Читать книгу Sea - Sarah Driver - Страница 14

Sundown’s an hour away when we raise sail for the Wildersea; the great greyness we have to cross to reach the Bay of Thunder, for the Tribe-Meet. The Western Wharves fade behind us in the mist, and the foghorn booms.

I’m out on the storm-deck, practising my right-handed shooting. Grandma’s black-cloaks keep arrows nocked to their bows as we sail past the closed ports of the Hill-Tribe chieftains, who watch, shields up, from their jagged fortresses.

Leaving without Da feels every kind of wrong. But I ent gonna doubt him. If he says he’ll come home, then he’ll be here, sooner or later. I keep a tight hold of the carving in my pocket and treasure what Bear said – that it might be a paw print Da left for me.

My last arrow thrums into the animal-skin target. As I lick the salt from my lips and stoop to gather my fallen arrows, I remember with a jolt that Grandma said to meet her in the lab. My pulse flickers as I race below.

Grandma’s medsin-lab is marked with a sign saying ‘Leave Me Be!’ but I push open the heavy door and step inside. The stinks of boiled sea-slugs and algae greet me. I’m dwarfed by tall shelves crammed full of brown bottles, with labels written in squid ink. There are vials of wolf-fish blood, for keeping divers’ blood warm, and the dragonfish luminescence Grandma worked on for moons and moons, to make into night-vision eye drops for the night-watchmen. On the wall is a note: ‘A new-birthed oyster ent no bigger than a peppercorn,’ to keep her impatience in check.

Grandma stands at her table, tipping a blue powder onto measuring scales. Beside her, glass tubes of jewel-bright liquid seethe and bubble. The table’s strewn with chisels, mallets and saws, and stained with dark patches of blood from her amputations and tooth-pullings.

‘Young Mouse,’ she says, without turning. ‘Come and help me brew this potion for Sparrow’s shaking fits. Fetch me three sea-slugs, if you please.’ I’d a mind I was being silent. How’d she know I was there?

I dump my bow and quiver on the floor and turn to the shelf behind me. When I find the right jar I grab a rusty pair of forceps and pick out the scaly green slugs, dropping them onto a square of cloth.

‘So why’s this Stag here, then?’ I ask, idly digging the forceps into the flesh of a slug.

‘He’s a navigator.’ Grandma looks at me like she’s about to say more but her jaw closes again with a pop.

‘Aye, but we don’t need a new navigator; we’ve got you til Da comes back.’ I spot the mortar and pestle, add violet root and start to grind it up for the potion.

She laughs croakily and turns back to her work, dropping the sea-slugs into a small cauldron, where they burst and sputter. ‘Happens I’ve got too much shrimp on my platter and I could do with the help. Think of that?’ She sets the cauldron over a flame and adds a gooey ball of rotten kelp to the slug-sludge. ‘Fetch the porpoise bladder, dearest.’

I scuff over to some barrels filled with the odds and ends that Pip can’t find a use for in his kitchens, and haul a big white bladder out of one.

‘But why him ? Could’ve had any of the crew be a navigator if you ordered ’em to. Da was training up a few good ’uns, anyway.’ I dump the bladder onto the table. It makes a soft ooooohh sound as the air’s knocked out of it.

Grandma ladles the cauldron gunge into the neck of the bladder. ‘Ha! Being a captain ent about giving orders.’ She threads a needle and starts to stitch the bladder shut. I add my violet root to a glass tube with a ladleful of elder wine and set it boiling over a flame. ‘A crew’s like the sea herself: full of wild moods. A skilful captain learns to weather stormy seas, but only once she’s learned to weather her crew.’

I squint up at her.

‘Ack, such solemn grey eyes, always finding me out since the day you were born!’ She laughs. ‘Stag was a young member of this crew, moons ago. Any Tribesperson may return after a wandering if the captain judges them to be heart-sore for their true home. Stag is True-Tribe and his skills are much needed here – he is a truly exceptional navigator.’

