Authors: Scott Lynch
“Do you want to try and bring her up with signals? Offer parley, then jump her?”
“ ‘Let us speak behind our hands, lest our lips be read as the book of our designs,’ ”
he said.
“More of your poetry?”
“Verse, not poetry. And no. She’ll recognize us, sooner or later, and when she does
she’ll know
exactly
what our business is.”
He passed the glass back to Ydrena, and prepared to go back down the shrouds.
“Straight on for her, cloaks off and weapons free. We can give her that much, for
the last fight she’ll ever have.”
“DOES JEROME KNOW that you’re asking me to do this?”
“No.”
Locke stood beside Drakasha at the taffrail, huddled close to her so they could converse
privately. It was the seventh hour of the morning, more or less, and the sun was ascending
into a cloudless bowl of blue sky. The wind was from the east, a touch abaft their
starboard beam, and the waves were getting rowdy.
“And you feel that—”
“Yes, I do feel that I can speak for both of us,” said Locke. “There’s no other choice.
We won’t see Stragos again unless you do as he asks. And to be frank, if you do as
he asks, I think our usefulness ends. We’ll have one more chance at physical access
to him. It’s time to show this fucker how we used to do things in Camorr.”
“I thought you specialized in dishonest finesse.”
“I also do a brisk trade in putting knives to peoples’ throats and shouting at them,”
said Locke.
“But if you request another meeting after we sink a few ships for him, don’t you think
he’ll be prepared for treachery? Especially in a palace crowded with soldiers?”
“All I have to do is get close to him,” said Locke. “I’m not going to pretend I could
fight my way through a wall of guards, but from six inches with a good stiletto, I’m
the hand of Aza Guilla Herself.”
“Hold him hostage, then?”
“Simple. Direct. Hopefully effective. If I can’t trick an antidote out of him, or
cut a deal with his apothecary, maybe I can frighten him half to death.”
“And you honestly believe you’ve thought this through?”
“Captain Drakasha, I could barely sleep for pondering it. Why do you think I wandered
back here to find you?”
“Well—”
“Captain!” The mainmast watch was hailing the deck. “Got action behind us!”
“What do you mean?”
“Sail maybe three points off the larboard quarter, at the horizon. Just came around
real sudden. Went from sort of westerly to pointed right at us.”
“Good eyes,” said Drakasha. “Keep me informed. Utgar!”
“Aye, Captain?”
“Double the watch on each mast. On deck there! Make ready for a course change! Stand
by tacks and braces! Wait for my word!”
“Real trouble, Captain?”
“Probably not,” said Drakasha. “Even if Stragos had changed his mind since yesterday
and decided to hunt us down now, a Verrari warship wouldn’t be coming from that direction.”
“Hopefully.”
“Aye. So what we do is we change our own heading, nice and slow. If their course change
was innocent, they’ll sail merrily past.” She cleared her throat. “Helm, come round
northwest by north, smartly! Utgar! Get the yards braced for a wind on the starboard
quarter!”
“Aye, Captain!”
The
Poison Orchid
slowly heeled even farther to larboard, until she was headed almost due northwest.
The stiff breeze now blew across the quarterdeck, nearly into Locke’s face. To the
south he fancied that he could see tiny sails; from the deck the vessel was still
hull-down.
A few minutes later came the shout. “Captain! She’s come five or six points to her
larboard! She’s for us again!”
“We’re off her starboard bow,” said Drakasha. “She’s trying to close with us. But
that doesn’t make sense.” She snapped her fingers. “Wait. Might be a bounty-privateer.”
“How could they know it’s us?”
“Probably got a description of the
Orchid
from the crew of that ketch you visited. Look, we could only hope to disguise my
girl for so long. These lovely witchwood planks of hers are too distinctive.”
“So … how much of a problem is this?”
“Depends on who’s got the speed. If she’s a bounty-privateer, that’s a profitless
fight. She’ll be carrying dangerous folk and no swag. So if we’re the faster, I mean
to show her our ass and wave farewell.”
“And if not?”
“A profitless fight.”
“Captain,” hollered one of the top-eyes, “she’s a three-master!”
“This just gets better and better,” said Drakasha. “Go wake up Ezri and Jerome for
me.”
“BAD LUCK,” said Delmastro. “Bad damned luck.”
