Page 34 of Ship of Smoke and Steel

We do, though in the case of the Moron it’s clearly more because Ahdron is holding our breakfast bucket than for any respect for the pack leader’s orders. Ahdron sets the bucket and a couple of loaves of bread in front of us, and starts to talk while we dip our bowls. Meroe sits beside me, and I catch her looking at me uncertainly. She doesn’t say much, for once. Berun sits as far as possible from Ahdron, shoveling bits of crab into his mouth between nervous looks up at the pack leader. The Moron eats in beatific silence, apparently ignorant of everything spoken.

“The Butcher wants us to hunt a hammerhead,” Ahdron says. “Obviously that isn’t easy. She knows where one’s been feeding, which takes care of the first problem, but that leaves the issue of killing the rotting thing.” He shakes his head. “Normally you need a whole set of beaters, a Tartak adept to hold the monster down, and someone to carve a way through its thick skull. We’ve got … us. But we haven’t got a rotting choice if we want to eat, so we’re doing it.”

Berun has frozen. “We can’t kill a hammerhead. Is she crazy?”

“I think she knows exactly what she’s doing,” I say.

Meroe shoots me a look. Berun tosses his bowl aside and starts to get up, and Ahdron’s voice cracks like a whip.

“Coward! Sit down and shut up. You’re part of this, and if you try to run off gods help me I’ll burn you alive. Understand?”

Berun sits, white-faced. The Moron, having finished his breakfast, sets his bowl down and wanders back to the shore. He plunges easily into the water, swimming out to his island in a few quick strokes.

“Obviously he’s not worth anything,” Ahdron says. “But Coward, you’re Tartak. So we need you on this one.”

“I’m n … not strong enough,” Berun says, looking at the floor. “I’m only a talent. I c … can’t hold a hammerhead.”

“You can rotting well try,” Ahdron says.

“Meroe saved you from the blueshell,” I tell him. “Now’s your chance to return the favor.”

“I didn’t…” Berun looks at Meroe, then back at the floor. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be … I’m just not strong enough, that’s all.”

“We’re not going to be able to do it the usual way,” Ahdron says. “We’re going to have to get it to come to us, instead of flushing it out with beaters. Meroe, that’s your job.”

“How?” Meroe says.

“By being bait,” Ahdron says. “When we start seeing signs the hammerhead is close, you’ll cut yourself and make some noise. That’ll bring it out, sure as winter.”

“I don’t—” I start, but Meroe interrupts.

“All right,” she says. “Then what?”

“Then Coward here holds it. It doesn’t have to be for long; a few seconds will do.” He leans down and sketches an elliptical shape on the deck, then puts a couple of dots in the middle. “The only way to kill a hammerhead is to hit the heart or the brain. But they’re both too far inside to get to easily. So Isoka, I want you to go for the legs instead. Damage enough of them and we’ll slow it right down. Then I can take my time and blast it apart. May not make the best steaks for the officers, but they can go rot.”

“It won’t work,” Berun moans. “I told you, I can’t hold it.”

“Would you shut it?” Ahdron closes his fist, which ignites with a whoomph. “I swear, I’m going to—”

“Let me talk to him,” Meroe says. “Please.”

Ahdron glares at Berun, but he nods. Meroe takes the boy’s trembling hand and leads him away, speaking to him in a low voice. Ahdron rolls his eyes and starts on his own breakfast, ripping one of the tough loaves of bread in half.

“So, the hammerhead,” I ask him, “does it have claws like the blueshell, or tentacles, or what?”

Ahdron shakes his head. “Just a mouth. A big, wide mouth, full of tiny, sharp teeth.” He rips a hunk off the bread and chews with some difficulty. “Rotting gods. Would it kill them to bring it to us fresh?”

“What do they make bread out of, anyway?” I tear a chunk from the loaf. “It can’t be flour.”

“Mushrooms,” he says. “There’s a kind you can grind up like grain.”

“Amazing,” I mutter. Crabs and mushrooms seem to be the two things Soliton has in abundance.

Meroe comes back, with Berun in tow. To my surprise, the boy is looking more determined, his clenched fists still shaking slightly.

“Well?” Ahdron says.

“I’ll … try,” Berun says. “I don’t think … I mean…”