Corsair (31 page)

Naturally, the night before they sailed, half a dozen soldiers changed their mind and went overboard, swimming frantically for the shore. Gareth didn’t have them pursued, for there’d be no other penalty but shooting for desertion, and he didn’t want to do that. Besides, even if he’d forgiven their crime, they’d most likely make indifferent warriors.

The anchors came up, men chanting at the windlasses, the fleet put the land behind, and Gareth got seasick for half the day.

A day and night later, after Juterbog was well astern and they’d passed through a fleet of small fishing boats, the signal went up on the
Steadfast
for all ships to heave to and all captains report.

The sea was flat, and the sun was a bronze disk as the boats scuttled, like so many water bugs, over to the
Steadfast.

Gareth, looking very much at ease, inwardly with stomach churning, sat on the top step of the quarterdeck ladder smiling down at the officers and mates in the waist below. The watch behind him was armed with hidden pistols, and there were men concealed forward with muskets loaded. In addition, a swivel gun was unobtrusively mounted on a railing, loaded with grape.

Gareth had no idea how his officers would take what he was about to announce. Tehidy had greeted each officer as he came aboard and given him a sealed envelope.

“First things first,” Gareth said, and his voice carried across the water. He nodded to two sailors at the mizzen mast, and Gareth’s banner, the Sarosian flag with a skull and crossed cutlasses, soared to the mast.

“Now we’re flying under our true colors,” he said.

There was a bit of a cheer.

“You can open your envelopes now,” he said.

Some of the men obeyed, and read the identical instructions within. Others looked uneasily about, fingers touching their swords.

There was a sudden curse here, and a grin there, as the more geographically inclined officers understood the instructions.

“Yes,” Gareth said. “I’ve lied to you all these long months. We’re not sailing north against any great kingdoms. As far as I know, the only thing beyond the frozen cities of the north are polar bears and ice up to your bum.

“But I do know where treasure lies.”

He reached behind him, picked up a piece of Kashi sculpture of solid gold, exotically shaped. He tossed it down the ladder, to bounce dully on the deck. An officer picked it up reflexively, gasped at the weight.

“That’s one piece of the treasure the Linyati steal from the Kashi every year.

“Last year, I stole a little of it away from the Slavers. Some of you shared in the riches, and I’m sure you all saw my men, from common deckhands to mates, lording it about Ticao.

“Now I propose to go after all of it.

“I invite all of you to change your ideas, your plans, and go with me after real treasure, treasure I’ve seen, handled, looted for myself.”

There came that wolf-growl from some of the officers. Dihr and his first mate were grinning happily. Froln had moved to one side, was leaning casually against a bulwark watching his fellow officers, hand nonchalantly draped on his sword grip.

“This is outrageous,” one captain sputtered.

“It is, isn’t it?” Gareth agreed. “Just the kind of thing a pirate would do.”

The captain harrumphed; then, in spite of himself, a grin came, and he laughed aloud. “Glad to be with you, Captain Radnor.”

But another officer wasn’t amused. “We signed aboard for one duty,” he said. “I’m no seabag lawyer, but I’d guess this change invalidates the Articles I signed.”

“Possibly,” Gareth agreed. “But the deceptions were intended to deceive the Linyati and their agents in Ticao. It would be a disappointment, would it not, for you to return, barely two weeks after you sailed out so boldly, to announce all was a fraud?”

The man thought, realized what was behind Gareth’s words, paled.

“Just for m’ own knowledge,” Froln called, “what do you propose to do with someone who wants out?”

Gareth had given hard thought to the matter, and the answer had been given by a close study of his charts.

“I’ll not murder him,” he said, “nor force him to sail, unwilling, after gold he’d probably hate to possess.”

He went on, through the laughter. “About four days’ sail from here there’s a certain island that used to be inhabited. There’s still supposed to be huts, and fishermen leave dry food, in the event they’re wrecked there.

“My solution for anyone opting out at this point is to maroon them there. By the time the fall storms come, and fishing vessels might pass by the island, the Linyati will already know of our presence, by the bloody grip we have on their throats!”

There was silence except for the creak of the ship and the wind rustling through the rigging.

“You’re very damn’ clever, Captain Radnor,” someone said. But his tones were admiring, not critical.

