“One would hope so,” Piper agreed. “Bandit thinks Sharpe is quite mad indeed.”
“Did he also tell you about how he beat Sharpe black and blue with a dead rat?” Nel asked.
“He did not,” Piper said, looking sternly at Bandit. “Bandit has been getting into fights? This is not good. There will be discipline over this. Bandit is too small to be picking fights with those so much bigger than he is.”
Bandit started a stream of chatter that seemed to involve a re-enactment of the fight with Sharpe. Feeling malicious, Nel couldn't resist throwing another barb out there. “What about the fact that Bandit has been rat-catching for Jack, and those rats have been ending up on Quill's plate?”
“Bandit!” Piper sounded shocked. “Why would you do such a thing? Quill is our friend and Jack is . . . Bandit should not be associating with the likes of him. What must the skipper think of us? What must Quill think? I think I may be sick just from thinking of it. Rats? Bandit, I am so very disappointed in you.”
The loompa's chatter died off, the creature hanging its head in shame. Nel felt an odd sense of satisfaction in that. The feeling evaporated into the mist when she looked back at Rim.
“Gods below,” she mouthed as the first rock crashed into the station. It was the smallest of the three and Heathen's aim was slightly off, chipping the edge of the floating platform. The docklands disintegrated under the impact, vanishing into a storm of splinters as the rock drove through them like wet paper. It could only be her imagination, but Nel thought she heard screaming then.
What were the people on those embedded ships thinking now? Were they frozen solid in fear or had the desperation sunk in? If it were Nel, she would be taking an axe to anything tethering them by now. Maybe that's what they were doing. She refused to think about the people not on the ships. It was too late for them to change their mind.
“This is why you left the Alliance.” Piper moved closer to Nel, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You witnessed this before?”
“I watched her kill a planet,” Nel whispered. “I couldn't stop it happening. And I couldn't stay after that.”
“This time will be different,” Piper said simply.
“Maybe.” Nel reached up and grabbed Piper's hand, squeezing it once.
“Now what?” Piper asked. “What will she do?”
“That was to get her bearings.” Nel gripped the Tantamount's railings with her other hand. The damage to the far side of Rim where the breakaway ships were still locked had been minimal. None of the encouragement being shouted up and down the Tantamount could make any difference to that. The chatter died, another hush descending as Heathen made her next attempt. The massive boulder she'd plucked from out in the void, the one rivalling the Mangonel in size, started to move. Tumbling slowly, a great ball gathering speed, it rolled towards Rim. Her aim was dead on but it wouldn't have mattered. The sheer mass of the missile spelt out the end of Rim.
To Nel, it seemed to happen in slow motion. The planet killer rock hit the edge of Rim and the station began to crumble. The rock dug in deeper, crashing through dead ships, timbers, pilings, shanty towns and warehouses. Nothing slowed it. Loose debris was swept up in a cloud, spreading out in an all encompassing herald ahead of the actual demolition. Now Nel was sure she could hear screaming. It didn't matter that it was all in her head.
“Go,” she heard herself whisper as the breakaway ships remained locked to their stations at the edge of Rim. The giant boulder was halfway through Rim now and showed no signs of slowing. They weren't going to make it. All the desperation, all of Sharpe's madcap efforts, they weren't going to be enough. Had never been enough. She hadn't realised 'til that moment how much she'd actually believed he could pull it off.
“Dammit,” she cursed, slamming a fist into the railing and turning away. She couldn't watch what was going to happen—screams were already ringing in her ears, she didn't want the images to go with those screams.
“Skipper!” Piper grabbed at her shoulder urgently, forcing her around to watch the scene. She tried to look away, tried to tell Piper she didn't want to see. He made her.
A whole section of Rim, a massive area around where the breakaway ships were encased, had broken away. Directly in the path of Heathen's missile the structure had broken clean away from the rest of the station, drifting only a few hundred feet away.
“They're pushing!” Gabbi ran up to the bow, shoving people aside to get a better look. Her round face was beet red, whether with exertion or excitement it was hard to tell. “I can feel them from here.”
