"I don't know how Mandracore figures into all of this, but I suspect he does, and that whether we want to or not, we're going to find out how," Maq said finally. "I expect him to come after us, and with Fritz down, we'll need everyone to stay extra alert."
Koraf grunted, turning back to his oil can and his self-appointed task.
By the next morning, the Perechon was approaching the east coast of Endscape and had started to turn north. It was making better time with new sails that didn't let the wind slip through all the patches and mends.
Tailonna still had not returned to the ship. From Lendle, Maq had heard a full account of the elf's shapechanging, and she wasn't pleased that Tailonna had left the ship without her permission. Perhaps she wouldn't be coming back. And without her, who could brew the potions that would let them breathe underwater? How could they capture the morkoth then?
Maquesta sought out the gnome and found him in the galley, brewing some tea. She had to duck her head when she entered, as Lendle had managed to string up his collection of pots, pans, and assorted utensils on a pulley system that looked even more complex than the previous design. Maquesta sighed and chose a route that would not take her near any knives and forks.
The gnome looked exhausted, having stayed up with Fritzen most of the night, catching a little sleep in a bedroll on the floor of the armory.
"How is he?" asked Maq, deciding not to scold him over Tailonna.
"The same," said Lendle in an unusually brief reply.
Maq, gripped by last-minute misgivings, hesitated before broaching the subject she had in mind to discuss with the gnome.
"Lendle, have you been able to make any progress in repairing your oar engine?"
The gnome's eyes lit up and his fatigue fell away. "Ilyatha and I managed to get most of the repairs done before we moored at Sea Reach. I still have a few adjustments to make before it's in working order, though. I'll see to it right away Maquesta Kar-Thon, if that is what you would like me to do."
Maq grimaced. Lendle and his adjustments. "When-and if-Tailonna returns, I would like her to take over Fritz's care, and for you to concentrate on getting the engine in working order," Maq said, fully aware that, as far as she knew, it had never yet been in working order. "We may need every trick we can muster to get back to Lacynos on time. The new sails are speeding us along, but still…" She paused and swallowed hard. "I want us to be ahead of schedule in case anything goes wrong. I don't want to jeopardize my father's life."
Lendle indignantly drew himself up. "My engine is no trick, Maquesta Kar-Thon. It is science, and it will help you get back to Lacynos with time to spare."
"Whatever it is, I think we'll need it," she said.
When Maquesta left the galley, Lendle was humming happily as he stirred his tea. She stopped briefly in the armory, where the half-ogre was resting. Standing by his side, she placed her hand on his forehead. His eyes were closed, his face pale and drawn. His skin was hot, indicating a high fever. She looked about for a wet rag, and finding one, placed it on his brow.
"I wish I could do something for you," she said quietly. "I feel as though this is all my fault."
"You could stay with me for a while," Fritz answered, still not opening his eyes.
Maquesta jumped; she'd thought he was asleep. Not bothering to reply, she pulled up a chair and sat next to him until his gentle snoring indicated he'd finally fallen into a healing slumber.
It was late afternoon when Hvel, on lookout duty, spotted the black sail on the horizon.
"Ship ahoy!"
The words brought Maq bolting from her cabin, where she had been devising a plan for capturing the morkoth. She ran up the steps to the upper aft deck where Koraf had the helm, and pulled out her spyglass. She didn't really need the instrument to see the Butcher's black sail behind them, and to realize that it was gaining on them. Instead she focused on the men on deck to see how large his crew was. The pirates were all too numerous, and they were hard at work trimming the sails and working the rigging to get the best speed out of the ship.
Maquesta's lips drew into a thin, tight line. "He can't catch us. He just can't." Despite the Perechon's improved speed, she was worried. The Butcher was a three-masted ship with more sails and the potential for faster movement if the wind was strong.
"Vartan!" she shouted. "Get up the mainmast and trim our sails a bit. Let's see if we can get a little more speed out of the Perechon."
"Yes, Captain!" he called back, then scampered up the rigging.
"Hvel, get belowdecks and summon Ilyatha. Tell him we need his flute of wind dancing!" Maquesta looked out over the rest of the crew. "Be alert. Mandracore's on our tail!"
Maquesta was concerned about using the magical instrument, as she didn't want to test the masts, and she disliked forcing the shadowperson on deck during bright sun. But she saw little alternative. Raising the spyglass to her eye again, she confirmed that the Butcher, with its many ebony sails, was gaining. Though easily visible through the tricks of perspective played by the open sea, the Butcher had in fact first appeared when it was far, far distant from the Perechon.
Ilyatha, clothed in a voluminous cloak, with his head hidden in the hood's shadows, padded on deck. This must be important, he communicated to Maquesta. Being in this light pains me.
Maq pointed at the Butcher, and Ilyatha read the rest of her thoughts. Nodding, the shadowperson took up a position near the bow and brought the flute to his lips. At first the tune was haunting, almost eerie. The notes floated out of the instrument and across the deck, billowing the sails. The ship pitched and rolled, but it picked up more speed. Then the tune changed, becoming brighter, faster, and in response the wind increased, blowing more briskly right around the ship and causing the masts to groan softly in protest.
Maquesta looked at the water. The waves within several yards of the Perechon were choppy and had growing swells. But the water farther out was calmer. There, the wind was not as strong, not touched by the enchanted notes from the flute of wind dancing. She felt something tickle at her mind and realized Ilyatha was speaking to her.
The Butcher is too far away for me to slow the winds about its sails, he communicated. And I can use this flute but a few more minutes before it must build up its magic again.
I understand, Maquesta concentrated, satisfied that Ilyatha had picked up her thoughts. She remembered that during the race the flute was not used long on the Katos-just at the most opportune time. And it seemed Ilyatha had used it well now, to pull the Perechon far enough ahead so that the Butcher looked like a black dot on the water. The magic temporarily exhausted, Ilyatha returned belowdecks, communicating to Maquesta that the flute could be used again when evening approached.
Through the long hours of the afternoon, the Butcher steadily closed the gap, its numerous sails taking advantage of an increasingly strong wind. At one point, Maq went to the armory. She called Lendle to the doorway and handed him a belaying pin, a dagger, and a short sword.
"If Mandracore and his crew board us, make sure Fritzen has a weapon in his hand. I don't want him to be defenseless," she told the gnome in a low voice. "Mandracore will have a grudge against you, and against Fritz as well. You each killed one of his men."