The Gentleman Bastard Series (158 page)

“Probably not,” said Drakasha. “Even if Stragos had changed his mind since yesterday and decided to hunt us down now, a Verrari warship wouldn’t be coming from that direction.”

“Hopefully.”

“Aye. So what we do is we change our own heading, nice and slow. If their course change was innocent, they’ll sail merrily past.” She cleared her throat. “Helm, come round northwest by north, smartly! Utgar! Get the yards braced for a wind on the starboard quarter!”

“Aye, Captain!”

The
Poison Orchid
slowly heeled even farther to larboard, until she was headed almost due northwest. The stiff breeze now blew across the quarterdeck, nearly into Locke’s face. To the south he fancied that he could see tiny sails; from the deck the vessel was still hull-down.

A few minutes later came the shout. “Captain! She’s come five or six points to her larboard! She’s for us again!”

“We’re off her starboard bow,” said Drakasha. “She’s trying to close with us. But that doesn’t make sense.” She snapped her fingers. “Wait. Might be a bounty-privateer.”

“How could they know it’s us?”

“Probably got a description of the
Orchid
from the crew of that ketch you visited. Look, we could only hope to disguise my girl for so long. These lovely witchwood planks of hers are too distinctive.”

“So … how much of a problem is this?”

“Depends on who’s got the speed. If she’s a bounty-privateer, that’s a profitless fight. She’ll be carrying dangerous folk and no swag. So if we’re the faster, I mean to show her our ass and wave farewell.”

“And if not?”

“A profitless fight.”

“Captain,” hollered one of the top-eyes, “she’s a three-master!”

“This just gets better and better,” said Drakasha. “Go wake up Ezri and Jerome for me.”

2

“BAD LUCK,” said Delmastro. “Bad damned luck.”

“Only for them, if I have my way,” said Zamira.

The captain and her lieutenant stood at the taffrail, staring at the faint square of white that marked their pursuer’s position on the horizon. Locke waited with Jean a few steps away, at the starboard rail. Drakasha had nudged the ship a few points south, so that they were traveling west-northwest with the wind fine on the starboard quarter, what she claimed was the
Orchid
’s best point of sail. Locke knew this was something of a risk; if their opponent was the faster, they could lay an intercepting course that would bring them up much sooner than a stern chase. The trouble was that such a chase to the north could not last; unlimited sea room existed only to their west.

“I’m not sure we’re gaining any ground, Captain,” said Delmastro after a few minutes of silence.

“Nor I. Damn this jumpy sea. If she’s a three-master she may have the weight to carve a better speed out of it.”

“Captain!” The cry from up the mainmast was even more urgent than usual. “Captain, she’s not falling away, and … Captain, beggin’ pardon, but you might want to come and see this for yourself.”

“See what?”

“If I ain’t mad I’ve seen that ship before,” shouted the watch-woman. “I’d swear it. I’d appreciate another set of eyes.”

“I’ll take a look,” said Delmastro. “Mind if I fetch up your favorite glass?”

“Drop it, and I’ll give your cabin over to Paolo and Cosetta.”

Locke watched as Delmastro went up the mainmast a few minutes later armed with Zamira’s pride and joy, a masterpiece of Verrari optics bound in alchemically treated leather. It was a few minutes more before her shout fell to the deck.

“Captain, that’s the
Dread Sovereign
!”

“What? Del, are you absolutely sure?”

“Seen her often enough, haven’t I?”

“I’m coming up myself!”

Locke exchanged a stare with Jean as Zamira leapt into the mainmast shrouds. A buzz of muttering and swearing had arisen among the crewfolk on deck. About a dozen abandoned their chores and headed aft, craning their necks for a glimpse of the sail in the south. They cleared away in alarm when Drakasha and Delmastro returned to the quarterdeck, looking grim.

“So it’s him?” said Locke.

“It is,” said Drakasha. “And if he’s been looking for us for any length of time, it means he sailed not all that long after we did.”

“So … he could be carrying a message or something, right?”

“No.” Drakasha removed her hat and ran her other hand through her braids, almost nervously. “He opposed this plan more than anyone else on the council of captains. He didn’t sail as long and as far as we did, to risk his ship within spitting distance of Tal Verrar, to deliver any message.

“I’m afraid we’ll need to postpone our previous conversation, Ravelle. The point is moot until we’re sure this ship will still be floating at the end of the day.”

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.