by Tim Stretton
Catzen shook her head. “Not like this, Mirko, not like this. I didn’t come all this way, go through everything that I’ve been through, to die because you’re too proud to run!”
“We can’t outrun her anyway,” said Mirko levelly.
“It buys us time!” cried Catzen, her eyes alight. “Don’t be a fool!”
Mirko’s eyes narrowed. “Do I have to take over the helm myself? Do as I say!”
Catzen stood defiantly as Mirko jumped down from the platform.
Mirko! Mirko! Listen to us!
He stopped short.
Come to the rocks; we will protect you.
“Mirko?” said Catzen in puzzlement. “What’s happening?”
Mirko held his hand up to silence her.
Mirko — you are our friend. We will help you.
He looked out towards the Morvellos Lighthouse. Clustered on the rocks at the base were more mermaids than he had ever seen, ten or even fifteen.
“Jenx! Go to Eight! Catzen, steer for the lighthouse.”
Catzen swung the helm around. “It’s the mermaids, isn’t it? They’re talking to you again.”
Mirko said nothing. He raised his glass again to look more closely at the Fleet galley: on its bow was painted the legend Esterling with its sigil of a manzipar tree indited below. At the stern fluttered a long scarlet pennon with a golden dragon.
“Catzen,” asked Mirko uneasily, “why would a Fleet galley have a House Drall pennon?”
“It wouldn’t — unless…can you see the helm?”
Mirko trained his glass at the stern. “Oh, Catzen… it’s Drallenkoop…but why?”
The oars smacked raggedly at the water as Catzen said: “He has every reason to resent you: you’ve taken his title, you’ve sunk his galley and destroyed his relationship with Larien. It looks like he hates you enough to make it worth doing Bartazan a favour.”
Mirko set his shoulders. “I like to know who my enemy is. We aren’t beaten yet.”
The lighthouse approached with agonising slowness as Serendipity, her crew already exhausted from the day’s efforts, pulled into the current. Esterling’s oars seemed only to skim the water’s surface as her sixty-four oarsmen rapidly closed the gap. Mirko knew they could not make the open sea ahead even if they tried: matters would be settled on the rocks and waters around the lighthouse.
Mirko! Trust us, we will protect you.
An arrow dipped in pitch thrummed across the narrowing gap between the galleys, falling no more than ten yards short of Serendipity’s stern. The chances of Esterling setting fire to Serendipity were not high, but a burning arrow catching in the lateen sail could conceivably set her alight. Mirko instructed two oarsmen away from their duties to reef the sail. Around the rocks it would be of dubious value anyway.
“Catzen, take us as close into the lighthouse as you can. Try and keep the lighthouse between us and Esterling at all times.”
Catzen nodded and gave the little half-smile she normally used when Mirko’s intelligence had exceeded her expectations. The mermaids watched inscrutably as Serendipity approached; for now they had no further counsel to give Mirko.
“Am I too close?” asked Catzen, one eye on the waves pounding relentlessly against the rocks. Mirko was uncomfortable with their proximity but felt that the mermaids would warn him if they flirted too openly with the rocks.
“Keep us where we are,” he said. “The closer we are, the harder Esterling will find it to follow us in.”
And Esterling clearly was in a quandary. With two decks of oarsmen she sat heavier in the water and could not take the risks to stay close to the lighthouse that Serendipity could. The superior speed and freshness of her crew were negated in this slow-paced cat and mouse. Esterling launched sporadic volleys of arrows, but these were half-hearted and no threat. Mirko grinned. Serendipity could keep Esterling at bay indefinitely, dodging around the lighthouse.
Catzen shook her head at him. “This stalemate helps Esterling, not us. Bartazan only needs to launch one more galley and he can trap us.”
“He hasn’t done it yet, which suggests he can’t. What if there’s been a mutiny?”
“He controls the treasury. Sooner or later he’ll find someone competent to take a galley out.”
“But if we run for the open sea, Esterling will be on us in minutes. If we don’t he needs only wait.”
He turned to look at the mermaids. They might want to protect him but there was little they could do if Bartazan managed to launch a second galley. On the upper deck of Esterling, Drallenkoop was pacing with barely containable energy, berating the archers for failing to land an a fire-arrow near enough to cause any damage.
“Does Drallenkoop look like a man who’s prepared to wait for reinforcements, Catzen?” Mirko asked. “Just look at him! He’s seething with frustration. Let’s goad him!”
Catzen raised her eyebrows quizzically.
“Your job is simple but important. I want us so that you could a draw a straight line from Esterling, through the lighthouse, to us. And be prepared to respond to my instructions on the instant. Understand?”
“Your plan is hardly so complex as to tax the intellect,” she responded dryly.
“Jenx! Tempo Two, but be ready to move up.”
