3
LOCKE STARED out across the whitecaps at the Dread Sovereign, now well over the horizon, fixed on them like a needle drawn toward a lodestone. It was the tenth hour of the morning, and Rodanov’s progress at their expense was obvious.
Zamira slammed her glass shut and whirled away from the taffrail, where she’d been studying the same phenomenon.
“Captain,” said Delmastro, “there must be something…if we can just keep him off until nightfall—”
“Then we’d have options, aye. But only a straight stern chase could buy us that much time, and if we fly north we’ll find the coast long before dusk. Not to mention the fact that she’s fresh-careened and we’re past due. The plain truth is, we’ve already lost this race.”
Drakasha and Delmastro said nothing to each other for several moments, until Delmastro cleared her throat.
“I’ll, um, start getting things ready, shall I?”
“You’d better. Let the Red watch keep sleeping as long as you can, if any of them are still asleep.”
Delmastro nodded, grabbed Jean by the tunic sleeve, and pulled him with her toward the main-deck cargo hatch.
“You mean to fight,” said Locke.
“I have no choice but to fight. And neither do you, if you want to live to see dinner. Rodanov has nearly twice our numbers. You understand what a mess we’re looking at.”
“And it’s all for my sake, more or less. I’m sorry, Captain—”
“Avast bullshit, Ravelle. I won’t second-guess my decision to help you, so no one else gets to, either. This is Stragos’ doing, not yours. One way or another his plans would have put us in a tight spot.”
“Thank you for that, Captain Drakasha. Now…I know we’ve had our talk concerning the real extent of my skills in battle, but most of the crew probably still thinks I’m some sort of man-killer. I…I guess I’m saying—”
“You want a spot in the thick of it?”
“Yes.”
“Thought you might ask. I already have a place for you,” she said. “Don’t think you’ll have it easy.”
She stepped away for a moment and shouted forward. “Utgar!”
“Aye, Captain?”
“Fetch the deep-sea lead and give me a cast!”
Locke raised his eyebrows by way of a question, and she said, “Need to know how much water we have beneath our feet. Then I’ll know about how long it’ll take the anchor to drop.”
“Why would you want to drop an anchor?”
“On that matter, you’ll just have to wait to be amazed. Along with Rodanov, hopefully…but that would be asking a great deal.”
“Captain,” Utgar yelled several minutes later, “got about ninety fathoms under us!”
“Right,” she said. “Ravelle, I know you’re off watch right now, but you were witless enough to wander back here and call attention to yourself. Grab a couple of Blues and bring up some ale casks from down below. Try to stay quiet for the sake of the Reds still sleeping. I’ll call all hands in about an hour, and it’s never wise to send people into a tussle like this with their throats too dry.”
“I’ll be happy to do that, Captain. About an hour, then? When do you think we’ll be—”
“I mean to bring the fight before noon. Only one way to win when you’re being chased by someone bigger and tougher than you are. Turn straight around, punch their teeth out, and hope the gods are fond of you.”
4
“ALL HANDS,” shouted Ezri one last time, “all hands at the waist! Idlers and lazy motherfuckers on deck! If you have watchmates still below, haul ’em up yourselves!”
Jean stood at the front of the crowd amidships, waiting for Drakasha to say her piece. She stood at the rail with Ezri, Nasreen, Utgar, Mumchance, Gwillem, and Treganne behind her. The scholar looked deeply annoyed that something as trivial as a murderous ship-to-ship fight could justify disrupting her usual habits.
“Listen well,” shouted Drakasha. “The ship bearing down on us is the Dread Sovereign. Captain Rodanov has taken exception to our business in these waters, and he’s come a long way to give us a fight.”
“We can’t fight that many people,” shouted someone in the crowd.
“It’s not as though we have a choice. They’re closing to board now whether we like it or not,” said Drakasha.
“But what if it’s just you he’s after?” A crewman Jean didn’t recognize spoke up; to give him credit, he too was standing at the front of the crowd, right where Drakasha and all of her officers could see him. “We give you to him, we save ourselves a hell of a fight. This ain’t a navy, and I got the right to be as fond of my life as—”
Jabril pushed through the crowd behind the man and punched him in the small of the back. The man fell writhing to the deck.
“We don’t know that it’s just Drakasha he wants,” Jabril shouted. “Me, I ain’t waitin’ at the rail with my breeches down for someone to kiss my cock! Most of you know as well as I—if captain fights captain it ain’t convenient to let two sides’ a the story get back to Port Prodigal!”
