“The whole world’s gone bad, Clay. You’re the only clue as to how to make it good again.” Braddon paused, lowering his head as if gathering resolve for his next words. “It was my fault,” he said finally. “Silverpin . . . I knew something wasn’t right. The hunger I had for the White. She did that to me.”
“She did a lot to all of us,” Clay said, hoping the flatness of his voice would forestall further discussion. He didn’t relish the memories, or the dreams that might be stirred by talking about Silverpin.
“Took her into my home,” his uncle reflected softly. “Treated her like my own daughter. All the time, she was waiting . . .”
Her blood, spreading out like wings . . . “Yeah,” Clay muttered. “Well, now she’s dead. Her, Scribes, Miss Foxbine and thousands of others, with a damn sight more to come. Just don’t want you and Lori counted among ’em. Best you stay on the ship when we get to the Shelf.”
His uncle had stiffened, turning to fix him with a hard stare. “Your cousin’s a grown woman now. Seasoned gunhand too, and she knows her own mind. Just like her father. You ain’t getting shot of us, Clay. Best get yourself accustomed to that.”
Lutharon remained restless after Braddon returned to his cabin, the Black’s claws dragged along the deck as his narrowed eyes constantly roamed the ship as if in fear of attack. Furthermore, Clay could feel a tremble beneath his skin that had nothing to do with fear. Blacks don’t mind the cold as much as Greens and Reds, Skaggerhill had advised. On account of them nesting in the mountains. But there’s cold and then there’s southern seas cold. And that’s a whole other order of business.
“I can’t keep you,” Clay said, giving Lutharon’s hide a final pat before moving back. The drake gave a quizzical grunt as he swung his gaze towards Clay, sensing the change of mood. “Miss Ethelynne would’ve wanted you kept safe,” Clay told him, hoping that speaking the words aloud would convey some meaning to the beast. “How long’s it gonna be before this thing between us is gone for good? Then I won’t be able to stop them shooting you, that’s if the cold don’t kill you first. ’Sides which, how you gonna hunt so far from land? You gotta go, old fella.”
Lutharon became very still, staring at Clay with steady eyes that betrayed little understanding or reaction. Clay sighed in frustration. Can’t exactly shoo him away. He searched his memories of Ethelynne for some clue as to how to sever their connection, then realised that she was the connection.
“You know she died,” Clay said, filling his mind with visions of Ethelynne battling the White, her last few seconds of life as her small form vanished amidst the whirlwind of infant drakes.
Lutharon gave an abrupt growl, jerking as if prodded by a sharp blade.
“She died,” Clay repeated, raising his voice and pointing at the northern horizon. “And you can’t be here no more!”
Lutharon bared his teeth in a short growl, shifting from side to side, his claws raising more splinters from the deck.
“Go on, damn you!” Clay drew his pistol and fired a trio of shots into the air, causing Lutharon’s growl to transform into a challenging roar. His wings flared as he lowered himself in preparedness for a lunge, tail coiling so that the spear-point tip pointed at Clay’s chest.
“That’s right,” Clay told him. “I ain’t friendly.” He drew back the revolver’s hammer for another shot but Lutharon whirled about, his great body transformed into a shadowy blur, tail whipping out to wrap around Clay’s chest. It squeezed tight, forcing the air from his lungs, the pistol falling from his grip as the drake drew him closer.
The vision, Clay thought, more in hope than certainty. Ain’t my time yet.
Lutharon’s breath was hot on his face, hot enough to birth an instant sweat. The drake’s growl subsided into a curious rattle, nostrils flaring as he sniffed Clay, breathing deep. For a second their eyes met, and Clay saw no anger in the beast’s gaze. The slitted irises narrowed then widened, conveying a sense of understanding.
The tail uncoiled in an instant, leaving Clay gasping on all fours. A scrabble of claws on deckboard then the thunder of wings and Clay looked up to see Lutharon climbing into the night sky. The slender moonlight caught a gleam from his scales, outlining the great wings in silver for the briefest second, then Lutharon turned towards the north and was lost to sight.
? ? ?
“Captain’s still awful mad at you,” Loriabeth observed, joining him at the port rail. It was a week since Lutharon’s departure, an event that had seen his stock with Hilemore fall several notches.
“The beast would have been very useful where we’re going,” he said, Clay noting how his voice grew softer the angrier he became. “I will thank you to consult me before taking such a drastic decision in future.”
“He wasn’t yours to command, Captain,” Clay had replied with an affable shrug. “Nor mine for that matter. Besides, I owed the greatest of debts to his mistress, now it’s paid.”
Hilemore had let the matter drop, though it was clear Clay’s continual lack of deference was a sore point. The succeeding week had been notable for the captain’s keenness to avoid Clay’s company.
“The sailors say this is where the Myrdin Ocean meets the Orethic,” Loriabeth said, gazing out at the grey, choppy waves of the southern seas. “Supposed to make for a lotta storms, though we ain’t seen one yet.”
Clay wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about maritime matters but judged the Superior’s current speed as far in excess of any coal-burner. “Looks like the captain’s keen to get us to the Chokes as quickly as possible.”
“So we just fetch up at this big spiky thing of yours and this whole mess is over, huh?”
“I don’t rightly know, Lori. Doubt it’ll be that simple, though.”
“If Mr. Scriberson had made it out of the mountain . . .” she began, then trailed off as her face clouded.
“He’d surely have had some smart things to say about all this,” Clay assured her. “I guess I miss him too.”
Loriabeth turned her gaze out to sea and thumbed something from her eye. “Stupid,” she murmured. “Barely knew him for more than a few weeks.”
“It’s long enough,” he said, thoughts crowding with unwanted images of Silverpin. Don’t worry, she had promised. He’ll let me keep you. His kind always had their pets.
“You see that?” Loriabeth asked, now standing straight and alert, eyes fixed on the waves.
“See what?” Clay followed her gaze, seeing only the continual chop of an unsettled sea.
“There was something,” she said. “Maybe a hundred yards out. Something rose up, just for a second.”
“A Blue?”
“Maybe.” She squinted. “Could’ve been back spines, I guess.”