‘He’s a sombre old loon, is what he is. Besmirching our deck with his sneering jowls.’ I use tongs to lift my glass tube from the flame and fix it in a vice to cool.

Grandma’s mouth twists like she’s trying not to laugh. ‘You ent frighted of him, now, are you, Bones?’

‘No, I flaming well ent!’ My face floods with shame. I slam my fist down onto the table as Grandma hoots with laughter. ‘But he can’t be trusted.’

Grandma stretches across the table for a rag. ‘Time will tell, dearest heart. Shall we gift him a chance to prove himself ?’ She wipes her hands on the rag. ‘Truth be told, my girl, the sea is the only one you can trust, though she’s no fool and she claims anyone who don’t show her rightful respect.’ Her good eye flickers between both of mine, and deep inside her glass eye, little flecks of gold begin to swirl. Ent noticed that before – less it’s just my imagination.

‘I wonder if turning thirteen’s lent you the strength for what I’m about to say.’ Her mouth draws into a grave line.

‘What?’ I gape up at her, my heartstrings pulling and thudding.

She pushes loose strands of hair away from her face. ‘Stag’s moving into your da’s cabin.’

The words hit me hard in the chest, like Grandma’s thrown the whole stinking porpoise bladder at me. ‘You ent serious.’ I back away, a storm in my veins turning my cheeks hot.

‘Mouse, calm your bones, you know I don’t want to heart-bruise you.’

‘So why are you, then? You still sore with me cos of that terrodyl? I never meant to bring it down on us!’

‘No, course I ent.’ Grandma’s eye burns into me. ‘But if you ever try a repeat performance I’ll do far worse.’

I nod, quick. ‘I thought you wanted Da back as much as me ’n Sparrow do!’

‘Course I do, Little-Bones.’ She folds herself onto a wooden stool, looking more crumpled and tired than ever. ‘There never was a finer man. I’ve loved him like my own son, ever since your ma first fell for him at a Tribe-Meet. And gods know we could do with him aboard. But you saw that sealskin, clear as stars.’

‘So what? Anyone can lose a cloak. I’d bet it weren’t even his blood!’ I bite my lip, hard.

‘Aye, that’s a point. I don’t know exactly what it all means.’ Grandma sighs, her craggy face pained. ‘But if he is alive, your da’s more than capable of crewing another vessel until he can return – then the cabin will be his again. Meantime, we’ve to forge on, and Stag needs a place to sleep. Tonight we celebrate your Hunter’s Moon. I’m heart-certain your da will be with you in spirit.’

‘I couldn’t give a twisted fishing hook for any birth-moon without Da!’ I turn my face away as tears prickle the backs of my eyes. ‘I ent ten, so don’t talk to me like I am. I want Da here, body and spirit. Don’t let Stag have his cabin. Please.’

Grandma smiles gently and reaches for me. ‘Listen. The cabin was yours for a heartbeat, when you shared it with your da. But you’re half-grown now, learning the ways of a captain. Looking after your brother. Does a captain pine after past lives? We can’t own a thing in this world, and a cabin’s wooden walls, that’s all.’

‘Ha!’ I shout bitterly, swiping at my face with my sleeve cos the tears are dripping down even though I’m fighting hard. ‘You always say there’s so much of our blood in Huntress she’s like our living, breathing kin! Now the truth comes, that you think –’ I snatch for breath ‘– you think she’s naught but wooden walls!’

Grandma looks at me. Her mouth’s turned down at the corners and her good eye shines bright. ‘Aye, girl. There’s Stag’s blood in the Huntress, too. Like it or not.’ She bundles me into her arms and I breathe her warm, herby scent.

Someone taps at the door. ‘Mouse! Are you in there? It’s time for your gift-giving!’ calls Vole.

My pulse quickens. I wipe my nose on my sleeve and pull away from Grandma, looking up into her face.

She brushes the hair off my forehead and nods briskly. ‘Come and greet your first sea-hawk.’