The dock itself was narrow, built against the rising slope of the creature’s side. Multiple stairways led down from the crowded huddle of buildings perched just below the city proper, lit by the vapor-lamps. They had to be warehouses, provisioners, places where the ships could be hired or cargos sold. Below them, big metal scaffolds clung to the slope, hanging out over the water. They supported what looked like metal cradles, which Moon found bizarre, until he spotted one that held a small fishing boat nestled in its grip. The smaller boats must be cranked up out of the water with the cradles, probably to protect them when the monster moved.
No one was around on this end of the docks. A few people climbed the stairs at the far end. The buildings along here all looked oddly off center, as if their foundations were unsteady and they were about to tumble off their perches. Considering what they were built on, their foundations probably did move periodically. Presumably the giant towers were built on more stable footing.
Moon leapt lightly down to the walkway and shifted to groundling. Immediately the mist was clammy on his skin, even through the tough material of his shirt. The metal surface of the walkway was cold under his feet. The trade-off was that the heavy odors of monster and fouled water and dead fish wasn’t nearly as overwhelming. He took the first set of stairs, then worked his way down from walkway to walkway under the scaffolding, until he could step out onto the somewhat wider dock.
The green metal was rusty in places and puddles of water had collected in the worn spots. The vapor-lights were suspended on curving metal poles, the top of each one ornamented with a goggle-eyed fish head. The side of the monster was like a cliff stretching up from the water, the skin greenish and patterned with giant scales, crusted with little clumps of barnacle-like creatures. Moon stared at it in unwilling disgusted fascination. He couldn’t see how these people could live like this.
He tore his gaze away from the monster’s skin and walked down the dock, away from the fishers’ scaffolds, toward the bigger trading ships. The area wasn’t as uninhabited as it had appeared from a distance; the bundle of rags against a piling was a groundling, sleeping deeply. Another group of groundlings were in a shack built back against the cliff, having a desultory conversation. A few others moved around on the deck of a ship ahead, and some carried casks down into the hold. All the ships were wooden vessels, their sails furled or folded down. They were large and small, some plain and some painted, some with carved designs along the hulls. He could pick out the acrid scent of tar, and the wet weedy odor of the fibers used to make the ropes.
Then he moved past a large sailing vessel and saw a ship docked by itself, at a pontoon pier that stretched further out from the others. The vapor-lights caught the gleam of coppery metal on its tall hull. There we go. Moon walked to the edge of the dock.
The metal ship was about two hundred paces long, but it was much wider than the sailing vessels. There were multiple decks above its bulbous hull, enough to make it look top heavy, and it had three wide chimneys across its width. It was also easily big enough to make a long sea crossing to the Reaches, and to carry a large party of groundlings and the supplies they would need to make the trek into the forest on foot. This has to be it.
It was dark, no lights showed in any windows or doors, and no one was out on the decks. The groundlings aboard must be sleeping soundly inside.
Moon turned away and walked down the dock toward the darker end, away from the vapor-lights. He sensed something big fly overhead, just out of range of the lights, and knew Stone had seen the ship as well. When Moon reached a shadowy spot, he ducked down, shifted, and slipped over the edge of the dock into the cool water.
Swimming in the dark, knowing what lived in these waters, was a nerve-racking experience. He stayed near the hulls of the other craft and worked his way back toward the metal ship. At least the water was fairly clean. The harbor area must get sluiced every time the creature moved, so it didn’t have much time to collect layers of garbage and filth like other groundling ports.
He reached the metal ship’s hull, and swam along until he found a boarding ladder on the side facing away from the dock. He climbed up onto the wide deck and paused to shake the water off his scales. Instead of wood, it was plated with narrow strips of copper metal. He listened for a long moment, and tasted the air, but there was no hint of movement, no scent of nearby groundlings.
There was a faint splash against the hull below, then Stone in groundling form climbed up the ladder, his clothes dripping on the copper deck.
Moon found a hatch, a heavy door with a thick crystal porthole. It opened into a wide interior corridor, dark except for what little light came through the doorway. It was lined with fine dark wood, with bright metal sconces holding white crystal globes for lamps. It was also utterly silent, and smelled faintly of must.
It felt empty, and Moon’s heart sunk. He had hoped the groundlings would be aboard, that they could surprise them, get the seed, and be flying back to the others before dawn. Obviously coming to the same conclusion, Stone made a low-voiced frustrated snarl. He stepped past Moon and moved down the corridor.
They found a doorway that turned into the darker interior. Stone stopped to fish in his pack and pulled out a small cloth bundle. As he unwrapped it, light glowed. It was a little beach rock spelled to make light, one of two that he had gotten from Flower before they left. He handed Moon the other one and they followed the passage inward.
About midway through the ship, the corridor opened into a living area. It had deep cushioned couches and bookcases with clear glass doors, and a white porcelain stove painted with delicate flowers and vines. Moon saw a book left out on one of the couches, and picked it up. It had a leather binding, and delicate paper printed with even rows of characters. He couldn’t read the language, and there weren’t any pictures. He put it back on the seat and stepped over to touch the stove, just to make certain, but it was cold.
He looked at Stone. “No one’s been here for a long time.”
Stone grunted an acknowledgement. “Maybe they left the seed. Look everywhere.”
They searched, opening every door, every cabinet, looking into every cubby. The cabins meant for sleeping had beds built into the wall, and cabinets for storage, so there were a lot of doors and cubbies to investigate. It didn’t help that many of them were still filled with possessions. Clothing made of heavy fabrics, leather boots and shoes, more books in unfamiliar languages, some printed and some handwritten, strange tools that Moon couldn’t guess the purpose of. Everything was as rich as the living area, with fine wood, polished metal, painted ceramic sconces over the lights. There were tiny rooms for bathing, the walls covered with painted ceramic, with basins for the water to be piped into.
Moon found a room that was meant for preparing food, with a long table and chairs, and a larger stove of metal. The cabinets there held white pottery dishes, and metal cooking pots and utensils, and containers of flour, salt, and other dry foodstuffs he couldn’t identify. Some of it had been sitting long enough to get moldy. There was a bowl on the table, filled with fruit so old it had turned into desiccated husks. Moon poked it thoughtfully, trying to estimate the age. Six changes of the month, maybe seven? Stone walked in, saw it, growled, and walked out again.
Down below there were strange rooms filled with machinery, all of it cold and silent. One of the rooms held blocks of a mineral, with a scent and texture not unlike the one used as fuel for light and warmth in the Turning City, back in the eastern mountains. Moon assumed the blocks were used to make the ship move, somehow. But searching those areas told them nothing except that the seed wasn’t hidden there. They found signs that the crew had left abruptly but meant to return: a jacket tossed over a chair, tools scattered on the floor in front of one of the machines, a writing book left out on a table with a wooden pen and an open ink bottle. The beds all had blankets and cushions, some tumbled as if the occupants had just gotten up.