“Those ships are still locked together,” Nel said, “they can't get away like that.”
“I think they meant for that to happen, Skipper!” Gabbi said excitedly. “I felt them all push against that rock, just before.”
“Are they trying to slow it down?” Piper asked. “That is a very big rock there.”
“No,” Gabbi rushed, “I think they weakened the structure around all their ships. Instead of pushing each ship they pushed against Heathen's rock. The pushback they got was so strong it ripped that section free and now it's keeping them away from it.”
Piper and Nel shared a look. “Very clever,” Piper approved.
Nel made a face. “Sharpe.”
The free floating section of Rim was starting to edge away from the planet killer missile. They couldn't outrun it, but working together the seven thaumatics aboard managed to nudge themselves to the side, out of the path of rampant destruction. The rest of Rim was gone, a field of debris miles wide. None of it was recognisable, bits and pieces hung together, forming solid clumps that twisted slowly outward in the nether. Worst of all were the tiny stick figures of people who hadn't been aboard the ships, those that hadn't made it. There was something distinct and instantly recognisable about a body in the void, even at this distance.
The breakaway ships were finally doing that, starting to breakup and separate from one another. First to go were the ones on either end of the section, taking some scaffolding with them, but otherwise finally starting to look like real ships.
“Oh no,” Gabbi cried out.
The Alliance blockade hadn't taken long to realise what was going on. The two frigates had set sail, one to each flank of the debris field, the long way around. As predicted, they were unable or unwilling to take the short, direct route through what had been Rim. Not so with the Mangonel Falling. The dreadnought would pass directly through the field, damning the consequences. Then Nel saw what they were really doing. The dreadnought swung wide, following one of the flankers the long way around, slow and ponderous, but frightening just to behold. What kept going straight through the remnants of Rim was Heathen's last missile. Smaller than the previous projectile it would nonetheless make short work of Sharpe's remaining ships if they didn't get clear in time.
Two more of the ships had broken free of their trappings, leaving two more still to escape. The last two were mired in the leavings of the previous four, unable to break away from their solid moorings.
Nel felt the ship list to the side momentarily—the crew's fault, they were all lining the rails watching the drama. She yelled at them, ordering them back to their posts as Quill steadied the ship. Some listened, mostly those who were meant to be in the rigging where they were afforded a better view.
As Nel and the crew watched, another ship managed to fight clear of the last remnants of Rim, sails unfurled and trailing flotsam and other scraps. It was the last ship to do so—the sixth and final vessel vanished in an expanding cloud as Heathen's rock did its job. Nel flinched back from the edge of her own ship, breath shuddering at what she saw.
“The other ships are scattering,” Piper rumbled.
“Splitting up,” Gabbi said.
Two and three, that was what Sharpe's rag-tag fleet had split into. If it was even still Sharpe's fleet—he could have died, again, on that final doomed ship. It was unlikely he'd have survived a second encounter of that kind. An Alliance frigate was pursuing e
ach group, the Mangonel Falling further behind, but the sleeker frigates both threatened to close in on their targets. Nel had been impressed with Stoker and his fellows when they'd sailed with her, but whoever was crewing those hulks wasn't up to their standard. The ships drifted and turned sluggishly, their sails patchy; former tents pressed into a new lease of life by the looks of it.
“What's he doing?” Gabbi cried, leaning dangerously far out over the edge of the ship. Bandit squawked in alarm and grabbed onto the back of her shirt with two limbs, holding onto Piper with his back ones.
“Skipper!” Gabbi turned and called. “Look, one of them's turning back. Is he mad?”
“I see it,” Nel said. “Guess that means Sharpe wasn't on that last ship.”
Gabbi paled. “Gods below, what is he thinking?”
From the group of three ships one had done a swift about face, barrelling back towards the chasing frigate. The other two continued to flee.
