Henry needs a job, a new sponsor, someone for whom he can do some very dirty, dangerous work in exchange for some very heavy gold, and fame forever.
Twice he has led a ship north into that icy hell. Not doing it again. They can bitch about the total loss -- all expenses, no income -- but they weren't there, they didn't see. No human can cross that sea, summer or not, for there is no summer there.
The crew was mad with fear, almost killed him, more than once, and though he had to punish the leaders who led his men against him, he could hardly fault them.
"I'll find a way. It's there, but not north. We'll sail west, then a little south to pick up the current I've heard of and pull in towards the shore heading north. John says there are so many waterways piercing that endless coast, one of them will open up on the other side, in the eastern islands. I'll sail through and the spices will be there, and I won't need to look for work anymore."
The streets of London team with the promise of the time.
This Court was surely finished with him, he knew. Still, he would sail again, and soon. There were others who would fund a trip.
His boots felt heavy on the cobblestone. Too long on land, he thought.
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