The larger windshorn opened and closed its beak slowly, something Joron thought of as meaning a gullaime was either shrugging or thinking.
“That one wrong,” it said. “Broken.”
“You said you would do as you were told.”
The windshorn lowered its head, then hopped to the side and Meas approached the other of the windshorn who stood, its body slack, beak pointed at the floor. Even though the gullaime were an alien, unfamiliar species it was difficult to read this creature’s body language as anything other than dejected.
“Stealers,” it said quietly. “Takers. Chainers. Biters. Corders. Jailers. Killers,” it said softly. Some feeling ran through the gathered windshorn, like a cold breeze. They huddled together as if for protection from the words of their colleague.
“So the windtalker is right. You are traitors to your kind.”
“What choice?” it said. “What choice without wind?”
Before Meas could answer there was a screech of fury and the larger windshorn flew at the smaller one, wings outstretched, running across the deck.
“Trouble causer! Liar!” screeched the larger and Meas’s hand went to her crossbow but the attacking windshorn was too quick. It launched itself up, one clawed foot outstretched for the smaller windshorn, and as it came in the smaller gullaime dipped to the side, the claw passing over its head, scoring through the back of its robe, cutting into the body beneath. But the victim was not defenceless – it span before the hook of the claw got purchase in its flesh and it brought up its own clawed foot. As the larger windshorn landed, turning to face its opponent, the smaller windshorn’s leg was already coming around and the claw, curved sharp and cruel, cut straight through its attacker’s throat. The larger bird staggered back. Opened its beak to speak but no sound came out, only blood. It collapsed to the deck, quite dead. And the smaller windshorn walked over to it, a bright streak of blood on its dirty robe.
“Traitors,” it said to the corpse. “Not lie.”
There was a furore among the rest. Wings were spread, beaks opened to cry, battle lines swiftly drawn. Meas opened her mouth then. “You will be quiet!” she shouted.
An instant cessation, as if obeying a human voice was a compulsion, a part of them.
“I am Shipwife Meas and my word here is law. My rule is absolute. Should any of you wish to be kept separate from others in your group, then simply stand to landward of me.” She glanced around the hold. “Do you understand? Landward is this side,” she said, pointing. Nothing, no movement. “My ship and my rule are new starts for all,” she said. “That is what we are. That is what you may have with me.” She stood, imperious and sure. Then, with a small amount of hissing and posturing, the gullaime split into two groups, one to Meas’s landward and one to seaward.
She pointed at the last windshorn before her, blood still on its robe.
“You can fight,” she said.
“They make us. Keep order. Sometimes amuse them. Can fight.”
“Well, I will have Garriya look to your wound. I think I may have a job for you.”
6
What Ill Cargo Is Found Upon the Sea
“Not want!” The screech was followed by a rock that rebounded off the bone wall behind Meas’s head as the gullaime backed into a corner of its nest room, wings spread beneath the robe as if to wall off that area and keep its precious possessions safe. “Not want!” it screeched again.
“Joron has a shadow and I have a shadow because we are important to the running of the ship. You are important to the running of Tide Child, so you too will have a shadow to protect you.”
“Not want!” it screeched again and this time a small metal mug was thrown, aimed well enough that Meas had to dodge it.
“Joron, see if you can talk some sense into it,” she pointed at the gullaime. “I will be in my cabin discussing our next move with Dinyl and the courser.” She turned and left. Did Joron feel an odd stab of jealousy that she still respected the deckholder, even though the man so obviously hated him? Possibly, but he put that aside for the good of the ship, as he had learned to put aside the constant damp and discomfort and the cold and the tiredness and a thousand other things.
“Not want, Joron Twiner,” said the gullaime, but its fury was gone now. Its voice gentle, sad even.
“Meas has said it will be.”
“Bad shipwife.”
“You know she is not.” The gullaime hissed. “I will tell the windshorn that it is only to be near you if you are in danger.”
“Not nest.” It stepped over to its nest and settled. “No thief in nest.”
“I will make sure it knows.”
“Not want.”
“We will make a show of you accepting it, and then maybe Meas will forget and we can quietly sideline it?” He knew she would not, and his thinking was that the gullaime would eventually forget its dislike of the windshorn.
“Bad shipwife,” it hissed. Joron ignored that and left.
Outside he found the windshorn, the same that had killed their old leader.
“Not wanted,” it said.
“Well no,” said Joron. “It would maybe be best if you kept your distance while the gullaime gets used to the idea of you.
“Distance,” it said.
“Yes.” The windshorn nodded, then huddled down outside the door.
“I’m not sure that is what distance means,” said Joron. But the windshorn did not reply or look at him, and if he knew one thing it was that the gullaime, as a species, had an uncanny ability to hear what they wished to hear and act upon that. In the end, it was often easier to let them work it out for themselves. So he left the windtalker and the windshorn separated by a screen of bone and a thin door and hoped he would not be called back later to break up a fight. Though if what he had seen in the hold of the Maiden’s Bounty was anything to go by then gullaime fights were short, brutal and deadly. He thought about the vicious claw on the windshorn, and hoped he was never pitted against one.
Joron passed up through the ship, noting that despite the new and strange crew that Meas had brought aboard, the life of the ship went on as it always did. Women and men of the day shifts moved about purposefully while those of later shifts slept. Some were in the hold restowing cargo to help the ship fly better, others up the spines to bring in the wings. Some checked the great gallowbows on the maindeck, some cleaned, some painted. As he passed, he tried to have a word on his lips for as many as he could, though some met him with little but polite surliness. He passed Sprackin, who was doing nothing in particular. Joron knew he should have picked the man up on it, but then he noticed Cwell, and Joron chose to pass by as if he had not noticed them. In the great cabin he found Meas and Dinyl bent over a chart – was that jealousy he felt? – and the courser, Aelerin, stood behind them, their features hidden beneath their robe.
“Joron,” said Meas. “Aelerin tells me they have dreamed good winds and calm seas for the next few weeks we will fly toward Safeharbour, so I have decided we will accompany the Maiden’s Bounty back there. Karrad is always telling me they need more ships. We may also leave the windshorn there.”
“That will please our gullaime.”