Inda (70 page)

“Nobody can beat soul-eaters ridin’ flyin’ horses. That’s everyday sense! But whatever’s goin’ on the land, the western waters been closed off. And the strait, they say, is so full o’ Brotherhood you can’t sail a bowline without hitting five of ’em in a single watch. We be stuck here in the east. And so we will go to try northern waters, up Everon way.”

“Good plan,” Kodl said, and eyes turned to him. He opened his hand to his people. “As for us, we stand south for Sartor.”

“Already?” Yan asked, putting down his fork.

“On the tide,” Kodl said, laughing. And, lower, “We’re getting a rep, we’re getting a rep at last.”

 

 

 

Three weeks later dawn brought three fast pirates bearing down, all sails set and taut.

“Pirates ho!” called Yan from the masthead. The Chwahir was normally soft-spoken, when he did speak, which was seldom. His shout roused the deck, and the sudden running feet woke those belowdecks.

Inda whirled out of his hammock, yanked from a vivid dream: he was still eleven, the air smelled of summer fields, and Dogpiss had joined Sponge and Inda in the secret practice out behind the stable. The dream vanished, abandoning Inda for moments somewhere between
there
and
here
.

He strapped his knives on, and was thrashing his way into his newly-mended shirt as he raced up to the deck, where he found all the marines assembled before Kodl, faces grim, eyes alert, hands fidgeting and restless.

The captain, a cautious older man whose stiff demeanor and well-brushed green coat called poor Beagar to mind, said, unnecessarily, “They have the wind.”

Inda had known that with the first warm blast on his face and the sight of three blue-painted shapes, hull up, bearing down squarely on the beam, which meant that the
Loohan
couldn’t escape.

Kodl held two glasses. One he handed to Inda and they both snicked the glasses out to the longest reach. For a time there were no sounds except the slapping of water against the hull, the creak of wood and rigging, and the low thrum of wind in the sails. No one noticed the cold, eye-stinging drops of dew falling from the rigging above.

Inda and Kodl observed the pirates on their slow, inexorable approach. Kodl watched for changes of sail and direction; Inda watched those pirates visible on the deck.

“What’re those booms?” he asked.

Niz nipped the glass from his hand, peered, grunted, and said, “Them’s cut-booms.”

Inda took the glass back and peered. Now that the primary pirate was closer, he could see the huge extended boom, an open angle secured to the foremast and to the hull for support, its end glittering in the sun, some kind of massive blade fitted to its end. The three booms, one to each mast, seemed to be maneuverable—there were teams on each side of a boom with double-blocked lines.

Cut booms. Their effect would be like enormous swords or spears. Inda saw from the angle of approach, the way the booms jutted, that the pirate meant to come up at that angle and then throw the helm hard over, using the wind and the pirate’s own speed and mass to sweep that beam along the shrouds of the
Loohan
.

With a flash of blue the sails on the first ship changed, some flapping down, others bowsed tight. The ship leaned, the wake changing, and Inda saw the plan—yes, this had to be the exact same plan used against the Pim ships. “Fire their sails,” he muttered, glass still raised. “Two will sweep our sides, and that third will run right up over our stern so they can board.”

“Arrows aloft!” Kodl snapped, and feet drummed on the deck, racing to the weapons locker.

Inda smacked the glass closed and turned to the bow team. “Arrows first, one to sail, one to a man on the cut-boom crews, sails, man, until they close. Make each one count so they think twice about us.” He hesitated, facing Kodl, who just nodded, hiding his own trembling hands behind his back.
I only see what they’re doing. Inda sees what they will do.

Inda said, “Dun, your band starboard, Scalis, yours larboard. Get rid of those cut boom crews first! Niz, see to it your band is ready with staffs and steel to hand on the captain’s deck in case they make it over the stern.”

Scalis’ low, breathy chuckle of anticipation was the only answer as they all ran to fetch their gear, the arrow bands swiftly dipping threads in the oil that Thog had left open for them, in preparation for setting the shafts alight.

The mariners’ swift deployment was watched keenly by the
Loohan
’s regular crew, who knew they could not beat off one ship, much less three.

Inda never noticed them. He kept the glass pressed to his eye . . . not yet . . . not yet . . .

