Chapter 29 The Storm
“Not good,” moaned Kithriit. “Quite bad.”
I peered down at her as she rocked from side to side in her hammock.
“Go to the masthead, then,” I said. “You’re not resting down here.”
“Seasick,” she said.
“Seasick? You’re a harpy, Kit. You foggin’ fly!”
“Fly, I control,” she said. “But ship? No control. My belly twists.”
“Why do you serve a-sea, then? You could do anything landside.”
“Honor to serve with a captain like Thanavar,” she said. “He has heart of harpiar.”
I stared at her. Scaly, beaked, clawed, and daunting, she was also bold, strong, skilled, and fierce.
“But he has cursed us,” she said. “He should not have keeled his steward before the Sheets. Bad things happen in the Sheets.”
And she wrapped her leathery wings around herself and rolled over, effectively ending our chinwag.
I flopped back into my bunk. The sea was furious tonight and had been since Forgeset.
The Touchstone had turned her sails due south, and the wind had taken us back into the Sheets.
We’d fought the Endorathil and the Templemore in the Hall of Sheets.
We’d come upon Bilgetown in the outer rim of the Sheets.
Fahr had been shot in the Sheets. Kit was right. Bad things happened here.
In all my time at sea, I’m not sure I ever remembered a sea so rough.
The waves were larger than the ship herself.
We crested them to a count of ten, then plunged into the trough like a stone, only to rise and plunge and rise and plunge again.
We had been at it for hours, and more than a few seamages heaved over the side that night.
Through the roar of the waves and the howl of the wind, I could hear hands shouting as breakers poured in from the main, and cannons rumbled on gundecks above as men worked to keep them secure.
I wasn’t surprised, then, when I heard the pips and Smoke’s voice on the bullhorn, calling all hands to the starboard rail.
“Come on,” I barked at Kit. “All hands!”
“Bad night,” she moaned as she crawled out of her berth. “Very bad.”
Bare feet had better grip, so I left my boots, snatched my oily, and headed up.
It was hard to push open the hatch, and when I did, we were almost blown back down by the sea. I struggled to my feet and staggered up onto the deck.
Water poured over the bulwarks from huge, white-crested waves, and the pitching deck slid barrels, ropes, and crates from side to side. Overhead, lines snapped and re-coiled, twisting like serpents, while canvas thundered and split.
All hands assembled, some climbing the rigs, some lashing jollies and battening hatches from the storm’s surge, while others ferried block and tackle to safety in the hold.
I didn’t have a station here. I wasn’t even captain’s steward, and while I could have stayed below to make sure his possessions were safe, I knew that if I could help the Touchstone survive the night, he’d overlook the loss of linens, maps, and books.
The sky was roiling in shades of gray, and the wind raged like a furious chorus, blending sinister snarls with shrill screams. Waves attacked from all sides, crests and troughs coming from fore and windward, so that the masts dipped dangerously lee.
I could see riggers climbing the nets with orders to break sail and turn our bow close to the wind.
“Secure the lifelines!” snapped Smoke. “Kit, take the riggers. Blue, fore and aft!”
Kithriit nodded swiftly, and so did I. I knew what to do, though I’d never done it.
It was the job of a powder monk, cabin boy, or even junior midshipmage, but on a night like tonight, a flying rig magister and a chimeric chaser would suffice.
Together, we splashed through the watery deck to the rig box, and I threw open the hatch.
Kit grabbed a set of lines in her talons and sprang into the air, fighting the gusts with each beat of her powerful wings.
I grabbed a second set and bolted across the deck, but a wave breached across the bulwark, and I crashed to the planks.
No bolting. Not in this. I pushed myself up and looked for a midline.
There! The carpenters had already strung one between the masts, so I moved along it, bare feet slipping along the boards.
I began tying off each rope to the midline.
Once secured, I waited for the windward yaw so I could slide with it and tie off the crew along the port side.
Then, I waited for a lee yaw so I could slide back amidships.
It was a dance, I reckoned. A lethal dance of weather and chance.
I paused at the capstan and wiped the rain from my eyes, looking out onto the sea. There were whitecaps taller than giants, troughs deeper than valleys, and waterspouts that twisted up to the sky. Stormshears could slice a ship in two if they struck, and I counted three a half league from our bow.
A storm is the sea chasing her lover, the sky
I laid a hand on the capstan.
