JOSEPH GRUBB CLUNG to the ratlines, gripping the ropes so tightly they burned his hands.
‘What are you waiting for?’ came Tabitha’s voice from below.
He gritted his teeth and kept climbing, doing his best to block out everything except the regular motion: left foot, right hand; right foot, left hand. Come on. You can do this. Back in Fayt, he used to scramble up the stepladder in his uncle’s pantry every day. Two weeks ago he’d even clambered onto the rooftops of the Marlinspike Quarter to chase a cat. And now he was climbing to the crow’s nest of a wavecutter, swaying on a few bits of rope more than a hundred feet above the deck, so high that the people below looked like colourful beetles. So high that … He swallowed.
Not helping.
He paused again, panting, brow prickling with sweat. On his raised right arm a fresh tattoo was scored into his greyish-pink mongrel skin. A swirling blue shark – the mark of a watchman. It was still almost impossible to believe that this was what he was. But the proof was right there, in front of his eyes. The Demon’s Watch. Protectors of Port Fayt. Scourge of all sea scum.
Scourge of Mrs Bootle’s pies, more like.
The thought made him smile, and he started to climb again.
The crow’s nest wasn’t far now. As he moved, a spyglass bumped around inside the right pocket of his breeches, balancing out the bouncing of the cutlass on his left hip. Captain Newton had given it to him on the day he got his tattoo. The hand-guard was made of thick, solid brass, and the hilt had smooth oiled leather wrapped tightly around it. There was a small shark carved on the blade, and a word neatly lettered beneath it – GRUBB.
No doubt about it. His days as a tavern boy were well and truly over.
‘Hey, tavern boy,’ came a shout from below. Joseph chanced a look back over his shoulder. His stomach swam at the altitude, but on the deck he spotted the distant shape of Phineus Clagg – professional smuggler and captain of the Sharkbane. His hands were cupped around his mouth, and his long hair and dirty coat flapped in the breeze. ‘We ain’t got all day, yer know.’
Further down the ratlines, Tabitha’s blue-haired head turned to shout at him. ‘You want to climb up here? Oh wait, I forgot – you’re too fat.’
Joseph didn’t wait to hear the smuggler’s reply. He closed his eyes and kept going. Left foot, right hand; right foot, left hand. The higher he got, the more the breeze buffeted him, forcing him to grip the ropes tighter still. But he couldn’t stop now. If he did, Tabitha would never let him forget it.
He opened his eyes and at once they began to water in the wind. One last effort … Right foot, left hand … And finally he was there, hauling himself up through the gap and collapsing onto the platform of the crow’s nest. He lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, while Tabitha clambered up after him.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, slapping him on the back. ‘Don’t tell me you’re scared of heights!’ She was trying to sound casual but Joseph didn’t believe it for one second. She crouched on the platform, her eyes wide, her face tinged with green.
‘You have to admit, we are quite high up.’
Tabitha opened her mouth to argue, then flashed him a smile.
‘I s’pose you could say that.’
Joseph grinned back at her. Tabitha acted tough, but she was friendly too. Most of the time. She was always asking him about his old life working for his uncle at the Legless Mermaid, and about the time before, when his parents were alive. She didn’t talk about her own much, but for some reason she seemed to enjoy hearing Joseph tell stories about his home with the green front door. He enjoyed it too. It was good to have someone he could share the memories with.
Tabitha nodded out to sea. ‘What are you waiting for?’
He scrambled to his feet and grabbed hold of the rail at the front of the crow’s nest, trying to ignore the fact that on three other sides there was nothing but a sheer drop down to the deck. The view laid out before him did nothing to calm his churning stomach.
In the distance, Illon rose from the sparkling waters of the Ebony Ocean – the easternmost of the Middle Islands; a hazy green hump like the back of a sea serpent. Its largest bay was cluttered with vessels, anchored with their sails furled, white banners fluttering from every masthead. There were wavecutters and frigates on the fringes, and beyond, towards the heart of the fleet, lay the real battleships – galleons and men-of-war.
In the centre was a ship that could only belong to the Duke of Garran. It towered above the others like a wooden castle, its banner so vast that, even from this distance, Joseph could make out the Golden Sun embroidered on it. It was the biggest ship he had ever seen. But then, this was the biggest fleet he’d ever seen too.
He drew out the spyglass and held it to one eye. He could see movement on board some of the nearest vessels – League marines in their white battle-dress, bayonets gleaming. All humans, of course. It sent a shudder down his spine. The League of the Light had come from the Old World for one purpose alone – to destroy Port Fayt and everyone who lived there. Elves, trolls, fairies … and mongrels, naturally. Being half human wouldn’t save Joseph when the other half of him was goblin.
Tabitha snatched the spyglass away from him.
