He frowned.
“And you apparently bring out the worst in me, too. I brought you up here for two reasons. Firstly, you deserve to know what’s happening, in case we are caught and captured or sunk.”
She nodded, her own eyes now flashing darkly. There was a tension on deck that could not be settled right now.
“Secondly,” he went on, “I am now down by almost two dozen crewmen. I need lookouts. Take position over by the rear rail on the port side. As we leave harbour, any minute now, we’ll have to pass beneath the rocks and I need you to warn me if we get too close. I can angle the bow correctly, but the current here pulls ships into a drift and if you’re not careful the stern is turned into the cliff.”
Asima continued to glare at Samir through narrowed eyes for a moment longer and then turned and approached the rail, taking up position and peering into the white. The situation was as strange and unreal as any she could remember. The blanket of fleecy fog was so thick she could hardly see the water below the rail unless she concentrated extremely hard. The silence was oppressive, with the only sound the occasional creak of timber or splash of oar, and even that had to be listened for. Somewhere along the ship, a sailor coughed as quietly as possible; so quiet it should hardly be audible, but in this strange otherworld it seemed deafening.
And then the rocks were lunging at her through the fog and Asima had to summon all of her self-control not to cry out a warning. Turning sharply, she hissed through her teeth and pointed down toward the glistening black shard that marked the edge of the cliff and was drifting toward the hull at an alarming rate.
Samir’s head snapped toward her and reacted instinctively without seeing the rocks, turning the rudder so that the Empress changed course slightly but rapidly. The rocks that had seemed so threatening a moment ago drifted past alongside the rear rail and Asima heaved a deep but quiet sigh of relief.
The heavy silence was suddenly torn apart by the sound of a horn from astern. Asima’s heart leapt into her throat.
“Oars!” Samir bellowed, removing any doubt in Asima’s mind as to what the blast meant. The silence exploded into noisy activity as dozens more oars slid out of the hull and dipped into the water, seeming momentarily disorganised until they managed to match the stroke. Asima stood rigid, wondering whether to go below again, when Samir turned to her.
“Keep an eye on the rocks… we’ve got to get closer.”
“Closer?” Asima said, astonished. It looked as though the oars would scrape the cliff any moment as they were.
“We have to hug the cliffs, turning to port until we’re out of ‘sight’, so to speak, of the port. Then we strike out for the reefs, and we can get a few yards closer to them yet. Watch the oars and the cliff and when you see the spray from the oars touch the rocks we’re close enough.”
Asima blinked as Samir yanked on the rudder and sent them banking left and back toward the cliff they had just rounded.
“That’s crazy!”
Samir shrugged.
“That’s the way it is. Any further out in the open water and… wait for it…”
As if on cue, somewhere above them there was a dull thud, followed by several more in sharp succession. Out to starboard, away from the cliffs and hidden by the fog, came the sound of a number of very heavy objects plunging into the deep water. After the first couple of huge rocks hit, Asima found she was wincing with each splash. Somewhere at the top of that cliff must be a defensive artillery platform. Their view was totally obscured but, given a wide enough spread of shot, there was always the possibility of a lucky shot… unless they stayed so close to the rock that the artillerists couldn’t get a range.
She almost jumped as a flaming greeny-yellow ball of flaming matter arced over the ship from high above and plunged into the water with a splash and a hiss.
Suddenly, Asima realised that Samir was watching her intently. Turning her eyes back to the cliff, she realised that the water thrown up by the oars was already spraying across the slick black rock. In a panic, she turned and waved her arm in what she hoped was an appropriate gesture.
For a moment, as the ship continued to near the cliff and she was sure the oars must strike home and snap, she realised she was, right now, more nervous than at any point since those days of being young in M’Dahz, and possibly more so than even then. She was not by nature a nervous person and these days little frightened her, but this was something different. She was in an unfamiliar situation and with no power over events. Helpless and with no experience or knowledge of sailing, she was completely at the mercy of others and nothing she could do would allow her to take control of the situation. And Samir was using her and seemed to hold her in as little regard as she truly held him.
Blessed anger began to filter through her, smothering the fear, bringing control with it.
Samir would suffer for putting her through this.
Splash!
Well, once they were out away from the island and safe, he would, anyway. Tensely, she watched as the cliffs slid slowly past. Now there were more horns from behind; great activity in the harbour, which likely meant other ships weighing anchor to chase them down. The rocks of the reef would be moments away now and, once they were in there…”
She blinked as she realised that didn’t exactly mean safety. The captains in pursuit would have the other compass and could navigate the reefs too, so it would come down to Samir’s ability as a captain in the end.
Oh, he would suffer, but not yet, she thought as she saw Samir take out the disc and align the rudder with the disembodied finger within.
Just let her get away from here first.
In which Ghassan drifts
The six boats bobbed along quietly. There had been talking like this during those first few hours. Most of it then, though, had been violent threats against the captain and crew of the Dark Empress, curses or oaths of vengeance. Others had been more consumed with the fear or drowning, starving to death, or even falling prey to the sharks that sometimes made their way toward the south coast, and praying to whichever God they most favoured. It had taken an hour of listening to the chatter before Ghassan had snapped and barked at his crew to shut up.
“Do you have any idea what just happened?” he had bellowed at them.
The boats had fallen silent as the crew of the Wind of God had turned as one to stare at their captain.
“Samir let you go! All of you… us! Let all of us go. We’ve got boats, enough food and water to last two days, which we shouldn’t need, as we’re only a day from land. None of us were harmed. You’ve lost the ship and a few valuables, but you’re alive!”
The message he was trying to put over began to filter through their anger and despair.
