Now, once again, the Katos trailed the Perechon at a steady distance of about a league, unable to close the gap. With constant winds, Maquesta estimated they would sail into Horned Bay and claim their victory a good hour before darkness set in. She reminded herself to ask her father about purchasing a new topsail for the mainmast. While the minotaurs did not build their ships as well as other races did, she reflected, they were expert sailmakers-and certainly good sails were available in Lacynos.
Then an odd thought crossed her mind.
"Father, don't you think it's strange that we neither saw nor heard of the Katos before this race?"
"Krynn is not such a small place," replied Melas. "There are ports we have never visited in waters we have not sailed."
"Not so very many, and anyway, by its design the Katos appears to be a Blood Sea ship. I would not have thought there were any ships unknown to us here" Maq said, staring thoughtfully at the Katos. "At least it looks like a Blood Sea ship except for one thing. Did you notice?"
"Yes. It's a bit out of the ordinary, but not unheard of, Maquesta."
They both referred to a striped awning extending from the base of the upper aft deck over the main deck of the Katos, with three sides so that it looked like a small, closed tent.
"I would hate to have to work around that on our main deck," Maq said. "I wonder… Wait a minute!" Maq, who had been regarding the Katos rather dreamily, snapped to attention.
"Did the winds change?" She hadn't noticed any difference. Checking the Perechon's sails, Maq saw there had been no change. She looked back at the other ship. "Father, I don't know how she's doing it, but the Katos is gaining on us!"
"What!" Melas roared. "Maquesta, here!" He motioned her over to take the helm, then stood for an instant, hands on hips, staring back at the Katos. He pulled his spyglass out of his pocket, extended it, and raised it to his eye. A string of curses erupted from his lips. He shoved the glass back into his pocket, then vaulted down the steps to the main deck. "Averon, come help me here! Vartan, Hvel, to the foremast!"
Melas shouted one command after another, having the crew adjust first one sail, then the next, shouting directions to Maq at the helm. The sailors worked frantically. But still the Katos gained.
Maq grasped the helm, rendered nearly immobile. Her heart pounded wildly with joy-again she had been given the wheel at an important time. Her right hand gripped the king's spoke tightly. At the same time, a constricting band of nerves threatened to squeeze her heart to a dead stop. They were in jeopardy of being overtaken again!
Maq glanced back over her shoulder. Despite everyone's efforts, only an hour from Horned Bay, the Katos was steadily erasing the Perechon's lead. How ignominious! Maq felt ashamed, ashamed at herself for having such self-centered emotions. But she burned with a combination of anger and shame at the thought that she was helming the Perechon as it might be sailing down to defeat.
The Perechon's sails snapped loudly in the wind. Melas had ordered every scrap of sailcloth unfurled. He had directed their positioning to take utmost advantage of every puff of wind. The Perechon leapt and crashed through the waves with an energy rarely seen before. Sea spray dampened Maquesta's face and plastered her curls to the sides of her head. She was leaning every ounce of her body weight into the wooden spokes of the helm in an effort to hold the speeding ship to a steady course. Considering whether to tie a length of rope to the aft deck railing to aid her with her task, Maq cast her eyes around the deck to see what was available. When she looked up, she found her father standing next to her. His brows knit together in a frown, he was staring out to sea. One look at his face told Maq the news was not good.
But glancing backward, Maq nearly leapt with joy. The sea was empty! They must have completely outdistanced the Katos. But in the next instant, she realized the sea behind her was empty because the Katos sailed abreast of the Perechon. With a nod of his head at Maq, Melas took over the helm. Several moments passed, and both father and daughter shook their heads to clear out their ears. Yet each still heard it, though faintly at first: a high piping, for all the world sounding like a flute playing a rapid jig.
The Katos sailed quite near the Perechon now, still abreast but unable, it seemed, to finally pull ahead. The music grew louder, more insistent. Maq and Melas looked at each other with the same question in mind: where was the sound coming from? The slow realization that the source of the music was the Katos made Melas's brow furrow even more. Who in Krynn would be playing a flute in the final stretch of a race?
"If it's meant to improve spirits over there, I bet it's not working," Maq said excitedly. "I don't think they can outrun us! What do you think, Fa-"
She never completed the question. The jig stopped abruptly Maquesta thought she noticed a bit of tension leave the Katos's sails. Then across the waves the music resumed; this time the air carried a haunting tune, pitched in an even higher range than the jig. Inexplicably, contrary gusts of wind enveloped the Perechon, bringing with each blast gritty dust that stung the crew's eyes. The Perechon's sails snapped and cracked, filling with wind blowing first one way, then another. The tall wooden masts creaked ominously as if they were in pain, strained almost to their limit.
"Take down the sails," Melas bellowed from the helm. "Take down the sails or we'll lose our masts!"
Holding her forearm in front of her face to try to shield her eyes from the blowing dust, Maquesta fought her way against the wind to the mizzenmast where Averon and several others were attempting to lower both sails.
"Someone's going to have to climb up to the boom," Averon shouted in her ear. "Part of the topsail rigging has snagged on something. Here, take my place holding this rope and I'll go."
Maq shook her head without saying anything and began climbing the rigging. She knew where the problem was, because she had fretted over the topsail before. She also knew Averon was saying something to her because his mouth was open-but the sound was carried away by the wind. Maq was one of the best climbers on board. She was certain she would be better at unsnagging the sail than at holding a rope, which demanded more strength than skill. And, as ever, she felt she had something to prove to the rest of the crew.
Buffeted by the wind, Maq inched her way up the rigging, by feel rather than sight. The dust was blinding and forced her to close her eyes. Then, when she had almost reached the boom, the wind squall died as suddenly as it had begun. Blinking her eyes to clear them, Maq observed that the sky was still cloudless, the sun shining, and the Katos now sailed far ahead, apparently unhindered by contrary winds. She worked the topsail until the fold was free, then she looked at the minotaurs' ship again.