Steven Erikson - The lees of Laughter's End

West of Theft, the tithe strait opens out into the Wastes. A vast stretch of ocean through which naught but the adventurous and the foolhardy dared brave the treacherous, dubious sea-lanes as far as the red road of Laughter’s End, and from there, onward to the islands of the Seguleh and the southern coast of Genabackis, where the lands of Lamatath offered sordid refuge for pirates, wastrels, the rare trader and the ubiquitous pilgrim ships of the Fallen God.

What launched the free-ship Suncurl out from the sheltered waters of Korel and Theft was a matter known only to Captain Sater and, might be, her first mate, Ably Druther. Such currents of curiosity, as might lead one to speculate on said matters, could reach out and grasp a soul fierce as a riptide, so Bena’s mother warned in her whispering, rattling way, and Bena was not one to clap ears in stubborn countenance to such stern advice.

Not while her mother remained with her, to be certain, never silent for long with that wave-rolling and wind-sighing voice, the ’waring whistles, wry hoots and mocking moans as true and as familiar as any music of the heart. Why, her hoary hair danced in the wind still, reaching out to brush Bena’s young, smooth and-it was said well below-tantalizing features as Bena crouched in her usual perch in the crow’s nest, her maiden’s eyes thinned as she studied the western Wastes with its white-furled waves and not another sail in sight, waiting as was her mordant responsibility to first spy the darkening of the waters, the grim blood-dark seas that marked Laughter’s End.

A full week out now from Lamentable Moll’s cramped little harbour, and at night Bena listened to the hands below muttering their growing fears, decrying the endless creak of the nails in the berths and bulkheads, the strange voices rising from the hold and from behind the strong room’s solid oak door-when all knew that there was naught behind it but the captain’s own gear and the crew’s stowage of rum, with the captain alone holding the fang-toothed key to the enormous iron lock. And in answer to all these goings on, with surety blood had been let over the side in the darkest bell every night since, each hand spilling into the cup their precious three drops from a stippled thumb.

Had some curse clambered aboard in Lamentable Moll? Mael knew, there was nothing good arriving in the guise of the passengers they had taken on there. A high-born toff with a spiked beard and cold, empty eyes. A rarely seen eunuch, the highborn’s companion, and as their manservant none other than Mancy the Luckless, who-she had learned-had swum from more wrecks than the Storm Riders themselves, or so it sounded. Fare begone these wretched guests, Bena’s mother muttered again and again whenever Suncurl pulled a peg or two to correct course, and Bena would huddle down as the mast tucked and tilted, heaved and dipped, tipping the wicker basket of the crow’s nest hard over so that she could look up and, on occasion, see the bend of waves.

Wayward as the wind ’ere, beloved daughter, them guests, and see yon again that crow, oh fluttering black wing in our wake, why, nary a strip of bleached coral for fifty leagues since the Shingles yet the be-demon spawn bobs and slides dark as a regret! Look yee that crow, darling, and make no nest ’ere for one as that!

Oh, Bena had not heard her mother moan so in all the time that they’d shared this nest, and so, with a gentle caress, Bena reached out a hand to stroke her mother’s wispy hair, only a few strands coming away from the parched, salted scalp above the shrunken, sightless eye sockets.

Huddle me come for company this night, darling daughter, for ahead soon runs the blood-dark seas of Laughter’s End, when the nails shall speak their dread words. Hold ever, sweet child, to our tiny home here high above-we’ll suck down the last snot of those gull eggs and pray for rain to slack our throats and lo, you will cry in delight to see me swell into ripeness once more, my darling.

Huddle me come for company this night!

And now, far to the west, Bena saw as her mother had said she would see. The vein of blood. Laughter’s End. She tilted back her head and loosed a piercing cry to announce to those below the long-awaited sighting. Then added a second cry, Bless the begging, if you would, send up another bucket of vittles and the rum ration, please yee, before night is birthed! And, she added to herself, yee all die.

As the wordless animal cry from Bena Younger in the crow’s nest faded, First Mate Ably Druther clambered up onto the aft deck and stood beside his captain. “Only a day late for the blood-dark,” he said, “and given this buffeting wind that’s been pushing us round, that’s not too bad.”

Hands on the wheel, Captain Sater said nothing.

After a moment, Ably continued, “Them dhenrabi are still in our wake. Expect they’re heading for the red road just like us.” When he still received no reply or comment, he edged closer and in a low voice asked, “Think they’re still after us?”

Her expression tightened. “Ably Druther, ask that again and I’ll cut your tongue from your mouth.”

He flinched, then tugged at his beard. “Apologies, Captain. It’s a bit of the nerves, y’see-”

“Be quiet.”

“Yes sir.”

He stood at her side in what he hoped and came to believe was companionable silence, until he was comfortable enough to decide that some other subject was acceptable. “Sooner we get Mancy off this ship, the better. Ill luck squats in that man’s lap, according to the hands we brought on in Lamentable Moll. Why, even back on the Mare Lanes I heard tales of-”

“Give me your knife,” Captain Sater ordered.

“Captain?”

“I don’t want your blood on mine.”

“Sorry, Captain! I figured-”

“You figured, yes, and that is the problem. It’s always the problem, in fact.”

“But this thing ’bout Mancy-”

“Is irrelevant and stupid besides. I’d order the crew to stop talking about it, if that’d work. Better to sew all their mouths shut and be done with it.” Her tone dropped dangerously. “We know nothing about the Mare Lanes, Ably. Never been there. It was bad enough you blabbering in Lamentable Moll that we’d hailed from Stratem, which was as good as pissing on a tree-stump for the ones on our trail. Now, listen to me, Ably. Carefully, because I will not repeat this. For all we know, they’ve hired themselves a fleet of Mare raiders, meaning we’ve got a lot worse tracking our wake than a few dozen bull dhenrabi looking to mate. Just one word that the Mare might be looking for us is enough to start a mutiny. I hear anything like that from you again and I will cut your throat where you stand. Can I be any clearer?”

“No, Captain. As clear as can be. We ain’t never been to the Mare Lanes-”

“Correct.”

“Only the three who came with us keep talking about them lanes and our run through ’em.”

“No. They don’t. I know them well. Better than you. They’re not saying a word, so if the knowledge is out, it’s because of you.”

Ably Druther was now sweating in earnest, and tugging frantically at his beard. “I might’ve made mention, once. But careless then and I ain’t careless no more, Captain, I swear it.”

“Careless once and the rest don’t matter.”

“Sorry, Captain. Maybe I can make it seem like I’m a liar. You know, lotsa tall tales and the like, exaggerations and worse. Why, I know one story-from Swamp Thick, that nobody’ll believe!”

“They might not,” she replied slowly, “except everything you’ve ever heard about Swamp Thick happens to be true. I should know, since I was bodyguard to the Factor there for a time. No, Ably, never mind trying the liar’s route-your problem is not just that you talk too much, it’s that you’re stupid besides. In fact, it’s a damned wonder you’re still alive, especially since my three friends have had to listen to you night after night. Even if I don’t murder you, they probably will, and that could make things complicated, since I’d have to execute one or all of my oldest companions, for killing an officer. So, all things considered, I should probably demote you right now.”