"Three problems solved," said the rat-faced Carver, "with a tragic, but convincing tale to tell, and all of us bearing witness. Three deaths: one by illness, another by violence, and the last by suicide. No need to involve the crew, except for our friend Ros here and a few of his friends, and even the surgeon only knows a part of it."
Helmsman Werner looked from one face to the other. "It's not as easy as that. You're talking about taking on a bladesinger. He's taken to wearing his armour these past two weeks. Even all of us at once wouldn't stand a chance. How do we take care of him?"
"He doesn't sleep in his armour, though." Ros grinned. "And that huge sword of his is too big to wield below decks."
"How do you know?" Werner challenged.
"'Cause I lowered m'self down the rail and peeked in the window, that's how. Did the same with his wife. Didn't see her sleep in no armour either, heh."
"Bastard," said Beck, rubbing his thin face. "I'll do more than look at her though when she's captured."
"Cut it," Carver said. "Let's just worry about taking the ship first. So, Werner, in answer to your question, we take the ship in the dead of night. But we'll get to the planning in a minute. I need to know everyone's in. Second-mate?"
"In."
"Quartermaster?"
"In."
"Helmsman?"
Werner hesitated. "In."
"Seaman?"
"In," Ros said.
"Good," Carver said. "Ros, how many sailors can you trust? And I mean trust proper-like. All the other seamen need to think the captain's been taken ill."
"I've picked two," Ros said. "Fischer and Rawl. Both big men. Both trustworthy."
"All right. We move tomorrow night, no point in waiting. We're already running low on food and water. Before much longer we wouldn't be able to turn back, we'd have to keep searching around to reprovision on islands that don't exist."
"All right," Beck said, "tomorrow night. When?"
"About four hours before dawn, you'll hear the watchman strike the third bell of the middle watch. That's when we strike. With Ros and his seamen there'll be seven of us. Ros, you and your two mates go straight for the bladesinger. He'll be the most dangerous."
Ros held up a huge fist, the fingers calloused by work. "I'm dangerous too."
"Me and the second mate here, we'll take the woman. The Alturan won't fight long when she's in our hands. Ulrich, you and the helmsman take the cap'n."
Fat Ulrich looked at Werner and nodded.
"Last time Merry drunk himself comatose I searched his cabin and found the key to the arms locker. Here."
Carver reached behind to a roll of canvas Werner hadn't noticed before. He unrolled the sailcloth, and Werner saw the flash of steel as a bunch of sharp swords jangled.
"Good sharp cutlasses," Carver said. He handed them out, giving three to broken-nosed Ros. "Take them back to your berths, making sure you're not seen. I've cleared the decks until the next change of watch so you should be right. I shouldn't need to tell you. If you're caught with these, you're dead."
There was a noise in the bilge, a splash that sounded like a footstep, and in a flash Carver closed the shutter on his lantern so that Werner's vision went black.
The five conspirators waited in silence, each breathing as quietly as possible, knowing that if caught, the secret of their mutiny would be out.
Then Werner heard a squeal, followed by a screech of triumph and another splash. He heard Carver sigh, and then the first mate slowly opened the shutter a crack.
Cugel, the ship's cat, shone triumphant eyes on them as he held a dead mouse in his maw. He was often left to hunt mice in the hold, and he must have somehow made his way into the bilge.
First Ulrich, and then Beck started to chuckle. Werner shook his head side to side, while Carver smiled ruefully before hushing them.
"Here's a thought to keep you warm tonight," Carver finished. "Merry has gold in his cabin. It's the pay from the Alturans. He doesn't trust moneylenders, and prefers to keep it in his cabin, the fool. It's enough for us all to have a tidy bonus, when this is done. Remember, tomorrow night, at the third bell of the middle watch. You'll do fine."
Helmsman Werner looked at the cutlass he held in his hand.
There was no turning back now.
8
CAPTAIN Roslen Meredith added a mark to the chart spread over his desk before making an entry in the ship's log and signing it with a wavering hand. He absently tilted his heavy-bottomed glass, waiting for the warm rush of alcohol to slide past the back of his throat, but frowned, seeing it was dry.
Tomorrow's course would be much the same as today's, just as yesterday had been the same as the day before. His agreement said that on the day rationing commenced, the Delphin would head back to Castlemere. In two weeks, perhaps three, low stores would force him to turn back with an unhappy Lord Marshal and a crew surly from reduced provisions. He must have been drinking when he negotiated that deal.