Dark Empress (69 page)

The captain of the Redemption grinned.

“You have no idea, Saja.”

Reaching into his tunic, he withdrew the disc with its mummified finger. With a laugh, he beckoned to Culin and Ghassan and made for the steps down to the main deck.

Frowning, the two officers followed him down the stairs and out onto the deck where the crew worked tirelessly, the oarsmen on their benches hauling and grunting, trying to bring the ship within reach of the now-invisible target. As the three, Samir striding out ahead, approached the midsection, Saja hurried over from the rail to join them.

“Alright, Samir… what’s going on?”

The diminutive captain smiled his most irritating smile and passed the compass to the ebony-skinned councillor.

“What have you given me this for?”

“Watch and learn” laughed Samir.

Still grinning, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a key. Flourishing it like a showman, he held it aloft.

“Behold the end of captain Gharic.”

He became aware of the tense irritation around him and stepped forward to the set of five steps leading up to the fortified artillery castle by the main mast. There he crouched down and inserted the key into an almost invisible hole in the timbers at the base of the tower.

“You see, the compasses have been Lassos’ closest guarded secret for centuries, but my old captain, Khmun, had a closer-guarded secret than that. To this day, the only person he ever told was me, and he had this little compartment fitted to hide away that secret. He never used it, to my knowledge, and I only used it once myself, when I last fled Lassos with a pirate fleet hot on my heels.”

With a click, he swung open the wooden plank, perfectly hinged and expertly hidden, and slid out a dark, metal container.

“I think you’ll like this.”

Reaching into his pocket, he produced a second key, which he inserted into a lock in the container.

“The box is made of lead. Don’t ask me why is has to be lead. I don’t even know how Khmun knew that, but there it is: only lead works. Now…” He grinned up at them. “Keep an eye on the compass.”

With a flourish, he opened the box and, as the other three stared down at the bronze disk in Saja’s hand, the finger within suddenly jerked as though alive and then swung wildly round to point at Samir where it hung for just a moment before beginning to spin at a dizzying speed in circles.

The three commanders stared at the precious item in their hands, rendered entirely useless by… by what?

Samir grinned as he stood and unwrapped the bag he’d retrieved from the lead casket. A lump of metal, rusty and red, that looked like the rawest iron fell out into his hand. Laughing, he thrust the lump close to the compass and the pointing finger within picked up speed, spinning so fast it almost fractured and fell apart.

“How the hell are you doing that?” Ghassan blinked.

“It’s the metal. Don’t ask me why. A gift from the Gods maybe? All I know is that it totally messes up the compass’ ability to give a reading. At a distance it makes the needle waver a little. Closer and it’ll point toward the metal. But anywhere within a couple of ship lengths and it makes the finger do this.”

Culin laughed.

“We spent a week arguing about how you did that the last time you left here. You almost sank half the ships of Lassos on those rocks!”

Samir’s smile faltered slightly.

“I never intended that. There were friends in that fleet. I just revealed the red metal from a distance and gave them enough to worry about that they had to work hard and forget about me.”

He smiled grimly.

“Now, however, it’s not only time to stop Gharic and his crew, but to seal off Lassos forever.”

Turning, he climbed the five steps to the platform.

“Who’s the best shot in your crew?” he asked of the artillery master.

The bearded man scratched his chin.

“I’d like to say it was me, but that would be young Kayri here.”

Samir turned to the young marksman.

“There’s enough gold corona in it to buy your own ship if you can fire this thing and land it close to the Hart’s Heart. Think you can do it?”

The young lad frowned, casting a professional eye over the red lump in Samir’s hand.

“May I, captain?”

Samir nodded and passed the lump to the young man, rubbing his hands together and wiping away the red dust.

“Not very heavy. It’ll be a tricky shot, sir. I’ve never fired anything this light. Can’t guarantee it.”

“So we have to make it heavier?”

The lad nodded as he regarded the lump.

“That would be good, sir.”

Samir grinned, retrieved the item, and reached across to one of the foot-high barrels of canister shot. With a flourish, he produced his belt knife, levered off the lid and scooped out a couple of the rocks within. Concentrating, he dropped the iron lump in, replaced the lid, and hammered the pins back down with the hilt of his knife. Lifting the barrel, he stood and turned to the lad.

“More the right sort of weight?”

The artillerist nodded and reached out, taking the canister.

“That’ll be easy, sir, but bear in mind that if it doesn’t hit a rock, it’ll just sink with your metal lump inside it.”

Samir shrugged noncommittally.

“Nothing short of a lead casket would make a difference anyway. A few yards of water and a wooden box won’t matter.”

He nodded to the lad and stepped back down to the main deck as the artillerists began to adjust the catapult’s aim.

Ghassan flashed a nervous smile.

“Let’s hope he’s up to it.”

Samir laughed.

“He was good enough to cripple your ship, brother. I think he’ll be alright. To be honest, anywhere remotely near them will do the trick, anyway.”

Saja sighed as he gazed out toward the rocks.

“Of course, that means we can never go home, Samir. You realise that?”

Samir shrugged.

“My home is M’Dahz… always has been. Lassos was only ever a temporary haven.”