“Thank you,” Radnor said. “Before you leave the
Steadfast,
be sure and advise me, or one of my officers, if you plan to defect, so we can make the proper arrangements.

“And don’t think of returning to your own ship and then attempting to break away from the fleet, for I promise you, all our lives will require us to pursue and destroy you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “But this is a hard world. Now, to continue our plan against the Linyati …”

• • •

“I was watching their faces,” N’b’ry said. It was about two turnings of the glass later. The captains had departed, and the new course, almost due south, had been ordered and sail set. The two were in Gareth’s cabin, relaxing for a moment.

“I saw only three or four who’re afraid of the Slavers or whatever,” he went on, “and the more they thought about the fortune we brought back, the less they wanted out.”

“That’s what I expected,” Gareth said. “Or, so I don’t sound arrogant, hoped, anyway. All the officers we interviewed for command had a bit of the rogue in them, or at least the opportunist, in my eyes.”

He sat down in a hand-carved chair, put his feet up on his chart table, and stretched mightily.

“Now, with any luck, things will go easily, at least until we reach Freebooter’s Island.”

“That I’m looking forward to,” N’b’ry said. “There was that small woman with the boldest eye. Perhaps she’s no longer with that one-eyed scoundrel who’s half again bigger than me. I think — ”

There was a hard rap at the door. Gareth swung his feet down to the deck.

“Enter.”

It was Galf. “Sir, we’ve got problems.”

Gareth sighed. “Of what sort?”

“We’ve found a stowaway — or rather, the stowaway’s come out of hiding up forward.”

“I don’t see any problem requiring me,” Gareth said.

“Anyone who wants to be a corsair badly enough to stow away should just be signed on the Articles.”

“Sir, it’s not a he. It’s a she.”

Gareth made a sound in his throat.

“And she refuses to be put ashore, sir, but demands
a
hearing under our Articles.”

“Now there’s a bold wench,” N’b’ry said. “And as I recall, we don’t have anything in the Articles forbidding women in the crew. Nobody ever thought that would be
a
problem.”

“Do not be absurd, Knoll N’b’ry,” Gareth said, buckling on his sword belt. “Come on, and let’s deal masterfully with the situation — although I don’t have
a
damned clue what we should do.

“Thank the gods for the Articles and the crew having the vote in the matter. I suppose, after it goes against her, we can turn back and put her aboard one of those fishing boats we passed. It’s most unlikely she would have heard of our change of plans, nor would a single unknown be believed back in Ticao.”

Gareth thought he’d developed a bit of command presence, the ability to handle any situation, no matter how deadly, how bizarre, without showing his real emotions.

But seeing Lady Cosyra of the Mount standing defiantly on his main deck shook him to the core, and he was later sure he’d turned pale, or green, or something.

Even though she was more than a bit travel-worn and in need of a bath, she was still striking, wearing close-tied kneeboots, dark blue pants, and a deerskin tunic, laced at the neck.

She also wore a sword belt with a thin-bladed rapier and, just behind it, a narrow, single-edged dagger.

“Good morrow, Captain,” Cosyra said in a merry voice. “I’m thankful to be aboard your vessel.”

Some of the crewmen, who’d recognized Cosyra and knew the relationship between the two, snickered.

“I wish I could say the same, Cosyra,” and Gareth was disturbed enough to swear, “What the
hells
are you doing here?”

“I stowed away in Lyrawise,” she said, “intending to serve with your fleet, Captain.”

“You can’t do that!” Gareth said.

“Why not? I’ve read your Articles, and there’s nothing forbidding women to join your crew.”

“’Tain’t reasonable,” a beefy sailor, Shenshi, Gareth remembered, growled. “If th’ cap’n’s whore can git aboard, so can mine.”

Cosyra’s half smile vanished, and she turned to the sailor.

“That is once,” she said coldly. The man, about to say something else, saw the look in her eyes, and stepped back. Cosyra turned back to Gareth.

He still felt numb-witted.

“How did you get to Juterbog ahead of us?” was the best he could manage.

“Easily. I hired a ship.”

Gareth remembered the yacht that had distanced them days before.

A sailor — Kuldja — was on a barrel head.

“Why can’t she sign?” he shouted. “If there ain’t rules against it, she should be able to join us if she can hold her own wi’ a cutlass or a halyard.”

