Whatever it was, Ehomba had been first to espy it. Among them all, he was the only one to have an idea what it might be. Convinced of his invincibility, the fisherman proceeded to confirm the herdsman’s suspicions.
“Here’s your wind, sailors! You think yourselves masters of the sea and all that’s above and below it—but I, Crice, command the air!” He held the glass container a little higher. “Here in this bottle I have all the wind that covers this portion of the sea. Found it at the bottom of a chest in a ruined ship. Must have been a thousand years old, she was, and reeking of magic fantastic and decayed. But the stopper on this bottle was intact, and I, yes I, discovered by myself how to open and close it. I let a little out when I need it and keep the rest shut up when I don’t.” He gestured at the perfectly flat, motionless water on which both craft floated. “That way I can see the fish I seek as clearly as if looking through a window. When I have enough, I let out just the right amount of wind in precisely the appropriate direction to carry me home.”
“No wonder he’s not afraid to travel out of sight of land,” Simna whispered. His hand tightened a little on the Captain’s waist.
“Not if he can control all the wind in this part of the ocean, no.” Pressing forward against the railing, Stanager raised her voice. “Ayesh, fisherman, can you not let us have back a little of that wind?”
“Every ship must find its own,” he reiterated implacably. “And if I give some to you, that will mean less for my sail. How much do you think a bottle like this can hold, anyway? I found the bottle, I captured the wind, and now it’s mine! Seek out your own breezes.”