For the next ten minutes, Serendipity, on the ocean side of the lighthouse, gently manoeuvred in an attempt to arrange the configuration Mirko wanted. The moonlit sea was calm, the winds were light. The only sound was the gentle plashing of her oars, and the rhythmic pounding of the waves against the rocks. Esterling seemed uninterested in tracking the minutiae of Serendipity’s movements. For all Drallenkoop’s brilliant reputation, Mirko realised, he was by experience and inclination a galley-racer: he would never before have fought a naval engagement.
Mirko stood on the observation platform looking back at the lighthouse; very little of Esterling was visible — she was now almost completely obscured by the bulk of the lighthouse.
“Jenx!” he called in a tone little louder than conversational. “Get ready.”
Jenx merely nodded. Catzen looked up expectantly; whatever Mirko was planning, he had the position he wanted.
“Go to Eight!” he cried. “Tempo Eight!”
The crew ground into action, forcing Serendipity into a muscle-grinding acceleration which must have been torture for muscles which had alternately strained and cooled throughout the day. But accelerate they did, with Catzen steering for the open sea and looking to steal a march on Esterling.
Aboard Esterling a cry went up; oaths drifted across the water. Mirko could hear Drallenkoop roaring orders; and, more slowly than would have been the case on Dragonchaser, the crew responded. Drallenkoop swung his helm to starboard and looked to pass the Morvellos to his left.
“Jenx! Down to Six.”
Jenx looked puzzled but complied. Esterling looked to be beating Eight or even Nine; giving the Morvellos a wide berth she rapidly closed the gap.
“Catzen! Hard about! Hard about! Back past the lighthouse. Jenx, go to Eight!”
Serendipity was now coming back the way she had come — in towards the shore — with the current carrying her along, adding impetus to the tired rowers’ efforts. Esterling’s great speed was now taking her further away from the doubled-back Serendipity. Drallenkoop pulled his helm across to try and intercept Serendipity before she could regain the shelter of the lighthouse. He was too involved to think of ordering arrows now.
Mirko! Come closer!
So the mermaids are still awake, thought Mirko. “Catzen, bring us in a touch.”
Drallenkoop! Drallenkoop! Come closer to the rocks, the way is short.
Mirko looked around in astonishment. The mermaids were talking to Drallenkoop — and somehow he could hear that too.
Drallenkoop kept Esterling on a steady course; she was already close to the rocks; although not to Mirko’s eye close enough to foul them, which was his hope.
“Jenx! Go to Nine!” He needed to unsettle Dral
lenkoop enough that he would gamble with the rocks and push too hard.
Drallenkoop! Drallenkoop! Great helmsman, lord of the sea! You can sweep closer to our rocks than that. We are calling to you, waiting for you! Come to us!
A shiver went down Mirko’s spine. He could feel the power of their call, though it was not for him. Would Drallenkoop be strong enough to resist it?
He saw Drallenkoop bring the helm around a fraction to port, in towards the rocks. His heart gave a leap, half horror, half exultation. If Drallenkoop did make it through, he realised, he would be virtually on top of Serendipity: there would be no escape.
There was a grinding sound behind them; Esterling visibly slowed. She’s grounded, thought Mirko. But how badly was she damaged?
Esterling appeared to have come to a complete halt. She had managed to wedge herself completely and immovably on a submerged rock.
“Jenx! Down to Six! Catzen, put us about again!”
Serendipity slowly turned to face Esterling. If she managed to get free, Mirko wanted to be in a position to launch one serious ramming run. But Esterling was already listing heavily. She had hit the rocks fast and it seemed she had hit a large one too. There could be no doubt: Esterling was sinking, and quickly.
“Jenx! Go to Seven! Catzen, open sea.”
Catzen nodded. This was no time to be picking up survivors. Drallenkoop and his crew had been trying to kill them for the past hour; now they would have to secure their own rescue. Let Drallenkoop, lord of the sea, cling to rocks and debate matters with the mermaids. He would have plenty to think about: not many galley masters managed to be sunk twice in a day.
Mirko raised his arm in thanks to the mermaids who, for the second time, had come to his aid. They were dangerous friends, but worse enemies. Thank you, he thought. No words came into his head from the rocks; all but one of the mermaids slipped into the sea and vanished from sight and knowledge. The final one remained on her rock and looked back at him. Into his head came not words but an image: Mirko himself with his sword out, marching towards the two louts on the beach as they prepared to molest the mermaid: louts with the scarlet tabard with a golden dragon of House Drall. He smiled. The mermaids always paid their debts.
He climbed down from the observation platform to stand beside Catzen. She put her free arm through his.
“Well,” she said. “Where to now, Captain?”
Mirko looked back over his shoulder at the dim shapes of Paladria looming out of the dark. “Aylissia can wait,” he said. “I always wanted to see what was over the horizon. South it is.”
Catzen’s eyes were dark pools in the moonlight as she smiled up at him. “They say we’ll sail off the edge of the world.”
“We already have, Catzen, we already have.”
And Catzen brought the helm around, and Serendipity made her moonlit way into her own unknown future, unique among all the other unique futures she might have chosen.
THE END
