on
Wind Rider
?”
Trinar pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Reckon we could do that for four
marks.”
“Very well,” Tanner said, passing over the marks. He turned to the skiff’s
crew. “This is the Dockmaster, Trinar. He’s going to supply an anchor watch
for the ship. You go back, work it out with the others, and you can all come
ashore until the evening tide—how’s that sound?”
Baror tapped Tanner’s shoulder. In a hoarse whisper, the grumpy seaman