“Do you ever gamble?” Simna’s forced cheerfulness fooled no one.
“Only when it’s a sure thing.” Ignoring him as usual, she strained to see past the bow. “May have to try kedging, but in which direction I haven’t decided. It would pain me to have to tuck tail and go back to the delta.” She squinted upward. All sails were set, and hung loose as dead ghosts from both masts.
“What’s this ‘kedging’?” Simna wanted to know.
She sighed. “Landsmen. We lower all the small boats and put the anchors in them. They row out as far as the lines will go, then drop anchor. This pulls the ship forward. Raise anchors and repeat, as many times as necessary until a breeze fills the sails. It’s hot, hard work. A last resort for desperate sailors.”
“I cannot go backward,” Ehomba told her. “I have spent too much time already just in going forward.”
“Then find me some wind,” she declared curtly, “so we can escape these cursed doldrums!”
“The sky-metal sword!” Simna blurted. “Surely even a moment’s work with that would bring down enough wind to move the ship.”
Stanager frowned. “What is the mad elf blabbering about?”
“Something possible, but dangerous.” Reaching back, Ehomba wrapped his fingers around the haft of the sword. Simna looked on expectantly. Among those aboard the Grömsketter, only he knew what that enchanted blade of otherworldly metal was capable of in the hands of his tall friend.
Reluctantly, Ehomba released his grip. Simna looked pained.
“Why the hesitation, bruther?”
“It is a chancy thing to consider, Simna, and not something to be attempted in haste. I have to think first how best to go about it. Too little wind is not a problem. But too much wind could shred the sails or even capsize the ship. And what if I thrust it wrongly to the heavens and call down another piece of sky? Here there are no holes in the ground for us to hide in, and nowhere to run.”