Sasharia En Garde (15 page)

She looked down at the deck. “No.” She faced me squarely.
“Said on hiring there would be no dalliances with the crew. But sometimes they
say that, and later . . .” She shrugged.

“Yeah. I know that men change their minds. So do women.
Look, I want to get off this ship onto land, and live my own life. Whatever
that might be. Fair enough?”

She didn’t smile, but at least she didn’t look as angry.
“Fair enough.” She climbed up so fast I don’t think her feet touched the rungs
but twice.

I followed more slowly. Just as well I would soon be gone.
Political enemies were bad enough. I didn’t want to make a personal one, just
because Mr. Pirate might turn out to have a roving eye.

So I did my own arm crossing and cold manner when I entered
the captain’s cabin. If Captain Hurricane noticed, he gave no sign. He was in
the middle of studying a chart, barely glanced up, his manner absent as he
said, “My messenger finally caught up with us. The king sent the navy out to
blockade the main harbor, as I’d predicted. We’re maybe a day from their outer
perimeter. Here’s the news. He knows you’re here on my ship. The navy is
ordered to be on the watch for us.”

“How are you going to break through the blockade?”

“By joining a big fishing fleet. We’ve been running parallel
to one these past few days. By morning we will be a different ship. I must
request you to spend the rest of today and all of tomorrow in your cabin. I
cannot risk you being seen on deck. You are too recognizable.”

“Who on the fishing boats would know me from anyone else?” I
asked, not hiding my skepticism.

“We’re going to run a quick . . . errand
before we land.” He looked out the stern windows, as if something important was
happening on the choppy seas.

“All right.” I knew he wasn’t going to tell me what his
“errand” was, not after I’d refused point-blank to become part of his plans.
“If you have something to read, I would like to try to reacquaint myself with
Sartoran writing. Preferably something that might catch me up on local
history.”

He frowned at the chart table, fingers toying with a quill
pen, then shook his head. “Nothing on board.” When my glance strayed to those
bound books over his bunk, he said with a quick smile, “Not histories. But if
you like, when we land, I could scout you out one.”

Thus obliquely asking my plans. Right. As if I’d discuss
them! “Well, let’s get to safety first. And to land,” I said with hearty cheer,
my gaze drawn irresistibly . . . And when his eyes met mine the
inward jolt made me shift my own attention to the open scuttle, then to the
statue.

Yet the afterimage remained of his open-necked night-sky
blue shirt with the gold and crimson embroidery of leaping dolphins round the
hem, the green-and-white-striped deck trousers, and a sash riding loose on his
narrow hips. The sash at least matched his headband, though both were purple with
yellow fringe. More specifically I was more aware of him inside those clothes,
the contours of muscle shaping the shirt, the long lines of his legs looking
very good in those deck trousers. I wondered if he had buns of steel . . .

And stalked out, utterly disgusted with myself.

Elva wasn’t there when I woke the next morning. I eased
one of the vapor-blurred scuttles open a crack, bringing in a strong whiff of
fish. I was surprised to discover the surrounding waters full of boats and
ships, tall masts surging slowly on the sea, sails belling in the same
direction.

When I peered out at the foredeck, fine rain misted my face.
Under a low, steel gray sky, the crew labored at dismantling what seemed to be
another ship. The
Zathdar
with its
clean lines had transformed into a clutter of barrels, nets, old sailcloth,
with the rakish topgallant masts laid along a gangway. The masts looked stumpy
now, and the rigging had been altered completely to the shabby triangles of
fore-and-aft, which made sense for fishing cruising, where you stay closer to
shore and want to maneuver better. These sails were old, splotched with mold,
and patched in places.

The crew looked pretty much like always, except the
piratical splashes of color were gone. The big surprise was the captain. I
almost missed him, but the angle of shoulder and neck, the distinctive stance
snapped my attention back to the man tending the wheel.

If those buns of steel existed, there was certainly no sign
of ’em now. He wore a grubby pair of canvas trousers bunched up round his waist
and tied with a rope, some kind of knitted stockings (complete with gaping
holes), and aged deck shoes. His shirt was a sun-faded brown, with a long vest
over it containing a lot of pockets. As usual he’d tied a bandana around his
head, but this was a narrow length of brown cloth, below which at last he’d let
his hair hang down. I could see why he bound it up. His hair was an ugly hank
of tangled, matted brown, coarse as horsehair, constantly flapping in his face.

