“Yeah? Big place, that sea. Easy to miss one small boat.” She shook her head. “Orwig bribed one of the Gatekeepers in Skullport to tell us where the slave ship was sent. We know where the Grunion emerged and have a good idea where it’s bound.”
Ebenezer shuddered at the reminder of the journey up through the magical locks linking the subterranean Skull-port with the open sea. Dwarves, it seemed, did not take kindly to magical travel. Ebenezer’s dense, compact body resisted the process. Unlike any of the other people aboard the ship, he had felt the magical passage as burning physical pain. “Like being ripped through a thick wall all at once, but in lots of little bits,” was how he had described it to Bronwyn after he’d recovered from the ordeal.
His hand shook a little as he lifted the pipe for another long drag. “Lotta water out there,” the dwarf repeated. He glared at Bronwyn, as if daring her to prove him wrong.
Bronwyn understood completely, and she chose her next words as much for her own reassurance as his. “We were set on the same place on the sea as the Grunion emerged. Now, the slavers are going to want to get where they’re going as fast as possible. This time of year, the warming air over the land causes a strong coastal wind. They’ll take full advantage of it. Much farther out to sea, the wind diminishes; much closer to shore, they’ll run the risk of shoals, rocks, and harbor patrols. The corridor is not that wide. As long as Captain Orwig follows the wind, we should pass within sight of them.”
The dwarf glanced up at the sails. There were three of them, mounted on a pair of tall oaken masts. All three were curved tight, so full of wind that not even a ripple disturbed the taut white sheets, but he still looked doubtful. “They got a jump on us.”
“True, but the Narwhal flies three sails to the Grunion’s one. This ship is built for pursuit and battle. The Grunion is a tub—an old ship, with a deep keel designed to hold a great deal of cargo, and according to the dock manifesto, it’s heavily loaded. It can’t possibly outrun us.”
He slid a sidelong glance up at her. “For a person that don’t like water, you know a lot about this sort of thing.”
“I’m a merchant,” Bronwyn said shortly. “I have to know how things are moved from place to place.”
“There’s that,” he agreed, but his shrewd, sympathetic gaze suggested that he understood far more than Bronwyn wanted to say. She had spent many years learning all she could about the slave trade, in hope of tracing her own path back to her forgotten home and family. And yet, this was the first time she had taken action on behalf of people who, like herself, bad been stolen away from all that they knew. She was relieved that the dwarf did not ask her why this was, or press her to explain why she suddenly felt compelled to help him and his clan. That she could not explain, not even to herself.
They fell silent, both of them gazing out over the sea. It had faded to silver, and on the eastern horizon a deep rose blush shimmered over the water to herald the coming sun.
Far above them, a harsh undulating howl tore out across the water—a sound like that a wolf might make had he the capacity for speech, but in a voice far deeper and more ominous that any beast of forest or tundra could muster.
Bronwyn spun and squinted up at the crow’s nest. Capthin Orwig shouted the make-ready alarm, pointing toward the east. He vaulted over the side of the crow’s nest and scrambled down the ropes, shouting orders as he went.
The crew went into action immediately. Several of them dragged coils of rope to the starboard side, fastening one end of each coil to iron loops set into the deck and tying grappling hooks on the other. Some sailors ran for weapons, and still others tended the sails.
“Mount the bowsprit!” roared Orwig as he leaped down onto the deck. He shouldered his way through the chaos and shoved the first mate away from the wheel. He took his place at the helm and hunkered down, his piglike eyes narrowed on the ship ahead. “Shift the ballast!”
Several crew ran to the enormous pole that stretched down the middle of the deck, from bow nearly to the mainsail. They deftly loosened the knots that kept it from rolling and then crouched, ready to lift. On the count of three they heaved it upward, grunting with exertion, then staggered to the bow. They lowered the weapon into the slot built to hold it—which was reinforced inside and out with iron plate— then tightened the bolts. Meanwhile, other sailors put their shoulders to heavy barrels of ammunition—ballista quarrels, scrap-iron grapeshot, and wicked spiked bails—and slid them down toward the stern to balance the ship.
Bronwyn whistled softly as she took the measure of the ship’s weaponry. The bowsprit resembled a giant lance, banded and tipped with iron. With it in place, Narwhal really did resemble the deadly, spear-headed fish for which it was named. She understood why Captain Orwig had designed his ship thus and why the crew suffered the inconvenience of stepping over the bowsprit in its usual resting place in the center of the deck. When it was in place, Narwhal was clearly a battleship, and as such would be regarded warily in all legitimate ports and even in Skullport.
She shaded her eyes and looked across the brightening sea at the fleeing ship. It looked much as it had been described: old, nondescript, hardly worthy of notice. The sail was much-patched, and the ship gave the impression of being the last possession of some down-on-their-luck fisher family. But the number and weaponry of the small figures clustered on the deck gave lie to that illusion. Grunion was well defended, and her mercenary crew appeared more than ready for a fight.
“Prepare to ram!” Orwig bellowed. His massive arms corded as he wrenched the wheel around. The call echoed throughout the ship. Several sailors hauled at the ropes of the sails, intent upon seizing every possible breath of wind. The ship rolled precariously to one side as it hurtled forward. Bronwyn had thought Narwhal was moving fast before, now it sliced through the sea with a speed that etched a deep path in the water behind them.
The slave ship tried to evade, but it was far too slow and clumsy. To Bronwyn’s eyes, it looked like a rabbit, frozen by fear as it awaited a raptor’s claws.
“Brace!”
The ogre’s shout thundered out over the sounds of the rushing wind and water. All over the ship, sailors seized handholds and braced themselves for the coming impact. Bronwyn threw her arms around the mast and held on tight. Ebenezer took a grip on the anchor’s chain with one hand and Bronwyn’s belt with the othet A fleeting smile touched her lips at this instinctively protective gesture.
The two ships jolted together like giant knights in an uneven joust. The first thundering, shivering boom was followed by a sharp, splintering noise. Wood shrieked against wood as the bowsprit plunged through Grunion’s hull.
As soon as the shudders of impact subsided, Narwhal’s crew leaped into action. Eight sailors snatched up large shields and knelt in a row, providing a shield wall. Behind them a dozen archers and half as many loaders kept a storm of arrows arching up toward the slave ship’s deck. Bronwyn hurried over to join them and soon fell into the rhythm of reloading the small, deadly crossbows.
Left alone, Ebenezer looked about for something to do. At the railing gathered the largest and strongest crew members. They were taking up the coiled ropes and hurling grappling hooks toward the other ship’s rail.
The dwarf shrugged, willing to try. He darted over to the rail. Grabbing one of the lines, he gave it a twirl as he’d seen the others do and let fly.