“You keep us safe,” I said to her. “We’ll keep you safe, too.”
No peace until home. Keep him safe until home
She loved him so much.
Keep safe, child of the north.
“I will, Touchstone,” I said. But I knew it was a lie. There was no way I could keep anyone safe in this storm, despite the chimeric.
The wind was whistling now, but I heard the bosun’s pipe and Smoke’s voice over the horn.
“Waterspinners on deck!” he shouted. “Why do we still have sail?”
“Mizzentop is stuck!” Buck bellowed back.
I glanced aft. The mizzen sails were mostly tied, but the top gallants billowed and dragged. I could see Kit and her men struggling with them as they pitched between their hands.
“Cut away, Mr. Kit!” barked the captain from the pup.
The ironmages were on deck with him, robes whipping, court shoes sliding, and I cursed under my breath. They were powerful mages, but they could still be swept over the side like the rest of us.
“Captain said cut away!” Fahr now, hands sparking as he stood behind Smoke at the sunswheel.
But the mizzen topgallant was still abreast, her canvas acting as a rudder and dragging us broad.
It was dangerous, as the Touchstone needed to be close-hauled to the wind.
In this weather, a roll could cause us to take on water and either crack the hull or sink us outright.
After the horror of the Dawn Watch, I knew I wouldn’t survive a wreck in this storm.
Buck and his men moved swiftly along the cannons, securing them three times over with cable and line, but I could see the guns straining against the ropes. If one of them frayed, if one of them snapped, someone could be crushed under a ton of rolling iron.
My knees buckled as the ship plunged into a trough, slamming me to the deck before I could catch hold of the capstan.
I scrambled for footings, but a massive wave broke the wale and carried me leeward under a rush of furious sea.
My lifeline yanked, and the air rushed from my lungs, but what came back in was water.
I was underwater. I was on deck, but I was underwater, and I thrashed frantically against the crushing weight.
Then, the water was gone, sweeping windward now as the ship rolled to port.
Flailing, my gloved fingers found a plank.
I pulled my knees under my chest, forced myself aright, and retched out an ocean’s worth of sea back onto the deck.
I scrambled to the capstan, clung like a wet rag as I coughed and sputtered and fought for breath.
My legs were shaking, my arms barely able to hold, but hold I did as another trough brought a second wave to swamp the main deck once again.
This time, the leeward roll was so deep that I swore the yardarm went in, and it was then that I reckoned we were done for.
She rolled back, however, the hands on the yard clinging to her still, and I heard the captain order all hands to port. To port. I could get portside before the next trough, but it was then that I saw the funnel.
Sheets will destroy. Stormshears will kill.
“Stormshear ten degrees to port!” I cried as loud as I could.
“Stormshear ten degrees to port!” someone echoed beside me.
The first one was almost upon us, and I could feel the spray biting my cheeks. I lashed my line to the capstan twice over, tugging it tight, and peered around to watch.
“Spinners!” cried Fahr. “Mr. Neale, take the helm!”
“Aye, sir!”
Buck struggled to the sunswheel, where he, Smoke, and Fahr leaned in and began to cast. The ship groaned as the first shear chewed up the staves, but I could see runes dancing in the currents as they spun around and around and around.
It was the sound of lightning and thunder and shrieking wind as the funnel churned across our bow, snapping lines and stripping timber.
Suddenly, she shattered from within, and ice pellets sprayed across the decks like cannister shot.
Seamages cheered, and I wiped sleet from my eyes as I scanned the sea. One down, two to go, and they were spiraling fast toward us. My heart sank, however, when I saw what was behind them.
“Beat to windward, Mr. Neale!” shouted the captain, and the master’s mate hauled to on the wheel.
Her lover will kill.
It was a wave higher than the ship, higher even than the ramparts of Port Corvallan’s city walls.
“Did we do that?” cried Fahr.
“Bells, I hope not!” said Smoke. “Can we undermine her?”
“Take her out!” said Buck.
But the two shears were almost upon us.
“Mr. Kit!” called the captain from the pup. “Where are we with mizzentop?”
I couldn’t hear her reply over the howl of the winds. It was clear they were still struggling, and I saw two seamages swinging by their lifelines from the rigs. A fall from that height would kill them instantly, if they weren’t swept over the side before they hit the deck.
“Cut loose the lifelines, Kit! Let fly!”