He reached out to his chronometer where it hung on the wall and slid one finger across the glass, as if moving the hour hand ahead.
– ?time is… gone. Maybe rest of island better. Maybe not. Not try.? ?I?ve reason to believe we?ll be allowed in,? Rudi said.?And-?
A cry came, and the ringing of a belclass="underline" ?Sail ho!?
Abdou almost jostled him in the doorway; they all leapt up the stairway to the poop. The ocean reached crisp blue to the horizon, with a wind out of the north that chopped icy spray from the running whitecaps. The lookout was Edain, long since past his illness. He scrambled down the rigging-harder than on a square-rigger?s ratlines-and pointed westward. ?Two-master, Chief. Looks a lot like this ship.?
Rudi?s brows went up.?All hands on deck,? he called.?Battle stations.?
He noticed how the corsair?s bosun-Falilu, the man?s name was-gave a quick glance at his skipper and received a nod before obeying. Whistles and bells called the crew. Metal shields went into prepared slots in the rails, giving the defenders a rampart against boarders. Nets were rigged above that; folk helped each other into their armor, and set out garlands of stone shot for the catapults, sheaves of arrows and javelins for humans. Long boarding pikes were ready to hand. The rover crew weren?t armed, but they helped with the labor.
He turned his head to Abdou al-Naari as the rushing drumbeat of feet and cries subsided. The last sound to cease was the crink… crink… as the war engines were cranked to full compression, and the multiple click… click… sounds as their triggers engaged. Abdou had been allowed to keep his binoculars, if not his sword; they were needful for his work conning the ship. He leveled them now, and breath hissed between his teeth. ?Is ship Gisandu,? he said, when the oncoming vessel was still doll-tiny.? Shark, English word. Jawara captain.? ?Why would he be here?? Rudi asked. ?I do not know,? Abdou said, and then hid his distress under an iron calm.?How know we come here? I did not until you say! Jawara know-think me dead. No Kaolaki captain come here. And Gisandu short supplies, have cargo, not want to meet Empire ship. Makes no… no sense… not go home.? ?Would your Jawara try to rescue you?? ?Yes, yes-my wife his sister. We be like brother, sail, fight side by side years. But how rescue me, even if he knows? Sea fight, most likely everyone die. Better pay ransom. That right fashion of doing. Dead man not bring back good thing for children, family, town, tribe. Not… not responsible, is the word??
Rudi nodded. When both ships could throw globes of napalm at wooden hulls, death was the most likely outcome of a slugging match with no restraints. He knew these corsairs were proud and brave, good fighting men, but they were in business to make a profit and not to die. Salvaging was a dangerous trade but a trade still; so was outright piracy, in a way. ?Then from what you say, I think it most likely that your friend does not command that ship,? Rudi said.?The false Marabout does, or the High Seeker, or both. And Graber should still have twenty or so of his men; and some of his Bekwa. If they escaped to the Gisandu with your friend?s crew and struck without warning-?
Abdou hissed again, and raised the binoculars.?Maybe. If those two evil sorcerers like you say. Now I want rescue Jawara. Will talk to him.?
The Gisandu came closer with shocking speed; both vessels were sailing with the wind on their beams, a good angle for their rigs. She looked much like her sister-ship, save that someone had painted a toothy mouth on her bow at the waterline. He leveled his own glasses. Most of the crew tending the sails were corsairs, but he could also see the reddish armor of the Sword of the Prophet, and Bekwa. More might well be waiting belowdecks. ?Land,? Abdou said.?Nantucket.?
Rudi started slightly; he?d put it out of his mind. When he looked over his left shoulder it was there, a long low bluish-green line, marked with white where surf pounded. Just as Ingolf had said, the high bluffs were marked with a tangle of low thick forest. None of the trees were over fifty feet or so, between the sandy soil and the salt sea breeze, but it was plainly old-established. ?Jawara at wheel,? Abdou said.?Shields up. Catapults ready. They closing us, want come alongside.? ?Don?t come too close,? Rudi warned.
He didn?t put his hand to his sword. Abdou had had personal experience of what Rudi Mackenzie could do with a blade, and confirmation watching him practice since. Strain showed on his face, graving the lines beside his dark eyes that a lifetime of squinting over water had produced. The deck was silent now; Rudi looked behind him for an instant, and Mathilda gave him a cheerful-seeming smile and a thumbs-up from beside the murder-machine on its turntable.
For one mad instant he imagined telling the corsair turn back. And sailing, sailing away over the horizon, ignoring the place he could feel calling him as northward drew a compass needle. Going somewhere peaceful, and…
Just saying?No, thank you very much, O Powers, you never asked me what I thought of the idea of being the foredoomed Hero, now, did you??
His mouth quirked upward. He could imagine that; he could imagine strolling barefoot over the waves and into Nantucket. And both were about as likely. A spire showed there now, white and beautiful, like a Christian church. A squat lighthouse, beside the narrow entrance to the harbor. No wrecks or obvious impediments in the channel. He blinked. Was that a spire? Or buildings? Or was there a ship, a metal ship of oddly towering squared-off shape in the channel itself? When he blinked again the water was empty of all but a few wildfowl and a curious seal that reared its fore-quarters out of the water to watch. But there seemed to be a shuddering in the air. His mouth felt dry, and he swallowed several times. ?Let?s get by this man, so inconvenient and obstructive as he is, first,? he muttered. ?Close,? Abdou said.?They on starboard. Safer for us.?
The Gisandu was heeled over against the same norther that was making the Bou el-Mogdad bound forward at a good twelve knots. That put the rail the Shark had towards its sister ship sloping down, and its counterpart on Rudi?s own ship point up. Which meant that the Bou el-Mogdad?s war engines would bear on the other corsair vessel while the enemy weapons were pointing down into the water.
He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Abdou. Just opening fire was not going to be a good idea, if he wanted this man?s cooperation. And he?d promised not to try to force him to fight his own people. Onrushing speed; the Shark?s bow was dark with men. Soon he?d be able to see their faces. Closer, well within range, closer still…
Abdou had a speaking trumpet. He used it to shout across the diminishing distance, through the whine of wind in rigging and the endless slapping white-noise shsrrshshrrsh of water along the hulls of the ships: ?Jamm ga fanan!?
Rudi had learned that much Wolof in the last few days; it was a greeting. ?Nanga def, Jawara??
The thickset black man at the wheel of the other vessel didn?t reply. Not in words; instead he screamed, a long desolate sound like a prisoner?s cry from deep within some dungeon. Almost at the same instant Tunnggg!
A globe flew towards them from the bow engine of the other ship. It trailed smoke in a low flat arc. There was a crack as it struck near the Bou el-Mogdad?s own prow, and the onrushing bow wave scrubbed its load of liquid fire off to float oily orange-red on the ice-blue waters. ?Shoot!? Rudi shouted.