He suddenly remembered how, many years ago, aboard another ship, someone had looked up at the Red Line just like this.
Back then, they had believed freedom lay on the other side of the wall.
The ship continued to climb.
The current carried them like a leaf that had drifted into an upstream flow by accident.
Icy air laden with salt struck their faces. All around them, seawater surged upward in defiance of reason, bearing the ship along the steep channel toward the lead-gray sky.
They needed neither sails nor oars. All the water in the world seemed to be pushing them upward.
The hull jolted violently.
Their view suddenly opened up-they had reached the mountain's summit, only to plunge into a near-weightless fall.
The bow pitched downward, cutting into another raging current at a forty-five-degree angle.
Metal cables shrieked in the wind.
"To the left!"
A black-sailed ship leaped out of another channel, following close behind like a shark that had scented blood.
Swaying figures hung from its rigging, curved blades and ** flashing in the dim light.
They spotted the golden flag flying at this ship's stern and erupted into greedy howls.
But no one turned to look at those shouting.
A deeper, more primal sound rolled over them from directly ahead.
It was neither wind nor thunder, but the roar of some living creature piercing the thick fog, making even the deck planks tremble faintly.
"Did you hear that?"
Someone asked quietly.
The tall man raised a hand to shade his brow, trying to see ahead, but all he could make out was churning gray-white mist.
"Slow down."
Another voice spoke, calm to the point of coldness. "Now."
The man in the pink coat beside him asked no questions and pressed his palm against the damp deck.