Leaving the rail, he found the rat-faced first mate and asked directions to his cabin. Carver wiped at his eyes and gruffly told Miro where he could find his cabin.
Miro found the companionway in the quarter deck, descending into the corridor where the passengers' cabins lay side-by-side with the officers. He thought once more of food but decided against eating. More than anything, he needed sleep.
Miro reached his door, but cursed when he tried the handle and found it locked. Miro muttered the activation sequence he'd been given and felt the lock click open.
He pushed open the door.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Miro said, seeing a woman asleep in the bed. Turning away, he made to depart but frowned. He looked at the woman more closely.
"What in the Skylord's name..?" Miro whispered.
There, asleep in his bed, was Amber.
~
"I DON'T understand," Amber said, squinting against the sun. "Why can't we just turn back?"
Captain Meredith sighed. "It's not that easy, I'm afraid. We're provisioned for a very long journey, but even so, supplies are limited. Every day counts, and our agreement states that the moment we commence rationing we turn back. We have a strong tailwind, which is fortunate if we wish to make good progress westward, but works against us if we try to head back to Castlemere."
Miro and Amber exchanged glances. Amber's face was pale.
Meredith continued. "It would take us a long time to reach port if we have to tack against this wind, and as heavy as we are we would need to time our arrival to another full tide. In that time we will be consuming stores, all of which would need to be replaced for us to make a second departure."
"How much time would be lost by turning back?" Miro asked.
"At the end of it all, at least a week, perhaps two."
Amber put her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. She looked at Miro. "What choice do I have?"
Captain Meredith addressed Amber. "I have a possible solution. There's a good chance we'll pass a ship heading the other way, back to port. We can transfer you across, and you'll make it back while we continue our journey."
"Can you guarantee it?" Miro asked.
"No. I'm afraid I cannot. I know these waters, and it's a good bet, but one can never be certain."
"I'll leave you now to make your decision," Captain Meredith said. Bowing, he left Miro and Amber alone on the quarter deck.
"I can't decide for you, Amber," Miro said.
Amber looked at Miro, and then sighed. "It's out of our hands. If we can find a ship to take me home to Tomas, I'll get on it. Otherwise…" she trailed off, and a tear spilled out of one eye. "Otherwise, I'll be with you on this journey, for good or ill."
6
THE Delphin rose as she climbed a wave and then plunged as she fell into the trough behind. She hit the water with a mighty thud, sending a quiver through the ship and making her timbers creak alarmingly. Spray shot up from the bowsprit in a fountain, the galleon's foremost point plunging under the tops of the bigger waves. Occasionally a swell hit the ship from the side, and she rolled, dipping and twisting like an overweight dancer.
On the decks, the shade from the sails provided blessed relief from the scorching sun, but the bare-chested sailors in the rigging had little opportunity for surcease. They worked continually, given rest only when the striking of the ship's bell indicated a change in watch.
After two weeks an apologetic Captain Meredith told Amber her chances of finding a ship home were slim. The passage of another week told Miro and Amber they would certainly now be seeing the journey through together. Amber constantly worried she'd made the wrong decision, and nothing Miro said could help.
As they travelled westwards the colour of the sea deepened until it was the shade of an evening sky when the first stars appear. The waves grew larger, and as they changed course First-mate Carver called out for a luffing sail to be trimmed. The rat-faced officer seemed to give most of the practical orders aboard ship, while the red-eyed Captain Meredith spent much of his time alone in his cabin.
Toro Marossa's journal gave directions to the islands he called the Ochre Isles, but from overheard sailors' remarks Miro knew most of them thought it a fool's errand. At noon Captain Meredith would take a bearing from the sun to calculate how far north or south they were, while determining their final position using dead-reckoning given their speed and direction. He marked their position on a chart, but Miro heard a sailor comment there was little purpose in making a mark on an endless expanse of blue.