“Now!”

Spang! Tcheng!
Simultaneously, in two disciplined waves, the bow teams sent arrows aloft, keening through the air, their flames leaving faint smoke trails. Fire arrows . . . Inda’s mind flew back to lingering images from the dream.

He was a scrub again. The dream was so vivid, not just the scents, but the quality of the light, a blue glow with faint gold undertones highlighting strands of Dogpiss’ untidy hair, warm and bright on the rough, reddish, scarred skin of his knuckles.

“Yulululu!” That was Niz’s Delf triumph cry.

Stinging dew dropped into Inda’s face, blurring the pirate ship. Just as he wiped his eyes the pirates hauled wind, weaving around to try another angle of attack, head on to diminish the target area of the fire arrows.

“Them’s comin’ at a sharper angle,” Niz declared.

Everyone muttered and grunted in agreement. This angle would make it tougher for the pirates to make the maneuver successfully, Inda saw.

Loohan
’s captain, seeing their sails change, shouted orders for his own crew to tack, orders carried out faster than Kodl had thought possible with this merchant crew.

“Halt,” Kodl yelled to the bow teams. “Wait till they come round.” Jeje, far above, motioned to her band to change position. “Ready?”

The wind favored the pirates, as did the shape of their craft—long and narrow.

The first pirate came in fast, aimed now at the weather-side of the stern; the second one maneuvered in more slowly on the lee side, sails constantly altering to compensate for
Loohan
’s tacking.

With a flash of courses the first pirate threw his helm over—

“Now!” And to
Loohan
’s helmsmen, “Hard over!”

The second pirate, still too far back, permitted them to yaw leeward, the deck slanting, blocks clattering, a spoon someone had laid on a barrel clattering down the deck.

Fire arrows sizzled across the intervening sea in deadly, hissing sheets, so fast and well-aimed that the pirates again hauled wind, to repair and replan. Then Jeje, captain of the band aloft, shrieked, “Sail ho! Forward on the weather quarter!”

Inda, Kodl, and the
Loohan
’s captain swung glasses toward the windswept bow to observe a small, fast schooner bearing up rapidly, white water feathering down both sides.

“Delfs!” Niz cried.

Three more behind—a fleet of four. As soon as it was within range the first Delf loosed a hissing canopy of arrows at the untouched third pirate, who had been hanging back as either reinforcement or to close with the
Loohan
’s stern.

The pirates abruptly hauled off, this time sailing away in search of easier prey. Kodl grinned up at Inda.

“Heave to!” the Delf captain roared.

Soon a small party of poke-nosed, bandy-legged Delfs scrambled aboard, their weather-wrinkled eyes searching out the scrawny form of Niz, busy helping stow away their still-vast store of arrows while everyone laughed and chattered.

“Hya, there,” said the leader, in the Delf version of Dock Talk. “Heard us there was a Fussef in these waters.”

“No Gams among ye,” Niz replied, nodding in approval.

The Delfs invited Niz and the
Loohan
’s captain over for drinks and the latest news, which Niz brought back aboard and shared, once he’d sobered up.

While they waited, Kodl, almost giddy with triumph, said, “What amazes me is that on the sea they set aside their feuds. But they’ve been known to make dates a year ahead for duels on shore when they meet clan enemies. All quite cheerful.”

Their ability to know all the current news on the seas extended homeward. That news was grim and getting grim mer. Niz ended his report by saying, “Venn—” He spat over the side. “Soul-sucking Venn, wardin’ off all else. Let red sails attack on shore. Hit Delfin Islands twice, hard. Venn wants ’em a land base in mid-ocean, and so they agreed to let Ghost Islands stay in pirate grip if red sails shits attack Iascan coast. So red sails fired the Nob. Delfs headin’ home after winter. Defend, if Venn come back in spring, try to take us while pirates busy ’gainst them horseboys.”

“Prick Harbor? Gone?” Scalis asked, astounded.

“So them sez.”

Kodl murmured, “If the Brotherhood of Blood attacked it in force, you know they’d leave nothing standing.”

No one spoke as they all imagined what it must have been like to see the Brotherhood’s red-sailed ships on the horizon, landing launches full of pirates . . .

