Something else surprised her, too. The caravel’s sails bellied with the same blustery westerly that was blowing Falrinn’s sailboat along. But the crew aboard the galley had taken down her sails and were relying on the churning oars for propulsion.
“By the fork,” Anton murmured, “that’s the Iron Jest.”
“Your ship?” Umara asked. He’d told her the story of his mutinous crew.
Falrinn came scurrying forward. “When did the Jest acquire a weather worker?” he asked.
Anton shook his head. “When I took my leave of her, she didn’t have one.”
“Well, she does now,” said the gnome. “He’s stolen the wind from the galley. If not for the rowers, she wouldn’t be making any headway.
As it is, I judge she’s struggling against an unnatural current.”
“It looks that way to me, too,” Anton said.
Umara had no idea how her companions could tell, but she didn’t doubt they were right, and proof that there was some manner of spellcaster aboard the Iron Jest came just a moment later. Making use of the time remaining to him, Kymas hurled a spark at the pirate vessel that roared into a burst of yellow fire when it struck the bow. Despite the rain, the forecastle caught fire. But at once, water leaped up from the surface of the sea, washed across the bow of the caravel, and extinguished the blaze.
Moments later, the water beneath the galley heaved, lifting it high and dropping it back down. A sailor fell overboard. Oars snagged on one another, a couple snapping, and in the wallowing aftermath, some rowers made haste to free the tangled ones and jettison the broken stubs for replacements, but others remained stationary. The zombie oarsmen, Umara realized, couldn’t take the initiative to perform that or any task. Someone needed to command them.
“The Thayans,” Falrinn called from the stern, “are lucky the sea mage hasn’t just sunk them outright. It looks like he’s got the power.”
“He won’t,” Anton shouted back. “The church of Umberlee wants Stedd alive. He’s risking flinging the boy overboard as it is, but he’s probably right that Kymas has him stowed securely.” He turned to Umara. “So in the end, it’s apt to come down to grappling hooks, boarding pikes, and cutlasses, and with both ships locked together, tricks with the wind and the waves won’t be useful anymore. Can your people hold their own in a fair fight?”
Possibly not. Not if Kymas had already shut himself away and the pirates’ wizard had any useful spells left for the casting. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Kymas may have used up most of his power already. We should help them if we can.”
Help? For a moment, Anton wasn’t sure what to make of the idea, for by any sane estimation, both his former crew and the Thayans were rivals trying to abscond with the prize that was rightfully his. So why risk his own life aiding anybody?
Because he was in the straits. Pirate Isle was just a day or two away, while Thay was still hundreds of miles to the east. So if Umara and her folk ended up with boy, he’d have more time to work out a way to steal him.
Besides, he had a score to settle with Naraxes and the other mutineers.
He grinned at the Red Wizard. “I’ll be honored to assist if I can.” He looked back at Falrinn. “Let’s catch up to the galley.”
“Sail my little boat into the middle of a fight between two warships?” the gnome replied. “Aye, Captain! When ice burns and wolves play the whistlecane.”
“Come on! It’ll be fun.”
“Why don’t you should swim over? That will be even more fun.”
The muscles in Anton’s neck tightened. Falrinn was being entirely sensible, but that didn’t make his recalcitrance any less frustrating. “My old friend-”
Umara touched Anton on the arm. Surprised, he fell silent.
The mage then smiled at Falrinn. “What if we were invisible?” she asked.
The gnome scowled, considering. “Well, no one aboard the Iron Jest would throw spells or shoot crossbow bolts at us. But can you hide the whole boat?”
“I think so. I have a knack for concealment and illusions.”
Falrinn shrugged. “If it works, I suppose I’m game.”
Umara took a long breath. Anton assumed she was clearing her head. She started to speak, and then a notion popped into his head.
“Wait,” he said. “Suppose we do get aboard the galley. Are you certain you’ll then be able to out-spell the weather worker?”
The Red Wizard frowned. “No. How could I be? But I have to try.”
“Maybe not. Not if you can wrap you and me in invisibility that lasts even after we leave the sailboat.” He looked down the length of the vessel. “Not if Falrinn can take us to the Jest instead of your ship.”
“I can,” said the gnome, “but the idea is stupid.”
Anton grinned. “Probably. But I have a plan.” He turned back to Umara. “Would you like a tour of the proud vessel I once commanded?”
She smiled. “Why not?”
Anton retrieved his saber from under the shelter, and Falrinn hastily trimmed the sails. Eyes closed, Umara raised her hands over her head and recited words that somehow echoed even without any walls to bounce off. A scent like that of lilies suffused the air.
Then the entire sailboat and those aboard it faded from view. Anton laughed.
Falrinn, however, cursed. “You didn’t warn me I wouldn’t be able to see us, either! How am I supposed to pilot the boat?”
“By touch,” Anton answered. “If you can’t do it, you’re not the sailor I always took you to be.”
Still swearing, the gnome stamped around the deck. Ratchets clacked as he made further adjustments to the sails. Meanwhile, Anton took stock of just how hidden they were.
Plainly, the concealment was less than total. The boat’s wake extended behind it, and a keen eye could make out the rain splashing against surfaces that were themselves invisible. But in the feeble light of an overcast dawn, with everyone aboard the Iron Jest intent on the galley ahead of them as opposed to anything astern, it should suffice.
Once Anton determined that, he had nothing to do but wait while the sailboat made its approach. Fortunately, the smaller, lighter vessel was faster than its quarry, and, still growling obscenities from time to time, Falrinn was managing it with a deftness that justified Anton’s faith in him.
When they were racing along beside the caravel’s stern, the smuggler said, “This is as close as I can get.”
“How do we cross over?” Umara asked.
“You’re a mage,” Anton said. “I hoped you’d have a way.”
She laughed. “As planners go, you aren’t as impressive as you could be.” She recited another rhyme, and for a moment, he felt like mites were crawling on his skin.
Then a line trailing from the Jest lifted itself up out of the water and snaked through the air in his direction. He caught it, and then it slumped in his hand, lifeless as any other rope.
“Have you got hold of it, too?” he asked.
“Yes,” Umara answered.
“Then here we go.” He jumped over the side, and she, presumably, did the same.
The caravel dragged him through the cold brine, and he pulled himself hand over hand along the rope until he could haul himself out of the water and swarm up toward the deck. He noted the Jest was about due for scraping and recaulking, then grinned at his outmoded way of thinking. The condition of the ship was no longer his concern. If he had his way, it soon wouldn’t even be Naraxes’s.
Anton swung himself over the rail just below the quarterdeck, where a different helmsman stood in the same spot where One-Ear Grim had breathed his last. This close, Anton had more concerns about the rain spoiling his invisibility, but so far, the helmsman plainly hadn’t noticed him. Nor had the archers in the fighting top or the men clustered at the bow waiting to board the galley.