The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

Who are you looking for, Mister Beryl?

He unhooked himself from the shrouds and rolled over for his own glance upward. As usual, Defoe was keeping his distance.

No threat there.

Royce climbed to the yard, walked to the end and just as he had done during the race with Derning, slid down the rope so he could hear them.

“I can make life on this ship very difficult for you,” Beryl threatened Wesley. “Or have you forgotten your two days without sleep? There is talk that I wi made acting lieutenant, and if you think your life is hard with me as the senior midshipman—as a lieutenant it will be a nightmare. And I’ll see to it that any transfer is refused.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to. In fact, it’s better if you don’t. That way you can sound sincere if the captain questions you. Just find him guilty of something. Misconduct, disrespect, I don’t care. You put his buddy the cook on report for not saluting, do something like that. Only this time it needs to be a flogging offense.”

“But why me? Why can’t you invent this charge?”

“Because if the accusation comes from you, the captain and Mister Bishop will not question it.” He grinned. “And if they don’t—it’s your ass not mine.”

“And that’s supposed to entice me?”

“No, but I’ll get off your back. If you don’t—you won’t eat, you won’t sleep, and you’ll become very accident-prone. The sea can be dangerous. Midshipmen Jenkins lost both thumbs on our last voyage when he slipped with a rope, which is strange ’cause he didn’t handle ropes that day. Invent a charge, make it stick, and get him flogged.”

“And why do you want him whipped?”

“I told you. My friends want blood. Now do we have a deal?”

Wesley stared at Beryl and took a deep breath. “I can’t misrepresent a man, and certainly not one under my command, simply to avoid personal discomfort.”

“It will be a great deal more than discomfort you little git!”

“The best I can do is forget we had this conversation. Of course, should some unusual or circumstantial accusation be leveled against Seaman Melborn, I might find it necessary to report this incident to the captain. I suspect he will take a dim view of your efforts to advance insubordination on his vessel. It could be viewed as the seeds of mutiny, and we both know the penalty for that.”

“You don’t know who you’re playing with, boy. As much as you’d like to think it, you’re no Breckton. If I can’t use you, I’ll lose you.”

“Is that all, Mister Beryl? I must tack the ship now.”

Beryl spit at the younger man’s feet and stalked away. Wesley remained standing rigidly, watching him go. Once Beryl disappeared below, he gripped the rail and took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Wesley took a deep breath, replaced his hat, straightened his jacket, then shouted in a clear voice. “Hands to the braces! Prepare to bring her about!”

Royce had dealt with many people in his life, from serfs to kings, and few shocked him. He knew he could always depend on their greed and weakness and was rarely disappointed. Wesley was the first in years to surprise him. While the young midshipman could not see it, the thief offered him the only sincere salute bestowed since Royce stepped aboard.

Royce ascended to the topsail to loose the yard brace in anticipation of Wesley’s next order when his eye caught an irregularity on the horizon. At night, with only the suggestion of a moon, it was hard for anyone to tell where the sky ended and the sea began. Royce however, could discern the difference. At that moment, he noticed a break in the line. Out to sea, ahead of the Storm, a black silhouette broke the dusty star field.

“Sail ho!” he shouted.

“What was that?” Wesley asked.

“Sail off the starboard bow,” he shouted, pointing to the southeast.

“Is there a light?”

“No, sir, a triangle-shaped sail.”

Wesley moved to the starboard rail. “I don’t see anything, how far out?”

“On the horizon, sir.”

“The horizon?” Wesley picked up the eyeglass and panned the sea. The rest of the ship was silent except for the creaking of the oak timbers as they waited. “I’ll be buggered,” Wesley muttered, as he slapped the glass closed and ran to the quarterdeck to pound on the captain’s cabin. He paused then pounded again.

Te door opened to reveal the captain, barefoot in his nightshirt. “Mister Wesley, have we run aground? Is there a mutiny?” The captain’s steward rushed to him with his robe.

“No, sir. There’s a sail on the horizon, sir.”

“A what?”

“A triangular sail, sir. Over there.” Wesley pointed while handing him the glass.

“On the horizon you say? But how—” Seward crossed to the rail and looked out. “By Mar! But you’ve got keen eyes, lad!”

“Actually, the maintop crew spotted it first, sir. Sounded like Seaman Melborn, sir.”

“Looks like three ships, Mister Wesley. Call all hands.”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

Wesley roused Bristol who roused the rest of the crew and in a matter of minutes men ran to their stations. Mister Bishop was still buttoning his coat when he reached the quarterdeck, followed by Mister Temple.

“What is it, sir?”

“The Dacca have returned.”

Wyatt, who was taking the helm, glanced over. “Orders, sir?” he asked coldly.

“Watch your tone, helmsman!” Temple snapped.

“Just asking, sir.”

“Asking for a caning!” Mister Temple roared. “And you’ll get one if you don’t keep a civil tongue.”

“Shut up the both of you. I need to think.” Seward began to pace the quarterdeck, his head down, one hand playing with the tie to his robe, the other stroking his lips.

“Sir, we only have one chance and it’s a thin one at that,” Wyatt said.

Mister Temple took hold of his cane and moved toward him.

“Belay, Mister Temple!” The captain ordered, before turning his attention back to Wyatt. “Explain yourself, helmsman.”

“At that range, with the land behind us, the Dacca can’t possibly see the Storm. All they can see are the lanterns.”

“Good god! You’re right, put out those—”

“No, wait, sir!” Wyatt stopped him. “We want them to see the lanterns. Lower the long boat, rig it with a pole fore and aft, and hang two lanterns on the ends. Put ours out as you light those then cast off. The Dacca will focus on it all night. We’ll be able to bring the Storm about, catch the wind, and reach the safety of Wesbaden Bay.”

“But that’s not our destination.”

“Damn our orders, sir! If we don’t catch the wind the Dacca will be on us by tomorrow night.”

“I’m the captain of this ship!” Seward roared. “Another outburst and I’ll not hold Mister Temple’s hand.”

The captain looked at the waiting crew; every eye was on him. He returned to pacing with his head down.

“Sir?” Mister Bishop inquired. “Orders?”

“Can’t you see I’m thinking, man?”