He’d heard stories of ships that got caught too near those towers. The currents were strong enough to sweep up anyone who wandered near. Sweep them up and smash them against the ceiling of the sky. What was left of those ships, if any remains were ever found, was scattered in unrecognizable bits in too large a radius to search, some of the wood frozen solid from the great heights. The corpses fared worse.
“We’ll make it,” Tibs said, as if he could hear the direction of Detan’s thoughts. Maybe he wasn’t full of shit. Already they’d banked far enough away from the great tower that the strength of the winds began to slip, to ebb. The wheel jerked less beneath his palms, the wings trembled only slightly. A gust of hail scattered the deck, bouncing off the hardened wood and bewildered crew. A thumbnail sized chunk of ice pinged off Detan’s head and he yelped. Tibs chuckled.
“Shoulda brought a hat.”
“Shouldn’t have let a wiry scab make off with my hat.”
“Ain’t yours.”
“Fits me just fine.”
“If by fine you mean it looks clownish on that pinhead of yours, then sure.”
“You dustswallower–” He cut himself off as a ripple of panic spread across the deck. Crew members who’d been attempting to recover the cloud of selium before they’d entered the storm crowded the larboard rail. Some held hands to their mouths in mute shock, others waved arms over the edge in direction.
Curious as a cat in a cave, he made sure all the wheels were chocked before scurrying over to join the crew at the rail. His tie-line trailed out behind him, growing taut as the captain wasn’t meant to stray far from the podium when the skies were rough enough to require tying in. He made it to the rail, the rope tugging his belt behind him, leaving him open to a rather chilly gust down the backside.
Below, farther than he’d be comfortable jumping, the watcher craft was in trouble. It shimmied and slewed in the winds, the tattered remains of its sail whipping in all directions as the winds gusted up and over. Watchers scurried to and fro across the deck, not guided by a practiced hand, everyone trying to do whatever they felt was more pertinent in the moment. Detan winced. Any captain blind enough to lead a craft out into a storm like this without a prepared crew should lose his post, if they didn’t lose their life for the error first.
He clenched the rail, leaning as far forward as his tie line would let him. The Larkspur’s presence – a stable shadow above the craft – was outright ignored by the watchers. They had bigger troubles than an empress’s ransom in selium and a rogue doppel to capture.
The sel Pelkaia’s sensitives had tried to reclaim drifted through the air, pearly shimmers blending with the clouds like oil slicks. Whatever cohesion had existed within the cloud was lost to the storm and the tug-of-war game Pelkaia’s people had played with the watchers. Her crew continued on, trying to recapture what was left, but Detan knew it to be a lost cause. His strength may have been enough to gather it all up, but he wasn’t about to take that chance.
“Looks bad.” Tibs sidled up to Detan’s side, his tie-line pulling the back of his coat into a puffed-up tent.
“Don’t think they’ll make it back to Petrastad. Or the Remnant, if they can even find the heading.”
“Don’t think they need to.”
Tibs jerked his chin to the west, and Detan squinted against the wind to see what he meant. Somewhere down there in the water was a darker splotch. Oblong and ragged, one of the smaller members of the Remnant Isles pockmarked the white-capped sea, the only refuge the watchers had to hope for this far from the coast. That spit of land, where the weather would keep on being rough and food would be scarce. Or the Larkspur.
He sighed. And those watchers were probably having such a pleasant evening until he sauntered into their tower. Detan surveyed the deck for the lean, familiar frame of Pelkaia. He spotted her near the main mast, inspecting the damage. Coss was hooked in beside her, coiling a rope.
“Ho, captain!”
She glanced up, saw him waving at her, and went right back to what she was doing. Stubborn woman. Ignoring the exhaustion turning his legs to jelly, he sauntered toward her, careful not to tangle his line, and stopped when he was close enough to lean his weight against the creaking mast.
“Pelly, our courageous leader. How about showing off a soft spot on that old heart of yours and bringing our new friends aboard? It’s us or the water, I’m afraid, and I think they’d much rather be our prisoners than the sharks’.”
“Leave them for the sharks. Maybe they’ll get indigestion from my stolen selium.”
Coss flinched, but kept his head down, fussing with a knot.
Detan lowered his voice and leaned forward, angling his body to cut off Pelkaia’s view of the mast. “They’re innocents.”
“They would have killed me for my birthright. That strike you as innocent?”
“Ripka would have killed you, too.”
“She changed.”
“She had time to. Time you’re not giving those boys in blue floundering below. You save them, maybe you might win some hearts. Or are you only out to spill blood in this war of yours?”
“I didn’t start this war.”
“Just because you didn’t start this war doesn’t mean you can’t change how it’s fought.”
Coss’s head jerked up and he stared at Detan like he was seeing him for the first time. Wasn’t right to look at a soul like that, like you could see every bit of them exposed right out on the deck. It sent shivers straight down Detan’s spine. Pelkaia pursed her lips and started to protest, but a cry from the rail overrode her words.
Detan abandoned them to their repairs and hurried back to the rail, flicking his tie-line behind him to keep from becoming entangled in one more thing. He could hear Pelkaia and Coss hurrying after him, but he ignored them. He peered over the edge, and his stomach sank.
The watcher craft was badly damaged, slewing in a slow spiral toward the sea. They’d turned it around enough that it might make it to the black mass of an island, but steerage was clearly out of their hands now. One end dipped precariously, the other reached toward the clouds. The watchers’ cries were drowned out by the wind and the rain, but he could imagine them all the same. Could imagine their fear.
Sel leaked from a crack in the sinking end of the ship, the crew of Pelkaia’s Larkspur dutifully reining in what little they could reach. Detan sucked his teeth, stiffened his spine. The watchers had tied in – he’d seen that truth for himself – and they were heading straight toward a small spit of land. Some would survive. Some would be in need of medical care. Care the crew of the Larkspur could provide.
Before Detan could act, Tibs turned tight on his heels and stalked to Pelkaia’s side.
“We’re landing,” he said with a voice like calm winds. Like iron. “We’re going to help those people.”
Her lip curled. “Those watchers.”
“Last time I checked, watchers were people.”
“Captain–” Coss said. She snapped a fist up to silence him.
Detan held his breath. He could see the tension in Tibs’s shoulders, the tendons straining at the sides of his narrow neck, his fists held low and tight. Not a threat. Not exactly. You’d have to know Tibs well to see the anger building, the storm about to break.
“Captain,” Detan said, forcing his voice to be chipper. Tibs didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow as Detan strolled over to his side and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It has occurred to me that many of the solutions to your present predicaments may be found in coming to the aid of the watchers below.”
She tipped her head, but her gaze remained locked tight on Tibs. “The solution to all my problems could be found in throwing you both off my ship.”