Jabril pushed through the crowd behind the man and punched him in the small of the back. The man fell writhing to the deck.
"We don't know that it's just Drakasha he wants,"Jabril shouted. "Me, I ain't waitin" at the rail with my breeches down for someone to kiss my cock! Most of you know as well as I — if captain fights captain it ain't convenient to let two sides" a the story get back to Port Prodigal!"
"Hold, Jabril," said Zamira. She hurried down the quarterdeck stairs, stepped over to the would-be pragmatist and helped him sit up. She then stood before her assembled crew, within reach of the first row. "Basryn here is right about one thing. This isn't a navy, so you do have the right to be fond of your own lives. I'm not your gods-damned empress. Anyone wants to try handing me over to Rodanov, I'm right here. This is your chance. Anyone?"
When nobody stepped forward from the crowd, Drakasha heaved Basryn to his feet and looked him straight in the eyes. "Now, you can have the smallest boat," she said, "you and anyone else who wants to help you take it. Or you can stay."
"Ah, hell," he said, groaning. "I'm sorry, Captain. I… I figure I'd rather live as a coward than die a fool."
"Oscarl," said Drakasha, "when we're done here, get a party together and hoist out the small boat, on the quick. Anyone else wants off with Basryn, that's what I'm giving you. If Rodanov wins, take your chances. If I win… understand that we're at least fifty miles from land and you're not coming back aboard."
The man nodded, and that was that. Drakasha released him and he stumbled into the crowd, holding his back and ignoring the glares of those around him.
"Heed this, now," shouted Drakasha. "The sea isn't our friend today; that son of a bitch has more bite in the water than we do. A chase in any direction can't buy us more than a few hours. If we're going to settle this at kissing distance, I intend to set the terms of the courtship.
"We need to kill two for one just to have any of us left standing, so obviously we need to do better even than that. If we lock up with him so that one of our sides is against his bow, we can crowd in all around his boarding point and outnumber him at the only place it matters. That big fat crew of his won't mean a damn thing if he has to feed it piece by piece right through our teeth.
"So, at the waist, I'll put you in ranks, like the old Therin Throne legions. Swords and shields up front, spears and halberds behind. Don't take your sweet time. If you can't kill someone, knock them into the water. Just get them out of the damn fight!
"Del will choose our ten best archers and send you aloft to do the obvious. Five per mast. I wish I could send more but we're going to need every blade on deck we can get.
"Ravelle, Valora, I'm going to give you a few crewfolk to form our flying company. Your job is the Sovereign's boats. They'll try to board us from all points of the compass once we're engaged at the waist, so you go wherever they go. One person on deck can keep five in a boat, provided you act with haste.
"Nasreen, you'll choose a party of three and stand by at the starboard anchor for my command. Once it's given, you'll guard the bow against boats and free Ravelle's party to fight elsewhere.
"Utgar, you're with me to load crossbows. Now, there's ale at the forecastle and I want to see the cask dry before we do this. Drink up, find your armour. If you" ve got mail or leathers you" ve been saving, pile it on. I don't care how much you sweat; you'll never need it again like you'll need it today."
Drakasha dismissed the crew by turning away from them and striding back up the quarterdeck stairs. Pandemonium erupted amidships; suddenly crewfolk were shoving past one another in all directions, some going for their armour and weapons, others headed for what might be their last drink on earth.
Ezri vaulted the quarterdeck railing and shouted as she strode forward into the chaos: "Fire watches set double sand buckets! Rig the larboard razor-net and hoist it high! Jerome, get your lazy arse up on the quarterdeck! Form up the flying company there!"
Jean waved and followed Drakasha up to the stern of the ship, where Utgar waited, looking nervous. Treganne was just descending the companionway stairs, muttering something about "bulk rates".
Suddenly, a low, dark shape shot up the companionway and ran for Drakasha. She looked down in response to a sudden tug on her breeches and found Paolo clutching at her, unselfconsciously. "Mummy, the noise!"
Zamira smiled and swept him up off the deck, cradling him against the lapels of her jacket. She turned into the wind and let it push her hair out of her face. Jean could see that Paolo's eyes were on the Dread Sovereign as it heaved and swayed beneath the cloudless sky, implacably clawing across the distance between them.
"Paolo, love, Mummy needs you to help her hide you and your sister in the rope locker on the orlop deck, all right?"
The little boy nodded and Zamira kissed him on the forehead, burying her nose in his tangle of short, dark curls with her eyes closed.
"Oh, good," she said a moment later. "Because after that, Mummy needs to fetch her armour and her sabres. And then she needs to go and board that lying motherfucker's ship and sink it like a stone."
5
Jaffrim Rodanov was at the bow of his ship, the Poison Orchid steady in the centre of his glass, when she suddenly whirled to larboard and pointed herself at him like an arrow. Her mainsails shivered and began to vanish as Drakasha's crew hauled them up for battle.
"Ah," he said. "There we go, Zamira. Doing the only sensible thing at last."
Rodanov had dressed for a fight, as usual, in a leather coat reinforced with mail inset at the back and the lapels. The nicks and creases in the battered old thing were always a comfort to him; a reminder that people had been trying and failing to kill him for years.
On his hands he wore his favoured weapons, segmented blackened-steel gauntlets. In the confusion of a close melee, they could catch blades and crack skulls with equal aplomb. For the less personal work of actually forcing his way aboard the Orchid, he leaned on a waist-high iron-studded club. He folded his glass carefully and slipped it into a pocket, resolving to return it to the binnacle before the fight began. Not like the last time. "Orders, Captain?"
Ydrena waited on the forecastle stairs, her own curved sword sheathed on her back, with the majority of his crew ready behind her.
"She's for us," boomed Rodanov. "I know this doesn't come easy, but Drakasha's raiding in Verrari waters. She'll call down hell on the life we all enjoy — unless we stop her now.
"Form up to starboard, as we planned. Shields up front. Crossbows behind. Remember, one volley, then throw "em down and pull steel. Boat crews, over the starboard side once we're locked with the Orchid. Grapples ready at the waist and bow. Helm! You have your orders — make it perfect or pray you die in the fight.
"This day will be red! Drakasha is a foe to be reckoned with. But what are we, over all the winds and waters of the Sea of Brass?" "SOVEREIGN!" the crew shouted as one. "Who are we, never boarded and never beaten?" "SOVEREIGN!"
"What do our enemies scream when they speak the name of their doom at the judgment of the gods?" "SOVEREIGN!"
"We are!" He waved his club above his head. "And we have some surprises for Zamira Drakasha! Bring the cages forward!"
Three teams of six sailors apiece brought canvas-covered cages to the forecastle deck. These cages had wooden carrying handles set well beyond their steel-mesh sides. They were about six feet long, and half as wide and high. "Nothing to eat since yesterday, right?" "No," said Ydrena.
"Good." Rodanov double-checked the sections of the starboard rail his carpenter had weakened so that one good shove would knock them over for about a ten-foot length. A blemish on his beloved Sovereign, but one that could be fixed easily enough later. "Set them down over here. And kick the cages. Let's get them riled up."