The new Peregrine understood that signal: an Incalling. He suppressed the sudden urge to follow the others on the pier as they walked belly-low toward the fort, all their eyes upon The Master. Scriber looked back at him, and Peregrine nodded. They had needed a miracle, and here was one -- provided by the enemy itself,
复件 (68) air max2! Scriber moved slowly toward the end of the pier, pulling the travois from shadow to shadow. Still no one looked back. For good reason; Wickwrackscar remembered what happened to those showing disrespect at an Incalling. "Pull the creature on the bow-starboard boat,
复件 (71) air max1," he said to Jaqueramaphan. He leaped off the pier and scattered across the multiboat. It was great to be back on swaying decks, each member drifting a different direction! He sniffed among the bow catapults, listened to the hulls and the creak of the lashings. But Scar was no sailor, and had no recollection of what might be the most important thing. "What are you looking for?" came Scriber's Hightalk hiss. "Scuttle knockouts." If they were here, they looked nothing like the Southseas version. "Oh," said Scriber, "that's easy. These are Northern Skimmers. There are swingout panels and a thin hull behind." Two of him dropped from sight for a second and there was a banging sound. The heads reappeared, shaking water off. He grinned surprise, taken aback by his own success. "Why,
复件 (9) air max, it's just like in the books!" his expression seemed to say. Wickwrackscar found them now; the panels had looked like crew rests, but they were easily pulled out and the wood behind was easy to break with a battle axe. He kept a head out, looking to see if he were attracting attention, while at the same time he hacked at the knockouts. Peregrine and Scriber worked their way across the bow ranks of the multiboat; if those foundered, it would take a while to get the twinhulls behind them free. Oops. One of the boat workers was looking back this way. Part of the fellow continued up the hillside, part strained to return to the pier. The bugles sounded their imperative once more,
mbt sandals, and the pack followed the call. But his whining alarums were causing other heads to turn. No time for stealth. Peregrine hotfooted it back to the bow-starboard twinhull. Scriber was cutting the braid-bone fasteners that held the twinhull to the rest of the ship. "You have any sailing experience?" Peregrine said. Foolish question. "Well, I've read about it --" "Fine!" Peregrine shooed him all into the twinhull's starboard pod. "Keep the alien safe. Hunker down, and be as quiet as you can." He could sail the twinhull by himself, but he'd have to be all over to do it; the fewer confusing thought sounds, the better. Peregrine poled their boat forward from the multiboat. The scuttling wasn't obvious yet,
复件 (73) air max, but he could see water in the bow hulls. He reversed his pole and used its hook to draw the nearest boat into the gap created by their departure. Another five minutes and there'd be just a row of masts sticking out of the water. Five minutes. No way they could make it ... if not for Flenser's Incalling: up by the fort, troopers were turning and pointing at the harbor. Yet still they must attend on Flenser/Tyrathect. How long would it be before someone important decided that even an Incalling can be overridden? He hoisted canvas. The wind caught the twinhull's sail and they pulled out from the pier. Peregrine danced this way and that, the shrouds grasped tightly in his mouths. Even without Rum,
复件 (52) air max1, what memories the taste of salt and cordage brought back! He could feel where tautness and slack meant that the wind was giving all it could.
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