Igen gives him a look: Where would you get—
Rowan clinks the pouch tucked inside his short pants. Igen, with the grin of a man just pulled from the sea, nods. Rowan goes to stand beside Tuse.
Tuse mutters, “It’s nice to get at least one vote of confidence.”
“It’s your money,” Rowan says.
“Not all of it. I only gave you eight pennies to bet.”
Rowan says, “ ‘Bet on the man who bets on himself,’ my father says. Besides, you’re going to hit the whale.”
Tuse suppresses a smile.
Press kicks himself. He should have bet five pennies. If the kid is betting, he must know something. Stupid to miss such an easy opportunity. Press makes a mental note: Vigilance! You’ll never be captain if you won’t take a chance.
The first mate hears a strange whooshing astern then something hits him square in the back of the head.
2
* * *
The galley closes on the whale pods, which are merging in a great eddy. They’re razorbacks, enormous, fast and easy to spook when they’re alone, but being in such a large group gives them confidence, and they ignore the galley. It’s like a family reunion. Some bob together like old men chatting. Calves jump and race. A few imperious matrons slap them down.
Tuse finds a tubby little calf dead ahead. The other calves swim away from it, and it wallows as it watches them go. Tuse digs in his heels. Other men get dragons. He gets the saddest whale. It figures. He knew kids like that when he was growing up. They didn’t last long. He might have been one had he not learned to use his fists.
Tuse considers the range and wind. The calf flops around to look at him with wide, empty eyes. “This’ll be a mercy,” he says, and he brings the firing rod to the touch hole.
The sail explodes behind him. Heat roars over the foredeck. The sound of lines snapping and the sail whipping loose is lost in the groan and shudder of the galley pulling up short. Tuse, startled, pushes the cannon down and fires the harpoon into the sea. He watches it drag down the whale line. His first thought is, I’ll have to make it up to the boy.
His next are: Is that a dragon rising away? Where did it come from? Why didn’t it make an exploratory pass?
“Who’s riding it?” Rowan says.
“Riding?” Igen says.
Tuse drifts down the stairs, shadowed by Rowan, watching the dragon and its rider come around astern. Where did he come from? Is he Aydeni? Ynessi? A pirate? How is he staying on the dragon?
A voice pierces the deck. Bearclaw says, “I won’t go through it again! No!” Edral’s whip cracks. The voice stops. The oars keep moving.
We have to keep moving, Tuse thinks, and he realizes the rest of the crew has been gawking at the dragon rider too. His hand twitches as if he had his whip. “Dragon stations!”
The crew comes to. He’s trained them well, and they’ve repelled two attacks by Aydeni privateers in the last six months. The threat of defense, just putting up your fists, is often the best one. The shutters on the rowers’ deck are closed. A four-man fire team assembles to deal with the sail and the mast. Two crossbow teams take their weapons from under the foredeck. Igen reloads the larboard cannon, which he’ll man. Press should be coming to take the starboard cannon while another crewman takes the oar. Tuse peers through the smoke to find him, only to see his first mate’s head bouncing toward him. Tuse traps it with his foot.
While Press’s head stares up at Tuse in horror, he sees Press’s replacement stuck on the stern deck ladder, staring at something by the oar, then at the dragon diving astern. Training is one thing; reality, another. The crewman ducks and hugs the ladder, and Tuse realizes the rider’s plan.
The dragon’s glide path will take it along the water, using the stern deck as a shield, presumably to rake their oars, probably starboard. He’ll cripple them, test their aim, then come in for the kill.
Tuse tells Rowan, “Get to the hatch and tell Edral hard larboard, double-time.”
“On your mark?”
“Immediately. Then relay from there.” He pats Rowan on the back, and the boy springs away. Tuse picks up Press’s head, he can’t leave it on the deck, and after a second’s consideration puts it in the iron powder bin. He mounts the foredeck. “Igen, ten seconds to load that cannon. We’ll catch the rider as he comes amidships. We can use the stern deck for cover too.”
Igen sees the plan in his head as he wads and packs. If the rider is attacking from the stern, he may know their defenses, which means he may think the cannons can’t be fired back over the deck. Tuse, however, had the stays removed after the Shield refused his requisition for a stern deck cannon following the last privateer attack. The rider will be flying right down their barrels. Igen swivels the cannon to aim behind Tuse’s and says, “Three–one against.”
“Us?” Tuse says.