Perhaps Greft picked up a hint of that, or perhaps the glare that Skelly shot him silenced him. He clung to the railing grimly as Tarman continued to heave and lurch along. When at last he settled, Leftrin waited a few minutes longer before he spoke. The ship had reoriented himself until his stern floated free. The merest push of the poles would now be enough to free the barge’s bow from the muddy bank.
But the most important change was that the Tarman’s bow now pointed up the freshwater river rather than toward the main channel. For a short time Captain Leftrin mulled over what he was seeing. He reached a conclusion and received the assent of his ship.
“Nothing’s wrong!” He bellowed at the rising babble and clamor of voices from crew and keepers alike. In the shocked lull that followed his shout, he spoke clearly. “We were about to go the wrong way. That’s all. Kelsingra is up this river, not that one.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Greft demanded.
Leftrin gave him a chill smile. “My liveship just told me so.”
Greft gestured to the dragons gathering on the shore. “And will they agree?” he asked him snidely. A dragon’s sudden roar broke the relative quiet.
“DID YOU SEE THAT?”
Thymara had. She had been on her way back to the vessel, having given Sintara a hasty scrubbing with cold river water. She was soaked and cold. She didn’t believe the dragon had wanted or enjoyed the washing; she suspected that Sintara had used it as an excuse to flee the snorting males and their aggressive display. She had spoken very little to her keeper through the whole process, and Thymara had kept her questions to herself. Sylve, she decided, would be her best source of information. She had an uneasy feeling that there was something more to the increase in her scaling. Harrikin had dropped a careless remark about his scaling and his dragon, but he had become very quiet when she wanted to know what the connection was. And Sintara had been no help at all.
So, cold, wet, still half frightened, and with her injured back hurting more than it had in days, she had begun her dash back to the boat. She hoped to get on board and cozy up to the fire in the galley stove before the day’s travel began. It was her turn to be in one of the remaining keeper boats, and she wanted to be warm again by then.
Instead, she had seen the boat suddenly heave itself up as if a wave had risen up under it. She had heard the cries of those on board. All the dragons had turned at the sound; she heard Mercor trumpet in surprise. Ranculos roared a response as he looked all around, seeking a source of the supposed danger. The ship suddenly settled again, sending a little wash of water out from his sides.
She had halted an arm’s length away from Sedric. She hadn’t realized he’d come ashore. He turned to her and said, “Did you see that?” His damp sleeves were rolled back to his elbows, and he carried a ship’s bucket and a scrub brush. She suspected he had borrowed them without asking to aid in his grooming of his copper. She hoped Captain Leftrin would not be angry at him.
“I did,” she replied. At that moment, the ship again lifted, lurched and rocked, and then resettled.
“Is one of the dragons behind the ship? Are they pushing it?”
“No.” Mercor had overheard her question as the golden dragon arrived to stand near her. “Tarman is a liveship and a most unusual one at that. He moves himself.”
“How?” she demanded, but in the next instant she had her answer. The ship rocked from side to side and then, with tremendous effort, heaved himself up. For a moment, she had a glimpse of squat front legs. Then they bent and the ship settled once more in the shallow water and mud. She stared in astonishment and then her gaze wandered to the ship’s painted eyes. She had always thought they looked kind. Now they seemed determined to her. Water had splashed up over them in his latest effort. She stared at him, meeting his gaze and trying to decide if she looked at more than paint.
A moment later the ship gathered himself and again lifted, shifted, and dropped. He was unmistakably moving his bow.
“He’s trying to free himself,” Sedric suggested shakily. “That’s all.”
“I don’t think that’s all,” Thymara muttered, staring.
“Nor I,” Mercor added.
Ranculos had come closer. This time, as the ship lifted, he flared his nostrils and lifted the fringes on his neck. “I smell dragon!” he proclaimed loudly. He lifted his wings slightly and craned his head about.
“You smell the ship. You smell Tarman,” Mercor corrected him.
Ranculos lowered his head and extended his neck. With his wings slightly lifted, he reminded Thymara of a courting bird as he approached the liveship, nostrils flared.