Come on, then, young sailor men, listen to me

I'll tell you a tale of the beasts of the sea

And it's windy weather, boys, frosty weather, boys

The gil’he-moahr wakes, we're all together, boys

Blow ye winds northerly, blow ye down, blow

Heartless nor’wester, boys, down she goes

Up wakes the beast with his heart all of ice

Up on the ship and he won’t take her nice

And it's windy weather, boys, frosty weather, boys

The gil’he-moahr wakes, we're all together, boys

Blow ye winds northerly, blow ye down, blow

Heartless nor’wester, boys, down she goes

And then up jumps the beast with his ten eyes awake

Saying, "There’s enough trogs here to last for the week!”

And it's windy weather, boys, frosty weather, boys

The gil’he-moahr wakes, we're all together, boys

Blow ye winds northerly, blow ye down, blow

Heartless nor’wester, boys, down she goes

Up jumps the beast, a thousand feet tall

Take ye then cover, else he’ll take ye all

And it's windy weather, boys, frosty weather, boys

The gil’he-moahr wakes, we're all together, boys

Blow ye winds northerly, blow ye down, blow

Heartless nor’wester, boys, down she goes

And it's windy weather, boys, frosty weather, boys

The gil’he-moahr wakes, we're all together, boys

Blow ye winds northerly, blow ye down, blow

Heartless nor’wester, boys, down she goes

The festival of Merdagh had ended the night previous. I had been rightly stupid to get caught up in it. My head throbbed with the forgotten oblivion brought upon me by too much wine. The song being caterwauled in the streets below did me no favors, either. And what a song to sing! It was lacking, I thought, in a language I could understand and without the thready, animated whistling I had first heard it with. What, six years past, already? I scrubbed my grubby palms over my face, grimacing at the heavy bristles on my jaw and lip. I needed a shave, and a good clobbering to get my head in place.

Scratch that. I rolled out of the narrow inn bed feeling near seventy, and the little looking glass on the wall by the door told me that the clobbering had been properly delivered the evening prior. Damn me and my pitiful life to the depths.

Oh, yes. That was my intent.

I nicked my cheek with the razor in my haste, and was still pressing a finger to the wound as I gathered my few belongings and staggered down the stairs. I flagged the innkeeper for my breakfast. This was familiar, like a well practiced dance. He had it all ready for me, a bowl of gray, watery porridge and a cup of watered wine. I turned down the latter, wolfing down the porridge and trying not to show my disgust.

“So,” I said, to stop myself gagging on a bite with a particularly snotty consistency, “did you see him?”

“No,” the innkeeper said, pointlessly swiping a cloth over the counter between us.

I slammed my spoon into the near-empty bowl, producing a satisfying clatter. “Damn,” I snapped. “No, he wouldn’t miss the Festival of Merdagh.”

A pensiveness strolled across the innkeeper’s ruddy face. “Ye told me yer friend ‘ad a history with the sea, did ye not?”

That was one word for it. I nodded with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“How’re you certain it’s a history he’d care to think on?”

Oh, no, I knew it wasn’t. Who would want to dwell on the memories of what we witnessed in the north? But he wouldn’t be able to resist the festival, I knew that well and true. Any excuse for an excess of frivolity would bring him right to the edges of the sea.

“Hm,” I grunted. I slurped back the last of the porridge and dropped a coin on the bar. The innkeeper nodded his thanks and raised no objection as I gathered my small bundle of belongings from under my chair and gusted out the door. The taste of salt was on my tongue the moment I was on the street, highly favorable after the porridge.

“What now?” I murmured, following my feet toward the unabating call of the sea. Beautiful vessels crowded the harbor, their masts proud and their rigging strong. My chest ached to think on the Jenny. Not a ship here could hold a flame to her.

“Lookin’ for summat, lad?”

The grizzled old sailor peered up at me from under a hat that must have seen as many days at sea as the man himself. He held a pipe in his teeth. I frowned for a second, trying to decide what was the truth, and he took a lopsided step toward me. His right leg led the step, followed by the scrape-thump of the wooden peg attached to his left knee.

The pipe. The leg.

Damn it. I hadn’t even thought that I might be looking for the wrong sailor.

“No,” I said quickly, starting a purposeful march toward the town. I paused only a few steps down the jetty, turning back to the sailor. “You’ve not met a Thomas Marlowe, have you?”

The sailor tilted his ear toward me. “Eh?”

Heaving a sigh, I waved my hand dismissively and resumed my determined march. I repeated the question to every person I came across.

“Thomas Marlowe?” one woman repeated. “Shortish fella? Never seen without that other man?”

My heart leapt. “Other man?”

The girl gave me a suggestive smile. “Well, almost never seen without each other.”

“Merdagh’s blessed bosom,” I cursed. “D’you know where they are?”

She glanced down, no doubt attempting to entice me to explore her own blessed bosom. Seeing that I was uninterested, she sighed pointedly and pointed over my shoulder. “Last I saw, they was drinking theirselves silly at the Lady’s Corset.”

“I'm grateful,” I said, attempting to tear away and find the Lady’s Corset, but she caught my hand and glanced at me through heavy lashes.

“Are you?” she asked breathily, sending a jolt of mixed annoyance and intrigue through me.

Ah, what harm could it do? I used her grip on my wrist to tug her closer, and planted an enthusiastic, if passionless kiss on her lips. “I am,” I said, twirling out of her grasp and taking off down the street, with the warmth of her mouth still making my lips tingle.

The Lady’s Corset was a slumping pub on the harborside, and I entered it with some hesitancy. The smell of it wafted out onto the streets, a raw stench of sweaty drunkards and vomit, and the external walls rotted in the sea spray. The inside was doubly hideous, and packed to the gills with the expected drunkards. Grimacing, I picked my way between them until I reached the bar. The barmaid looked at me with some interest, her gaze hovering a moment too long at my waist. Tugging my coat around myself, I leaned across the counter and tapped a coin in front of me.

“I’m looking for…” I paused, trying to decide which name to seek. “I’m looking for Thomas Marlowe, and I heard tell he’s here.”

She glanced at the coin, then at me, and leaned across the counter directly opposite me. “That’s not hardly enough incentive to tell you much,” she said, her tongue tracing her upper lip.

I stifled a sigh. How many girls was I going to have to kiss before I found Marlowe? Not that I minded over much; the last one was none too bad at it. Only, this one’s lips were slathered with rouge.

Damn it. I donated another kiss to my cause, pulling away before her enthusiastic tongue breached the tight lock of my lips and slapping the coin on the counter. “Thomas Marlowe,” I repeated.

She pouted and waved a hand toward the door. “Right over yonder,” she sulked.

In the darkest corner of the grotty pub, I found a sturdy sailor with a mop of pale hair and a pipe clamped between his teeth. He had aged a remarkable amount over the last six years, though I supposed that was easy to excuse, what with the wooden leg he had stretched out under the table.

“Marlowe,” I said, extending my hand. “Owen Peige.”

He eyed me for a moment, his half-sunken eyes remarkably clear for someone who’d been said to be drinking himself silly. He ignored my hand.

“I remember you,” he said.

A dry chuckle rose from the shadows. My heart performed a backflip.

“Oh, I think I do, too,” said the owner of that particular chuckle. His voice had dropped significantly, but it was still unmistakable. He leaned forward so the light of the lantern by the door caught the edges of his features. Oh, he looked halfway dead.

“Mm, yes.” He laughed again. “You’ve got something on your lips, trog.”