When additional patches showed themselves later in the morning, it occasioned some comment among those on duty. The lookout in particular was concerned, and announced that they appeared to be entering a region of fairly contiguous mist. Stanager Rose directed Terious to make the usual preparations for running through cloud. These consisted of placing additional lookouts in the rigging and reefing some of the canvas. Better to go a little more slowly and be sure of what lay ahead than to charge blindly onward at full speed.
Sensing the ship slowing, her passengers came out on deck, to find themselves greeted by the congealing grayness.
Ehomba commented on the unhurried activity aloft. “You are taking in sail.”
“Ayesh.” They were standing on the helm deck. Stanager’s attention was focused on her crew, not on curious passengers. “When general visibility’s cut, a wise seaman doesn’t take chances with what can’t be seen. Don’t want to run into anything.” She smiled tersely. “Don’t worry. Either this will lift or we’ll plow right through it. That’s the nature of sea fog.”
“Run into what?” Standing at the railing, Simna was peering into the thickening gloom, struggling to penetrate the damp haze. “Another ship?”
“Possible, but most unlikely,” she told him. “A floating log could do real damage, but I am more concerned with drifting ice.” She squinted skyward, sighting along the mast. “As far north as the liberated winds blew us, we run the risk of encountering one of the great floating mountains of ice that sailors sometimes pass. Run hard into one and we could easily be hulled. I’ve no wish to be cast adrift, marooned on an island that’s steadily melting beneath me.”