The Farthest Shore (Eden Series Book 3) (10 page)

The boilers took a good half hour to build up a head of steam, she’d heard the engineers say, and that was enough time for people to gather on the quay, watching the new sailless ship that made so much noise. The entire harbor seemed to be awake by then, and the fishing boats were already setting out past the sandbank. She heard bells and shouted commands from other ships as men at the winch raised
Checkmate
’s anchor cable.

Enlightenment
was the first to leave the harbor, probably out of courtesy, she thought. Someone seemed to have bought armfuls of flowers, because white petals were flung from weapons-ports in the ship’s hull, scattered prodigiously on the frothing water as the ship was tugboated away. Miri thought she heard appreciative murmurs from the quay, but a few of the deckhands rolled their eyes.

Wrack
and
Mistral
were next, and a cheer rose up from the harbor for each of them. There was no need for tugboats to tow them, since a fresh wind swelled their sails and made their colors stream out: the Denalait flag which denoted their homeland, the warships’ ensign and the purple pennant which signified they were in a race. Alyster was on the deck by then, his officers around him, and he raised a hand in a farewell salute to the gathered people. Miri could tell at least half of those people were placing bets, and she wondered what the odds were. Some of them lifted their children for a better look, and if she hadn’t felt so much like the cobblestones beneath their feet, she would have waved back.

Water churned as the paddlewheel began to spin, and
Checkmate
moved out from the harbor, through spume and white petals and water so dirty it was opaque. The helmsman at the stern steered them past the sandbank which sported an unsightly mound of torn nets, fishbones—at least, Miri hoped they were from fish—and the broken spars of ruined boats. Beyond those, the other ships moved out of sight, and she was surprised enough to ask the cook if the race was starting already.

He nodded. “No point in dropping anchor or wasting the wind. ’Sides, we can catch up.”

Checkmate
rounded the sandbar and conch horns pealed out from the watchtowers, immediately answered by a trumpet’s blast from
Enlightenment
. Alyster turned, his grin visible from the other end of the ship, and said something she was too far away to hear, but from a huge funnel came a shriek of steam escaping through whistle-like pipes, an exuberant high note that rose over the deep baying of the horns. The crew cheered, and the cook banged a wooden spoon against a pot.

Huzzah
, Miri thought and leaned over the rail. The sight of water churning away from the ship in a wedge-shaped wake didn’t make her sick any longer, but she wasn’t looking forward to weeks more on board either, especially when the cheering stopped and the first lieutenant ordered everyone to get back to work.

She looked in on the surgery, but since they had just left harbor and no one had fallen sick, anything Reveka gave her would be makework prompted by sympathy, and Reveka wasn’t a great conversationalist either. And since she didn’t want to go anywhere near Alyster’s cabin, that only left the galley. Oh well, at least meals were served thrice a day, so there would always be something to do.

The cook, whose name was Peppercorn, got her started on peeling, seeding and chopping vegetables for the noon meal. It felt good to be cooking again, although she was amazed at how tiny the galley was. Peppercorn took advantage of every square inch of space, and had utensils hanging from the ceiling as well. It was also sweltering. Miri worked just outside—the galley was nowhere near large enough for two people—and sweat ran down into her clothes.

Peppercorn was pleased to have help, and by the time they were filleting fish together, he maneuvered their conversation to what exactly she was doing on the ship. Miri was used to recognizing and parrying such sorties, but she wondered if Alyster really hadn’t told anyone. It was the kind of news that would fly through a ship like wildfire.

She only had the chance to ask him two days later, though by then she already knew the answer. Still, it was the first time she had seen him alone on deck and hadn’t been too busy at the galley to speak to him. Scrubbing her hands on the sides of her trousers—her palms felt damp—she fixed her most neutral expression on her face and went closer. It was late evening, but the white captain’s coat with the silver trim stood out easily.