“An’ where’d she sleep? She’d be welcome in my hammock,” a crewman said. “But folks might talk.”

There was laughter.

“She can sleep where she damned pleases,” another crewman said. “Same as the rest of us.”

“Damned woman’ll do nothing but make trouble,” another said.

“The hells I will,” Cosyra said. “Tell me there’s none among you who’ve gone into another’s hammock aboard ship for comfort. Does anyone spit on them the next morning?”

There was an uneasy shifting. Sailors far from land and women traditionally found comfort with one another or by themselves, but it wasn’t something that was talked about.

“The problem, young woman,” a bearded pirate said, “is that you must be able to carry your weight, both literally and figuratively, with the rest of us. Have you experience as a sailor?”

“No,” Cosyra admitted. “But I’m agile, and have no fear of heights. Aren’t there men — boys, even — signed on this ship who think the bow is called the ‘pointy end’?”

There were chuckles.

“Aye,” the bearded man admitted. “We train men for the trade. But what about fighting? I see you’re armed. Is that for show?”

“I’ve been trained,” Cosyra said. “And blooded.”

Gareth remembered the fight with Anthon’s bullies, and nodded involuntarily.

The deck was now filled with men, some in agreement, others shaking their heads vehemently, others, undecided, arguing back and forth.

“I still say the cap’n’s lady should be allowed on,” Kuldja returned. “And if she chooses to share his cabin, what of it? Aren’t officers given some gravy?”

“Gravy ain’t what we’re talkin’ about,” Shenshi said. “At least, gravy’s not what I leave in my doxy.”

Amid the laughter, Cosyra walked deliberately to Shenshi.

“That was twice,” she said clearly, and the laughter died. “There is no third time.”

Her hand whipped, hard, across his face twice. He lifted a fist, and Cosyra jumped back, very fast, and her blade was in her hand.

“Now,” she said. “You’ve been challenged. Make what you want of it.”

A sailor shouted:

“There’s no fightin’ aboard ship! Grounds for marooning!”

Another: “But she ain’t a crewman. Let ‘em fight! Never seen a woman ‘gainst a man. I’ll give … two, naw, three to one for Shenshi.”

“Done an’ done,” another shouted. “I saw her leap, an’ Shenshi’s ‘bout as quick as a stalled ox.”

Gareth turned to Tehidy.

“In my cabin. Get two pistols.”

Thom nodded, slid away.

Gareth saw Labala move unobtrusively to the foredeck railing overlooking the waist, a belaying pin ready.

“Wait,” the bearded sailor said, holding up both hands. “Maybe this solves our problem. And gives some amusement.

“Let these two fight. If she wins — or even shows herself handily — then perhaps we ought to admit her to the Company. If not … well, then, the problem is solved, is it not?”

There was a roar of approval.

Gareth started forward.

“Captain,” Nomios said. “Stay your course. This one’s beyond you.”

Gareth looked around helplessly. A sailor was already coiling a long length of rope into a circle on the deck below.

“Yer steps outside this, drop yer guard and get back inside,” he said. “No fightin’ beyond the round. Keeps things from gettin’ compelcated, an’ dancin’ around on steps an’ such like in th’ romances.”

Cosyra nodded understanding.

Shenshi had a large cutlass in one hand, testing its edge with his thumb.

“Won’t be much of a fight, boys,” he called. “Get your silver on me, an’ watch me smash that titty blade of hers, then it’ll be interestin’. Real interestin’.”

He pulled off his shirt.

“You goin’ do the same?” he called, and winked to the applause. Sailors were calling bets back and forth.

Tehidy was beside Gareth.

“I’ve got the pistols. You want me to shoot him?”

Gareth shook his head helplessly.

“Let them engage, or we’ll have a mutiny on our hands,” he decided. “If Cosyra doesn’t go down the first time he hits her, I’ll try to break it up then.”

There were two sailors standing in front of him. Both had sheath knives drawn.

“Captain, we’s sorry. But th’ Articles apply, an’ you’ll have to stand by and let what happens happen.”

Gareth, lips in a thin line, didn’t reply. Tehidy moved to one side, one hand casually under his shirt — on, Gareth knew, a pistol butt.

“Very well,” the bearded sailor called.