“Mornin, Cap’n,” The big man knuckled his forehead in a rough salute. “Ready fer a bit o sailin?”
“Just call me Jorse, Mister Hudak. On this trip I’m only a paying customer, and yes, I’m more than ready to quit this place and go back to sea.”
“Did ye see yer young lady friend here, sir? What was er name—Dala, wasn’t it?”
“You have a good memory, Mister Hudak. It was indeed Dala, and yes I saw her.”
“Yer ort te look happier then, I suppose.” The First Mate’s look was speculative.
“I sent her to live with my uncle and aunt in Prangli. It was the best thing I could do... for my sister.”
Hudak raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Sister? I thought...”
“You thought wrong, Mister Hudak, but please don’t tell anyone. It could mean her life if you do.” He slapped the big man on the shoulder.
Chapter 9
They were thirty days west of the snug hidden harbor in Vaigach and the sea stretched empty and boundless around them. The Donner-kind flew under a cold unforgiving wind that blew down from the north and chill spray off the Great Ocean broke over the long bowsprit, tumbling across the forward deck. The snap of the sails and the creak of the rigging made a rough music with the waves. The sky was the color of lead, not uncommon for this time of year. Captain Jorse Schwendau stood behind the helmsman, hands clasped loosely behind his back and smiled, as his long unkempt hair blew in the wind. From his position on the raised quarterdeck he looked down on the bustling decks of the Donner-kind, his ship. It felt strange, he thought, like he was an intruder in someone else’s territory. He still hadn’t gotten used to commanding, and the crew hadn’t gotten used to him as captain. It was a situation top-loaded with trouble.
Ahead of them and to port, at a distance of about three leagues, the armed barque Dagfred plunged through the rolling swells. The Donner-kind hid in the walls of clouds, providing a hidden guard for the other ship. He felt guilty, using his friends for bait, but it was a good plan, and they all had agreed. He still didn’t like it.
“Sail ho!” The lookout on the mainmast shouted.
“Where away?” Idzy’s voice bellowed. The man didn’t need a speaking trumpet even in the worst weather.
“Stern quarter, port.” Jorse gave a quick command to the helmsman, and the ship slid to starboard, deeper into the concealing clouds.
“They seems te be following the trader, sir, an haven’t seen us at all.”
“Good job!”
Jorse motioned to the big First Mate. One of the first things Jorse had done was to begin paying Idzy for the work he was doing. It didn’t mean a lot of money to the big man, but it meant a lot to the crew.
“We’ll run parallel to the other Raider, while staying well back into the cloud bank. The first shot from the Raider will be our signal. We’ll slide in and rake their quarterdeck. Mister Radoslaw told me that if he were to fire a load of fist sized rocks, he could clean off the quarterdeck.”
Idzy scratched his beard and looked worried. “Jes don’t seem right, sir. Unfair it seems.”
“So, you would rather we just board her, and fight it out, and maybe lose half the crew?”
“No, no, sir. It jes seems so unfair.”
“By the time we get back to Vaigach waters we won’t have the advantage any more. It’s called progress, Mister Idzy. Advancements in warfare move along whether or not we like them.”
“If ye sez so, sir.” Idzy moved away, mumbling.
It was a problem, Jorse thought. If they didn’t keep up with modern developments they would be swarmed under in short order.
“Prepare the cannon for close range action, Mister Radoslaw.” Jorse called out to the men in the bow.
“Aye, sir.” Came back on the wind.
Waiting was the hardest part. Crewmen stood by or quietly sharpened cutlasses; most just strained their ears to hear that first sound of gunfire. Inevitably, it was the lookout who caught the first, distant sound.
“Deck ho!” Came the call. “Cannon fire, six points off our port bow!”
“Four points to port, Mister Idzy. Tell Mister Radoslaw to fire at will as soon as we get close enough.”
“Aye, sir.”
Men crowded at the rail, excitement painted on their faces. It had begun.
The Donner-kind shot out of the clouds like an arrow, flying at the attacking Raider’s heart. They had closed to half the distance before anyone on the attacking boat became aware of their stealthy approach. Jorse could see arms waving in confusion, almost hear the shouts. Now they were within cannon range.
