While the crew was muttering uneasily over that, Carse darted over the side unseen. Before he gained the cabin he heard Boghaz finish.
“There was a mob already gathering when I left. If we want to save our hides we’d better cast off now while we have the chance!”
Carse had been pretty sure what the reaction of the crew would be to that story and he was not sure at all that Boghaz was stretching it too much. He had seen mobs turn before and his crew of convict Sarks, Jekkarans and others might soon be in a nasty spot.
Now, with the cabin door closed and barred, he leaned against the panel, listening. He heard the padding of bare feet on the deck, the quick shouting of orders, the rattle of the blocks as the sails came down from the yards. The mooring lines were cast off. The sweeps came out with a ragged rumble. The galley rode free.
“Ironbeard’s orders!” Boghaz shouted to someone on shore. “A mission for Khondor!”
The galley quivered, then began to gather way with the measured booming of the drum. And then, over all the near confusion of sound, Carse heard that his ears had been straining to hear—the distant roar from the crest of the rock, the alarm sweeping through the city, rushing toward the harbor stair.
He stood in an agony of fear lest everyone else should hear it too and know its meaning without being told. But the din of the harbor covered it long enough and by the time word had been brought down from the crest the black galley was already in the road stead, speeding down into the mouth of the fjord.
In the darkness of the cabin Ywain spoke quietly. “Lord Rhiannon—may I be allowed to breathe?”
He knelt and stripped the cloths from her and she sat up.
“My thanks. Well, we are free of the palace and the harbor but there still remains the fiord. I heard the outcry.”