My radar still bleeped, even with the nightmare hair.

Elva appeared from below-decks, brow tense with worry.
Behind her, Devli looked excited and happy.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Let’s go inside, where we won’t get yelled at or knocked
out of the way,” Elva grumped.

“We were locked below,” Devli said to me.

“How should I know he was serious about that? He’s never
been serious about anything,” Elva protested.

“I
love
the idea
that we might be famous. Like, our faces drawn onto wanted posters and spread
round the fleet.” Devlaen grinned like a kid.

“What’s going on now? I take it we’re not staying with this
fishing fleet?”

“A raid,” they said together, Elva with eyes rolled skyward
and Devli bouncing on his toes.

“What?”

“We joined the fishers just long enough to get inside the
blockade. Now he’s going to run a raid. On a navy ship back out on the
perimeter.” Devli hopped again. “Hiding behind one of the little islands.”

“Zathdar is an idiot,” Elva added.

Her disgust was a candle to the sun of my anger.

Despite the captain’s request that I stay in my cabin, I
marched out into the fine, cool rain, but not before I saw the triumphant look
Elva shot at her brother.

It took me a little time to thread my way between the crew
members busy dismantling the mess so artistically arranged on deck, and forming
long lines of rope haulers along the gangway as the topgallant masts were being
raised again.

The seas had gone gray, and the mist was thickening fast,
obscuring the other fishing boats. The nearest was a blur maybe two hundred
yards away.

By pausing, ducking, swerving, side hopping and squirming, I
managed to make it all the way aft, where Zathdar stood at the helm, rain
dripping off his matted clumps of hair, his eyes narrowed as he peered into the
gray gloom that smeared the line between sky and sea.

I stood for a time, struggling to get firm control of my
temper. Bitchiness never helped anything, I knew that. So far, being mellow at
least got me some answers.

So, when I knew my voice would be neutral, I asked, “How can
you see anything?”

“He’s out there,” Zathdar said.

“Yes, and I was hoping you’d explain about that.”

He regarded me with faint surprise. “I told you we had an
errand to run. You have an objection to my running a raid on one of War
Commander Randart’s most poisonous snakes?”

“I thought your errand meant changing the sails or
something. Do you”—I tried to maintain a semblance of cordiality—“have an
objection to keeping your word? You did say when we broke the blockade we’d
land. I see no land, and your errand seems to be taking us farther out to sea.”

“We’re in the bay.” He gestured with one hand, a wide sweep.
“And I saw the perfect opportunity. After my raid, we’ll land. I promise that.”

If we’re successful
,
I thought, but I knew how that would sound, so I retraced my steps.

Devli and Elva waited inside the cabin, she sitting on her
bunk, he at the tiny fold-down table. “Well?” she asked, as I sank onto my
bunk.

“We land after this raid.” I raised my fingers in air
quotes, to which they reacted with mute question. “He says.”

Elva scowled. “If we are alive.”

“He said I could help.” Devli chortled. “So I’m gonna wear a
disguise.”

Elva turned on him. “What?”

“Perhaps I could cast an illusion or two.” Devli rubbed his
hands. “Anyway, I’m going. When else will I ever get to be on an actual pirate
raid?”

“Wear an eye patch,” I suggested, aware of my heartbeat
accelerating. My brain was catching up on reality. Me, a waitress, whose most
accustomed battles were against L.A. traffic, was on board a
pirate ship
, heading straight for a
raid
on a naval ship.

“Eye patch?” Devli broke into my dark thoughts.

“Pirates have to wear eye patches. And peg legs.” I got up,
and sat again. “I suspect it has something to do with cannon balls, and no, I’m
not explaining that.”

The watch bell changed, and Devli vanished on some other
errand.