Boom! The cloud of acrid, yellow tinged smoke rolled back across the ship, covering the quarterdeck. Boom! Jorse coughed and moved to the boarding rail, his hand on his sword hilt. Some sailors made way for him, grinning. Boom! Faintly in the distance, he could hear screaming. The cloud of smoke passed. The Raider that they were about to grapple was a charnel house; blood flowing in thick rivulets from her scuppers, as if the very ship were bleeding, and her sails hung in tatters. No one stood, or even lay, on the quarterdeck. The railing was gone, as was half the ship’s wheel. Great patches of blood marked the former crew. The hulls ground together and his Raiders charged aboard, cutlasses swinging. He stepped aboard more slowly, eyes taking it all in. There was only sporadic resistance, and soon even that ceased.
“We’ve taken them, lads!” Jorse called out, feeling sick. “Put up your cutlasses.” He almost heard a groan of disappointment from his crew.
A seaman came running up, his eyes bright. “Sir! Er holds full, sir. She must o taken erself a fat merchant already, but this ere cap’n musta been a greedy sot.” The man laughed, pausing only long enough to kick a bloody arm into the ocean. “E paid fer is greed, e did, sir.” The sailor looked at the bow of the Donner-kind. “That was bloody good shootin, sir. One more shot and Mister Radoslaw would a done are job fer us.” Jorse turned to look at the bow. Radoslaw was standing next to the barrel of his gun, looking stunned, and slightly sick. The first sailor looked over the side of the ship. “Looks as tho the clean-up crew be ere, sir.” A dozen gray fins were slicing through the water in search of the free, bloody bounty. “Want we should take care of the wounded fer ye, sir?” The man nodded at the water, and even winked. Jorse swallowed and tasted his own vomit.
“No, let their own healer take care of them.” When the sailor looked stunned, he added. “We’ll need them to sail their ship, Won’t we? The more of them the less work for us.” The man nodded.
“It be good sound thinkin, sir. Guess that’s why yer the cap’n.”
Jorse wanted to hit the man. Instead he turned away and stepped back aboard the Donner-kind. Mister Idzy was there before him, face unreadable.
“Orders, sir?”
“Put a prize crew aboard. Use whatever crewmen you can from the original crew. Have Lilith go aboard to help their healer until we can get the battle damage repaired.”
“An who will be in command, Cap’n?”
Jorse looked out over tropical turquoise water as the fins of the sharks sliced back and forth. She was a desirable woman and he was attracted to her, but... Oh, damn.
“Have Llinos take command. She will fall in convoy with us. We can get a fantastic amount of money for the cargo once we reach Little Wassaw. After that, we’ll see.”
“Sumat like what Cap’n Jolenta did with you?”
“Yes, Mister Hudak, but for entirely different reasons.” He left the big man standing, frowning at his retreating back.
There was a knock on his cabin door.
“Come!” Lin had a puzzled look on her face as she shut the door behind her.
“I just had an interesting talk with Mister Idzy.” There was a hard edge to her voice. “Why me? Idzy would have been the logical choice, but any one of a dozen others could have done the job.”
Jorse rose from his seat at the heavy desk and walked to face the stern windows. In the distance the Dagfred was luffing, just killi
ng time until her two escorts could continue the journey. “You are a good helmsman, Lin, and an excellent navigator. You think outside the norms, and you are young enough not have become hidebound in your ways like the rest of the crew. I think...” He said it again. “I think that you would make a good commander, and then captain. When we reach Little Wassaw, we will sell and divide the cargo of the Evening Bird. I would recommend that you find a merchantman heading east and attach yourself to him. After word gets out that merchantmen now have armed escorts, you will probably find that attacks by Raiders drop off considerably.”
“You make it sound as if you’re not going back.”
“I’m not, I’m going south, Lin, south to Greater Wassaw and then on to Elandia.”
“Elandia? Why Elandia? There are one or two minor cities there, and trade isn’t very lucrative.”
“I have business at the Mother House of the Temple of Selene.”
“It figures. It all makes sense now. You have something to do with those Priestesses. They say that they are witches and fly on broomsticks.”
Jorse chuckled. “It sounds like a pretty uncomfortable way to travel to me. I think I’d prefer to fly in a nice comfortable armchair, maybe even with a glass of wine.”
“You’re laughing at me!” Her reply was hot.
“Of course I’m laughing at you.” His mood grew serious. “Today has proven one thing to me, Lin. I’m not cut out to be a Raider. I guess I’m not mercenary enough to slaughter people for the bottom line. I have other things that need doing.”