“If we had caught them in the same state, they’d be in chains below deck, on their way to be tried and executed. Do you think they had to be merciful? Do you even think that many of them wanted to? Their captain saved your lives because, despite anything else we can say about him, he has mercy in his heart!”
After that, the conversation had become quieter and a little more thankful and positive.
But by the afternoon, even the most vociferous of the crew had run out of things to say and a silence had settled over them. Their ship had drifted during the night and early morning and the action had taken place far enough from the archipelago that the islands were out of sight, even the landmarks they all sought.
But they had not really moved far beyond them, and the direction of land was clear enough to them all. In the late afternoon they had spotted Eagle Rock and there had been a collective sigh of relief. The current had begun to pull them toward the island and the crew had taken the opportunity to boat oars and let the sea do the work for them.
While the chatter resumed among the crew, Ghassan kept his peace and concentrated on the glinting water as it washed past.
The men would be fine. When they finally got back to Calphoris, they would be shore-bound for a while, but would eventually be assigned to another vessel. Ghassan, on the other hand, would be disciplined very heavily for his actions. In ordinary circumstances, he would probably be retired from service. There were, after all, extenuating circumstances; the crew would be able to confirm that the ship had been sabotaged by Asima prior to the Dark Empress’ arrival, but that would not be enough now. The Imperial navy was new here. It had been decades since the Empire had had control over the ships of Calphoris and now, within a few weeks of the transfer of power, Ghassan had lost their most notable vessel, more or less the flagship of the Calphorian fleet. Moreover, he had lost it to the very man he had been assigned to hunt down and remove and in the process he had lost a cargo that the lesser governor in M’Dahz had entrusted to him.
No, things would not go well for Ghassan.
He watched the low, sandy coast of the island slide toward him. Pelasian territory. This would be the first time in his life he had set foot on Pelasian soil, though he had brought destruction to their navy for many years. How did the Pelasians feel toward the Imperial military now? They had no reason to feel animosity, but that hardly mattered.
They would have to argue, persuade, beg, and possibly even barter, transport on Pelasian fishing boats to get to the mainland; to attempt to row that far in the lifeboats was unthinkable madness. Failure would mean being trapped on an island in Pelasia indefinitely, at which point they might as well settle there and fish for a living.
For a moment the need to fulfil his duty wavered in the face of the attractive proposition of a quiet life of fishing on an island far from what he considered ‘civilisation’. It had a lure, he had to admit.
He took a deep breath. Even if they could make their way from settlement to settlement along the chain of islands, they would arrive in Pelasian territory and have to make their way along the coast back to Imperial lands. The journey would take weeks at best, more likely months… and, of course, it was entirely possible they would never make it back.
His mind latched on to M’Dahz for a moment. Every time he went to the town of his birth it was a disaster. Their youth had seen earth-shaking events that had almost broken them all. Then, after decades away, he had returned with a naval commission, only to take on a cargo that had ruined his career and almost cost him his life.
But now, if he managed to get back to Imperial territory, he would have to stop there first to inform the local governor that Asima had been taken by pirates. Even though the governor knew little of her and probably cared less, the news would not likely be welcome.
Sighing, he turned to the sailors under his command.
“Alright, men. We’ve no ship and we’re refugees in foreign waters right now, but remember that you’re men of the Imperial navy, and the Pelasians are now our allies. When we land, you will treat anyone you should meet with respect and we will maintain military order. Once we reach the shore, beach the boats, carry all the goods we have ashore and make an equipment store. I want two foraging parties to search out fruit, game and fresh water.“
He straightened, the familiar mode of speech of a captain in command returning to him.
“Everyone else needs to set up camp just back from the beach. We’ll need to gather wood and get a fire going, and construct some sort of shelter. We may be there a few days before we can move on.”
He cast his eyes across the crew, wishing Samir had left them a few weapons.
“As soon as we’ve landed I will take a small party with me along the coast until we find the nearest village, and try to negotiate passage toward the mainland. Is that all clear?”
There was a low murmur among the crew.
“Did I hear something?” Ghassan barked. “Are my orders clear?”
Silence reigned.
Ghassan glowered at the men in his boat.
“Does anyone have something to say?”
The was a pregnant pause, and then a burly man squared his shoulders. Ghassan eyed him thoughtfully. Caro, his name; an oarsman who had been on that bank of oars that Samir’s artillery had targeted. While there were no marks on him, he had likely been sat in the centre of hell this morning as men burned and were smashed to pieces around him.
Ghassan was surprised that he hadn’t seen this coming, but then he’d had rather a lot on his mind. There was a word for this in the navy.
“Mutiny, mister Caro? Is that it?”
“You c’n call it that sir, if you want. But the way I look at it, we’ve no ship and we ain’t in Imperial waters. I ain’t in the mood to take orders, right now, see sir? And I don’t think many of the lads are neither.”
Ghassan nodded.
“So what’s this to be? A direct takeover? Will you be the new captain or is this to be a democracy? If the former, I hope you have your plans ready.”
Caro growled.
“’S not funny, cap’n. As of now we ain’t navy no more. No one’ll hurt you, long as you sit there quietly and don’t get in the way.”
Ghassan gazed levelly at the man. He was an oarsman, not a marine; burly and big but not trained to fight. Ghassan, on the other hand, had had more than his share of brawls.
“It doesn’t matter whether we’re floating on a tray in the underworld, you’re still a sailor in the Imperial navy, Caro. Sit back, grab the oar and get ready to row and I’ll forget I ever heard the word mutiny.”
Ghassan almost laughed as the other twenty or so occupants of the large boat shuffled backwards as much as possible to be out of the way of this potential clash. There was precious little room to stretch in here, and yet somehow they managed to open a clear passage between the two men. Duty brought responsibility… and one responsibility was to keep the crew together and under the chain of command.