Free Wild Magic by Jude Fisher Page A

ten—’
    ‘Aye, well Danson’s prices have gone through the roof since old Larson’s demise,’ Mam said dourly.
    Katla went uncharacteristically quiet. She found herself wondering about the coffer of coin, and whether it might have contained the money her father had stolen from his sons and taken to Finn Larson in order to commission the ice-breaker which obsessed him to the point at which he had even agreed to throw her into the bargain –
Knots within knots
, she thought, frowning. ‘This coin—’ she started, but Halli, aware of the reputation of these apparently mild-mannered folk, and witness to their considerable violence at the Allfair, stepped in front of her and changed the subject rapidly. ‘Since it seems my brother lost you a fortune,’ he said, ‘the least I can do is to offer you an ale as some reparation for your trouble.’
    Mam grinned horribly. ‘It’ll take more ale than you’ve ever seen, little bear, to win my favour; but I suppose it’s a start.’
    The Enemy’s Leg boasted a crudely painted sign and a tally-board outside on which a number of frayed old strings had been knotted in various complex arrangements. Halli, Katla and the mercenaries perused the board, complete with inventive mis-knottings and unintentional errors with interest. ‘Shepherd’s Eye’ sounded like a dish worth avoiding, but: ‘Kipper’s Ale,’ Doc said, smacking his lips appreciatively. ‘Two bits a flagon. That’ll do me.’
    ‘Don’t know how you can drink that stuff,’ the one-handed man observed. ‘Tastes as bad as it sounds. Fish’s piss.’
    ‘It’s a bit salty,’ Doc conceded. ‘But you know, Knobber, it reminds me of home. Tastes – well, I’d say “authentic”, but then I’d have to explain the meaning of the word to you. So I’ll stick with right good.’
    The ugly man took a cheerful swing at Doc, who sidestepped neatly so that Knobber’s fist connected dully with the top of Dogo’s skull. In the ensuing confusion, Katla slipped into the inn ahead of the rest of the group. Inside, the taproom was low-ceilinged, dark and wreathed with a smoke so pungent it made her eyes burn. The place was still crammed with customers even at this late hour. Unable to look down for the press of the crowd, Katla could feel wood shavings crunch under her feet with each step she took.
A proper seagoing, shipmaking town
, she thought approvingly. Everywhere she looked there was evidence of it – tables and seats made from old seachests, a nook constructed out of an upended, broken faering in which four men were noisily playing knucklebones, antique figureheads caked in the greasy black oil from the lamps and the cooking adorned the walls; ales entitled Deep Anchorage and Double Fisherman’s, Marlinspike and Old Bilgewater. Katla hoped the latter was someone’s idea of a joke and not an accurate description, and ordered a flagon to find out, despite Halli trying to purchase her a small glass of light wine which he evidently regarded as a more suitable beverage for his little sister.
    Old Bilgewater proved to be a dark and supple ale with the sort of bitter aftertaste that could pickle walnuts and probably your tongue if you drank the stuff for too long; but Katla gulped it down and left most of the talking to Halli.
    ‘You came in with Tam Fox, then, did you?’ Mam asked straight out.
    Halli nodded. There was no point in denying it, since no other vessel had followed them in. ‘Da sent us for supplies,’ he said truthfully, if economically. ‘Since the
Snowland Wolf
was sailing.’
    ‘How’ll you get back then, I wonder?’ Mam canted her head enquiringly. ‘Last I knew it, Aran had a perfectly good knarr of his own for fetching his necessaries in.’
    ‘It’s being repaired,’ Katla supplied quickly, knowing that her stolid brother was not quick with a good lie. ‘The
Fulmar’s Gift
.’
    Knobber cackled. ‘Good name that!’
    Joz Bearhand grinned.
    Dogo stared at Knobber, then at