Sea. Sarah Driver

it ent Squirrel’s fault he’s not home,’ says Ermine, glowering at me through his shock of white hair. ‘But it is someone’s fault we’re tethered to this ghost-harbour, waiting for the Hagglers to come for us, and that we’ve traded half our finest wares for timber what’s not even strong enough to repair that smashed mast.’

      ‘Say that again with your fists up and your teeth bared,’ I growl.

      Hammer gets between me and Erm. ‘Settle your bones, both of you. Captain’s got extra crew on watch, so no one will dare board the Huntress.’

      ‘She went ashore without her glass eye in, just to make herself look more frightful-fierce,’ I tell them. Ermine breaks into a toothy smile and I grin back, heart-keen to drop the fight.

      I grip the ice-rune tightly in my fingers. ‘Ent it odd that it’s already so icy and all the other ships have sailed?’

      Hammer opens his mouth but then a great cry goes up and my head spins to look at the gangplank on the port side.

      Grandma and her black-cloaks stride up the plank onto the storm-deck. ‘She’s back!’ I scramble to my feet, slipping on a stray pearl.

      I’m running towards her to ask after Da when the black-cloaks move aside to let a tall stranger in a scarlet cloak climb aboard. I skid to a stop and stare. The man plants his gold-buckled boots wide and rests his fists on his hips.

      The stranger’s face is long and pinched, with a crooked hawk’s nose, downturned lips and great black brows. But it’s his eyes I keep looking at, as he lets them crawl all over the Huntress. They’re grey and wide like rock pools stuffed with eels, ready to swallow me up. Suddenly they fall on me, dead and heavy, but I keep my face icicle-fierce. The man smiles, baring a row of sharp teeth.

      ‘What’s going on? Who’s that man?’ asks Sparrow, tugging on my cloak.

      ‘The king of the bleeding sea-cows. How would I know?’ I wrap an arm round Sparrow’s shoulders and rest my chin on top of his tangled hair. Sick longing for Da twists inside my belly.

      Grandma’s hair swirls in the salt spray. There’s a green glint when she moves her head – she must be wearing her glass eye again. She stands arrow-straight and crosses a fist over her heart. Her sea-hawk, Battle-Shrieker, hulks on her shoulder, talons clutching a scrap of cloth. Quiet falls, leaving just the shrilling of sea-birds and the sloshing of waves against the hull. ‘Tribesfolk, this is Stag, a long-lost member of our Tribe. Some of you know him—’ Someone cheers, and Grandma grins broadly. ‘Some of you don’t. But all of you will make your captain heart-glad if you join me in welcoming him home.’

      Welcoming him home ?

      ‘Blessings and thanks to you, Captain Wren,’ he replies. ‘As a hearth-gift I have brought the carcass of the bigtooth brute that’s been plaguing these waters, slain by my hand.’

      As he speaks, Bear and a group of fishermen struggle up the plank, lugging the colossal shark. Its blood makes dark puddles on the wood. The world melts into deafening cheers, but I don’t care about the shark, cos the man called Stag slides his eyes over my face again. Then they dart away, across the deck. My guts wriggle, heavy and damp as a bucket crammed with slimy hagfish. Who is this Stag? What does he want with the Huntress ?

      And other questions stab behind my eyes, in my chest, into the back of my throat, again and again and again. Where is Da? How could Grandma have returned with this strange man instead?

      ‘Stag!’ calls an oarsman. ‘Too many heartbeats have passed, good brother. Where have you roved?’ As Stag strides into the greeting, I notice something folded over his arm. It’s a sealskin. My heart jangles and Sparrow’s body tenses, cos he’s seen it too.

      A sealskin cloak just like Da’s, stained with dark splotches of blood.

      Sparrow presses his sticky little hand into mine.

      ‘This cloak was found by washerwomen on the riverbank,’ says Stag, passing the sealskin to Grandma. ‘As one of your own, I recognised the symbol of the Huntress sewn into the skin.’

      My belly drops away. Grandma flashes a look at me and Sparrow before she glances at the underside of the cloak. She nods and her face grows flushed and slack. I grip Sparrow’s hand tight enough to make him whimper.

      ‘Bear!’ calls Grandma.

      ‘I believe it belonged to your navigator. His name was Fox?’ asks Stag.

      A startled murmur swooshes around the deck. Grandma meets my eyes. Stag’s words fly between us. Was?

      Bear appears, breathless, breeches smeared with tar and shark blood. He pushes past black-cloaks and carpenters and comes to stand behind Sparrow and me. His warm hands rest on our shoulders. ‘After all these years, he returns,’ he murmurs.

      ‘What happened at Haggle’s Town? Where’s Da?’ I ask. Bear shakes his head gently.

      Before I can brace myself, the stranger speaks again. ‘I gift you a thousand heart-sadnesses for the death of your navigator.’

      Bear’s fingers tighten and he pulls us closer to him. ‘Fret ye not,’ he whispers in our ears.

      Am I going to have to cut out Stag’s stupid land-lurking tongue, just to shut him up? ‘Don’t you listen to this thundercloud in breeches!’ I shout. ‘We’ve got to search for Da!’

      Stag’s eyebrows almost vanish into his hair when I shout, but it’s Grandma who speaks, in her no-messing voice. ‘Bear, get my grandchildren below decks. The rest of you, on with your duties. The Wharves are dangerous and empty of trade. The Hagglers blame us for bringing terrodyls close to their shores – land-lurking fools. So finish patching the sail quick-sharp – we raise anchor before sundown. We rove!’

      ‘We rove to trade, to meet, for the restlessness in our bones; we rove at one with the sea!’ cry the Tribe in answer. But I stay silent, cos even if we ent safe here, I don’t wanna leave without Da, and I don’t want my Hunter’s Moon celebrations without him.

      I tip back my head to see Bear. His eyes are fretful, but kindness fills them when he looks at me. ‘Come, gentle-hearts. Word is Pip’s got a cauldron bubbling with his best squid tentacle stew.’ He steers my brother and me away but I duck under his arm and race to Grandma.

      I clutch her tight. ‘A blood-soaked sealskin don’t mean nothing!’ I hiss, flicking my glare between her and the land-lurker. ‘We ent leaving here without Da!’

      ‘Enough, child.’ She tries to prise off my fingers but I dig my nails in. ‘Mouse!’ she snaps. ‘You heard what I said and I will not have you quibbling so. We sail and that is an end of it.’

      I lower my voice. ‘Come with me, please, I need you in private.’

      Grandma smiles sadly. ‘Go, dearheart. Fill your boots. A future captain must keep up her strength.’ She leans down and presses her forehead to mine in a Tribe-kiss. ‘Meet me in my medsin-lab after you’ve slurped your stew.’ Then she turns back to Stag. ‘Will you break hearth-bread with me?’

      Below decks, I ladle some stew from a steaming cauldron into a bowl and sit next to Bear at one of the long wooden benches. My stomach’s clenched like knotted rope. Bear’s oar-scabbed fingers slip beneath my chin to make me look into his coppery eyes. ‘Happens your da’s a tough ’un, same as you. My silver’s on him being the one to find us, next time we dock.’

      I drop my spoon with a splash and prop my head in my hands. ‘But he’s gonna miss my thirteenth Hunter’s Moon and he swore he’d be back in time. Da keeps his promises, so why ent he home? Ent no way he’s dead, I don’t care what that Stag says.’ My voice wobbles so I kick the