by Tim Stretton
The herald was running through the list of competitors for one final time, and Mirko gave an encouraging smile to Catzen who waved back with every appearance of confidence. Serendipity was sandwiched between Animaxian’s Glory — never a proximity Mirko relished — and the Mandry-Arvaluz galley Sparkle, whose performances to date marked her out as inconsequential.
In the Electors’ stand Algimantas let fall a giant red flag; the herald sounded loud and long his horn; and the Margariad was underway.
“Jenx! Beat Seven! Beat Seven!” called Mirko, leaping up to the observation platform. “Catzen, easy does it!”
Serendipity moved easily ahead at the comfortable Seven rhythm. Several galleys were tempted by the thought of early glory and a following wind, and set unsustainably high tempos. Jamminaldo streaked to the fore, and Kestrel made a brave start. Mirko noticed that Dragonchaser, on the far right of the field, started more conservatively, and the silver and lilac sail of Excelsior also tucked into the crowd. Sparkle fouled her oars immediately on the start, and Catzen instinctively made use of the extra space to make some sea-room and increase the gap between herself and Animaxian’s Glory: Mirko was still not sure if she intended to race seriously, or if Inisse were still intent on settling scores with the Bartazan galley.
Jamminaldo and Kestrel streaked ahead, the cheers of the crowd still audible from the shore. Serendipity, still beating Seven, was tucked into the middle of the pack.
“Keep us clear, Catzen!” called Mirko. He could not afford to be trapped among the slower boats if Dragonchaser or Excelsior attempted to break from the front of the field. Dragonchaser in particular had adopted a worrying position, with clear sea on the shore-side, making it easy for her to adopt a higher tempo and streak away if she chose. Excelsior was alongside Serendipity, with Animaxian’s Glory tracking her wake.
Mirko relaxed as the boats settled into a rhythm along the straight. Pull-pull-pull. The effort was easy and unforced. He instructed Catzen to manoeuvre Serendipity to the side of the field and gradually she moved across. Mirko did not have time consciously to evaluate Catzen’s performance, but unconsciously he realised she was displaying an unobtrusive competence. The crowded jostling at the start of the race was always an unsettling time for a helm.
Mirko felt the wind flapping his collar from behind; it was perhaps freshening slightly. Serendipity sat fairly flat in the water; it was rare inside the bay at this time of year for choppiness or significant waves. The Morvellos Lighthouse was approaching, and Mirko had to decide whether to try and overtake more galleys before the turn or tuck in. Jamminaldo and Kestrel remained at the head of the field, but he knew they were not serious rivals; neither had a crew with enough strength and stamina for the latter stages of the race. Dragonchaser, still wide on the right of the field, would not be able to take a tight line around the lighthouse, but unencumbered by baulking vessels might still attempt to slip away; while Excelsior remained in the pack, and could not pass Serendipity without a lengthy and unwelcome detour.
There was a risk in sticking with the pack that he could lose contact with Dragonchaser if she made a determined break; but it would be wasteful of effort to try and thread through the densely-packed field — not to mention risking a collision — as they went around the Morvellos. Dragonchaser had gained an early advantage through adopting a more flexible position, making good use of her favourable start draw; first blood to her. Mirko made his decision.
“Jenx! Go to Six, go to Six! Catzen, hold position ‘til we’re round the lighthouse! Easy now!”
Mirko was not comfortable with this cautious strategy, but he still had to see how Catzen would deal with a challenging turn, and the sudden breakaway was not Drallenkoop’s usual technique: he trusted to the superior conditioning and stamina of his crew to ease away gradually from the field. He considered for a moment taking a tight inside line around the Morvellos as he had to beat Spray; but he was coming round the rock from the opposite direction under different tidal conditions. And looking across to the rocks, he saw only a single mermaid watching events, and she did not seem disposed to call to him this time. The mermaid sensed his gaze and turned her head to look at him; Mirko raised his hand in salute, but the mermaid did not respond. He could not tell if it was the same one he had rescued all those months ago. Maybe the mermaids felt their debt was paid now.
Serendipity approached the rocks at a cautious tempo. The House Tichanet galley Negrillon was ahead and slightly wide of them, with Excelsior pressing behind, having got the better of Animaxian’s Glory. Dragonchaser remained ahead and wide, but to Mirko’s relief appeared to be saving her boldness for the more taxing phases of the race to come. He nodded in satisfaction.