The
Loohan
set sail again in a sober mood. Later Scalis muttered when Niz was safely aloft, “Them Delfs is known to put a touch of color into their tales. It just don’t make sense to torch the Prick, when them Venn shits trade there too.”

Inda glanced down at their hoard of feathers as they all worked on carving and fletching fresh replacements. It made sense in terms of army movement: the Venn were obviously making certain the Marlovans couldn’t launch armies from the harbors. He said nothing, though, even when Kodl joined him at the rail—they weren’t going home.

Kodl sighed. “If the Delfs sail west, so go our allies.”

 

 

 

Next hire: a wealthy Silk Guild schooner. Pirates, recognizing a fortune in ransom in the beautifully appointed craft, attacked under cover of fog-wreathed uncertain winds.

This pirate ship was single, with only one cut-boom, but they were so skilled they did enormous damage along the weather side of the schooner, making escape impossible.

Four times they tried to board, and each time they were repelled, after very hard fighting. Inda commanded the first two, and Kodl the next, once he saw the pattern of attack and Inda’s response; Inda learned that his much drilled signals worked, and that most pirates apparently had no training at moving in disciplined units, instead relying on noise, terror, and brute strength.

But it’s not always going to be this way,
he thought, prowling around the ship and trying to think of new defenses. If the next enemy were trained, what then?

Kodl, standing in the middle of the sprawl of fallen rope, jumble of blocks and tackle, and splintered wood as the ship’s crew launched desperately into hasty repair, watched Inda with the same intensity the
Loohan
’s crew had watched the mariners one hire ago and when Inda looked up at last, and said, “We need our own cut booms, something we can carry and rig when needed. We need new defenses. Beginning with spiked shields along the rails, to be snapped over just before they board.”

Kodl whirled. “Dun! Wumma!”

One was helping with sails, the other at the helm. They both ran forward, and Kodl described the shields in a few words, then said, “Can you make us something to try out?”

They looked at one another, Wumma muttered something about extra steel, then Dun said, in his even voice, “We will do our best.”

They dropped down the hatch.

Inda said, “Now for some drills to use ’em,” and he started walking back and forth, back and forth, unaware of this pattern he’d begun while thinking furiously.

Kodl, seeing it, was reassured: when he stopped walking, Inda would have a plan.

 

 

 

Summer lengthened into a very busy, successful autumn. Their cruises were all short, sometimes a matter of a single week when convoys broke up and single ships wanted extra protection. They had a few more brushes with pirates, but each time beat them off. The others crowed, but Kodl saw Inda sitting on the taffrail staring out, or prowling the deck moodily. Kodl watched, his feelings conflicted. He knew the boy had no ambition. He showed no interest in hiring out and stayed by himself or with his particular friends. The perfect first mate, Kodl thought of him, but for how long?

“What’s wrong?” he asked abruptly one hot summer night, as the sound of singing rose from below.

Inda’s profile was bleak, looking much older than his years in the swinging lamplight. “We haven’t seen the worst of what’s out there,” he said. “We have yet to face the red sails. But it is going to happen.”

Kodl had no time to answer. Scalis, flushed with success, came up, motioning for them to listen. “We all did thumbs, and we don’t want to hire out over winter. No pullin’ watches in freezing storms.”

Behind, his remaining forecastlemen gestured agreement.

“All right,” Kodl said, doing a quick mental calculation. “I’ll set a goal. If we earn it, we buy winter free. But we’ll drill,” he added, remembering Inda’s words.

The others agreed—winter training was nothing new—and Kodl drove their hiring price up. The only captain who’d meet it owned a weatherly independent trader called the
Dancy,
fast for a merch, and heavily laden with some sort of expensive cargo kept locked up tight.

And just two days outside of Freeport Harbor dawn brought two narrow craft bearing down with all sails filled.

Jeje and her band pounded up on deck, arrows ready, Thog with her lantern. Inda motioned them into the tops, then watched Kodl, who studied the oncoming pirates through the cold mist drifting across the blue-green waters. Those sails, a sweet, sharp-cut curve that was so expensive to cut and sew to precision they had to have been taken off a royal yacht, bellied in a way that worried him. Both ships’ foresails wore crossed swords painted on, licks of flame above and below. Fire Islands pirates.