Sorgi grunted. ‘We could make better if this poor old tub didn’t leak so much.’

‘Sparhawk!’ Sephrenia gasped, taking him urgently by the arm.

‘What is it?’ He looked at her in concern. Her face had gone deathly pale.

‘Look!’ She pointed.

Some distance from where Captain Mabin’s graceful ship was running through the Arcian Strait, a single, densely black cloud had appeared in an otherwise unblemished sky It seemed somehow to be moving against the wind, growing larger and more ominously black by the moment. Then it began to swirl, ponderously at first, but then faster and faster. As it spun, a long, dark finger twitched and jerked down from its centre, reaching down and down until its inky tip touched the roiling surface of the Strait. Tons of water were suddenly drawn up into the swirling maw as the vast funnel moved erratically across the heaving sea.

‘Waterspout!’ the lookout shouted down from the mast. The sailors rushed to the rail to gape in horror at the swirling spout.

Inexorably the vast thing bore down on Mabin’s helpless ship, and then the vessel, which suddenly appeared very tiny, vanished in the seething funnel. Chunks and pieces of her timbers spun out of the great waterspout hundreds of feet in the air to settle with agonizing slowness to the surface again. A single piece of sail fluttered down like a stricken white bird.

Then, as suddenly as they had come, the black cloud and its deadly waterspout were gone.

So was Mabin’s ship.

The surface of the sea was littered with debris, and a vast cloud of white gulls appeared, swooping and diving over the wreckage as if to mark the vessel’s passing.

Chapter 18

Captain Sorgi combed the wreckage-strewn water where Mabin’s ship had gone down until after dark, but he found no survivors. Then, sadly, he turned his ship southeasterly again, setting his course towards Cippria.

Sephrenia sighed and turned from the rail. ‘Let’s go below, Sparhawk.’

He nodded and followed her down the companionway.

Kurik had lighted a single oil lamp, and it swung from a low overhead beam, filling the small, dark-panelled compartment with swaying shadows. Flute had awakened, and she sat at the bolted-down table in the centre of the cabin, looking suspiciously at the bowl sitting in front of her.

‘It’s just stew, little girl,’ Kurik was saying to her. ‘It won’t hurt you.’

She delicately dipped her fingers into the thick gravy and lifted out a dripping chunk of meat. She sniffed at it, then looked questioningly at the squire.

‘Salt pork,’ he told her.

She shuddered and dropped the chunk back into the gravy. Then she firmly pushed the bowl away.

‘Styrics don’t eat pork, Kurik,’ Sephrenia told him.

‘The ship’s cook said that this is what the sailors eat,’ he said defensively. He looked at Sparhawk. ‘Was the captain able to find any survivors from the other ship?’