HELMSMAN Werner coughed at the foul smell, tasting rancid air and damp as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He took a step forward and his left foot sank into viscous liquid reaching up nearly to his calf. Another step forward saw his other foot plunge even deeper. The stink was overpowering: urine and rot and the sweet stench of corruption.
Finally Werner's eyes adjusted and he ignored the wetness on his legs, pushing forward through the liquid, occasionally kicking the ribs of the ship with his bare feet. Below him he could feel the smacks the Delphin made as she hit the water again and again. Creaking and sloshing sounds came from all directions.
There was a light ahead; a figure held a shuttered lantern, silhouetting seated men, creating garish shadows.
As Werner grew closer he saw it was Julian Carver holding the lantern. The Delphin's first mate was sitting on a barrel where some of the supplies had been put into the bilge to provide extra ballast. Also sitting on a barrel was Ulrich, the quartermaster, a fat, balding man who probably dipped his hand too often in his stores.
"Why choose here to meet?" Werner asked, finding himself a seat on a water cask. "Going into the bilge isn't in my job description."
"Can you see that Alturan and his fancy wife coming down here to check on things?" Carver said.
Werner heard a snort from a newcomer and saw Beck, the second mate, a thin, wiry man with an earring and oily hair.
"…Or old Merry taking his lips off the bottle to sample some bilge water?" Beck said, taking a seat.
Fat Ulrich and Carver both laughed.
"What have you asked us here for, Carver?" Werner said. "You're the senior officer here. You organised this meeting."
"He's here to talk some sense into you," a voice spoke from behind him. Another latecomer sat down, a huge sailor with legs like tree trunks and a broken nose.
"What's he doing here?" Werner asked.
"This is Ros," Carver said. "He represents some of the sailors. Isn't that right, Ros?"
"That's right," Ros said. He looked at Werner. "I don't know 'bout you, helmsman, but we ain't too keen on sailing to the edge of the world and past. They don't call it the endless sea for naught. I'll say it plainly. Meredith's a drunk and we'll follow Carver here instead if he turns us back from this madness. It's been two weeks since we crossed into the deep zone. We want to turn back, 'fore it's too late."
"What about the captain?" Fat Ulrich asked. "The council back in Castlemere'll have our heads for mutiny."
"Shh," Carver hissed. "I don't want to hear that word uttered here, not once. Look, the ship's surgeon has an expensive mistress back in Schalberg. If we pay him a gold dinar, he'll write up that the captain took sickly, know what I mean?"
"It's a big secret," Beck said, the lean second mate tugging on his earring. "All it takes is one man to break."
"That's why we're the only ones who'll be privy to it. According to the men, the captain actually did take sick, and they'll be so happy to be turning back from the deep that they'll think of nothing but their warm beds back home."
Werner remained silent. Carver seemed to have an answer for everything.
"So we kill the cap'n and give him a funeral service at sea, all right and proper," Beck said. "That just leaves one other loose end."
"Here's where it gets tricky," Carver said, "but if we work together, stick to our stories, and most of all, keep the men out of it, we'll be right."
"Let's hear it," Beck said.
"So here's what we've got so far. The captain's turned sick, and with the surgeon in our pocket he'll back us up on that. The council back in Castlemere knows Cap'n Merry as well as we do, they know he's not a strong man. You know Meredith, Ulrich. What do you think he'd do if he turned real sick?"
"Order us to turn back," Fat Ulrich said.
"That's exactly right," said Carver. "He'd order us to turn back. Now, the Alturan… Tell me, fellows, do you think he's the type to turn back without a fuss?"
"No," Beck said. "Him and his woman, their son has been poisoned. They're looking in these islands for a cure, or some such."
"Right again." Carver nodded. "And if this Alturan bladesinger, a man consumed with his quest, threatens our captain and tries to force him to keep going, who do we support? Our sick captain, or a grief-mad foreigner?"
"The captain," Fat Ulrich and Beck said together.
"And if this Alturan threatens violence, and happens to be killed in a struggle, well, it's unfortunate but we did the right thing."
"Who does the killing?" Ulrich said.
"I'll say it was me," said Carver, "provided you all back me up as witnesses."
Beck nodded. "You're cunning, I'll give you that. Remind me not to cross you when you're captain. You're forgetting someone though."
"The woman's the easiest of all," Carver said. "You've seen her, she's a mess. Her husband dies, and we're turning back from the only hope she's got of saving her son, what's she going to do?"
Ros, the broken-nosed sailor spoke, grinning. "Throw 'erself overboard."