And now she was busily clambering about the dockyard, following MacLean and hastily scribbling notes as the seaman happily inspected the craft. A gang of young locals, glad of employment, stood by under the supervision of the Shipwright Guildsmen. The Shipwrights had lost heavily in the brief and pointless battle with the Imperial Navy, and were willing to allow anyone in the town to work on MacKinnie’s outfitting provided that they paid dues to the Guild and worked under its Masters. From the crowd inside and outside the dockyard, MacKinnie thought half the able-bodied men of Jikar were hoping for employment.
The boat itself was hardly impressive. Only about thirty meters long, it was drawn up out of the water on a primitive ways. MacKinnie saw a round-bottomed boat with a small skeg running her length. The stem and sternpost were carried up high out of the water, and a great platform was constructed across the stern. On top of that was a cabin. The rest of the boat was undecked, with platforms for rowers along its sides. Over a hundred men could sit on the two sweeps halfdecks, but there was no chance of hiring that many for a long voyage, even if the pirates were not outside the harbor. At present, MacKinnie had no crew at all except his original expedition, although Brett and Vanjynk were on his payroll and would come even though they thought there was little chance of getting through.
After MacLean inspected the vessel, MacKinnie took him to a sheltered space to hold a conference. Hal Stark stood by to be sure they were not overheard, and MacKinnie wasted no time. “Can we make it? It’s vital that we get to Batav, if we have to swim.”
MacLean sucked on a pipe casually for a moment. Smoking did not seem to startle the villagers although they were never seen to smoke, but MacLean’s lighter was far in advance of anything on the planet. MacKinnie wondered how he had got it past the thorough inspection Mr. Landry conducted before they were allowed to unload their goods from the landing ship. The pipe gurgled for a few moments before MacLean said, “Need some modifications to get that far. From what I’ve heard, this is sheltered water around here, but after we’ve gone north a ways there’ll be nothing to the west for four thousand kilometers. Big waves will come across there in a normal westerly. Sure as hell be bad in a storm.”
“So we could make it?” When MacLean nodded, MacKinnie went on, “How big a crew will you need?”
“The way I intend to modify her, no more than twice the number we already have, but everyone will have to lend a hand. A few locals would be useful if you can hire them.
“I’m going to make her sail, Trader. She’s got that damned stubby mast on her; I’ll yank that and put in a taller one, then stay it properly, deck the boat over and put some iron ballast in her. Nothing the Imperials can object to. And I’ll mount leeboards.”
The term meant nothing to MacKinnie, but he’d find out soon enough. “Sail up high will tip it over, won’t it?” he asked.
MacLean shook his head. “Ballast will fix that, I hope. She’s beamy enough, should be good form stability. I like the hull sections. They’ve ridden out some mean storms in those things. That big iron ram on the prow goes back almost amidships; it’s the closest thing they’ve got to a ballast keel.” He sucked on his pipe. “You can tell there’s a lot of shallow water here, and with those weird tides from the two moons, they must run aground a lot. That’s why the boats have nearly flat bottoms. Beach them for the night usually, I expect. We can get there, Trader, but I don’t know about the pirates.”
MacKinnie nodded. “Suggestions?”
“Just fix the boat and hope we can outrun them. Sure as hell can’t outfight them. Oh, and this is a bigger boat than most of the pirate stuff. Faster. Warship, one of the best on the planet, I’m told. But there’s a hell of a lot of pirates. Without a full crew, if one of their ships boards us, we’re dead.”
“Yeah. Well, we cross that when it happens. How long to get the work done?” Now that Nathan was no longer watched by the Imperials every moment, he had control over his actions again, and the new sense of purpose drove him impatiently. He glanced about himself, took out his pipe, and borrowed MacLean’s lighter to fire it. “How’d you get this past?” he asked.
“This?” MacLean looked at the lighter as if he had never seen it before. It was an ordinary flint and steel device, not as elegant as the flameless units the Imperial Navy carried. “I just walked out with it. Landry saw it, but he didn’t say anything.”
MacKinnie nodded slowly. By Empire standards, the lighter was primitive enough to be classed with Makassar technology. He wondered how many more Samualite devices were strange to Makassar but would be overlooked by the Navy; it was a point to remember.
“How long until we can sail?”
MacLean scratched his chin. “With luck, a few days. Decking’s the hard part. There are a lot of hands to do the work, but they’ve never done this kind of thing before. Still, by the time you get the goods and provisions on board we should be just about ready to get under way.”
It took two of the local weeks. Although the Makassar day was somewhat longer than Samual’s and quite a bit longer than the standard Earth day, MacKinnie noticed that he and his crew soon became accustomed to living by local time, which was measured by sundials or not at all.
One reason the work went slowly was that the local church insisted on Sabbath-keeping, and in addition seemed to proclaim at least one Holy Day each week. These, and the inexperience of the locals with the construction methods MacLean insisted on, caused the first delays. Then when the ship was completed, another week was consumed in obtaining cloth suitable for sails and have the Drapers sew it.
MacLean was the only man available to design the equipment needed. He designed and cast anchors more advanced than anything seen on Makassar since the war; installed windlasses and winches, cast in bronze by the Ironsmiths; and had the Drapers lay up ropes and cables from local fibers. It all had to be done, and MacLean had to see to each detail personally. The days dragged on and on.
MacKinnie watched nervously one day when a party of Imperial sailors led by the junior lieutenant of the planet walked around the dockyards, but they evidently saw nothing to disapprove of. Anchors and winches were things for primitives, and the Navy men did not even understand the purpose of some of MacLean’s devices. As a precaution, MacKinnie had taught Brett the use of most of them, so that if asked he would appear familiar with the equipment. The Navy might think it in common use elsewhere on Makassar,
By the time the ship was ready for launching, the trade goods and weapons they would carry were piled on the docks. A light drizzle driven by the strong westerly winds thoroughly soaked the party as they stood watching the locals launch the ship. The primitive ways did not permit much sophistication — half the young men in the town simply lifted and strained until Subao was in the water, then fell to carrying aboard the iron ingots MacLean had selected for ballast. MacKinnie expected to get under way immediately, but found that there was more to do.
“What now?” he asked MacLean.
“Masts. Stays. Running the sails up to see how they fit. Securing the ballast. Trader, that ship may be on her ear in a storm one of these days, and you’ll hardly want the ballast shifting around down there. And we still have the leeboards to install. You can save time by getting your gear aboard today, but don’t plan on leaving for at least three days more.”
MacKinnie cursed, silently so that MacLean would not hear him. There was little else he could do.
That afternoon MacLean gave instruction on how to sail the boat. He discovered that young Todd had sailed small boats in the Haven harbor, and, under MacKinnie’s questioning, the boy admitted to being a military cadet for one of the wealthier families of the kingdom of Haven. MacLean immediately appointed him midshipman and quartermaster.