Dawnshard (The Stormlight Archive, #3.5)(25)

No, she thought. There must be another explanation. Could someone have planted this?

She’d been expecting a third omen like the grain or the dead pet. Something a person could achieve in secret. But this . . . this went far beyond such simple plots. Did she really think someone hiding among her crew had managed to find a near-mythical creature, kill it, and deposit it in the ocean without raising suspicion?

No one has to have planted it, she told herself firmly. This could still be a random unlucky event.

She glanced down again, and swore that oversized eye was looking at her. Seeing right through her, even in death. As decaying chunks of the santhid began to float off from the main body, she felt as if she were being watched. And she became suddenly aware of the crowding sailors’ mood. Dark. Too quiet. No mentions of what a bad omen this was. They already knew. There was nothing more to say.

“We’ll be turning back after this,” said Alstben, a tall sailor who liked to spike his eyebrows. He looked at Rysn. “No way we continue.”

Storms. It wasn’t a question. Rysn searched for support from the captain, but Drlwan folded her arms and didn’t contradict the sailor. Doing so would likely invite mutiny. This crew was probably too loyal to do such a thing as kill their captain, but . . . well, if the Wandersail returned to dock with its captain, armsman, and owner locked up because they’d “gone mad,” who would blame the crew? Particularly after an omen as sure as a dead santhid.

Rysn nearly gave the order. She knew when a trade deal was mired in crem, when it was better to walk away with your goods than try to force an accommodation.

And yet. That meant giving in to the superstitions. And someone was trying to spook her crew, even if this specific event was random. Turning back meant giving in to whoever that was.

Most importantly, turning back meant giving up on helping Chiri-Chiri. Sometimes the trade was too important to walk away from. Sometimes you had to negotiate from a position of weakness.

“Why is it floating?” Rysn asked the sailors. “Shouldn’t it have sunk after it died?”

“Not necessarily,” Kstled said, emerging from the rear of the crowd. “I’ve passed a ship lost to ramming before. Days later, bloated corpses still floated in the water, nibbled at from below by fish.”

“But something this big?” Rysn asked. “With that shell?”

“Greatshell corpses can float,” another sailor said. “Pieces of them, after they’re dead. I’ve seen it.”

Damnation. Rysn didn’t know enough to keep pushing on this line of reasoning. Yet it seemed so unlikely that they had randomly run across this right in their path. Maybe there was another option. Maybe it wasn’t one person working to undermine her mission, but a larger organization. The enemy had Fused, creatures with powers like Radiants. This could be a Lightweaving, or a Soulcast dummy, or any number of things.

She didn’t want to give up. Not without more time to think, and maybe a chance to inspect this corpse. So, she took a deep breath. Sometimes a negotiation was all about attitude.

“Very well,” she said. “Let us do what is right, then. Get the boarding hooks and get ready to tow that corpse.”

“Tow it?” one of the sailors asked. “Surely we’re not going to try to profit by selling the shell?”

“Of course not,” Rysn said. “What kind of craven do you think I am? We’re going to give the creature a proper funeral. And if it seems the beast’s will, we will keep the shell for the luck it represents and present it to the queen. It is fortunate we happened along, so the body might be burned as befits the creature’s majesty.”

“. . . Fortunate?” Kstled asked.

“Yes,” Rysn said. She had trained herself not to feel intimidated when seated among a crowd of standing people, but it was difficult not to feel her old insecurities as so many of them turned to stare down at her, skeptical—even angry.

Attitude, she reminded herself. You will never sell anything if you don’t believe it’s worth the asking price.

“Someone killed this poor thing,” Rysn continued. “Look at those gouges on the side of the corpse.”

“Bad luck,” a sailor said. “Extremely bad luck to kill a santhid.”

“Which we did not do,” Rysn said. “Someone else did, and incurred the bad luck. We are lucky to have found the creature so we can witness what was done to it—and see the body cared for.”

“We shouldn’t touch a santhid corpse,” said Kstled, folding his arms.

“I’ve seen their shells hung proudly in Thaylen City,” Rysn said. “There’s one at the naval academy!”

“Those weren’t killed by malice,” Kstled said. “Besides, they washed up on the shore. Found their way there.”

“Like this one,” Rysn said, “made its way to us, here. How vast is the ocean? And yet we happen across this relatively small body? The santhid’s soul undoubtedly led us here so we could witness and care for the corpse.” She pondered, as if thinking of it for the first time. “This is a good omen. It came to us intentionally. A sign that we are trusted.”

She hid the uncertainty she felt, knowing her argument was full of holes and sinking fast. She decried superstition, but now she relied upon it to make this argument?