“So what is more important than making mone...” Her blue eyes fell on the open neck of his shirt. “You’re not wearing your locket.”
Jorse cursed himself, but maybe it was just as well. “You’re right.”
“You didn’t lose it.” It was more of a statement, and her voice was hard and brittle.
“No.”
“You gave it to a girl.”
“Yes, I gave it to a girl.” He knew for sure that Lin would come to the wrong conclusion.
Lin began to sputter and her face turned red with anger. “What? You! Snuck behind my back...cheating on me!”
Jorse let her drone on for several minutes. “You had your chance, Lin. We spent one night together, and YOU walked out — and another thing you might like to know — this girl can do ‘things’ too.”
“I’ll go back to Boktor and find her and...”
“She’s not in Boktor anymore, Lin. She’s somewhere you’ll never find her.” Jorse wanted to hug her, to comfort her hurt, but instead he changed the subject. “I understand that aboard the Evening Bird, Captain Sorsa’s nephew Luka survived the attack with only a broken arm. He is a big lad, a helmsman or so I hear; a year or two older than me, a hand taller and ten stone heavier: blond hair, blue eyes and shoulders like a bull. Since you’ll be acting captain, I suppose that you are entitled to a cabin boy. He should be able to do that with one arm...” He let things trail off.
“You no good rotten...” Her epithets got weaker and weaker as her imagination took hold. “I hate you and I never want to see you again.” She suddenly realized whom she was speaking to, and flushed. “Ah, I’ll follow you to Little Wassaw, Captain.” She knuckled her forehead, turned and ran. The door boomed closed behind her.
Jorse sat down on the edge of the bed and put his aching head in his hands. It had been more difficult than he had imagined saying goodbye to Lin. He felt... he felt like shit.
His heart was thudding in his chest, his body tingled and he felt as if this was the very first time he had kissed someone.
< I... I don’t know, but they were afraid.> Ghostly hands reached out and took his, and he held her in return.
They sat like that for some time, two children at the edge of an abyss. Fingers entwined, minds entwined. Eventually, reluctantly they released their holds, and withdrew from the edge.
Jorse knew in his mind, if not his heart, that what he was feeling, what he was touching was all a form of projective telepathy, put in his conscious thoughts by Anya. But, he argued with himself, through him she could manipulate matter, or maybe she could manipulate it herself. He could see and feel and hear the results of her actions on the world around him; so, in the end, what was the difference? What was reality and what was fiction?
Gentle emerald wavelets lapped at the white shore of the small pristine cove on the western edge of the island of Xicocu. Three miles mile away from their spot on the beach, the two Corsairs sat sidled up to a rickety pier of an abandoned fishing village; abandoned in fear of the dreaded Corsairs. If the arrivals had been anyone other than his two ships, their fears might have been realized. The Dagfred had gone into the small port city of Bratsk for water and supplies, while the Raiders remained hidden. Three days they would be here, and for three days the men of the Donner-kind would loaf and gather a few sea turtles for the galley, while the sailors on the Evening Bird sweated to repair the battle damage. Already Lin had worked wonders and only a seasoned eye could pick out what still had to be done.
That morning Anya had suggested a brisk invigorating walk on the beach, since they were leaving on the morning tide the very next day. The whole thing had been her idea. Of course Anya never got cold, or thirsty, or hungry. After fighting the soft sand for two hours, Jorse sat down and folded his arms.
Jorse exploded.
She was standing before him, light blue dress blowing gently in the wind, hair as black as the night sky wrapped in a thick braid and hanging over her shoulder. There was a sparkle of mischief in her gray eyes, and as she turned Jorse was sure he heard a giggle. She ran, her bare feet sending up small showers of sand as her feet dug into the beach. Jorse blinked, taken by her beauty, and then he took up the chase. He was starting to catch up when she veered sharply out onto the water and across it. Jorse was so intent on following that he didn’t notice until they were both well off shore. Anya stopped and turned, her arms crossed under her breasts, an impudent smile on her face. Jorse stopped in front of her, puffing. Then he noticed where they were.
“Yipe!” His voice echoed off the distant trees, and he began to sink.
>
Jorse was curious now.
She gave Jorse a level look.
The Corsairs of Aethalia: A Thalassia novel Page 14
