‘I’m glad,’ he says, though his heart is hollow. She catches his tone, pulls him close and kisses the stubble of his cheek. ‘Cheer up, Rope. All these people alive because of you and the open sea in front.’ She presses his shoulder affectionately. ‘You did good, kid. We’re all lucky to have you.’
‘I know, I know. I’m lucky to be here,’ he says.
‘Oh, you’re soearnest,’ she says, giving his arm a quick squeeze before she strides back amidships and leaves him alone at the helm.
He watches the shape of her back pull away and lets the breath in his lungs drop to the deck like glass, sweat as cold under his shirt as the first frost of winter.
The sea colours behind him, fading outwards to grey and the thing beneath the boards calls to his conscience like a slow-tolling bell.
Time to check on Coglifter’s gift.
He takes the steps down to the hold slowly, with exaggerated care, his legs shaking with the tension.
Making a bomb was a simple business. Firing it is not.
For the moment, the device sits under hessian, nestled behind the barrels of hard-tack. It smells faintly of spice and herbs down here, the ghost of the medicinal oils used to repel boatworm and weevil.
When the ship lists the bomb knocks gently against the casks.Ropecharmer’s hands shake a little as he reaches for it, tucking it in a little more snugly to stop it shifting.
The bomb sloshes as it moves.
He recalls the darkened light of a workshop, a few days ago and Coglifter’s gnarled hands tracking the bomb’s curves, teasing the wick as she rolled it from palm to palm, enjoying the wet sound as it tipped back and forth.
‘Do you know what this is?’ she asks him, a grin on her face like a stripped corn cob.
He shakes his head mutely. His heart already sick with the horror of betraying Shipwright and Shroudweaver, the closest thing he’s had to family for years; the closest thing except Cog.
‘Liquid fire,’ she murmurs, her fingers lingering on the bomb’s rough edges.
‘I had to trade for this one, boy. Had to beg, borrow, steal.’ She taps her finger thoughtfully on the bomb’s shell, and he winces. ‘Mostly steal.’ She shrugs. ‘Worth it though.’ She tosses it to him underarm. He fumbles the catch and she snorts. ‘Don’t make a habit of that boy, or they’ll be bringing you back to me in neat, chewy pieces.’
He eyes her over the bomb’s rim. ‘I’ll do this for you Cog. I swore I’d have your back, and that hasn’t changed. But I need to know? Why? The Sh—’
She clamps a dry palm over his face with surprising speed. ‘Language, boy. Walls have ears and not all of them waggle for me.’
Ropecharmer swallows, his heart hammering. ‘Sorry, it’s just, they’ve always been good to me. To Hesper.’ He shrugs helplessly. ‘To everyone.’
Coglifter eyes him steadily, her goose-grey eyes serious under heavy brows. ‘Have they? Have theyreally, boy?’
She puts a hand on his shoulder, and taps a nail against his throat. ‘Tell me. What have they ever made better? What have they actuallyfixed?’
‘Thell,’ he says.
She laughs. ‘Thell’s a charnel house. No one won there. Crowkisser saw to that.’
Ropecharmer feels a spark of anger, a little loyalty to Shipwright flaring in his chest.
‘They got refugees out the city. Asked for nothing. We’re taking more on the next leg.’
Coglifter’s smile is cold, pitying. ‘And why were there refugees?’
Ropecharmer frowns. ‘Because of Thell. Because of the south.’
‘Because of Crowkisser,’ she cuts in. ‘And who failed to stop Crowkisser? Twice.’
Ropecharmer’s shoulders slump. ‘They did. But …?’
She cuts in faster this time. ‘But how could they fail? I don’tknowboy. But that’s the point. The pair of them running around with all this power, and they don’t know how to fix a gods-damned thing.’ She laughs again, short and bitter.
