“Why?” Embery was almost crying.
“I never saw one before, but I recognize it from the descriptions I’ve read and heard.” Chard glanced at his niece. “I think you must have done the same.”
“Yes, but I was so much hoping you would say I’m wrong!” Embery clenched her claws. “Is it—”
“I’m very much afraid it must be. Further south than anybody has ever met one: that’s an iceberg.”
“You mocked me publicly before the folk!” charged Knowelkin.
A sky full of racing black clouds leaned over Ushere; a bitter gale lashed the wharf, the harbor; snow turning to hail battered land and water like a forestful of spongids uttering their pellets of spawn in an evil season. Behind him ranged the muster of surviving chaplains: those who sacrificed bulk to tallness, who had been infuriated when Skilluck and his companions overtopped them. And all of them were exuding combat-stink of such loathsomeness that even the frigid blast of the wind did not suffice to protect those nearby.
What could protect anybody in the clutch of this terrible winter, when not even seaqs or dugonqs were to be trapped beneath the ice because there were no floes thin enough to stab through, when icefaws and snowbelongs rampaged into the middle of Ushere?
The chaplains said: the stars. But nobody had seen a star in four-score days…
Somewhat reduced from the great height they had attained at Hearthome, Skilluck and his comrades confronted them. The crew were at the wharf perforce, for Tempestamer had to be taken to sea once in a while to eat, there being no pickled weed or fish to spare from feeding folk. To the surprise and satisfaction of his captain, Wellearn too had volunteered to turn out, regarding himself now as a full member of the company.
More than one briq was unlikely to live until spring, being already too weak to face open water thanks to the neglect of her captain, but Tempestamer remained fat and energetic, and they meant to ensure she stayed that way.
“Who did the insulting?” Skilluck rumbled, rising to the bait. “Who declared that Tempestamer was too weak to swim through storms? Who said I was too bad a navigator to find a way home?”
“Who said we were crazy to trust to visions sent by the stars?” Knowelkin countered. “Who brought a benefit for all the folk and now is keeping it himself?”
“We’re doling out our creshban to those most in need!” roared Sharprong, clenching into fighting posture. “Those who have nothing to offer the folk may mock—like you!—and we shan’t care!”
“Scores will! Scores-of-scores! You’re traitors to the Wego!” Knowelkin shrieked.
Standing a little apart, Wellearn suddenly realized what made the chaplains’ stink so harsh: fanaticism. They were so far into the maw of dreamness, reason would not convince them. And already they had deranged Skilluck, normally so self-controlled…
“Captain!” he shouted. “They’ve taken the windward of us! Shift round—shift round or they will make us mad!”
Startled, Skilluck shook himself as though emerging on land after a swim. “You’re right, by Jing!” he exclaimed. “Sharprong! Strongrip! Quickly! Follow Wellearn!”
And with short but menacing strides they marched into the snap of the gale before turning and confronting the chaplains anew.
That put a very different color on the mantle of the situation. The exudate of righteous anger was accessible to those not breathing their own wafts of madness. It made the chaplains think again.
“How fragile is our sanity!” Wellearn whispered, not meaning anyone to hear.
“Once more you’re ahead of the rest of us,” Skilluck muttered. “But most of them are well and truly dreamlost!”
“Dreamlost?” Wellearn cried, straining to make himself heard against the howling of the wind. “No! They’re frightened! And I’ll tell you why! It’s because if we steer the only sensible course and remove to Hearthome, they’ll meet people who can contradict their lies about Jing!”
Skilluck clutched at his mantle. “If you provoke them any more—”
“They outnumber us,” Wellearn returned softly. “Surely our best hope is to make them quarrel among themselves?”
Skilluck’s eye widened. “Neat!” he approved, and went on at the top of his voice.
“That’s right! Now suppose instead of Knowelkin, someone like you, Lovirtue, or you, Grandirection, had been in charge of the bragmeet: you’d not have insulted me, would you? You wouldn’t be so afraid of meeting strangers, either, I’m sure!”