beard twitched, but he said nothing.
* * * *
‘Down!’
Seneschal Schuet pushed Shilly’s head below the top of the gunwales. Something dark rushed over them with a deafening shriek. The tide of fog which, just moments before, had crested the top of the glowing waterfall now swept over them in a wind so cold it pained her.
A human scream joined the shriek. Shilly turned in time to see one of Schuet’s brown-clad companions — one of the few who hadn’t left in response to Lidia Delfine’s call to arms — snatched off the deck by invisible hands and whipped upwards into the mist. He disappeared, but his scream continued.
Shilly stared in open-mouthed horror.
‘What—?’
‘Stay still,’ Schuet hissed. ‘Where it flies, the Panic are sure to follow.’
She jumped as a glass dart thwocked into the bulkhead by her leg. ‘How do you know? What’s going on?’
‘Quickly!’ He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Hunched over to keep his profile low, he dragged her across the deck to the cabin entrance. She was half-limping, half-hopping, her walking stick useless. Thick mist wreathed the boneship, making even nearby objects hazy.
They stumbled through the door. Rosevear stared up at them, eyes full of questions they didn’t have time to answer.
The scream of the taken man ceased with an agonised choking sound. A second later, something crashed onto the roof of the boneship. Arrows staccatoed sharp impacts all around her.
Two dark shapes loomed in the doorway. She raised her stick automatically until she recognised one as Tom and the other as Highson. A forester woman followed, holding a scrap of cloth to her forehead. Blood trickled around her fingers.
‘How many?’ asked Schuet as Rosevear tended to the woman’s wound.
She shook her head, breathless. ‘All around us. Couldn’t count.’
‘Too many to break through?’
The woman nodded. ‘There’s only two of us on the boat.’
Schuet cursed. ‘Why here? Why now?’
‘I hate to be a wet blanket,’ Shilly pointed out, ‘but we won’t be running anywhere. Look behind you.’
Schuet did and saw Kemp, inhumanly flushed and motionless.
‘Yes,’ the Seneschal said. ‘Of course. But what other hope is there?’
Something splashed outside. The boneship swayed beneath them.
‘The ship,’ Shilly said, waving to attract Highson’s attention. ‘It’s a reservoir. How much potential is left?’
‘Not enough to sail it away,’ he said. ‘Not on our own.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of that. We can channel the potential somewhere else, use it to keep them at a distance — whatever they are.’
‘Just the Panic now,’ said the injured woman. ‘The wraith is gone.’
‘Thanks, but I’m none the wiser about either of them. Highson, can you do it?’
‘We can only try. What do you have in mind?’
She thought furiously. Footsteps were audible on the deck outside. With the mist still thick, she couldn’t see what was going on, but she presumed it wasn’t rescue. The only voices she heard were unfamiliar inhuman ones.
‘The man’kin,’ she said. ‘In the water beneath us. We’re going to raise them.’
Highson hesitated. ‘We don’t know whose side they’re on.’
‘That doesn’t matter. At least they’ll be a distraction.’
‘All right.’ He nodded, and closed his eyes. With one hand, he reached for her. ‘Guide me. You too, Tom.’
The three of them joined, with Highson as the focus. Shilly had no natural talent, but she could help others to use theirs. Designing a charm was akin to drawing, but much more powerful. Instead of drawing from life, a Change-worker drew from within life, tapping into the deeper layers of existence where life made the leap from the abstract to the real, from thought to action. It was, she sometimes thought, the ultimate art. Tom’s Engineering knowledge helped her refine the mnemonic she came up with even further, until the mental schema
* * * *
‘Down!’
Seneschal Schuet pushed Shilly’s head below the top of the gunwales. Something dark rushed over them with a deafening shriek. The tide of fog which, just moments before, had crested the top of the glowing waterfall now swept over them in a wind so cold it pained her.
A human scream joined the shriek. Shilly turned in time to see one of Schuet’s brown-clad companions — one of the few who hadn’t left in response to Lidia Delfine’s call to arms — snatched off the deck by invisible hands and whipped upwards into the mist. He disappeared, but his scream continued.
Shilly stared in open-mouthed horror.
‘What—?’
‘Stay still,’ Schuet hissed. ‘Where it flies, the Panic are sure to follow.’
She jumped as a glass dart thwocked into the bulkhead by her leg. ‘How do you know? What’s going on?’
‘Quickly!’ He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. Hunched over to keep his profile low, he dragged her across the deck to the cabin entrance. She was half-limping, half-hopping, her walking stick useless. Thick mist wreathed the boneship, making even nearby objects hazy.
They stumbled through the door. Rosevear stared up at them, eyes full of questions they didn’t have time to answer.
The scream of the taken man ceased with an agonised choking sound. A second later, something crashed onto the roof of the boneship. Arrows staccatoed sharp impacts all around her.
Two dark shapes loomed in the doorway. She raised her stick automatically until she recognised one as Tom and the other as Highson. A forester woman followed, holding a scrap of cloth to her forehead. Blood trickled around her fingers.
‘How many?’ asked Schuet as Rosevear tended to the woman’s wound.
She shook her head, breathless. ‘All around us. Couldn’t count.’
‘Too many to break through?’
The woman nodded. ‘There’s only two of us on the boat.’
Schuet cursed. ‘Why here? Why now?’
‘I hate to be a wet blanket,’ Shilly pointed out, ‘but we won’t be running anywhere. Look behind you.’
Schuet did and saw Kemp, inhumanly flushed and motionless.
‘Yes,’ the Seneschal said. ‘Of course. But what other hope is there?’
Something splashed outside. The boneship swayed beneath them.
‘The ship,’ Shilly said, waving to attract Highson’s attention. ‘It’s a reservoir. How much potential is left?’
‘Not enough to sail it away,’ he said. ‘Not on our own.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of that. We can channel the potential somewhere else, use it to keep them at a distance — whatever they are.’
‘Just the Panic now,’ said the injured woman. ‘The wraith is gone.’
‘Thanks, but I’m none the wiser about either of them. Highson, can you do it?’
‘We can only try. What do you have in mind?’
She thought furiously. Footsteps were audible on the deck outside. With the mist still thick, she couldn’t see what was going on, but she presumed it wasn’t rescue. The only voices she heard were unfamiliar inhuman ones.
‘The man’kin,’ she said. ‘In the water beneath us. We’re going to raise them.’
Highson hesitated. ‘We don’t know whose side they’re on.’
‘That doesn’t matter. At least they’ll be a distraction.’
‘All right.’ He nodded, and closed his eyes. With one hand, he reached for her. ‘Guide me. You too, Tom.’
The three of them joined, with Highson as the focus. Shilly had no natural talent, but she could help others to use theirs. Designing a charm was akin to drawing, but much more powerful. Instead of drawing from life, a Change-worker drew from within life, tapping into the deeper layers of existence where life made the leap from the abstract to the real, from thought to action. It was, she sometimes thought, the ultimate art. Tom’s Engineering knowledge helped her refine the mnemonic she came up with even further, until the mental schema
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