“Dammit, Sharpe,” Nel muttered. It was a sacrificial gambit, it had to be. As far as she knew none of the breakaway ships were even armed. She saw plumes of smoke as cannon fire left the Alliance frigate, joined by fluorescent trails as mounted wand weaponry joined in at closer ranges.
“All crew, stand to combat stations.”
“What?” Nel whipped round to face the bridge. The captain stood gravely at attention at the top of the stairs, wand tucked under his arm like a parade baton.
Gabbi and Piper looked at Nel, stunned, but left to man their stations. Nel stared for a moment longer before racing to the bridge.
“First Officer Vaughn,” Captain Horatio Phelps said to her formally. “Would you be so good as to take your key and open the small arms locker. See that weapons are dispersed amongst the crew against the chance that we have to repel boarders. After that if you would be so good as to take charge of our cannon.”
“Captain,” Nel said stiffly, “what the hells are you thinking?”
“Two of those ships will be cutting across our bow as they attempt to escape this area,” Horatio explained. “They are being pursued by a hostile vessel. In this situation the two fleeing vessels qualify as non-combatant refugees. We have an obligation to assist them in any way we can.”
“Obligation?” Nel blinked. “Against an Alliance vessel?”
“It's a little late for us to be splitting hairs,” Horatio said. “Aware of our presence, the Alliance would likely treat us as hostiles. I prefer to make the first move.”
“Sir,” Nel forced herself to speak slowly, “I strongly advise against this course . . .”
The captain interrupted her. “Given that you have personal history with the commanding officer of an enemy vessel I give you permission to stand down and remove yourself to your quarters once you have distributed the small arms.”
“Captain?” Nel stared.
“That's the Killing Loneliness out there, Nel,” Horatio said. “I'll make this easy for you.”
He held out one hand, open, palm up. “If you wish to remove yourself from the situation and retire to your cabin for the duration, simply relinquish your key to the small arms locker.”
Nel's hand went to the key, tied on a leather thong around her neck and tucked away under her shirt.
“No, Captain,” she said quietly. “I have no wish to retire from this situation.”
Horatio nodded. “I see. I'd like you to hand over that key anyway.”
Nel protested. “Captain, I already said . . .”
“The key, First Officer Vaughn!”
With shaking hands Nel drew the key over her head and dropped it in Horatio's outstretched hand.
“If that's all, Captain,” she said stiffly. “I'll retire to my quarters.”
“Hmm,” the captain's eyes came up from the key. “Oh, no need for that, Nel. Here,” he placed his captain's hat atop her head, “Acting Captain Chanel Dominica Vaughn, I hereby place you in charge of the Tantamount for the duration of this engagement. Don't lose my hat, I've only got the one.”
He swung the key on its loop. “I'll see to those weapons then.”
Stunned, she stepped onto the bridge, found the whole crew staring up at her. It was enough.
“Get back to your posts!” she bellowed at them. From behind her she could hear Quill assume his post as the Tantamount's navigator. She turned on her heel to face him.
“And what are you looking at, Loveland?”
The Kelpie shrugged. “Better you than him. The captain knows nothing about combat.”
“Don't remind me.” Nel plucked the captain's hat off her head and stowed it in one of the lockers.
“Orders . . . Captain?” Quill asked, sounding amused.
“Head for the Loneliness,” she ordered. “Full speed. We'll try and draw their attention away from the ships and lose them in the mist.”
“That is your plan?” Quill snapped. He shook his head. “That is . . . ahh, never mind. Still better you than the captain.”
Nel studied the Killing Loneliness as Quill took up the slack in the sails. The privateer had closed the distance on its prey but the Tantamount should still reach it before it closed the rest of the distance. She wondered what Heathen would say if she knew Quill, whom she'd so readily dismissed for his faith in his old gods, was steering the Tantamount straight for her ship.
Nel recalled an earlier conversation. “How do you kill a god, Quill?” she asked.
“You ignore them,” Quill answered without any hesitation.
Ignorance. Another word for faith, really.
Nel faced her navigator. “Ready to demonstrate what ignorance leads to?”
