"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 arse 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 travelling west-north-west 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 watchwoman. "I'd swear it. I'd appreciate another set of eyes."
"I'll take a look," said Delmastro. "Mind if I fetch up your favourite 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 one another for several moments, until Delmastro cleared her throat. "I'll, urn, 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's 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 suppose 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 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 any 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—"