“We’re south of Renklaar, short of Pyrdya, and we’re close to shore ’cause the trades blow north farther offshore.”
The carpenter’s explanation still didn’t make any more sense to Kharl.
“Pirates,” the carpenter finally said. “Got to worry about ’em till we’re well south of here, past Worrak, for sure.”
“But Recluce…I mean, we’re about as close as we can be to Recluce.”
“That’s the problem. All sorts of ships port at Nylan, with rich cargoes. They come through these waters. All sorts of islets and marshes off the mouth of the Ohyde. Hide a fleet there, if you wanted. Recluce doesn’t have too many of those black ships. Can’t be everywhere.”
“You think pirates would come after us?”
“They’ll come after anything they think they can capture. We had wind, with the engine, be a hard chase for them.”
Kharl sniffed the air. “Something’s burning.”
“Good. Captain’s lighting off the engine. Doesn’t like to. Coal’s not cheap, but losing a ship to pirates makes coal cheap at twice the price.”
Kharl continued to work the lathe, and neither man spoke until Kharl finished the turning.
“Best you rack that and clean the lathe, stow the brackets and clamps.”
Kharl nodded. After putting the railing support in the overhead rack used for partly finished work, he swept up the shavings and sawdust into the flat scoop and emptied them into the burn box. Then came the rags, and finally the oil to coat all the exposed metal.
“Good,” grunted Tarkyn.
Somewhere, Kharl could hear the hissing of steam as pressure built up in the boiler aft of the carpenter shop. A slow rumbling echoed through the ship, followed by a regular thumping, and then the deliberate thwup…thwup of the paddle wheels.
Bemyr’s whistle shrilled throughout the ship. “All hands topside to repel boarders! All hands topside to repel boarders!”
“Worried about that,” muttered Tarkyn.
Kharl glanced toward the overhead bin, looking for the dark staff.
“The far side,” Tarkyn said.
Kharl eased the staff out of the longer of the two overhead bins. He glanced over at the older man, and saw that Tarkyn had opened a locker and was taking out a crossbow, a rewinding assembly, and a quiver of dark bolts, but the bolts didn’t look like iron.
“Lorken,” the carpenter said. “Can make ’em here on the lathe. Almost as good as iron, and they work real well against pirates, specially those touched with chaos. You better get topside. I’ll be up in a moment.”
When Kharl left the carpenter shop, the paddle wheels had begun to pick up speed, but only fractionally, and a long groaning told Kharl that the engine was straining, probably because the steam pressure wasn’t high enough yet. As he came up the ladder, staff in hand, he was met by the third, who stood by an open locker, filled with weapons of all sorts, ranging from long and short blades to cudgels and spears.
Rhylla looked at Kharl and his staff. “Better put you on the poop.” She gestured.
“Yes, ser.” Kharl glanced aft, across the main deck where sailors were forming up behind each railing. Most carried cutlasses, but Kharl saw spears and a cudgel as well, and even one woman with a quiver and longbow. He took a quick look to starboard, inshore. There were two pirate vessels, each long and slim, with a bastard rig and a huge balloon sail, each less than a kay away. Both were filled with armed men.
“Cooper!”
“Sorry, ser.” Kharl hurried across the deck, waited for a sailor with a broadsword to climb the ladder, then followed him up to the poop.
He had no sooner reached the top when Furwyl motioned for him to take a position abeam the helm, but on the port side. “You can cover more deck, and that means we can use someone else on the main deck.”
Kharl nodded. He thought he understood.
“Don’t leave your space unless you’re ordered to.” Furwyl paused. “Or unless they’ve already overrun the main deck, and no one’s climbing the poop.”
“Yes, ser.” Kharl took the assigned space, but once there, looked back shoreward. With the speed of the paddle wheels increasing, the gap between the two pirate vessels and the Seastag was no longer obviously narrowing. In fact, Kharl could begin to see the Seastag start to pull away from the leading pirate vessel.
“Port five,” ordered Hagen, standing almost directly beside the helm.
“Coming port, ser.”
Kharl could barely feel the gentle turn.
“Steady on heading, ser.”
“Steady as she goes.”
“Steady as she goes, ser.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, the gap between the larger ocean trader and the pirate vessels widened, until it was more like a kay and a half.
Kharl kept checking, but the gap was still increasing, and the Seastag was edging farther and farther away from land. Hagen was trying not to lose what air he had, but to find a heading that played more to the strengths of the Seastag.
A muffled crummpt echoed through the Seastag. The entire vessel shuddered. Almost immediately flame flared from the stack, hot enough to scorch the limp lower sheets closest to the stack before fading into blackish gray smoke that settled down across the decks. The paddle wheels’ thwup-thwup-thwup slowed, finally coming to a stop.
Kharl gaped for a moment. The smoke had held, for just an instant, the barest hint of chaos about it. What had happened? Why had the engine exploded?
The gap between the pirate vessels and the Seastag began to narrow once more.
An engineman, blackened from crown to boots, pulled himself up the ladder and made his way toward the captain. Kharl tried to listen.
“Firebox…exploded, ser…awful…steam…metal…”
“Is there a fire below?” Hagen’s question was clipped.
“No fire, ser. Not now. Sand and water…got that. But…no…engine, much, neither, ser…two stokers…didn’t make it…”
The cooper looked shoreward. The pirates were closer, little more than a kay away, and the sternmost of the two had shifted course slightly, to take a heading that would come up alongside the Seastag on the port side. That made sense, unhappily, because the pirates could board from both sides, and divide the defenders’ efforts.
“Shut everything down, best you can, and bring the engine crew topside,” Hagen told the engineer.
“Yes, ser, those that can.” The engineer turned and made his way down.
“…some sort of wizardry…” muttered the captain to Furwyl.
“…put out the word about Lydiar,” returned the first mate.
“…get through this first…”
As he waited for the pirates, Kharl tried to relax, tried to recall the warm-up exercises he had not used or needed in years and replicate them, to ready himself. The wind remained light, and with their smaller craft and larger sails, the pirates steadily closed on the Seastag, until they were only rods away, then within fifty cubits, one on each side of the trader.
“Stand by to repel boarders!” ordered Furwyl, and the command was echoed by the three other mates. “Stand back from the railings until they close!”
Kharl moved back, realizing the reason for the command as an arrow whispered past his head. He immediately dropped into a kneeling position, waiting.
Clunk!
At the heavy sound, Kharl turned his head to see a pronged iron that had been catapulted over the railing and onto the deck. Several arrows skidded along the deck as well and one buried itself in the steering platform.
A seaman ran forward, crouching, with an ax and, keeping his head down, began to hack at the line attached to the grappling iron. Another iron arched over the railing, and dragged across the deck until it, too, was wedged behind the poop railing. The seaman with the ax had barely cut through the first line before there were two others wedged in place.