Reuth shivered again. ‘But it’s spring.’

The old woman’s snow-white orbs gleamed in the yellow glow of the pipe-embers. ‘It was. I fear spring’s been cancelled. As has summer.’

‘That’s impossible!’

‘Not at all. It’s happened before. Many times. In many regions.’

‘Greetings, Silver Dawn!’ a gruff voice called from the dock. ‘Permission to come aboard?’

Reuth glanced to Ieleen then shook himself, remembering her blindness. ‘What should I do?’ he whispered.

She waved him onward. ‘Give him permission, lad!’

He hurried to the side. It was that barrel-shaped Genabackan captain. ‘Granted,’ he answered.

The big fellow came puffing up the gangplank. He was all smiles behind his greying beard. ‘Morning! Morning. And a damned frosty one too! Cold enough to freeze the tits from a—’ He caught sight of Ieleen and clamped his lips shut. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’

But she just smiled indulgently as she drew on the pipe then exhaled a great gout of blue smoke. ‘Look at us three,’ she murmured, choosing to ignore her own handicap. ‘A Falaran pilot, a Genabackan mariner, and a Mare navigator. We three smell it. Us with the knack of sensing the currents of sea and air. Yes, Enguf?’

The Genabackan was nodding as he stroked his beard. ‘Aye. The wind’s changed. It’s strong out of the north now. Not a good sign for us.’

‘I agree,’ Ieleen said around the stem of the pipe. ‘We must be ready. We may have to slip anchor in a rush.’

The Genabackan pirate cocked a brow. ‘Think you so? Unsettling news. The lads and lasses won’t like that.’

‘They sound miserable already.’

Enguf winced and dragged his fingers through his beard. ‘Aye. This whole venture’s been nothing but one disaster after another. I’ve had to put down three, ah … spirited debates regarding my leadership.’

Ieleen laughed with the pipe stem clamped between her teeth. ‘Look at it this way. You might be the only ship to return to the Confederacy. You can tell whatever stories all you damned well please, then.’

Enguf laughed uproariously and slapped Reuth’s shoulder. The fellow rather reminded him of his uncle. ‘And I shall!’ he promised. ‘You can be damned certain of that!’ He straightened. ‘I’ll keep your words in mind. Always prudent to weigh the words of a Falaran sea-witch. Until later, then.’ He clomped off to the gangway.

Reuth’s eyes had grown large at the man’s words. A sea-witch! Growing up in Mare, he’d heard nothing but ghastly stories of such sorceresses. Human sacrifices, eating babies, drinking blood! Every wicked practice imaginable! Swallowing to wet his throat, he ventured, ‘He called you a sea-witch.’

The old woman’s blind hoarfrost-white orbs swung to directly meet his own. Her wrinkled lips rose in a slow smile that seemed to promise she knew all he was thinking.

‘It’s just a term of affection,’ she said.

* * *