Elva hunched on the other bunk, obviously brooding. We left
the door open, watching the swift alteration of the ship back into sleek
piracy, as the last of the fishers vanished into the gray haze behind us. The
crew got the topgallant masts fidded, the sheets rattled down and the sails
set, after which our speed increased with bucking surges, a fine spray arcing
on the low, lee side of the ship.

The wind had increased with the rain and we tacked at a
dramatic slant. An island emerged out of the gloom, a mere shadow at first, one
at which we appeared to be aimed. My nerves twisted slowly into knot-gutted
tension as the wind and current brought us closer to it with what was rapid
speed for ships.

Chasing another ship is not like a movie car chase. It’s a
kind of hurry-up-and-wait affair. You run around on deck getting ready, while
the ships slowly, inexorably sail toward one another.

The first danger was weathering that island, as we skirted
much too close to its rocky cliffs on the in-running tide. I could see the
individual twigs making up nests on which birds sat; other birds cawed, dived
and flapped about. Zathdar stayed at the wheel, speaking to his crew in short,
sharp sentences, while we tacked at that rooftop slant close to the island, and
about the same time my tension racked up to high anxiety at the sight of those
breakers rolling away toward the rocky shore, the last cliff slid by and we
were in open ocean again—revealing our prey. It was a three-masted clipper,
easily twice the length of Zathdar’s
Hurricane
.

Even I, who knew little about ships, could sense the navy
ship’s anticipation of an easy kill in the way some sails jerked up and others
came down, and the ship hauled its wind in every bit as tight a curve as our
own. They were coming on the attack.

So imagine their dismay when, vaguely on the still-gray
horizon (it was now late afternoon, not that you could tell where the sun was,
but the light was steadily more diffuse) two nicks appeared.

The other two pirate consorts.

Zathdar had sent them the easy way, to form the other half
of the pincer. We’d been the bait.

We began to close with the clipper. Devli reappeared,
looking ridiculous in a blond wig like an old dust mop and ill-fitting striped
trousers (yellow and green) with an outsized shirt dyed a taxing shade of
orange. “He has enough disguises to equip the city theater down there,” Devli
exclaimed happily.

“You look like an idiot,” Elva retorted.

“Sure, but I don’t look like me. In case they have wanted
posters issued. Oh,
how
I’d love to
see one, if it’s really true,” he added longingly. “And how much of a price on
my head.”

“Probably two copper tinklets. Three more than you’re
worth,” Elva said with sisterly disrespect.

Devli grinned, flipping his curls at her. “You’re sour
because you don’t get to go. If you acted friendly, I’ll wager he’d have you
along in a trice.”

Elva wavered, which surprised me. Then she shrugged. “And
leave Sasharia counting her toes here? Seems fair enough that somebody stays to
keep her company.”

Devli turned to me. “I wish he’d let you come,” he said
shyly.

“Thanks. I think.” I gripped my hands behind my back. “But
no thanks.”

Brother and sister widened their eyes in surprise. “But
you’re good,” Devli observed.

“Good at practice. I’ve spent years and years at it. That
does not mean I want to let somebody try to ventilate my chitlins. It only
means that maybe I’m ready for it if they try to force the issue.” I was
desperate to keep my voice even. How could I be the only one scared spitless?
But from all I could see, I was.

Devli’s brow puckered. “You were so
good
in the fight at the transfer tower.”

I thought back, remembering only a blur of tiredness that
jolted suddenly into a super-powered adrenaline rush . . . powered
not only by inept guards trying to capture us, but by the intense awareness of
that derisive pirate whose first word about me had been
useless.

I wasn’t going to say that my main motivation had been to
show him how wrong he was. Nope, nope, nope.

“Accident,” I stated. “I was half-asleep, running on
instinct. I am supposed to stay out of sight. Remember?” And in a thoroughly
cowardly, absolutely desperate attempt to change the blasted subject, “Elva
would you give me a rundown on what’s happened in this kingdom since I was
taken away?”

“If you like.” She looked perplexed. “In a general way, at
least.”

To keep my hands busy so they wouldn’t shake, I began to
unbraid my hair and comb it out. One braid at a time, wincing and cursing under
my breath at the snags. Back in L.A. I’d be doing this job after a good
treatment with a whole lot of conditioner, but there wasn’t any here.