"Oh?"
"If we inject water in between the boards, here and here…" The admiral pointed. "It may push the wood apart when it freezes."
Carrier looked disdainful of the idea, but Travis appeared to be giving it some thought. "Since the ship's been winterized, the chinks have been sealed with tar against bad air coming in," he pointed out. "The water will have nowhere to go."
"Exactly," said the admiral. "Now, I don't propose that we use our drinking water, here." He held up the other flask. "Everybody piss. We'll use that."
Hayden shook his head as Fanning unlaced his own codpiece and proceeded to demonstrate. Maybe he was hallucinating. That would explain why he seemed to have heard Admiral Fanning talking about a treasure hunt, and why that same admiral was now proposing that they piss in the walls.
"What are you suggesting?" he asked sarcastically. "Are we four going to take the ship back with the strength of our own arms?"
Fanning shook his head. "Of course not. We will scuttle the Rook. Can't allow Slipstream military hardware in the hands of the enemy."
"Ah… And how do we do that?"
"Got to get to the bridge. I suggest we find a porthole and crawl outside to the—" Fanning noticed Hayden vigorously shaking his head. "Why not?"
"Because when winter pirates have a lot of prisoners they hang the excess off the hull. So they'll have a man or two out there to keep watch."
All three men turned to look at him. "And how do you know that?" asked Carrier.
Hayden hesitated, but his last reserve of cunning was exhausted. "Because," he admitted, "I was press-ganged by pirates five years ago."
Now they just frankly stared. Finally Carrier shrugged and looked away. "Things begin to become clear. Knew you weren't what you seemed. Pirates planted you in Fanning household?"
"No! Nothing like that." He'd done it now. Even if the pirates didn't kill him, Fanning would have him towed until he froze, or shot in front of the crew. There was just the faintest chance, if he told most of the truth—but not all of it—that he could avoid such a fate. "I… I eventually escaped and made my way back to Rush. And yes, I made up a cover story, that's true, I'd learned how to do that from a station infiltrator I worked for. But I wasn't spying for anybody. I really did need a job."
Carrier raised one eyebrow. "Interesting," he said. "You actually expect us to believe that?"
"We'll deal with that question later," said Fanning. "Right now I want to know why you're familiar with how winter pirates deal with their prisoners."
"Uh…" Hayden blinked. Fanning didn't care that he'd wormed his way into the service of his wife under false pretenses? Or was he really as focused on the here and now as he appeared? "Well, sir," he said, "I was brought on board the pirate ship Wilson's Revenge, somewhere in between being a slave and an apprentice. I couldn't leave; but I had the run of the ship."
Fanning waved a hand indifferently. "Press-ganged," he said. "Get to the bit about the prisoners."
Hayden took his turn at the flask and tried to organize his droughts. "Ah. Um, being a pirate turned out to be the most unglamourous job you could imagine. It consisted of bullying fishing boats and birdcatchers and selling their tackle and nets at places like Warea. You could barely buy food, you had to hoard your ammunition, and beer was out of the question unless you brewed it yourself. Mostly it was just dark, dismal, and hopeless."
Fanning dug at the caulking between the planks, at the spot where the frame of the rocket rack was mounted to the hull with bolts. Once he had a finger-sized hole, he jammed the neck of the now-full flask into it and squeezed. "Go on," he said.
"Once in all that time I spent with these men, we heard about a yacht that was trying to sneak through the cloudbanks of the nations near Candesce. It was some young noble kid trying to reach his lover, who lived in a nearby nation the kid's nation was at war with… You get the picture. My infiltrator boss had the word from one of his spies. So we went on the hunt and we found the yacht right where it was supposed to be. We… took it."
He didn't like being reminded of that incident, but now that he'd started talking about it, it seemed he couldn't stop. "Our ship was a modified birdcatcher, the same dimensions as the Rook but mostly hold—empty space. Thirty crew, tops. The yacht had that many plus a ridiculous number of manservants and cooks and such for the noble kid. The hold was full of bikes, so my captain made most of the survivors ride outside."
Without realizing it, Hayden had hunched around himself and drifted into one corner of the cage. "Most of them froze to death in the first day," he murmured. "I know; I had to stand one watch."
To his surprise, Fanning asked no more questions about his past. Instead, the admiral called a huddle to discuss tactics. Hayden supplied his best guesses about where the guards would be stationed, and Travis provided a detailed description of the inside of the ship, including sight lines. Reaching the bridge undetected from the inside would be difficult, but it could be done.
While they talked, Hayden periodically checked on Martor. The boy was breathing more easily now, and though he remained pale and cold, he was at least alive. Hayden wrapped his own jacket around Martor's feet to help keep him warm; out of the corner of his eye he saw Fanning nod approvingly as he did so.
That fanned the smouldering spark of his anger. Who was this murderer to deign to approve of his decency?
Something had been festering in the back of Hayden's mind ever since the attack. Now he turned to Admiral Fanning. "Sir, how did the pirates know we were here? They must have amassed that fleet with some foreknowledge of its target."
Fanning mused. "Don't think I haven't been wracking my brains over that. As best as I can figure, somebody in Warea sent the word that we were there. They might have dispatched a bike in secret before we'd even reconnoitered the lake."
Just then a sharp crack sounded from the hull. The rocket rack quivered and all four men turned to stare at the planking. A long splinter had popped up and the crack ran right under the bolted frame. "I don't believe it," whispered Fanning. "The damned thing worked."
"I'll never doubt you again," said Carrier. He almost smiled—but Fanning turned and looked down his nose at the man.
"Your confidence is not required, Mister Carrier," he said. "Now help me lever this thing aside. We need the youngest and nimblest of our party to slide under here."
They braced their feet against the hull and hauled on the bars of the rack. The bolt pulled free with a groan and a space opened between the bars and the hull. Hayden didn't feel particularly nimble at the moment, with his head pounding like a malfunctioning sun, but he eagerly wriggled his way into the opening.
He was through up to his hips and already thinking about how to deal with the guards he knew were lurking around these crates, when the sound of the ship changed. The engines changed pitch, and the sound of a ringing bell echoed through the space. Moments later the engines cut out entirely.
"Back, get back in!" Three sets of hands dragged him back under the pressing rust of the rack. Scratched and breathless, Hayden pressed himself against the hull as three pirates with pistols in their hands rounded the crates.
"Here's the catch of the day," said one with a laugh. "You gentlemen have the privilege of witnessing a grand display of fireworks to celebrate our reunion with the rest of our fleet.
"Well, okay," he admitted with an ironic wink at his companions. "You won't really be witnessing the fireworks. You're gonna be the fireworks."
They all laughed, and he came to unwind the chains holding the rack closed. "Get out!" he commanded.