The smile Quill gave her was pure nasty. She'd expected nothing less.
“Fire!” Nel ordered, slashing down with one arm. There was a yell from the forecastle and it momentarily vanished in a cloud of smoke as half the Tantamount's weapons battery opened fire on the Killing Loneliness. They'd taken them unawares, approaching low and from underneath the line of sight. They were still distant, both their shots going wide but they'd got the privateer frigate's attention and the enemy was in no position to return fire.
“Reload!” Nel shouted, leaning out over the bridge. She watched Jack and Piper heave shot into the smoking barrels of their two fore mounted cannon. Others hurried to refill the magazines and re-aim the weapons.
“Getting close,” Quill muttered behind her. “They still haven't changed their course yet.”
“Steady as she goes,” Nel told him. She waited, counting heartbeats as the frigate loomed close. When she could make out figures on the deck above her she gave the order.
“Fire!”
One of the cannon rang true, punching a hole in the underbelly of the Loneliness. She saw something glittering with phosphorescent light stream away from the hull. Where it ran, mist gathered around it in a swirling cyclone. Ether. They'd gotten lucky, better than Nel could have hoped for, and holed the ballast. The privateer started to list to one side, her equilibrium stung.
“Reload!” Nel yelled. “Aim for that breach!”
Before her crew could do so, the Loneliness started to roll, bringing the ship's broadside around to bear on the Tantamount. Heathen's ship wasn't ignoring them anymore.
“Quill!”
“I see it!” Quill snapped. He rocked everyone aboard as he threw the ship away, pitching it down to dive under the Loneliness. A number of the broadside cannons fired sporadically, none hitting their mark. Over-eager gunners unable to wait for a proper line.
“Ready the stern guns!” Nel called out to the second teams of gunners. She'd positioned two of their four cannon at the stern of the Tantamount, wedged, strapped and sandbagged behind her and Quill on the bridge. Inevitably she'd known they'd have to run and turn their backs on the enemy.
“Hard to starboard, Quill,” she ordered. “Make a run down their line so they can't draw that broadside onto us. One salvo is all it would take.”
Beneath her she felt the Tantamount turn hard. She
silently thanked the ballast in their own ship for keeping the plane level, no matter what angle they might really be on. Down was always down. Every ship had their own opinion as to what was up and down. It was easy to forget that there was more to naval combat than a level playing field. There was every other spherical angle to consider.
“Ready guns,” Nel called out again. “Aim for the breach if you can.”
The four cannons, stern and bow mounted, all tilted directly upwards. They would never have a better shot than the underneath of the Loneliness for a killing shot. Their cannon might be small, and the underside of the frigate would be solid and reinforced against such an attack, but at least they couldn't shoot back.
Or so Nel had thought. Looking up she was shocked to see the deck of the Killing Loneliness, the open deck topside of the frigate with all its crew and cannon. The frigate had rolled all the way over, making a mockery of perceived reality. The Loneliness had its own orientation and was making full use of it.
“Quill!” Nel called out desperately. “Dive! Get us away!”
It was their only chance. She could see the Kelpie crew above them angling the mounted weaponry towards the Tantamount's deck, just as she'd intended to do. One volley and they were finished. At this range they couldn't miss. It all depended on Quill . . .
Nothing was happening. There was no lurch, no rush, no sense of movement from the ship. It felt clapped in irons; their wind had died.
Beside her Quill struggled, his scaly skin slick with perspiration. His eyes bulged in his head and his fanged mouth was open, gasping.
Looking up, she realised why. It was disorientating to look up at the deck of the Loneliness, but there was no mistaking the massive black form in the centre of the deck. And now that she looked she saw the diminutive form accompanying the golem, wrapped in its obsidian arms. That was all Nel had time to take in as the Killing Loneliness opened up, cannon and wand fire raining down upon them. Screams ran the length of the ship. A water barrel was hit, the contents geysering over the deck. Nel threw herself down, covering her head and squeezing into a ball, all she could do until the barrage stopped.
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