‘Let me have a look,’ she said. ‘We’re supposed to be gathering information, not just gawping. That’s the whole point of this expedition, remember? So we can get back to Fayt and figure out how to beat these dungheads.’
Joseph cast a sidelong glance at her as she sighted down the spyglass, blue hair tied back in a ponytail so the wind wouldn’t blow it in her face. Like him she wore a watchman’s coat, but with a bandolier of throwing knives slung over her shoulder. Most of the time she was friendly. But sometimes Joseph thought she liked those knives better than any real person. Tabitha was the first girl he’d ever met properly. Maybe they were just different from boys.
‘No,’ said Tabitha.
‘Pardon?’
She was lowering the telescope, still staring out to sea. Her face had become greener, and her eyes even wider than before. ‘No, no, no. Look!’
Joseph turned back to the League armada. It took him a few seconds to see it, but when he did his blood ran cold. The three closest vessels were moving away from the main fleet, heading towards the Sharkbane. They looked like frigates. Fighting ships. Fast ones.
‘They’ve spotted us,’ said Tabitha. She leaned over the side of the crow’s nest and bawled at the top of her voice, ‘Turn about! Three League frigates are closing on us!’
Joseph swallowed. ‘Does this mean … ?’
Tabitha sighed, louder than was necessary. ‘Yes, it means we’re climbing down again. You first. I don’t want you throwing up on me.’
By the time they got down, Phineus Clagg was at the wheel. Joseph had to lean against the tilt of the deck as the Sharkbane came about, faster than he would have thought possible for a ship of her size. He and Tabitha hurried towards the stern, dodging smugglers tugging on ropes and shouting out instructions. Hal and the Bootle twins had already gathered around the wheel. All of the Demon’s Watch were on board except Newt and Old Jon, who had both stayed behind in Port Fayt.
‘Can we outrun them?’ asked Hal, adjusting his glasses and peering across the water. He looked anxious. But then, he often did. Before he’d joined the Watch, Joseph had never imagined that a magician could be so … jumpy.
‘Can we outrun them?’ Clagg mimicked. ‘Course we can, spectacles. Ain’t nothing to worry about. This is the Sharkbane. The fastest—’
‘– ship in the Ebony Ocean,’ chorused Frank and Paddy, the troll twins.
‘We know,’ said Paddy.
‘You’ve mentioned it once or twice before,’ added Frank.
Tabitha sprinted up the steps to the poop deck and inspected the League vessels with her spyglass.
‘They’re gaining on us,’ she shouted. ‘Those frigates are going faster than a greased fairy.’
‘Ain’t possible,’ said Clagg. He took a long swig from his bottle of firewater and stuffed a fresh lump of tobacco into his mouth, his lazy left eye flicking nervously around the deck. The smuggler hadn’t exactly jumped at the chance of helping out the watchmen, but a few ducats and a dangerous look from Newton had been enough to persuade him. He was probably starting to regret it now.
Joseph climbed the steps to join Tabitha. He almost gasped out loud when he saw the frigates. They were much closer than he’d expected, moving steadily, as if unaffected by the waves. In front of every vessel the air shimmered like a mirage, but the ocean was as calm as a glass of water.
‘Magic,’ he murmured. ‘They’ve got magicians on board.’ Spell-casting was banned in Port Fayt – unless you had a warrant, like Hal did – but that made no difference to the League.
Hal appeared next to them. He took the spyglass from Tabitha and examined the enemy ships.
‘Ah,’ he said at last. ‘I fear you may be right. It’s elementary brinecraft, applied on a much larger scale than is usually attempted. They’re exerting willpower on the waves, reducing tidal movements that would ordinarily disrupt the passage of the vessel. Also I imagine they’re performing some sort of aeolian manipulation to increase the flow of wind to the sails. It’s rather extraordinary. I’ve not seen anything like it since—’
‘That’s fascinating,’ cut in Tabitha, ‘but maybe we should do something about it?’
Joseph leaned over the railing of the poop deck. ‘Can we go any faster, Mr Clagg?’
‘That’s Captain Clagg, matey,’ replied the smuggler. He was frowning at the ocean ahead, chewing on the tobacco, his hair and coat flung back by the breeze. ‘And no, not without a better wind.’
‘Thank Thalin we hired the fastest ship in the Ebony Ocean, eh?’ said Paddy, clapping an enormous green hand on the smuggler’s back. ‘Fastest except for those three frigates, anyway.’
‘They’re cheating! Stinking magic … Ruins all the fun, if you ask me.’
‘Hal,’ said Tabitha. ‘If they’re speeding up their ships with magic, why can’t you do the same for the Sharkbane?’
Hal shook his head. ‘I’m flattered, but it’s out of the question. Spells that powerful require a team of trained magicians working together, focusing their minds as one. I couldn’t do it on my own.’
Frank drew his enormous cutlass and swung it in a practice stroke.