“Only for them, if I have my way,” said Zamira.
The captain and her lieutenant stood at the taffrail, staring at the faint square
of white that marked their pursuer’s position on the horizon. Locke waited with Jean
a few steps away, at the starboard rail. Drakasha had nudged the ship a few points
south, so that they were traveling west-northwest with the wind fine on the starboard
quarter, what she claimed was the
Orchid
’s best point of sail. Locke knew this was something of a risk; if their opponent
was the faster, they could lay an intercepting course that would bring them up much
sooner than a stern chase. The trouble was that such a chase to the north could not
last; unlimited sea room existed only to their west.
“I’m not sure we’re gaining any ground, Captain,” said Delmastro after a few minutes
of silence.
“Nor I. Damn this jumpy sea. If she’s a three-master she may have the weight to carve
a better speed out of it.”
“Captain!” The cry from up the mainmast was even more urgent than usual. “Captain,
she’s not falling away, and … Captain, beggin’ pardon, but you might want to come
and see this for yourself.”
“See what?”
“If I ain’t mad I’ve seen that ship before,” shouted the watch-woman. “I’d swear it.
I’d appreciate another set of eyes.”
“I’ll take a look,” said Delmastro. “Mind if I fetch up your favorite glass?”
“Drop it, and I’ll give your cabin over to Paolo and Cosetta.”
Locke watched as Delmastro went up the mainmast a few minutes later armed with Zamira’s
pride and joy, a masterpiece of Verrari optics bound in alchemically treated leather.
It was a few minutes more before her shout fell to the deck.
“Captain, that’s the
Dread Sovereign
!”
“What? Del, are you absolutely sure?”
“Seen her often enough, haven’t I?”
“I’m coming up myself!”
Locke exchanged a stare with Jean as Zamira leapt into the mainmast shrouds. A buzz
of muttering and swearing had arisen among the crewfolk on deck. About a dozen abandoned
their chores and headed aft, craning their necks for a glimpse of the sail in the
south. They cleared away in alarm when Drakasha and Delmastro returned to the quarterdeck,
looking grim.
“So it’s him?” said Locke.
“It is,” said Drakasha. “And if he’s been looking for us for any length of time, it
means he sailed not all that long after we did.”
“So … he could be carrying a message or something, right?”
“No.” Drakasha removed her hat and ran her other hand through her braids, almost nervously.
“He opposed this plan more than anyone else on the council of captains. He didn’t
sail as long and as far as we did, to risk his ship within spitting distance of Tal
Verrar, to deliver any message.
“I’m afraid we’ll need to postpone our previous conversation, Ravelle. The point is
moot until we’re sure this ship will still be floating at the end of the day.”
LOCKE STARED out across the whitecaps at the
Dread Sovereign
, now well over the horizon, fixed on them like a needle drawn toward a lodestone.
It was the tenth hour of the morning, and Rodanov’s progress at their expense was
obvious.
Zamira slammed her glass shut and whirled away from the taffrail, where she’d been
studying the same phenomenon.
“Captain,” said Delmastro, “there must be something … if we can just keep him off
until nightfall—”
“Then we’d have options, aye. But only a straight stern chase could buy us that much
time, and if we fly north we’ll find the coast long before dusk. Not to mention the
fact that she’s fresh-careened and we’re past due. The plain truth is, we’ve already
lost this race.”
Drakasha and Delmastro said nothing to each other for several moments, until Delmastro
cleared her throat.
“I’ll, um, start getting things ready, shall I?”
“You’d better. Let the Red watch keep sleeping as long as you can, if any of them
are still asleep.”
Delmastro nodded, grabbed Jean by the tunic sleeve, and pulled him with her toward
the main-deck cargo hatch.
“You mean to fight,” said Locke.
“I have no
choice
but to fight. And neither do you, if you want to live to see dinner. Rodanov has
nearly twice our numbers. You understand what a mess we’re looking at.”
“And it’s all for my sake, more or less. I’m sorry, Captain—”
“Avast bullshit, Ravelle. I won’t second-guess my decision to help you, so no one
else gets to, either. This is Stragos’ doing, not yours. One way or another his plans
would have put us in a tight spot.”
