Miles away, back toward the channel’s headwaters, but well clear of the Squirm, Redden Alt Mer stood at the bow railing of the Jerk Shannara and looked off into the gloom. The weather was impossible. If anything, it was worse now than when they had sailed inland two days ago. Yesterday had started out fine, but the sunshine and clear skies had gradually given way to heavy mist and clouds on the journey downriver. They had anchored the airship several miles from the ice, safely back from the clashing pillars and the bitter cold, and had gone to sleep, hoping to continue on this morning as Walker had wanted.
But the haze was so thick now that Alt Mer could barely make out the cliffs to either side and could not see the sky overhead at all. Worse, the mist was shifting in a steady wind, swirling so badly that it cast shadows everywhere and rendered it virtually impossible to navigate safely. In these narrow confines, with treacherous peaks, glaciers, and winds all around, it would be foolhardy to attempt to venture out of the channel when they could not see where they were going. Like it or not, they would have to wait for the weather to clear, even if it meant delaying their departure a day or two.
Rue Meridian came up beside him, long red hair as darkened by the damp as his own. It wasn’t raining, but a fine mist settled over them like gauze. She looked out over the railing at the fog and shook her head. “Soup.”
“Soup that Mother Nature feels a need to stir,” he amended with a weary sigh. “All for the purpose of keeping us locked down for the foreseeable future, I expect.”
“We could sail back up the channel and hope for a break in the clouds. Inland, it might be better.”
He nodded. “It might, but the farther back up the channel we go, the harder it becomes to track our course. Better to do it from as close to the coastline as possible.”
She snorted. “Have you forgotten who you have as your navigator?”
“Not likely. Anyway, a day of waiting won’t hurt us. We’ll lie to until tomorrow. If it doesn’t clear up by then, we’ll do as you say and sail back up the channel and try to find a cloud break.”
Her eyes found his momentarily. “No one much cares for this sitting around, Big Red.” She glanced off into the haze. “If you listen closely, you can hear those pillars clashing. You can hear the ice crack and the glaciers shift. Far away, off in the haze.” She shook her head. “It’s spooky.”
“Don’t listen, then.”
She stood with him a moment longer, then moved off. He didn’t
care for the waiting either or their proximity to the Squirm or anything about their situation, but he knew better than to overreact. He would be patient if he must.
After a few minutes, he walked back to where Spanner Frew sat working on a diapson crystal that had been damaged in their collision with Black Moclips. The Rover Captain was still perplexed at the appearance of the ship. In all likelihood it meant she was being sailed by a Federation crew. That gave Alt Mer a distinct advantage with his Rover crew, but not one he was eager to test. Black Moclips was much bigger and stronger than the Jerle Shannara, and in close quarters could probably reduce it to kindling. It would be strange in any case to do battle with a ship he had flown for so long and of which he had grown so fond.
“Making any progress?” he asked the shipwright.
The big man scowled. “I’d make more if people didn’t distract me with foolish questions. This is delicate work.”
Alt Mer watched him for a moment. “Did you get a good look at that other airship when she rammed us?”
‘As good as your own.”
‘Did you recognize her?”
“Black Moclips. Hard to mistake her. Doesn’t give me a good feeling to know she’s the one chasing us, but on the other hand this ship’s quicker and more responsive.” He paused to hold the crystal up to the pale light, squinting as he examined it. “Just keep her from getting too close to us, and we’ll be fine.”