Corsair (21 page)

Gareth took a deep breath.

“Because there’s a fair chance, I think, of not coming back. And the ships you’re taking north are the ones I’d like least to put into battle.”

“There is that.”

“Don’t forget,” Gareth said, “you and the others are for full shares, whether you’re in the fight or not.”

“That’s a comfort,” Knoll said sarcastically. “I didn’t go a-pirating with you just to get rich, you know.”

“I know,” Gareth said. He thought about saying how bad he felt, but knew that would be moral cowardice. He’d been elected captain, so it was his duty to lead as he saw fit, until voted out.

“All right,” Knoll said heavily. “Now I’ll get the pleasure of telling Nomios. Hoping he doesn’t throw me overboard, or take a cutlass to me.”

• • •

Gareth watched N’b’ry’s three ships sail out of the lagoon, wished them safe passage, tried to make himself feel better for what he’d done to his friend. He tried to rationalize, thinking he had nothing to feel bad about; he’d certainly kept Knoll N’b’ry from dying at the hands of the Linyati if things went sour.

That didn’t help, and he was late for a conference with his fellow captains on how they should fight the Linyati, when — and if — they encountered them.

• • •

Sailing was three days distant when Labala came to Gareth and took him aside.

“My father told me,” he began, “that, in our islands, when a witch dreams of sharks, this means there is trouble due.”

“And you’ve dreamt of sharks,” Gareth said.

“I have.”

“Do you think your dream can stop what another dream’s put in motion?”

Labala looked across the harbor, at the ships swarming with working sailors, small boats skittering across the lagoon from ships to shore with supplies, gunpowder.

“No,” he said slowly. “Don’t guess it can.”

• • •

Dafflemere, aboard his flagship, the
Thruster,
led the way through the passage, the corsair fleet behind him.

A fair wind blew across the quarterdeck of the
Steadfast,
and Galf shouted for full sail; across the blue, white-dappled ocean, canvas slatted down on dozens of masts.

Gareth looked back at the islets, saw, on the headlands, women, children, men, waving farewell.

He turned away, putting the warmth and safety of the land behind.

Ahead lay the open sea, and Linyati gold.

The corsairs, in common with merchant sailors, which they’d all been, had a sensible fear of any vessel closer than a dot on the horizon, for fear of collision, and so the twenty-six ships were in a formation that could most politely be called raggedy.

They sailed almost due south, through the island chains around Freebooter Island, then across the open sea toward Kashi, intending to make landfall well west of the city of Batan and wait for the treasure ships.

The two biggest ships were the
Freedom
and Petrich’s
Naijak.
The latter, unlike the
Freedom,
was a slender-hulled three-master that sailed handily, rather than butting through the seas. The other pirate ships were either converted northern merchantmen or captured Linyati traders or patrol craft.

The fleet sighted land, turned back to sea, and dropped sail. Dafflemere signaled for a captain’s conference, and Gareth ordered his gig lowered. The longboats of Froln, now captaining the
Freedom
; Galf of the
Revenge
; Dihr, the freed Kashi, of the
Goodhope
; and Petrich of the
Naijak
joined as his boat closed on the
Thruster.

Dafflemere’s cabin swarmed with excited pirates, dripping arms and gold-lust. After everyone except Gareth had a mug of brandy from a small, bashed-top keg, Dafflemere hammered for silence with the butt of a — hopefully — unloaded pistol.

“We’re here,” he announced, “and there’s been no sightings of any Linyati or Kashi ships, so we’re still unknown in these waters.

“I’ve cast small spells to divert any magical attention, and shall start other spells to find the location of the treasure fleet.”

There was a clamor of agreement. But Gareth stood. “A suggestion?” he said.

“Go ahead, Cap’n Radnor,” a captain said. “You’re worth listening to.”

“I’m no wizard,” Gareth said. “But isn’t it possible, Dafflemere, that your spell seeking the Linyati might be discovered by the mages that must be aboard their ships, and sound an alarm?”

“Not likely,” Dafflemere said. “I cast with exceeding care. But there’s a possibility.”

“What about this, instead?” Gareth said. He went to the large map pinned to a bulkhead.

