“Is there a point to this?” muttered Kell.
“The point,” said Vasry, descending the ladder, “is that I learned a bit. Maybe I can help.” He dropped onto the ice beside them, slipped, steadied himself. “Skalsa!” he said, addressing the man in that same musical tone. The man nodded, and started his speech again.
Within seconds, Vasry waved his hands, urging him to slow down. He stammered his way through a few phrases. The man frowned. And then drew out a large knife.
“What did you say to him?” demanded Lila.
Vasry was fumbling through an answer, but she was no longer listening. Instead, she watched as the man knelt, turning the blade in his hand and using the hilt to scratch something into the ice. A few moments later, he straightened, and said something under his breath. The marks on the ice began to twist and coil, then rose into the air, rippling between them like a curtain. This time, when he spoke, his voice crossed the line of the spell, and became Arnesian. He seemed surprised to hear it. She wondered how often sailors from Arnes ventured this far south.
“I heard the ice break,” he said, the words echoing as the spell translated. “Is something wrong?”
Lila gestured to the ice gripping the hull, surprised the problem needed words. “Our ship is stuck.”
The man shook his head. “Not stuck. No. Spelled.”
Well, thought Lila, that explained the strange nature of the ice, the way it kept closing like a hand around her ship.
“Well then,” she said, “if you wouldn’t mind un-spelling it—”
“Ah,” he cut in, “I’m afraid only the dock master can unlock a ship once it has entered port.”
Lila looked around at the surrounding ice, as if to point out that there was nothing resembling a port. Seeing her confusion, the man swept a mittened hand over the scene.
“This is an ice port,” he explained. “You crossed the wharf line some ways back. If you wish to leave, you will have to wait for the dock master.”
“And you are not the dock master?” asked Kell, sounding vaguely amused.
The man shook his head and chuckled. “No, no, I am just looking after the ships, while she is at the fair. But don’t worry, she should be back by the end of the day.”
At the mention of day, Lila found her gaze returning to the line of dull light still hugging the horizon. “When does the sun come up?”
The man laughed. “Ah, that depends! Certain months, it never sets. Other times, it never rises. We are at the end of the lightless season now, so it should break through sometime in the next few days. I’ve never been good at keeping track, but I don’t mind. It makes the day of light a nice surprise. Come, you can wait in the port house, if you like.”
He turned, and began to walk away, boots biting into the ice. Kell and Lila exchanged a glance, and then followed, Vasry at their heels. She turned and signaled to Stross and Tav to stay and wait with the ship. She would have felt bad about that, but Stross could rarely be parted from the vessel, and Tav had a nasty habit of getting drunk in foreign ports and picking fights he couldn’t always win.
As they walked, the mist clinging to the cold air began to ripple and thin, revealing dozens of other ships scattered across the frozen port, dipping in and out of sight like ghosts in the weak light. The farther they traveled into port, the more of them she saw. Lila glimpsed figures here and there, but for the most part, the vessels all looked empty.
The language spell, luckily, had followed their guide, which was helpful since he kept up a steady stream of conversation.
“You are very far from home,” he said. “What is the purpose of your trip?”
Lila met Kell’s eye. “We’re mapmakers,” she said after a moment. That was the story they’d agreed on when they set out months ago. It was a gamble. Most places saw mapmakers as artists, creating an independent survey. A few thought they were spies, charting foreign coasts for conquer.
But the port man seemed pleased by the answer.
“Excellent. It’s about time the northern empires grasped that the world goes on beyond their borders. Plenty to appreciate down here. Take the lightless fair. Started as a way to pass the darkest days, but good things have a way of growing. Now people come from all around. These days, we look forward to the dark! Here we are.…”
They’d reached the edge of the port. Lila expected the ice to give way to land, but it didn’t. Instead, it simply sloped up, first into a set of steps, and then, into a shelter. She had expected to find something rough-hewn, but this was large, the ice as smooth and thick as polished stone. The man clapped his mittens together, shedding frost as he led them into a magnificent room. Tapestries hung from the frozen walls, and a fire roared in an icy hearth without melting it, and a long table ran through the center of the room, its benches draped with wool and fur.