“Easy, Catzen! Take it easy, just get us round!”
Catzen swung the helm in a long lazy arc; she even had time to smile as Serendipity curved round the lighthouse. Negrillon ahead of them was unable to execute so economical a turn, and Catzen positioned Serendipity to go through the gap, looking expectantly at Mirko.
“Jenx! Beat Eight! Beat Eight!” Pull-pull-pull-pull. Serendipity eased through the gap, waves skipping up over the bow as they came around into the current. This was where the race proper began: in fourth place, just behind Dragonchaser, with Excelsior and Animaxian’s Glory to the rear; the wind in their faces and the current contending with them. This was what the year had been all about.
As the leading galleys started to pull into the wind, there was an appreciable slackening of velocity. Kestrel, in particular, seemed almost to go backwards; her moment of glory was over. Jamminaldo, the galley of House Sey, appeared to be having difficulty in maintaining a consistent line, buffeted by the wind. Dragonchaser’s scarlet sail was forced back against her mast, but Drallenkoop chose this moment to increase the tempo to Eight; Mirko knew if she got away in the run down to the Hanspar, the race was lost.
“Come on now!” he roared. “Quartermen! Keep the rhythm! Trajian, your men are ragged!”
There were grim faces as the crew dug deep into their reserves of energy. “Keep Dragonchaser in sight!” he called. “Catzen, in behind her!”
Catzen shot a weary glance up to the observation platform; tucking in behind a lead boat as a shield from a headwind was basic helmcraft, although Mirko reflected it was a tactic Liudas had never mastered.
“Jenx! Down to Seven! Beat Seven!” he called. Less effort was needed to remain in Dragonchaser’s wake, and it was better to conserve energy for when he was ready for a serious assault. Catzen instinctively understood the strategy and positioned Serendipity with Dragonchaser between her and the wind.
As the two galleys pitched into the seas being churned increasingly by the freshening wind, Mirko noticed that Drallenkoop was making no attempt to force Serendipity into the wind; instead he was taking the straightest route and allowing anyone to tuck in behind them who cared to. It could hardly be because he was afraid of Jamminaldo, which was rapidly losing ground; instead it bespoke a potentially fatal overconfidence, a feeling that no other galley could live with her straight-line speed or, more tellingly, her crispness around the turns. Time would tell if he was right.
Looking round, Mirko saw that Raïdis had adopted an identical tactic in Excelsior, using Serendipity as a windshield. In ideal circumstances Mirko would have tried to flush her out by taking a more indirect course, but with Dragonchaser ready to steal a potentially race-winning advantage he could not afford the risk. Excelsior would reach the Hanspar the freshest of the three boats, but at the cost of being behind both of her main rivals, and potentially out of touch should a decisive breakaway occur.
Mirko felt relatively satisfied as the long haul to the Hanspar unfolded. Jamminaldo had disintegrated completely; Dragonchaser, Serendipity and Excelsior all passed her without disruption of their rhythms. Serendipity seemed comfortable behind Dragonchaser, staying in contact without excessive exertion. Dragonchaser clearly had something in reserve, but Serendipity could say the same; Drallenkoop had to
decide whether to gamble on a potentially decisive increase of tempo, or to pull away gradually, or to attempt to gain a greater advantage around either the Hanspar or The Sorcerers. Mirko thought he knew how Drallenkoop’s mind worked; he would try to make his superiority around the turns work in his favour. He jumped down from the observation platform and briefly shared his thoughts with Catzen, who nodded. She had done marvellously well so far; for someone who had not helmed in years, she had a rare, instinctive gift.
“Jenx! Be ready, Hanspar coming!”
Dragonchaser hit the approach to the rock, with its unpredictable current, with a small but definite advantage. Drallenkoop swung the helm in a practised arc; the turn was crisp and sharp; flawless, in fact.
“Jenx! Keep Seven! Catzen…” he realised there was nothing he could say to her; either she’d get the turn right or she wouldn’t. She didn’t need his advice.