“I’ll take the
Goodhope,
“ he said, “since it’s Linyati, and a recent prize, so maybe it doesn’t smell as much of pirates as some others, and sail west, along the bight of Kashi. I’ve noticed that the Linyati like to keep within smelling distance of the land, so I’ll do the same.

“As soon as I’m down-horizon, another fast ship comes after me, always keeping my masts, no more, in sight. Perhaps your
Mystery,
Captain Libnah, since it seems fast. Then another when the
Mystery
is almost out of sight.

“When I sight the fleet — which should be easy for anyone who isn’t stark blind — I’ll make a signal; the next ship repeats it, and so on, back to the fleet, which should give more than enough time to deploy.”

The pirates took only a few seconds to consider that and pronounce it a great idea.

“I’ve got a question, as well,” Gareth said. “Dafflemere, do you have powers enough to raise a wind?”

Dafflemere growled in his beard.

“Sometimes yes,” he admitted. “But sometimes no.”

“Ah,” Gareth said.

“Why’re you asking?”

“Just curious.”

Dafflemere looked skeptical, about to pursue the matter, when another, gray-bearded pirate snorted.

“An’ ain’t it strange for us hardened whores to be listenin’ to a nigh-virgin, now.”

“The virgin came in with seven ships, Cunedda,” another pirate said. “Last prize I remember you taking was a clamboat.”

There was laughter, and, surprisingly, Cunedda had the grace to chuckle.

“So we have an idea,” Dafflemere said. “And I can cast passive spells just in case weather or some’at ruins Radnor’s observations.”

Another round of brandy, and the pirates went back to their ships. Gareth turned the
Steadfast
over to Thom Tehidy, went aboard the
Goodhope,
was away from the fleet within the hour.

• • •

The
Goodhope
was — almost — alone in enemy waters. Her only companion was a pair of masts the size of toothpicks on the horizon, the link to the freebooters.

Gareth had Dihr keep the faint smudge of land just in sight to port. There were four lookouts in the bows, another, precariously, at the main masthead, and Gareth changed them hourly.

He dreaded the thought the Linyati would pass him in a fogbank, or, worse yet, be on a course farther out to sea. But at least they’d be spotted, most likely, by one of the following ships, even though he would be then considered a young, arrogant incompetent.

Labala was hovering anxiously, hoping for some task as soon as the Slavers were spotted. At least he wasn’t as prideful as other wizards, making no insistence that
his
spells would never ever alert the Linyati, unlike poor Dafflemere.

Not wanting to sail down the Linyati’s throat, he kept the
Goodhope
to a moderate speed. Two days out, Gareth was given a present by the gods he didn’t believe in: a lookout spotted a dozen or more fishing boats with strange, triangular sails, that must be Kashi. Best of all, they were slowly moving east.

Gareth ordered all sail except the mainsail down, and that sail goosewinged to keep the
Goodhope
moving just a bit more slowly than the fishing boats.

Another day passed, and there were mutterings of boredom, which Gareth ignored.

Dihr did not:

“You men, I laugh at you,” he shouted. “Soon enough there be blood up to your worthless bellybuttons, and then you shall whine to me about too much excitement. What is this madness of sailors that they never are happy with what they have, always wanting more or less?”

“ ‘At’s what keeps us goin’ from ship to ship,” someone answered. “Yer don’t think we’re doin’ this fer pleasure, do you? Man that’d go to sea for pleasure would futter demons just for the pain.”

Gareth went to the captain’s cabin Dihr insisted he take, pretending he’d heard none of the exchange, and again studied his charts.

Two hours later the cry came:

“Ahoy the deck! Those fishermen’re packing on full sail, goin’ like stink for the beach!”

Gareth was on deck and up the mast, a glass tucked in his breeches. He clung to the slanting yard and looked out.

“Good call,” he said to the lookout beside him.

“Thankee, sir. Looks like barnyard geese when the dog’s loose.”

Gareth nodded. “Now, keep your eye sharp on the horizon, just there, and you might see the dog himself in a bit. Pass that word on to your replacement when you’re relieved.”

“Aye, sir.”

Gareth shinnied back down, and had the guns loaded and the best men put on watch. Then they waited.

It was midafternoon when the next cry came:

“Sail ho! Sail ho!”

“Whereaway?” Dihr shouted up.