“Thank you for that, Captain Drakasha. Now … I know we’ve had our talk concerning
the real extent of my skills in battle, but most of the crew probably still thinks
I’m some sort of man-killer. I … I guess I’m saying—”
“You want a spot in the thick of it?”
“Yes.”
“Thought you might ask. I already have a place for you,” she said. “Don’t think you’ll
have it easy.”
She stepped away for a moment and shouted forward. “Utgar!”
“Aye, Captain?”
“Fetch the deep-sea lead and give me a cast!”
Locke raised his eyebrows by way of a question, and she said, “Need to know how much
water we have beneath our feet. Then I’ll know about how long it’ll take the anchor
to drop.”
“Why would you want to drop an anchor?”
“On that matter, you’ll just have to wait to be amazed. Along with Rodanov, hopefully … but
that would be asking a great deal.”
“Captain,” Utgar yelled several minutes later, “got about ninety fathoms under us!”
“Right,” she said. “Ravelle, I know you’re off watch right now, but you were witless
enough to wander back here and call attention to yourself. Grab a couple of Blues
and bring up some ale casks from down below. Try to stay quiet for the sake of the
Reds still sleeping. I’ll call all hands in about an hour, and it’s never wise to
send people into a tussle like this with their throats too dry.”
“I’ll be happy to do that, Captain. About an hour, then? When do you think we’ll be—”
“I mean to bring the fight before noon. Only one way to win when you’re being chased
by someone bigger and tougher than you are. Turn straight around, punch their teeth
out, and hope the gods are fond of you.”
“ALL HANDS,” shouted Ezri one last time, “all hands at the waist! Idlers and lazy
motherfuckers on deck! If you have watchmates still below, haul ’em up yourselves!”
Jean stood at the front of the crowd amidships, waiting for Drakasha to say her piece.
She stood at the rail with Ezri, Nasreen, Utgar, Mumchance, Gwillem, and Treganne
behind her. The scholar looked deeply annoyed that something as trivial as a murderous
ship-to-ship fight could justify disrupting her usual habits.
“Listen well,” shouted Drakasha. “The ship bearing down on us is the
Dread Sovereign
. Captain Rodanov has taken exception to our business in these waters, and he’s come
a long way to give us a fight.”
“We can’t fight that many people,” shouted someone in the crowd.
“It’s not as though we have a choice. They’re closing to board now whether we like
it or not,” said Drakasha.
“But what if it’s just you he’s after?” A crewman Jean didn’t recognize spoke up;
to give him credit, he too was standing at the front of the crowd, right where Drakasha
and all of her officers could see him. “We give you to him, we save ourselves a hell
of a fight. This ain’t a navy, and I got the right to be as fond of my life as—”
Jabril pushed through the crowd behind the man and punched him in the small of the
back. The man fell writhing to the deck.
“We
don’t
know that it’s just Drakasha he wants,” Jabril shouted. “Me, I ain’t waitin’ at the
rail with my breeches down for someone to kiss my cock! Most of you know as well as
I—if captain fights captain it ain’t convenient to let two sides’a the story get back
to Port Prodigal!”
“Hold, Jabril,” said Zamira. She hurried down the quarterdeck stairs, stepped over
to the would-be pragmatist, and helped him sit up. She then stood before her assembled
crew, within reach of the first row. “Basryn here is right about one thing. This isn’t
a navy; so you do have the right to be fond of your own lives. I’m not your gods-damned
empress. Anyone wants to try handing me over to Rodanov, I’m right here. Now’s your
chance.”
When nobody stepped forward from the crowd, Drakasha heaved Basryn to his feet and
looked him straight in the eyes. “Now, you can have the smallest boat,” she said,
“you and anyone else who wants to help you take it. Or you can stay.”
“Ah, hell,” he said, groaning. “I’m sorry, Captain. I guess … I guess I’d rather live
as a coward than die a fool.”
“Oscarl,” said Drakasha, “when we’re done here, get a party together
and hoist out the small boat, on the quick. Anyone else wants off with Basryn, that’s
what I’m giving you. If Rodanov wins, take your chances. If I win … understand that
we’re at least fifty miles from land and you’re not coming back aboard.”
The man nodded, and that was that. Drakasha released him and he stumbled into the
crowd, holding his back and ignoring the glares of those around him.