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even a shackle of anchor chain to weight the corpse down. In the shimmering
light, the dark bruises and scratches cried out from the pallid flesh, the
marks of the throttling clear and unmistakable.
"Is he ready?" the captain asked, folding her arms across her bosom against
the chill of the dawning. "Standby."
Ryan was in the front row, and he studied the woman's face, seeing the smug
lines of satisfied cruelty, like a spoiled cat that has caught itself a
helpless sparrow. She licked her lips contentedly while he watched her.
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"Tip the bastard in!" she called.
Four of the sailors stood steadying the funeral chute, two at each side. At
Quadde's shouted command, they lifted the board, shaking it to shift the
stubborn body, until it flipped loose and fell in a clumsy tangle of arms and
legs. It hit the sea with an almost soundless splash.
The captain smiled. "Always a good diver, our Kenny. Used to love diving in&
everywhere you can think of."
She turned on her heel and stamped off to her quarters, stick rattling a merry
tattoo on the planks of the deck. Cyrus Ogg quietly dismissed the rest of the
crew and ordered them about their business.
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Jehu, the only man on the ship whose height approached Donfil's seven feet,
was standing next to the Apache and Ryan.
"A maimed, unwilling sacrifice," he said, voice lower than the usual
high-pitched babbling.
"What's that?" Ryan asked.
"We shall give, as need arise& Once the first price be paid, then there needs
be no other. Not until the hunger moves again."
"What're you talking about?"
"Always the way. Short straw for Kenny there. And his lay to be split 'mongst
the rest of us. One man poorer an' all of us the richer. Always the way on the
Salvation"
He moved away from the two outlanders.
Ryan shook his head and went to the very stern of the slow-moving ship. He
leaned on the rail above the helmsman's shelter, staring out along the
disintegrating wake.
"Fireblast!"
"What is it, brother?"
"Look!"
He pointed out behind them, only about fifty yards astern, where the corpse of
Kenny Hill bobbed and danced, upright in the water, looking as though it were
calmly watching them sail away. Even as the two companions stared, a large
gull came circling down and perched neatly on the thinning, plastered hair.
Peering down, it delicately plucked out both of the staring eyes, tossing its
head back as it swallowed them.
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"If I had my blaster I'd chill that stinking bird," Ryan swore.
"And what good would that do thee or poor, lamented Seaman Hill?" asked a
familiar voice from just behind them.
Ryan half turned. "No good at all, ma'am. Not to him and not to me."
"No, outlander. Now, the pleasures of the first day at sea are over. And we
must be to the business of catching the great whales. I think that ye both
have keen sight?"
Donfil and Ryan nodded.
"The mist is lifting and the wind freshens from the north." She sniffed
appreciatively. "I can taste it."
Even as she spoke, the ship heeled over, timbers creaking, as the morning
breeze caught her sails. Both men balanced against the sudden movement,
without staggering.
Quadde noticed that and managed a thin smile. "Got your sea legs, already,
lubbers? Good enough. Now go test them. Up the masthead with ye both. Get your
glims raking the seas for a sign of the whale. Shout down and burst your
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lungs. And point where away ye see 'em."
Ryan looked up, seeing the spidery-thin rigging almost vanishing in the
tattered remnants of the mist, the twin barrels fixed to the very top of the
mainmast for the two lookouts.
"Aye, ma'am," he said, beckoning for the Mescalero to climb with him.
"Quickly, outlanders. Ye see how a poor seaman can perish of the cold through
disobeying my orders? It might be your turn next if ye don't jump, jump and
jump!"
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Ryan thought of the strangler's marks on the cold corpse. And began to climb
toward the light.
KRYSTY WROTH STOOD with her face pressed against the cool glass of their attic
room, staring out through the murk, toward the tops of the masts that peeked
through the fog. She'd hardly slept at all, and her night had been racked with
dreadful visions that jerked her awake in a shivering sweat.
Ryan had been at the center of all her black night dreams. He was walking
through an echoing, deserted castle. A dank, ruined place, standing at the
center of a dreary expanse of sedge and stunted willows. Broken glass daggered
in every window, and the stairs were slippery with bright moss.
She'd watched him, hanging at his shoulder like a shade of pending death.
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