The Singer of All Songs (33 page)

The dinghy was right under the serpent’s head now, in the ship’s black shadow. Heben braced for the collision. The pirates raced up and down, waving and cursing, for even though their vessel was so much larger, the little rowing boat might still damage it.

Then the woman with the dark plait did something that made Heben sit up with a jolt, and draw in a breath so sharp he almost choked. Slowly, she stood up in the centre of the little boat, balanced despite the dip and sway of the dinghy.

She raised her hands, and opened her mouth. And she sang.

Heben felt her song before he heard it. A blast of icy wind hit the galley, so fierce and unexpected that the whole row of roped prisoners was thrown back sprawling. The ship lurched and tilted, and prisoners and pirates alike slid helplessly across the deck. Then another blast of wind roared from the opposite side of the ship, and tilted it back the other way. From where he was caught in a tangle of ropes and flailing feet, Heben saw two of the pirates topple overboard and splash into the sea.

The huge vessel plunged back and forth like a toy in a bathtub, gripped by a childish hand. The sky was still a cloudless blue, the sea unruffled by any hint of storm. The gulls still shrieked and swooped, riding the currents of the air on their own errands, untouched by the mayhem below.

The serpent-headed ship was in chaos. Some of the pirates struggled to furl the sails, to reduce the amount of canvas the winds could catch, but the rigging swung about so violently that the task was impossible. The string of prisoners came to rest in a corner beside the wheelhouse. Heben was stuck fast in a pile of heavy bodies, but his head was free so he could see what was going on.

The boy at the top of the rigging, who’d managed to cling on until now, lost his toehold. A blast of wind was directed straight at him. It caught him in the midriff; for a heartbeat, he managed to clutch the ropes while the wind blew him out like a flag. And then he lost his grip. Heben was pleased to hear the painful
crack
as he hit the water far below. Of all the nasty crew on this brutal ship, he especially disliked that boy. He’d seen him set fire to the tails of the ducks that the pirates kept in a coop on the deck; above all else, Heben hated to see anything defenceless suffer.

‘Sorcery!’ shouted one of the other prisoners, too close to Heben’s ear. ‘This is bleeding sorcery, that’s what this is!’

The ship gave another mighty lurch, and Heben could see that there were two little boats besieging the galley, one on each side. He caught a glimpse of a burly dark-haired man at the oars of the second dinghy, and another girl, golden-eyed, a year or two younger than the first, with a wild mop of sun-bleached hair. Like the other girl, she was standing, with her mouth open and her hands raised. Then the ship rolled back, and Heben lost sight of them.

‘Windwitches!’ howled the prisoner who had cried
sorcery
. But the rolling was less violent now, the pitching of the ship less extreme. Individual pirates were being picked off and the whole crew was in a state of utter, gibbering panic, running this way and that in a vain effort to escape the ruthless winds.

The pirate captain had enough presence of mind to lash himself to the foremast with a length of halyard. Now, over the terrified shouts of the crew and the clatter of rolling water barrels, above the whip and crack of ropes and canvas, he shouted, ‘Stop! A parley, a parley! Witches, hold your song!’

Then Heben heard it clearly: a high, melodious song that threaded back and forth across the ship, carried by the voices of the two girls. It was an unearthly sound, like the faint moan of the wind as it thrummed in the rigging. Or, he thought, like the eerie call of a far-off desert storm as it whipped across the sands. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and his fingers twitched in a gesture to ward off evil. Then the song died away, and there was quiet.

The serpent-headed ship rocked slowly into balance on the waves. The few remaining crew, frightened almost out of their wits, clung to the railing. Heben saw a hard-bitten, much-scarred man weeping with terror, and desperate cries and gurgles echoed up from those in the water.

Heben had learned when he first began his voyage from Merithuros that few sailors knew how to swim. He could not swim himself, but he’d expected those who lived on the sea to be better able to survive if they happened to find themselves in it. But an old sailor who’d befriended him had shaken his head.

‘If you be washed overboard in a storm or suchlike, better to go quick than be splashin about.’ He’d shuddered. ‘Don’t fancy goin round and round in circles, waitin till you get so tired you can’t lift up your arms no more. Or waitin for a sea-serpent to nibble you up. Hundred rows of teeth, some of them serpents. No, better drown quick and have it over.’

The old man had had his quick death in the end. The pirates had struck him one hard blow on the skull when they first captured the ship, and that was the last thing he knew. Remembering, Heben struggled to free himself from the heap of his fellow captives. He wanted to see what would become of the pirates now.

The dishevelled captain yanked at the ropes that entangled him. The dark-haired young woman stood quietly in her little boat and waited, one hand shading her eyes against the sun.

‘Come aboard,’ demanded the captain, as he flung aside the last loop of rope. ‘Come aboard, and we’ll parley.’

‘There’s nothing to parley about,’ said the young woman. ‘Do you surrender, or must we throw you overboard as well?’

‘No! No!’The captain rubbed his hands up and down on his stolen embroidered coat. ‘Wait on. Let’s discuss this sensibly. No need to act like barbarians, is there?’ He gave them a nervous grimace that was intended as a mollifying smile.

‘Surrender!’ A girl’s voice rang out from the other boat. ‘Surrender, you murderin, thievin son of a dog, or you’ll find yourself flyin over the Sea of Sevona afore you can draw another breath!’

The cook let out a long cackle from under the pile of prisoners. ‘You let im have it, witch-girl!’

‘The witches of the Isles,’ said the prisoner who believed in sorcery. ‘It’s them, by all the gods. I heard tales, but I never thought to see em – no, nor hear em, neither!’

Heben swallowed. He felt the same way; he could scarcely believe what he’d witnessed. Perhaps
this
was the dream, and what he’d taken for a dream was reality. But then someone kicked out a foot and caught him under his rib, and he gasped in pain. This was no dream.

The older girl with the dark plait raised her hands again, and sang one clear note. The captain’s hands were suddenly manacled, encased in a lump of some stuff that glittered like diamonds in the sunshine. Heben had never seen ice before. The captain gave a yelp of fright and leapt backward.

‘It’s
cold
!’ he spluttered.

‘Do you surrender?’ asked the girl patiently. ‘Or shall I imprison your whole body in ice?’

The captain staggered for a few steps, regarding his trapped hands with horror. ‘I surrender, I surrender!’ He sank to his knees and began to thump the block of ice against the deck. But it was impervious, and wouldn’t even crack.

‘Very good,’ growled the burly rower. ‘We’ll come aboard.

You – you with the beard – let down a ladder. And don’t think about any tricks.’

But the whole crew were so cowed by what they’d seen that they were incapable of thinking up any tricks of their own.