He glanced at her and went back to watching the waves. She hoped a fishbone would stick as it went down his throat—or better yet, came out the other end—but she reminded herself she was there on his sufferance and was better off being polite, at least outwardly.

“You didn’t tell anyone, did you?” She stood a careful yard away and facing in the same direction so she didn’t have to look at him. Something tightened and clamped around her hands, and she looked down to see her fingers locked fast around themselves.

“One of the privileges of rank. I decided they didn’t need to know.”

“I appreciate it.”

“I didn’t want murder committed on my ship, that was all.”

There seemed to be nothing more to say, so Miri went down to her cabin. Dessard’s death had resulted in some changes to the shipboard rooming arrangements, so she now had the room one of the midshipmen had occupied. He was probably grateful to see the last of it, she thought, since it was barely larger than a closet, containing nothing except a washstand bolted to the wall. She’d strung up her hammock and had a spare oil lamp, but there wasn’t much to do on the nights when she couldn’t sleep, and she missed Alyster’s books.

To her chagrin she missed him too, especially after hearing his voice, that low deep voice with its calm authority. He was both reassuring and aloof, setting her fears at rest even as he pushed her away.
Bastard
, she thought and blew out the lamp. As if he would ever have any interest in her, especially when she was sweaty and reeking of the galley. She closed her eyes.

After that night, the apprehension never far from the surface was gone and she took more interest in the race. The other Denalait ships were in sight, though far enough that she heard very little from their decks.
Enlightenment
was southernmost of them all, but it wasn’t pulling far ahead either. They were all aware of
Kraken
and knew their safety was in numbers.

Though once they reached the Dagran border, the race would intensify, since the Tureans couldn’t travel so far without being seen. Now that they were out of the polluted harbor waters, the tiger shark made occasional reappearances when Kovir wasn’t using it to scout ahead. There was no sign of
Kraken
anywhere, but they passed a whaler trailing smoke that smelled ten times worse than she did. That was another way to put things into perspective, she decided. She could always be cutting up blubber half-naked and stirring try-pots filled with bubbling fat. Compared to that, cooking on
Checkmate
was nothing.

Now that she had become accustomed to the galley, she started to like it. She tried to trade recipes with Peppercorn but the dishes she liked to make, such as prince’s purses, were not at all practical for a galley meant to feed thirty people. So she learned his dishes instead, and found out he’d come by his name honestly. Then again, they had run out of all the fresh meat they’d taken on board, which meant resorting to the barrels of salt pork and sides of smoked beef, both of which could only be helped by seasoning.

They were well out of sight of the Denalait coastline by that point and she thought again of how featureless the ocean was. No doubt a sailor could take one look at the waves and know exactly where they were, but she understood how people thought they might sail on and on without ever knowing where they were until the water simply dropped away at the actual end of the world. Thankfully the other ships were there, and she made a point of looking for them each morning. At least they meant
Checkmate
wasn’t completely isolated.

She kept track of the days, so it was just over a fortnight when they were almost at the Denalait border. One of the midshipmen told her that. From the way he smiled at her when she thanked him, she wondered if he would have liked to get to know her better but thought the captain had first claim.

Not that she would have risked it. Especially not when she overheard the sailors talk about Tureans—not even seriously half the time, but throwaway remarks, speculation, crude jokes. She’d grown up hearing those, but it had never bothered her so much as it did now.

Because I never let it bother me
. She’d known the truth about herself since she had been six years old—one of her cousins had let it slip—but she’d been determined not to let it count for anything. It was as though, somewhere along the line, she had made a pact with the Unity:
I’ll work hard and not complain, because things could always be worse. I could be wholly salt, after all. And in return, could you give me the life I would have had if my father had been Denalait instead?

Please?

But she would never have such a life unless she was willing to lie and to keep lying. She scrubbed a hand wearily over her face and told herself to stop, this wasn’t doing anyone any good. Besides, she could have grown up a half-salt among the Tureans. She wondered what they might have done with her instead.

