the bungs and hatchet tightly between two crates. Then, with the first part of his plan executed, he returned to the Skir Master and fresh air.
They sailed until the New Lands disappeared behind the horizon, then the ship’s captain called for the crew to strike the sails.
The aftercastle swept back out over the water farther than any ship Argoth had ever seen. But it did so not to accommodate another mast. No, the Skir Master used that deck to work his magic.
Argoth climbed the stairs to that deck. Above him a team of four sailors stood in a row on a balance rope belaying the last of the sails to its yard. Others tied down the coils of rope: something he’d never seen done before. Soon the ship no longer leapt to the wind, but sat in the water, rolling gently with the waves.
In the middle of the aftercastle stood a railing like something you might put around a pulpit. A pace or so aft rose what looked like a huge bowl turned on its side; the mouth of the bowl faced the sea off the stern of the ship. The bowl stood taller than a man and was woven of stiff, bronze wire, but the weave wasn’t solid. It looked more like a large, dark lattice with gaps in the weave that would allow a man to slip an arm through. It glinted in the sunlight, and as Argoth approached he saw silver lines threading through the whole of it.
“Come,” said the Skir Master, standing next to the bowl. He pointed to a spot along the railing. “There is the best spot for viewing the catch.”
Argoth took a spot at the railing next to the captain. The massive Leaf stood close to the bowl to assist the Skir Master. Two of the crew stood by the other stair, holding a young boy between them.
“Captain,” said the Skir Master. “The bait.”
“Affix him,” the captain said to the two crewmen. They brought the boy to the bowl. He looked at Argoth and smiled, his eyes full of pleasure and lassitude.
He was drugged.
He stood in the trap, and when they bound him with hemp cords, he laughed in a high, little boy voice. Argoth thought of Nettle lying on the table in his workroom, his eyes brimming with tears. The sight of that boy pained him.
The Skir Master stood before the boy, poking and prodding him, inspecting him like livestock. Then he checked the bonds.
Argoth spoke aside to the captain. “I thought the practice was to use a goat or ram.”
The Skir Master answered. “Some fish fancy flies, others worms, others a bit of stinking gore. It all depends on what you’re trying to catch and what the beasts are biting.”
“Yes, Great One,” said Argoth.
The ship rolled with a large wave, and Argoth held to the rail.
An officer called to the captain from the main deck. “Everything secured, Zu.”
“Great One,” the captain said and bowed slightly to the Skir Master.
The Skir Master faced Argoth, his coat flapping in the breeze. He withdrew a large spike from his coat pocket and held it up. “Here is the spark. When I set it and quicken the weave, the bait’s essence will rise into the sky like a smoke. It will call to them like bloody chum calls to sharks.” Then he turned and inserted the spike into a slot. When it was set, he inserted a pin crossways through the end of the spike to secure it.
The boy in the bowl sagged.
In that moment Argoth told himself he was not like the Divines. There was a difference. But then the boy looked up through his drugged eyes and Argoth saw Nettle, drugged and lying on the table.
What had he done to his son?
“Can you hear it?” asked the Skir Master.
“Great One?”
“The singing.”
Argoth did not know what he meant.
He patted the great bowl. “The weave. It’s calling, singing. They all do, great and small. That is the Kain’s art—to weave the songs of power. You can hear this one if you listen carefully.”
Argoth knew that weaves thrummed when you quickened them. But singing? He closed his eyes and focused. He heard the waves slapping the hull, the creak of the rigging. Then he heard something else. Something very soft that he immediately lost. He focused, then caught it again—a chorus of winds, rising and falling in a pattern, with a deep rumble running through them. Then one voice rose above the rest. He opened his