He took a long, deep breath.
“If you do, it will be the sea’s judgment. You will be set adrift with rations for a week, given over to the mercies of the ocean. Mercies which you did not afford my ship or my crew.”
I bit my lip. There was no cannonball tied around his feet, no chains to send him deep to avoid the razor barnacles along the ship’s bottom. This would be bad, and my heart broke for this miserable old man. His loss was no less than ours. And yet…
The captain nodded sharply, and, in a swift motion, Neale shoved the older man from the yardarm. He dropped like a stone into the water.
“Haul line!” shouted Buck, and the hands to port pulled the cables that bound Worley’s wrists. He’d gone over the starboard, and they hoisted hard and fast to pull him port by way of the keel. I remembered the barnacles on theTerrebith Fae’s hull, their dagger plates and lethal shells, and I prayed he came through with all his limbs.
Heave, haul, heave, haul.
I swore I could hear the man bumping along the bottom of the ship.
Heave, haul, heave, haul.
But then a shout and they doubled down, hauling the bloody form above the rail. He hung, swinging by his ankles now, half his face gone, lacerations across every exposed measure of flesh. I could see the yellow bone of his ribs and flashes of white in his thigh and shoulder, and I wanted to retch.
Keelhauling. The worst fate a seamage could meet.
Thanavar crossed the deck to stare at what was left.
“Still alive, Mr. Worley?”
The man struggled, made a gurgling sound in his throat.
“Do you have the spine to confess?” he asked. “Confess and I offer a quick death.”
He opened, closed his mouth, more sounds, and Thanavar stepped closer.
Worley shuddered a deep breath and spat.
Thanavar stepped back.
“Over you go, then, Mr. Worley. If the sea gods spare you, you will see the sunsrise.”
He nodded at Buck.
“Haul line!” shouted the bosun, and Worley was yanked back down.
Heave, haul, heave, haul.
Under the ship a second time, from port to starboard, through the crushing waters and across the barnacle gauntlet. No one could possibly survive a second run.
Suddenly, the sails thundered, and Thanavar held up his hand. I could feel her fury, her growls almost drowning out the howl of the wind.
Hold line, said theTouchstone.
“Hold line,” said Thanavar.
“Hold line,” cried Buck, and the men ceased their draw.
“What?” I whispered. “No.”
Thanavar said nothing, did not move as theTouchstonerose and fell in the choppy sea. I glanced around. Worley would be a-drowning right now. A man could only hold his breath so long.
I looked at Echo, horrified. He did not meet my eyes.
With blood I condemn him, my roots in the erthe.
