“It’s not possible for a city to bring us to it… is it?” Mullins asked, glancing between us as if looking for validation.
“I think we’ve seen our fair share of impossible things in our time together, Mullins,” I said. “We start rationing food more efficiently starting now. Everyone is to get ample amounts of sleep whenever they can. Do not work yourselves where you don’t have to. This will be a test we’ve never encountered.”
He nodded, heading off to start spreading the word to the rest of the men. I turned back to Dahlia. She’d dressed in her usual pair of drawstring pants, boots, my shirt, and her weapons on a thick leather belt.
“If we get through this, remind me to finally get you a wardrobe of clothes made for you,” I said.
“Why?” she smirked. “I rather enjoy wearing what is yours. It smells like you.”
“Aye, I suppose I can’t argue that.”
“Besides, if there is victory to be found at the end of this journey, I should not be afraid of the water anymore. I imagine I’ll have less use for clothes, then.”
“And when you’re with me?”
Her smirk turned to a smile. “Even less use for clothes when I’m with you.”
I wound my arm around her waist, pulling her against me. “I long to give you that freedom.”
“I see it, at the end of all things.”
Looking over my shoulder, I glared at the fog, sucking in a long, deep breath and attempting to center my crowded thoughts.
“I am willing to relinquish control when I must,” I said. “But not now.”
“And what can we do with no wind?”
I glimpsed the longboats and oars. “We will tow her, north and east. We will use a compass instead of the sun.”
Dahlia nodded in agreement, her determination matching mine.
Climbing toward the helm, I faced my men.
“Men!” I announced. “We’re not to sit here like bait for whatever draws near. We’re no ordinary crew of men. We are the feared crew of the Burning Rose and now we sail the Storm Weaver. It’s time we started making a name for ourselves again. We do not bend, not even to the magics of this world. Now lower the damn boats. We’re towing her through!”
When the men started to hoot and holler, I couldn’t tell if it was out of excitement or sheer boredom that they were so easily convinced. I wanted to assume it was both. None of us wanted to spend another day sitting on flat water while a fog bank rolled in to devour us. If nothing else, my men were not keen on surrendering, even to the weather.
It didn’t take long for three boats to be lowered into the water, each with four men and oars and two men with guns and swords. Though the waters had been quiet since the storm, I did not trust what might be lurking beneath its glassy surface. Knowing the fog was coming, each boat also mounted a lantern that could be seen if the weather skewed our vision too much.
“I should go with them,” Meridan volunteered. “My eyes can see better than anyone else here.”
I nodded, handing her my pistol. “Fire it at anything that moves in the water.”
She took the gun and tucked it into the leather belts she had wrapped around her narrow waist before she began climbing down the nets into the boats below. Thick ropes were secured to the ship and unraveled at length to each of the longboats. At the helm, I watched the fog continue to crawl toward us, tall and thick and almost alive. A large lantern was lit at the bow of the ship, but I doubted it would be much use when wewere fully engulfed.
We were about to start sailing blind, our only reference a compass. Dahlia stood next to me, watching the boats row out into the water until the ropes grew taut.
“Will this work?” she asked.
“It’s slow, but it’ll work. Brought us through some tight places before.”
I could hear my men below barking orders and gradually, the Storm began to lurch forward. I leaned on the wheel, taking another glance at the dead sails.
“We went from one of the worst storms I’ve ever sailed through to this,” I said. “We are indeed entering Hell, I think.”
“There is no Hell colder than life. Whatever happens, we will know how to get through it when the time comes.”
“When did you start being the optimist?”
