A Feast for Dragons

then
billowing again, the red stripes on the canvas wriggling like snakes. Sailors
dashed across the decks and hauled on lines as the mates bellowed orders in the
tongue of Old Volantis. The rowers in the ship’s boats had loosed their tow
ropes and turned back toward the cog, stroking hard. The wind was blowing from
the west, swirling and gusting, clutching at ropes and cloaks like a
mischievous child. The
Selaesori Qhoran
was under way.
    Might be we’ll make Meereen after all
,
Tyrion thought.
    But when he clambered up the ladder to the sterncastle and
looked off from the stern, his smile faltered.
Blue sky and blue sea
here, but off west … I have never seen a sky that color
. A
thick band of clouds ran along the horizon. “A bar sinister,” he said to Penny,
pointing.
    “What does that mean?” she asked.
    “It means some big bastard is creeping up behind us.”
    He was surprised to find that Moqorro and two of his fiery
fingers had joined them on the sterncastle. It was only midday, and the red
priest and his men did not normally emerge till dusk. The priest gave him a
solemn nod. “There you see it, Hugor Hill. God’s wroth. The Lord of Light will
not be mocked.”
    Tyrion had a bad feeling about this. “The widow said this
ship would never reach her destination. I took that to mean that once we were
out to sea beyond the reach of triarchs, the captain would change course for
Meereen. Or perhaps that you would seize the ship with your Fiery Hand and take
us to Daenerys. But that isn’t what your high priest saw at all, is it?”
    “No.” Moqorro’s deep voice tolled as solemnly as a funeral
bell. “This is what he saw.” The red priest lifted his staff, and inclined its
head toward the west.
    Penny was lost. “I don’t understand. What does it mean?”
    “It means we had best get below. Ser Jorah has exiled me
from our cabin. Might I hide in yours when the time comes?”
    “Yes,” she said. “You would be … oh …”
    For the better part of three hours they ran before the wind,
as the storm grew closer. The western sky went green, then grey, then black. A
wall of dark clouds loomed up behind them, churning like a kettle of milk left
on the fire too long. Tyrion and Penny watched from the forecastle, huddled by
the figurehead and holding hands, careful to stay out of the way of captain and
crew.
    The last storm had been thrilling, intoxicating, a sudden
squall that had left him feeling cleansed and refreshed. This one felt
different right from the first. The captain sensed it too. He changed their
course to north by northeast to try and get out of the storm’s path.
    It was a futile effort. This storm was too big. The seas
around them grew rougher. The wind began to howl. The
Stinky Steward
rose and fell as waves smashed against her hull. Behind them lightning stabbed
down from the sky, blinding purple bolts that danced across the sea in webs of
light. Thunder followed. “The time has come to hide.” Tyrion took Penny by the
arm and led her belowdecks.
    Pretty and Crunch were were both half-mad with fear. The dog
was barking, barking, barking. He knocked Tyrion right off his feet as they
entered. The sow had been shitting everywhere. Tyrion cleaned that up as best
he could whilst Penny tried to calm the animals. Then they tied down or put
away anything that was still loose. “I’m frightened,” Penny confessed. The
cabin had begun to tilt and jump, going this way and that as the waves hammered
at the hull of the ship.
    There are worse ways to die than drowning. Your
brother learned that, and so did my lord father. And Shae, that lying cunt.
Hands of gold are always cold, but a woman’s hands are warm
. “We
should play a game,” Tyrion suggested. “That might help take our thoughts off
the storm.”
    “Not
cyvasse,”
she said at once.
    “Not
cyvasse,”
Tyrion agreed, as the deck
rose under him. That would only lead to pieces flying violently across the
cabin and raining down on sow and dog. “When you were a little girl, did you
ever play come-into-my-castle?”
    “No. Can you teach me?”
    Could he? Tyrion hesitated.
Fool of a dwarf. Of
course she’s never played come-into-my-castle. She never had a castle
.
Come-into-my-castle was a game for highborn children, one meant to teach them
courtesy, heraldry, and a thing or two about their lord father’s friends and
foes. “That won’t …” he started. The deck gave another violent heave,
slamming the two of them