The four officers fell silent as they heard the creak of the winch. Staring out ahead, they couldn’t help but flinch as the catapult fired not six feet from where they stood, with a loud crack and a bang that shook the deck nearby. The canister that Samir had produced disappeared, arcing out silently into the mist.

“Shouldn’t we hear it land?”

Culin shook his head.

“Too small. It’ll only be a little splash, muted by the fog.”

The four watched tensely as the reefs grew ever closer. Now, if Samir concentrated, he could see the shapes of the desperate wraiths as they called out helplessly from their slippery platforms. Everything was eerily silent and the mist closed on the bow.

“Best take us to starboard sharp and bring us about. I’ve no intention of foundering on those rocks” Samir said.

Ghassan nodded and turned to call to the man at the rudder but as he opened his mouth there was a muted crash. As they all fell silent and listened from deep within the mist there were desperate cries and the sound of splintering timbers, crashes and splashes. The smile dropped from every face. Gharic may have been a cold hearted and vicious bastard, but to crash among those rocks… well everyone knew what that meant.

Ghassan heaved in a deep breath and bellowed to the helmsman.

“Come about to starboard; sharp as you can manage!”

Saja sighed.

“No more Lassos. It’ll be strange being legitimate. It’s been so long since I could hold my head up in an Imperial city that I can’t even remember what it’s like.”

Samir gave a light laugh.

“I daresay you’ll adjust, my friend. You’ll…”

Culin grasped his wrist sharply and Samir looked down and then across at the councillor in surprise, his words immediately forgotten.

“What?”

“Our pursuers! They’re almost on us. It’s not over yet.”

In which the brothers are beleaguered

Samir rushed to the port rail, cursing himself. He’d been concentrating so hard on catching and dealing with the Hart’s Heart that he’d paid scant attention to the vessel that had broken the line to pursue them. It had been unclear initially whether the captain of this last operational pirate vessel had been planning to launch an attack on them or try to flee past them to Lassos.

The latter course of action was no longer open to them anyway, given the fact that, of the two compasses that existed and could navigate the reefs, one was now at the bottom of the sea among the rocks and the other was on board Samir’s ship. Regardless, the objective of the pirates appeared to have been Samir and his men from the start. Rather than making course for the narrow channel that led into the reef or pulling about after the Hart had disappeared, the pursuers were bearing down on Samir at a surprising speed, both billowing sails and splashing oars bringing them to a ramming speed.

Samir eyed the iron spike on the ship’s prow; not the work of destructive art that adorned Faerus’ ship, but enough to punch a hole in the side of the Redemption and cripple her. Samir’s mind raced. They had a minute at most. Given their own ponderous speed since they’d come to a stop to fire the strange package among the rocks, presenting their portside to the enemy in the process, there simply was not enough time to get the ship out of the way. Their only hope, then, was to stop the enemy before they managed to ram.

He shook his head angrily. How the hell could they do that?

Turning, he saw Saja and Culin deep in panicked discussion, while Ghassan desperately shouted orders to the crew, trying to get the Redemption moving and out of the way of the ship bearing down on her.

“We’ve got to stop her! Ideas… come on!”

Saja and Culin glanced around at him as they argued, but neither looked hopeful.

“Ghassan?”

Samir looked across the command deck at where his brother had been only a moment earlier, shouting out commands. Now, however, there was no sign of him. Squinting, Samir cast his eyes around the ship and finally spotted Ghassan racing up the steps to the artillery platform amidships.

Running after him, Samir shook his head. There would only be time to get one shot off, and there wasn’t time to prime a fire shot. They might do a little damage, but not enough to stop them. As he reached the foot of the steps climbing up to the artillery castle, the lead casket still lying open nearby, he clambered up to see Ghassan in deep conversation with the young artillerist, waving his arms to illustrate some point he was making.

Samir stopped, panting, at the top of the steps and Ghassan turned to him, a look of quiet determination on his face. Behind him, two artillerists loaded heavy solid shot into the catapult.

“Ghassan? What are you up to? There’s no time for this.”

Ghassan nodded absently.

“There is. There’s time for one shot. Just pray that it’s enough and that your men are that good.”

Samir frowned at his brother and, as the artillerists began to line up the catapult, tightening the ropes a last few turns and checking their trajectory, he and Ghassan leaned over the wooden battlements and watched the scene unfold, their breath held.

The enemy ship was perhaps half a minute from them and still on a ramming course, having to adjust only a few degrees occasionally as the Redemption slowly slid forward.

“Gods, I hope you’re right, Ghassan.”

They stared bleakly at the ever closing bow of the enemy ship with that horrific iron spike, the oarsmen heaving like they’d never rowed before to achieve a crippling ramming speed. Samir closed his eyes tight and held his breath.

‘Crack’.

Behind them, the artillerists let loose the only shot they would have time for.

Samir opened one eye as the great, heavy shot sailed over their heads on a remarkably low trajectory. For an artillerist to manage such a low and straight shot from a catapult was a remarkable enough feat, let alone with the perfect precision targeting that the shot displayed.

Through his squinted eye, Samir saw the shot hit the banks of oars on the port side of the enemy vessel, smashing and shattering them and bouncing along the shafts, cracking and breaking more as it disappeared with dreadful momentum down the side of the ship and disappeared into the water with a loud splash.