The weather the next day matched her mood, and great slabs of clouds covered the sun. Smothering hot air pressed down. She knew the coming storm would be much worse than anything she’d experienced so far, and Peppercorn served supper early while the men milled around, most of them visibly uneasy and no one speaking much. Miri ate as little as possible, washed the pots and went down to her cabin as the first rain began to fall.

The wind was worse. She couldn’t hear it in her windowless little cabin, but the ship was tossed about like something weightless.
Unity, keep us safe.
Whether or not the Unity had any power beyond the Denalait border, she supposed they would find out.

The world shrank to
Mistral
.

Vinsen Solarcis knew there were other ships nearby, but nothing was visible a few feet away, let alone over the gunwale. The ship pitched and tossed, masts and shrouds creaking. Any moment someone would go overboard, and then they had best hope they didn’t come down so far away they had to be given up for dead, or so close that the hull was likely to be slammed into them by the swells.

His crew had furled the sails, since in such weather they were likely to simply be caught by the wind and torn away from the ship, taking one or more of the yardarms with them. Most of the crew was belowdecks, but half the officers had to stay topside, prepared to deal with anything that happened. It was late evening by then, and too dark for Vinsen to see the glint of gold from the mainmast. He’d nailed an eagle there at the start of the journey, to inspire his crew to victory, but he’d overheard the carpenter muttering that there were a lot of men at the bottom of the ocean with pearls for eyes.

Well, he could survive this. All the ships were likely to have been tossed off-course, out of sight of each other, but no storm lasted forever. They’d already taken advantage of the rain to tie open barrels to the insides of the gunwales—an equal number on each side, to balance the ship—though the waves were so high Vinsen feared the water would be brackish at best.

He felt his way along the ship by holding on to the casks, his coat so heavy with rain that it felt lead-lined. His hair fell wet into his eyes, and he pushed it away impatiently as he reached the wheel.

Before he could give any orders, he heard a sharp crack from the other end of the ship, a sound that carried over the scream of the wind. He felt as though one of his fingers had snapped. A tremor ran through the ship.

He shot a swift look at his first lieutenant—nothing more was necessary—and hurried back the way he had come, his boots slipping on the wet planks. Each time the ship reeled, he swayed with it, and it was an effort of will to stand tall rather than hunching over to keep the rain out of his eyes.

An apprentice struggled after him with a lantern, though when the three of them reached the stern, nothing seemed out of place. Rain spattered down. Raelf Kinar, the first lieutenant, leaned out over the taffrail.

“Think it was the rudder, sir?” he shouted.

Damn
, Vinsen thought. Even without sending someone over the side—which would be suicidal given the way the waves heaved and fell—he supposed grimly it was the rudder. No other part of
Mistral
’s streamlined hull protruded out to be shorn away by hidden rocks or an enraged whale.

Except hidden rocks were unlikely to be so close to the surface out here, and they’d done nothing to infuriate any whales of late.
Doesn’t matter now
. The most important thing was to jury-rig a replacement.

He turned to the apprentice. “Doland, pass the word for the master carpenter.”

“Aye, sir,” the boy said, and hurried off, the lantern swinging in his hand. As he did so, a new possibility occurred to Vinsen. What if the Dagran ship had destroyed the rudder somehow? No, forget somehow, he knew exactly how—with the cannons it carried just within the black mouths of the gunports cut into its side. Those supposedly had enough explosive power to wipe out an entire galley, so destroying a rudder would be nothing in comparison, and the boom of the cannon could well be covered by the thunder grinding overhead.

That’s paranoid
, he thought. No one on the Dagran ship could see
Mistral
any more than he could see them, let alone fire with accuracy when both ships lurched like drunken men. Besides, damaging a competitor’s vessel meant disqualification.

If anyone found out about it. And Dagre did have more advanced technology than any other land of Eden.

He turned to tell Raelf to bring the rest of the crew up, because no corner of the deck would be unwatched from now on. The words stopped in his throat. No one was there.