“Hold, Jabril,” said Zamira. She hurried down the quarterdeck stairs, stepped over to the would-be pragmatist, and helped him sit up. She then stood before her assembled crew, within reach of the first row. “Basryn here is right about one thing. This isn’t a navy; so you do have the right to be fond of your own lives. I’m not your gods-damned empress. Anyone wants to try handing me over to Rodanov, I’m right here. Now’s your chance.”
When nobody stepped forward from the crowd, Drakasha heaved Basryn to his feet and looked him straight in the eyes. “Now, you can have the smallest boat,” she said, “you and anyone else who wants to help you take it. Or you can stay.”
“Ah, hell,” he said, groaning. “I’m sorry, Captain. I guess…I guess I’d rather live as a coward than die a fool.”
“Oscarl,” said Drakasha, “when we’re done here, get a party together and hoist out the small boat, on the quick. Anyone else wants off with Basryn, that’s what I’m giving you. If Rodanov wins, take your chances. If I win…understand that we’re at least fifty miles from land and you’re not coming back aboard.”
The man nodded, and that was that. Drakasha released him and he stumbled into the crowd, holding his back and ignoring the glares of those around him.
“Heed this, now,” shouted Drakasha. “The sea isn’t our friend today; that son of a bitch has more bite in the water than we do. A chase in any direction can’t buy us more than a few hours. If we’re going to settle this at kissing distance, I intend to set the terms of the courtship.
“We need to kill two for one just to have any of us left standing, so obviously we need to do better even than that. If we lock up with him so that one of our sides is against his bow, we can crowd in all around his boarding point and outnumber him at the only place it matters. That big fat crew of his won’t mean a damn thing if he has to feed it piece by piece right through our teeth.
“So, at the waist, I’ll put you in ranks, like the old Therin Throne legions. Swords and shields up front, spears and halberds behind. Don’t take your sweet time. If you can’t kill someone, knock them into the water. Just get them out of the damn fight!
“Del will choose our ten best archers and send you aloft to do the obvious. Five per mast. I wish I could send more, but we’re going to need every blade on deck we can get.
“Ravelle, Valora, I’m going to give you a few crewfolk to form our flying company. Your job is the Sovereign’s boats. They’ll try and board us from all points of the compass once we’re engaged at the waist, so you go wherever they go. One person on deck can keep five in a boat, provided you act with haste.
“Nasreen, you’ll choose a party of three and stand by at the starboard anchor for my command. Once it’s given, you’ll guard the bow against boats and free Ravelle’s party to fight elsewhere.
“Utgar, you’re with me to load crossbows. Now, there’s ale at the forecastle and I want to see the cask dry before we do this. Drink up, find your armor. If you’ve got mail or leathers you’ve been saving, pile it on. I don’t care how much you sweat; you’ll never need it again like you’ll need it today.”
Drakasha dismissed the crew by turning away from them and striding back up the quarterdeck stairs. Pandemonium erupted amidships; suddenly crewfolk were shoving past one another in all directions, some going for their armor and weapons, others headed for what might be their last drink in life.
Ezri vaulted the quarterdeck railing and shouted as she strode forward into the chaos, “Fire watches set double sand buckets! Rig the larboard razor net and hoist it high! Jerome, get your lazy ass up on the quarterdeck! Form up the flying company there!”
Jean waved and followed Drakasha up to the stern of the ship, where Utgar waited, looking nervous. Treganne was just descending the companionway stairs, muttering something about “bulk rates.”
Suddenly, a low dark shape shot up the companionway and ran for Drakasha. She looked down in response to a sudden tug on her breeches and found Paolo clutching at her, unselfconsciously.
“Mommy, the noise!”
Zamira smiled and swept him up off the deck, cradling him against the lapels of her jacket. She turned into the wind and let it push her hair out of her face. Jean could see that Paolo’s eyes were on the Dread Sovereign as it heaved and swayed beneath the cloudless sky, implacably clawing across the distance between them.
“Paolo, love, Mommy needs you to help her hide you and your sister in the rope locker on the orlop deck, all right?”
The little boy nodded, and Zamira kissed him on the forehead, burying her nose in his tangle of short dark curls with her eyes closed.
“Oh, good,” she said a moment later. “Because after that, Mommy needs to fetch her armor and her sabers. And then she needs to go board that lying motherfucker’s ship and sink it like a stone.”