Catzen smiled quietly to herself as the turn arrived; she nodded her head and hauled the helm with a snap; Serendipity flowed into the turn, speeding away as she moved out of the adverse current, straightening up and following Dragonchaser. Her turn had been no better than Drallenkoop’s; but it had been no worse, and they were still in contention.
Mirko caught Catzen’s eye; they were sparkling with scarcely containable excitement, and her cheeks were flushed from a mixture of adrenaline and the sea-wind.
“Mirko!” she called. “Give me speed! Let’s hit them!”
Mirko grinned. This was exactly his intention.
“Jenx! Go to Ten! Go to Ten!” he cried in a great voice. To move up two tempos was a risk, but nothing less would get them past Dragonchaser. If the move failed, the race was lost; but to go into The Sorcerers behind was defeat too.
“Catzen! Prepare to pass to port!”
Catzen nodded, then swung the helm to starboard. Mirko cursed: either this was sheer wilfulness, or Liudas’ tendency to confuse left and right had manifested itself under pressure.
As Serendipity began to move to starboard, Dragonchaser tracked the move, steering in the same direction to block the sea-room.
“Got you!” cried Catzen, immediately wrenching the helm as far to port as possible. At tempo Ten, Serendipity responded instantly; Drallenkoop was taken by surprise and only belatedly started to straighten up.
“Go! Go! Go!” screamed Catzen at the crew. “Ten! Ten!”
Dragonchaser tried to move back into the gap. Mirko could see Drallenkoop shouting at his overseer, trying to wring a tempo increase out of the crew; but it was too late. Mirko could feel the blood coursing through his veins and a lump in his throat. He looked at Catzen, and he couldn’t tell if his eyes were moist from the whipping wind or the emotion; her manoeuvre was brilliantly conceived and executed, an act of genius; he had been right to trust her. He gave a great whoop of exultation: the madness of racing was on him again.
“Come on!” bellowed Mirko. “This is it, boys! This is where we win it! Keep the rhythm there, Skaidrys! Slovo, your Quarter can keep Ten! Come on, man!”
Mirko knew that the tempo was not sustainable for more than a couple of minutes; and there was the most challenging turn of all to come, and a long run into the finish. He could slacken the pace and consolidate the lead; or he could keep pushing. Common sense dictated easing back; but on the other hand, two more minutes of this would break Dragonchaser, unused to being passed or outpaced. He looked down at Catzen, who seemed to understand the dilemma. She straightened her right arm, pointing ahead: more, more.
Jenx looked back expectantly, awaiting the command to come down to Nine or even Eight. “Maintain Tempo Ten, Jenx!”
Jenx nodded and grinned: he was not having to row. Mirko jumped down from the observation platform and ran forward to Trajian. “Can they keep this going?” he asked.
Trajian gasped: “I’ll tell you when we can’t — that’s not yet.”
Mirko nodded. “Get me to The Sorcerers at this tempo and the race is ours.”
He ran back to the stern. “Catzen, we’re going for broke: I want as big a lead as possible by The Sorcerers.”
Catzen smiled, the calmest person on the galley. “Do I thread the Needle?”
“Can you?”
Catzen’s smile widened. “I can do anything today.”
“We won’t push our luck. Your job is to make a decent turn around the conventional route. I want us so cleanly ahead that even if Drallenkoop threads the Needle we’ll still come out ahead. One more turn; that’s all I need from you.”
“I can do it,” said Catzen, pushing her hair back out of her eyes.
Mirko grinned. “Just make the turn, my lady.” He sprang back onto the observation platform. The crew were visibly straining; but Dragonchaser was failing to re-establish contact, and was now coming under pressure from Excelsior. Ahead loomed The Sorcerers: if Catzen could pull off a good — or even an adequate — turn here, then Serendipity was the favourite.
Trajian’s teeth were gritted as he struggled to hold the tempo for his Quartermen; Skaidrys on the adjacent front Quarter was expressionless but holding the rhythm. The Sorcerers were not that far away; this was not the time to mollycoddle them.
“Come on, Quarters!” he shouted. “Do you want to be free or not? One more minute, one more minute! How much do you want this? Row! Row!”
Mouths were contorted into grimaces all over the boat; they might no longer have a headwind to face, but the current was still against them, and progress was slow.
