"I could swim a mile if it stayed calm and there weren't any currents. Just about, I reckon. You?"
The Apache shook his head. "I can taste the earth. I think it may be closer than a mile. But even so... it would be beyond me. Better stay here for me."
Ryan nodded. "I see that. The way I see it the bitch would prefer me more willing. If she has me tied or a blaster at my neck — or anywhere else — she can't enjoy the funning so much. I'll go, reluctantly. But I'll go. Then I'll wait till we're alone and throttle the slut. And be in the water."
Donfil sighed. "Doesn't sound too great a plan to me. Too many maybes and it's to it."
Ryan managed a grin. "Yeah, my brother. But it's the best damned plan I got."
Doc had been singing a half-remembered whaling song. "An uncle of mine sailed from Nantucket. I was married the year Herman Melville passed away. Eighteen ninety-one, as I recall. He wrote a book about whaling that..."
"Called Moby Dick. Know it. Read it."
"I had a niece, Catherine, born on his birthday. Melville's, that is. The first day of August, I recall it well."
Deacon ignored him, concentrating on allowing the Phoenixto creep slowly forward through the banks of fog. He'd managed to take a bearing on the maintop of the Salvationbefore the weather closed right in. Now he was inching along on blind navigation, closing in on Pyra Quadde's vessel. Seeing that his conversation didn't interest the captain, Doc returned to his singing.
It's advertised in Claggartville, Missouri, Ohio,
A thousand brave young sailors, a'whaling for to go.
Singing, blow ye winds of darkness,
Blow ye winds hi-ho,
Sharpen up your laces now and blow, boys, blow.
The mist was darkening as evening crept over the quiet ocean. A very long way off both men heard the mournful belling of a school of whales, eerie in the isolation.
"Best tell the men to keep quiet," Deacon suggested. "Wouldn't want little Pyra knowing we were crawly-creeping up on her like this. She might lose her calm, and then ye can watch for squalls. Aye, Dr. Tanner. When Pyra Quadde finds fault with life, then it's time to up anchor and run for the shelter of a safe harbor. Believe me."
"I believe you."
"Go over the side, matey."
Ryan had walked alone into the bow of the whaler, leaning on the rail, feeling its cold slickness under his hands. He looked down into the water, which was barely visible in the mist. The voice behind him made him start.
"Slay her quick, cully."
The mumbling, toothless voice could only be that of Johnny Flynn, who was lurking behind the windlass, invisible in the clinging fog.
"Thanks for trying to help," Ryan said quietly. "Appreciated it. Sorry you got yourself..."
"Not the first time."
"Over the side or chill the bitch? You're giving me two bits of advice, Johnny. Which would you take, if you were me?"
"Can't swim, matey. Hardly a man on the Salvation has that skill."
Despite the peril of his situation, Ryan was intrigued at this piece of news. "Sailors and you can't swim! How can?.."
The voice was slurred, indistinct. "Thou goest over into the Lantic... 'less thou dost get a rope thrown to thee as she goes on by, then by the time the ship's turned around thou hast been in the water for an hour. Likely more. Chance of finding a fingernail in a ton of manure's better than getting thyself picked up. So the cold or the sharks get thee. And it's better that thou dost go down fast and stay down. Less pain, outlander. I can't take that much more of the paining."
"So you'd chill Pyra Quadde?"
"No."
"Why not? You told me that I should..."
"Thou still knowest her not. She's faster and stronger than nearly any man on board. Harder. More cruel. Ruthless and all. She'd kill me."
Ryan grinned into the mist. "Likely she'll kill me, Johnny."
The answer was a long while coming. "Yeah. Likely she will, outlander. But if thou dost want a chance, thou must to strike quick and straight. Like a snake. Or else."
"Or else?"
"Or she'll draw the blaster. Cuff thee in chains to her bed. Frame's cold iron, bolted to the bulkheads and deck. Once that's happened, thou art deader than salt pig."
"I get it. Hadn't figured she'd... I'll think on it, Johnny Flynn. Sharks or the bitch? Fine choice."
But there was no answer. And when he turned on his heel and walked aft along the deck, the space behind the windlass was filled only with the suffocating wall of fog.
"Too thick."
"Too thick," J.B. repeated.
"Aye. I can no longer hazard my vessel and my men."
"You know we aren't in danger from the shore. You told us. There's no more land out there for a thousand miles."
"There's Pyra Quadde," the captain said stubbornly.
"Captain," Jak interrupted, coming into the cabin to join the others. "We come out sea to catch her. No other reason. Must be close. No?"
"Yeah, sure. But all thou hast said is that we get to her and tie alongside. Ye will take those cannons ye got and blast the living savior out of anything and anybody that gets in your way. Simple as that? Have I got it right?"
The Armorer nodded. "Sure did, Captain. All you got to do is put a man way out on the pointed thing at the front. Bowsprit, would it be called?" Deacon sucked at his teeth and said nothing. J.B. continued. "Out there. Sharpest man you... wait. Krysty, think you can do it?"
She shook her head. "Don't know. This fog distorts so much. But if we keep death-quiet, we gotta hear them before they hear us. Can have a half dozen men relaying the bearing and distance back to Captain Deacon here at the stern. How's that sound?"
Deacon's expression didn't change. Finally he held out his hand to the girl, who shook it with a smile that brightened the poorly lit cabin. "I'll do it, little lady. Truth is, when thou shanghaied the Phoenixand held a blaster to my head... well, damnation! I could have seen thee all over the side and I'd have been smiling as I sailed on. Now?.. Now's different. I'll help thee. We'll do as thou sayest. Thou hast mutie hearing, lady?"
"Sort of. And I can 'see,' you know. Like a doomie but not as clear."
The skipper looked at the flame-haired young woman. "What dost thou seeof thy friends on the Salvation!"
Krysty closed her eyes. "Nothing plain. I think the fog's clouding everything down. And it feels like Ryan's in danger, but he's got choices that confuse things."
"So. All of ye wish us to go on in now? Not wait?"
Dix looked the silver-haired man in the eyes. "We go in. Soon as we get to her, we go alongside and hit her hard. Maybe try and hole her with the blasters. They won't fight so hard if their ship's going down under 'em."
Deacon laughed. "I thank the Lord that I am on your side. Who has need of any enemies when friends include ye five?"
They came for Ryan.
Four members of the crew escorted Donfil away, keeping him under guard. "Captain wouldn't want thee harmed, Outlander Ten-from-Ten," Cyrus Ogg told him, hefting a well-preserved Webley revolver.