Chapter 3

Ferne’s fortunes may have changed but he hadn’t – he still wore a bear-like beard of black, his head was still bald, and he certainly hadn’t lost his broad axe. Admittedly, the former treasure-hunter now wore a much finer cut of cloth, a maroon and black tunic and earrings of gold that caught the rising sun, the first warm spring morning.

“Never.” Ferne started down the gangway of his ship, speaking over a din from the docks; a mixture of sea-birds and grunts and cursing from the men loading and unloading goods. “I got your message.”

“Did you think I’d be dead?”

“Ha, you’re too clever for that. I just didn’t think you’d need to book passage on one of my tubs, is all. Aren’t you the Winged Hero of the war? I hear about you in every damn port. You’re twelve feet tall and your wings are like a cloak of midnight, you’ve got fire for blood and no blade dares touch you – and that’s only the half-believable stuff.”

“And so legends begin, I fear.”

Ferne slapped him on the back with a large hand. “Well, I can believe most of it – except the stories about your wings. I admit, that seems too much, even for someone like you.”

“Well, I’m not planning on flying all the way to Kiymako.”

“That’s what I thought.” He gestured to the ship, a sleek hull painted a deep blue, its oars drawn in and the mainsail still. Barefooted sailors worked at various tasks, one coiling a dark net, another climbing down a rope ladder to check the hull for barnacles. “The Swordfish. Much smaller but faster than my other ships.”

“Looks good to me,” Never said as he followed the captain across the gangway. “How many do you have now?”

“Six,” Ferne said. “Since our little expedition to the Amber Isle, the wind has turned in my favour.”

Never lowered his voice. “The Sea King’s Eye?”

He nodded. “Hasn’t led me astray once; no storm, no channel, no reef has been able to surprise us. It’s an infallible, glowing compass from the very Gods. I’ve even managed to sail around the Southern Horn and if you think there were a lot of wrecks at the Amber Isle, well, the horn puts the isle to shame.”

“How does it work on a river?”

“Not as wondrous but I’m not expecting trouble on a simple passage, am I?” he asked, and it wasn’t really a question.

“I won’t if you don’t.”

Ferne showed him to a tiny room not too far from his own quarters. “We’re not exactly a passenger ship, but it’s all yours.”

“More than enough, thank you.”

“We’ll be travelling directly to the Stone Bell, where we can resupply. The Rinsa’s Curve will get us to the lowlands where we can travel west again. The old Rinsa slows a bit where it widens down there, but there’s no way to carry the Swordfish up The Long Stair so that’s my best offer.”

“I trust your navigation, Captain.”

He snorted. “Navigation? It’s the largest river in all of Hanik, nothing to navigate.”

“Still, better your hand at the tiller.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll do your share – cooking and hunting at the least.”

“A chance to stretch my legs, perfect.”

“Once we reach the coast it’s only two days to Kiymako.” He paused to frown. “I hope you’ve got an idea for permission to dock. Word is that they’ve tightened trade even further thanks to the Vadiyem. Supposedly only captains with existing contracts are allowed to enter the bay now – newcomers, even those with spice, are turned away with burning arrows.”

Never raised an eyebrow. His last, rather brief visit to Kiymako had been after something of a shipwreck. He’d landed to the north of the island and while no-one had been precisely welcoming nor were they as disagreeable as Ferne was suggesting. “Excessive.”

“No ships sunk yet, but the message spread quick enough.”

“Well, I do have a plan and I promise the Swordfish won’t face a single arrow.”

“Good. Get settled; you can tell me about the war when we’re underway,” he said as he left.

Never unpacked what little he’d brought. Much of it was mundane travel items for cooking or camp, but several possessions he hadn’t let out of his sight since Snow’s death. The Amouni robe was packed at the bottom, not that he’d ever need to use it again, a single bloodied white feather, and the item he was most concerned about – the golden seed from the Memory Tree.

He’d not tried to see within but neither had he shattered it... nor could he decide whether his reluctance was folly or prudence. The potentially far more dangerous Hor Pyrilh, the book Snow had called the Human Map, was still locked up in Pacela’s Temple.

Once Never had unpacked, he headed back above decks where he moved to the prow, doing his best to keep out from underfoot. He glanced up at the silver city until the work was done and the Swordfish was sliding down the river. Hard to shake a twinge of regret... or was it lingering confusion?

“Never?”

One of Ferne’s sailors stood before him; an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard. He was loading up a pipe with black tobacco.

“I am.”

“Ferne said we’re heading to Kiymako and he thought I might be able to help.”

“You’ve been there?”

He nodded. “Many times; used to travel on a spice merchant. Even learnt the language. I’m Hanael, the ship’s cook.”

“So you’ve spent a lot of time there then?”

“I suppose so.” Hanael produced a second pipe from his vest and offered it.

“Thank you but I don’t care much for it.”

The sailor grinned. “Picked the habit up over there, actually – only whatever they smoke wasn’t for me. Made me hear strange things.”

“Hear?”

“Right. It’s hard to explain, if you’re a gambling man, try some yikho if you can get it.”

“If – Ferne mentioned the harbour was closed?”

“Not when I left but that was some time ago, to be honest. They’re a cautious type, the Kiymako. Slow to accept outsiders.” Hanael sat on a nearby barrel, pipe in hand. “I hear you know the captain from his treasure-hunting days.”

“True.”

“Said you were different to anyone else he’d met, crafty too.”

“Faint praise but it’s quite welcome nonetheless,” Never said with a grin.

Hanael chuckled. “I only ask because I think you could help me as much as I you.”

“Depends what you’re asking, I suppose.”

“How about this – I teach you what I know, teach you the language, and you retrieve something for me.”

“Such as?”

“A ring with a small ruby. No King’s ransom, and it’s more the value I’ve given it, if you know what I mean? Once belonged to my wife; I lost her to illness years back now.” The man’s face seemed to contain no trace of duplicity.

“I see. And how did you lose it?”

Hanael cleared his throat. “Gambled on a sure thing – only I think my opponent cheated me. I made a bit of a scene, you see and now I’m not exactly welcome in Najin; that’s the harbour town.”

Never nodded. “And the current owner of your wife’s ring?”

“Isansho Shika. She sort of runs Najin.”

“No small matter, then.”

“I’ll do my best to make it worth your while, especially if you’re a fast learner. Have you speaking Kiyma in no time.”

Never rubbed at his jaw. “I’ll do my best – which is pretty good, to be honest, but I’m not promising a miracle.”

“No-one else is likely to help me.”

“Then we’ve got a deal, Hanael,” Never said. “How about the first lesson over breakfast?”