Catzen called out: “Mirko! Look at Dragonchaser — she’s coming adrift!” and sure enough the gap was increasing. The unexpected pressure and Serendipity’s punishing pace were destroying her morale and composure. Now, thought Mirko, we’ll see what you’re really made of, Elector’s boy Drallenkoop.
Aboard Serendipity the crew could see the patent difficulties experienced by Dragonchaser and dug deeper into their reserves. As The Sorcerers approached Mirko performed a rapid calculation: was he far enough ahead that even if Dragonchaser threaded the Needle she would come out behind? It was close; and he knew that Drallenkoop would try it if he could. He had a sudden temptation to let Catzen try it; the way she was helming today, he’d back her to bring it off.
Catzen seemed to divine something of his dilemma. “Let me do it, Mirko! You know I can!”
Mirko looked ahead to the looming triple crest of The Sorcerers, angry jagged rocks reaching out for any ship straying too close, waves ending their incalculable journey across the ocean dashed against the rocks. The current raced through the gap, boiling and snarling. It held an evil aspect for Mirko; he was ahead and it wasn’t for him to take what might prove an unnecessary risk.
“Sorry, Catzen. We don’t need to do it — take the long way.”
Catzen looked as if she wanted to argue; Mirko held her gaze sternly and she looked away.
“Jenx! Down to Seven! Beat Seven! We’re going round the outside.”
Jenx seamlessly converted the tempo from Ten to Seven without discontinuity for the rowers. Serendipity was approaching The Sorcerers at a smooth progression and manageable speed for Catzen. He looked back to Dragonchaser, who had also dropped her tempo: he could see her prow inclining towards the narrower of the gaps. Drallenkoop was taking the last desperate option open to him: forcing Dragonchaser to slip between Anazgro and Rybalard in the face of a roiling current. He was going to thread the Needle. And Mirko mentally raised his cap; he knew that he lacked the courage to throw his own galley into that maelstrom. And Drallenkoop had conquered the passage twice before; a third time would be unparalleled.
“Catzen! Dragonchaser’s going threading!”
Catzen gave a perfunctory nod. She was struggling to hold Serendipity close enough to Anazgro — with a current determinedly forcing her off — to make a clean passage.
Mirko knew the race would be won and lost within the next minute. He did not think that Dragonchaser could come through The Sorcerers ahead, even if she threaded the Needle successfully; but if h
e was wrong then there was a battle in prospect. Catzen now had Serendipity pulling straight into the current, before advancing the turn so that the current was on the starboard bow.
“Jenx! Beat Eight! Beat Eight!”
More speed would be useful at this point, and incurred no risk; Anazgro was past, and they only needed to ride the current to pass Rybalard. But where was Dragonchaser?
Dragonchaser was in the midst of the spate between Anazgro and Rybalard, Drallenkoop fighting to hold a steady line. The margin for error was small, the consequences of miscalculation or misfortune to be dashed to pieces against unyielding black rock. But so far there had been neither miscalculation nor misfortune.
Sooner than Mirko would have liked, Dragonchaser popped from between the rocks like a cork from a bottle. She was facing the wrong way, and now had to spin as rapidly as possible, come back between Rybalard and Basile-Orario, but this time with the current. It was a faster manoeuvre, but an easier one because she was not fighting the current. Mirko watched in dismay as the 180-degree turn was executed seemingly instantaneously: this was Drallenkoop’s signature manoeuvre and it had been demonstrated to perfection.
“Jenx! Go to Nine! Go to Nine!” he called, and only hoped that the crew could move up a tempo. There was a danger that Dragonchaser could get out ahead.
Catzen was gripping the helm in silent supplication. There was nothing constructive she could do; Serendipity’s job now was to run in a straight line.
Dragonchaser emerged from between the rocks with a slight lead; but she was slanted across the current, and thus slowed. Serendipity had the momentum that came with the current, and was facing in the direction she wanted to be moving in. Dragonchaser had the choice of slowing to allow Serendipity through, or allowing Serendipity to plunge into her side. The rules of racing required her to give way in these circumstances, but Mirko knew that Drallenkoop wouldn’t, for it meant conceding the race. He remembered the almost identical circumstance in The Sorcerers regatta when Excelsior had been cowed into backing off when she had right of way: it wasn’t going to happen here.