“Two points off the port bow … one ship, no, two more of ‘em … hells, too many to count. Big ships, carryin’ full sail.”

It was the Linyati treasure fleet.

Gareth gave commands to Dihr, and raised signal flags:

ENEMY IN SIGHT. BEARING SSW MY POSITION.

His original plan had been to make just this report, then return to the fleet. But with a favoring onshore wind, and the lateness of the hour, he chanced getting closer for more information.

The
Goodhope
raced in a long curve until it was due east of the oncoming Linyati, with the lowering sun at her back. Then Gareth eased her closer, under small sail, while he used his most powerful glass from the masthead.

He whistled when he had a count: there were at least twenty ships. Twelve of those were fat, four-masted, awkward merchant ships, like the
Freedom,
except with five decks above the waterline.

These sailed in three rows of four each. In front of the convoy Gareth counted three rakish warships, much like the ones he’d seen when the
Steadfast
first ventured into these waters, except larger. Along the seaward side of the convoy were four more, tacking back and forth to keep from outrunning the merchantmen.

Interestingly enough, he saw only one, possibly two, warships at the convoy’s stern, and only a single ship on the landward side, from whence, of course, no attack could ever come.

Interesting, indeed.

But he had enough for the moment.

He came down from his platform, ordered the
Goodhope
to the fleet at full sail.

• • •

“Hmm,” a captain said, looking at the chart and Gareth’s proposed line of attack. “Risky if the wind changes. I dislike sailing close to the shore, especially with an enemy holding the weather gauge.”

“That’s if Dafflemere’s spell fails, at worst,” Gareth argued. “They’ll not be looking for us inshore of their course, you’ll admit.”

“I’ll admit. Only a fool would chance getting that close to land before a battle.”

“A fool,” Dafflemere said. “Or a pirate.”

There were low laughs at that, less amusement than the hungry meditations of the tiger.

“They’ll reach here, where the coastline reaches south,” Gareth said, touching the map, “in another two days, about dawn. Most likely they’ll stand a bit away from the land, which’ll give us more searoom.

“Since they’re sailing in close company, they’ve got lights out to keep from ramming each other.

“I’d propose we stand inshore, here, at night and lay to,” he went on. “At first light, when they’re grumpy and sleepy and changing watch …”

“Then we smash the bastids,” Libnah of the
Mystery
said eagerly. “I’m superstitious, so I’m not dreamin’ about the grand estate I’ll have, and the scandal I’ll bring to the neighborhood wif me doxies and carryin’ on. But if any of you knows a good land agent, I’ll be grateful for the reference.”

Cunedda studied the map, nodded.

“It’s a good plan, Cap’n Radnor. Something you didn’t mention is the dawn wind is generally offshore, which’ll help the spell you want Dafflemere to cast. A good plan indeed.”

“Do we need to take a vote?” Dafflemere said.

Headshakes, negative mutters.

“Then let’s go out and make ourselves into grandees, rolling about in gold,” he said, lifting his mug.

“Good luck to us … and a long, slow dying to the Linyati!”

• • •

The night was clear, and a waning moon hung overhead. The seas were low, and there was no wind.

The pirate ships, masts bare, rolled in the slight swell, waiting.

Sometime after midnight, the
Steadfast
’s lookout called, said he saw lights off the port bow.

It was the Linyati, trudging along the coast toward Noorat and then into Linyati.

No one was asleep aboard the
Steadfast,
not even the usual fakers who shammed calm before battle.

• • •

Slowly, imperceptibly, the darkness faded, and Gareth could see the face of the helmsman across the quarterdeck from him.

A breeze came from the land, and Gareth smelled orange blossoms, swamp muck, the too-sweet reek of flowers he didn’t know the names of.

The lights of the Linyati ships were to starboard now, and it wouldn’t be long before their lookouts must see the waiting corsairs.

The breeze became a wind as Dafflemere began casting his spell.

“Make full sail,” Gareth ordered Tehidy.

“Aye, sir,” and wooden blocks whined as halyards were heaved on, and seamen’s bare feet slapped the deck as sails opened to the wind.

Tehidy had asked, when Gareth returned from the final conference aboard the
Thruster,
if there’d been some grand strategy developed. Gareth looked at him wryly, and Tehidy started laughing.