Joe Abercrombie - Half the World

She was of a size with the South Wind, sixteen oars a side or so. Her prow-beast was a black wolf, so Thorn guessed her crew to be Throvenlanders, and by the scars on the shields at the rail, men ready for a fight. Maybe even hungry for one.

“Keep your weapons close!” called Rulf, his horn bow already in his hand.

Safrit watched nervously as men struggled to manage oar-blades and war-blades at once. “Shouldn’t we smooth the path for Father Peace?”

“Of course.” Father Yarvi loosened his own sword in its sheath. “But the words of an armed man ring that much sweeter. Well met!” he called across the water.

A mailed and bearded figure stood tall at the prow of the other ship. “And to you, friends!” It would have sounded more peaceable if he hadn’t had men with drawn bows on either side of him. “Our ship is the Black Dog, come up the Denied from the First of Cities!”

“The South Wind, come down the Divine from Roystock!” Yarvi shouted back.

“How were the tall hauls?”

“Thirsty work for those who did the lifting.” Yarvi held up his crippled hand. “But I got through it.”

The other captain laughed. “A leader should share his men’s work, but take a fair share and they’ll lose all respect for him! May we draw close?”

“You may, but know we are well armed.”

“In these parts it’s the unarmed men who cause suspicion.” The captain signalled to his crew, a weathered-looking group, all scars, beards and bright ring-money, who skilfully drew the Black Dog into the middle of the current and alongside the South Wind, prow to stern.

Their captain burst out in disbelieving laughter. “Who’s that old bastard you have at the helm there? Bad Rulf or I’m a side of ham! I was sure you were dead and had lost no sleep over it!”

Rulf barked out a laugh of his own. “A side of ham and a rotten one at that, Blue Jenner! I was sure you were dead and had tapped a keg in celebration!”

“Bad Rulf?” muttered Thorn.

“Long time ago.” The old helmsman waved it away as he set his bow down. “Folk generally get less bad with age.”

The crew of the Black Dog tossed their prow-rope across the water and, in spite of some cursing at their tangling oars, the crews dragged the two ships together. Blue Jenner leaned across and clasped Rulf’s arm, both men beaming.

Thorn did not smile, and kept her own hand on her father’s sword.

“How the hell did you get clear of that mess Young Halstam got us into?” Rulf was asking.

Jenner pulled off his helmet and tossed it back to his men, scrubbing at a tangle of thin gray hair. “I’m ashamed to say I took my chances with Mother Sea and swam for it.”

“You always had fine weaponluck.”

“Still took an arrow in my arse, but despite being a bony man I’ve been blessed with a fleshy arse and it’s done no lasting harm. I counted the arrow good luck, for it surely pricked me free of a thrall collar.”

Rulf fingered gently at his neck, and Thorn saw marks she’d never noticed there, below his beard. “I was less lucky. But thanks to Father Yarvi I find myself a free man again.”

“Father Yarvi?” Jenner’s eyes went wide. “Gettland’s minister? Who was once the son of the Golden Queen Laithlin?” “The same,” said Yarvi, threading his way between the sea-chests to the back of the boat.

“Then I’m honored, for I’ve heard you named a deep-cunning man.” Blue Jenner raised his brows at Thorn. “You’ve got women pulling your oars now?”

“I’ve got whoever moves my boat,” said Rulf.

“Why the mad hair, girl?”

“Because damn you,” growled Thorn, “that’s why.”

“Oh, she’s a fierce one! Never mind the oar, I daresay she could break a man in half.”

“I’m willing to give it a go,” she said, not a little flattered.

Jenner showed his teeth, a yellowing set with several gaps. “Were I ten years younger I’d leap at the chance, but age has brought caution.”

“The less time you have, the less you want to risk what’s left,” said Rulf.

“That’s the truth of it.” Jenner shook his head. “Bad Rulf back from beyond the Last Door and girls pulling oars and heaven knows what else. Strange times, all right.”

“What times aren’t?” asked Father Yarvi.

“There’s the truth of that too!” Blue Jenner squinted up at the muddy sun. “Getting towards dinner. Shall we put ashore and swap news?”

“By swap news do you mean drink?” asked Rulf.

“I do, and that excessively.”

They found an easily-defended loop of the river, set a strong guard and built a great fire, the flames whipped sideways by the ceaseless wind, showering sparks across the water. Then each crew tapped a keg of their ale and there was much singing of ever more tuneless songs, telling of ever more unbelievable tales, and making of ever more raucous merriment. Someone ill-advisedly gave Koll beer, and he got quite a taste for it, then shortly afterward was sick and fell asleep, much to his mother’s profound disgust and everyone else’s profound amusement.

Merry-making had never made Thorn especially merry, though. In spite of the smiles everyone kept blades to hand and there were several men who laughed as little as she did. The Black Dog ’s helmsman, called Crouch and with a white streak in his balding hair, seemed to be nursing some particular grudge against the world. When he got up to piss in the river Thorn noticed him giving the South Wind ’s contents a thorough look-over, that iron-bound chest of Father Yarvi’s in particular.

“I don’t like the look of him,” she muttered to Brand.

He peered at her over the rim of his cup. “You don’t like the look of anyone.”

She’d never had any objection to the look of Brand at all, but she kept that to herself. “I like his look less than most, then. One of those people with nought in them but hard stares and hard words. Face like a slapped arse.”

He grinned into his ale at that. “Oh, I hate those people.”

She had to grin herself. “Beneath my forbidding exterior I’ve got hidden depths, though.”

“Well hidden,” he said, as he lifted his cup. “But I might be starting to plumb ’em.”

“Bold of you. Plumbing a girl without so much as a by your leave.”

He blew ale out of his nose, fell into a coughing fit and had to be clapped on the back by Odda, who seized the chance to honk out his ill-made verse on Brand lifting the ship. The slope got steeper and the danger greater and the feat more impressive with every telling, Safrit beaming at Brand and saying, “He saved my son’s life.” The only one to dispute the questionable facts was Brand himself, who couldn’t have looked less comfortable at all the praise if he’d been sitting on a spike.

“How are things around the Shattered Sea?” Blue Jenner asked when the song was over. “It’s been a year since we’ve seen home.”

“Much as they were,” said Yarvi. “Grandmother Wexen makes ever greater demands on behalf of the High King. The latest talk is of taxes.”

“A pox on him and his One God!” snapped Jenner. “A fellow should own what he takes, not have to rent it from some other thief just because he has the bigger chair.”

“The more some men get the more they want,” said Yarvi, and folk on both sides of the fire murmured their agreement.

“Was the Divine clear?”

“We found no trouble, anyway,” said Rulf. “And the Denied?”

Jenner sucked at the gaps in his teeth. “The damn Horse People are stirred up like angry bees, attacking boats and caravans, burning steadings within sight of Kalyiv.”

“Which tribe?” asked Yarvi. “Uzhaks? Barmeks?”