Maquesta Kar-Thon

by Tina Daniell

  The delay caused to the Perechon by picking up Fritzen enabled the Katos to achieve what it hadn't been able to do by means of its own power for a day and a half—take the lead. The ship had sailed well into the Eye of the Bull, putting almost a league between itself and the Perechon. These particular waters gave Melas little room to maneuver and regain the lead. Cliffs towered over the edge of the channel on the Mithas side so that waves pounding into their base were reflected straight back, where they often collided with oncoming crests, creating a thunderous crash and an almost vertical wall of water. On the Kothas side, the channel appeared calmer. However, Melas knew the surface hid treacherous currents and deadly reefs that sheltered sea hag coveys.

  "We'll have to come up as close behind the Katos as we dare, then break for the lead as soon as we leave the channel!" Melas shouted, trying to be heard over the sound of the pounding water.

  The Perechon pitched and bobbed as it followed the minotaur vessel through the Eye. The water churned and surged, and waves spilled up over the deck, sending sailors scrambling to find something to hold on to. Maquesta held on to the rigging and tried to climb higher on the rope ladder of the mainmast. She wanted to get a good view of how far ahead the Katos was. She gained about ten feet, then decided she had better stop. She wrapped her arms around the ropes and held fast while the Perechon continued to dance on the turbulent waters. Down below she saw one of the newer crewmembers latch on to the capstan and bend over and wretch from motion sickness. She grimaced. If her father saw the green sailor, she knew Melas would give him a stern talking to and force him to find work elsewhere.

  A large wave crested over the bow of the ship, throwing a wall of water on the hapless sailor. Maq grinned, but then scrambled for her own purchase as the ship rocked and nearly dislodged her. She gripped the rope ladder even tighter, but her legs waved free below her, as if she were a flag blowing in the strong breeze. Glancing up, she saw the topsail strain against the masts, and she heard the tall timber creak, but she breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the ship passed through the Eye and the water began to calm.

  The sick sailor regained his composure, and he busied himself checking the rigging. Smiling widely, Maq watched him for a moment, then climbed higher to get a better look at the Katos. Melas was maneuvering the Perechon close in behind the minotaur ship as they neared the end of the channel.

  "Faster, faster," Maq urged as she climbed even higher and inspected the sails. The cloth and the rigging was holding, though she made a mental note to talk her father into a new topsail when they had the prize money in their grasp. This one had been patched too many times.

  Finally the Katos and Perechon emerged from the channel, and Maquesta descended the ropes rapidly and rushed to her father's side. "Pull!" he barked at her,, thrusting her in front of the wheel. She gripped two of the wooden spokes that extended from the wheel and served as handholds and turned them rapidly to her right. The motion caused the system of pulleys attached to the rudder to move, and the Perechon pulled, to the starboard side of the Katos. "Keep it up!" Melas yelled. His voice was raised to be heard above the crackling of the sails in the wind. "I'm going to adjust the rigging to see if we can get a little more speed out of her!"

  Maquesta tingled all over with excitement. She'd been given the wheel at the most crucial part of the race. The Perechon had been entered in many such contests, but this was the first time a ship was presenting a serious challenge. She breathed faster and felt her heart hammering fiercely in her chest. Her course took the ship so close to the Katos that she imagined hearing the conversations of the minotaur sailors on deck. Risking a glance to the side, she saw the captain and his mates working the wheel. Another group of sailors were laboring over the rigging. She doubted they had her father's skill.

  With her hand on the king's spoke, the largest handhold that pointed up when the rudder was straight, Maquesta turned the wheel hard to the left, taking her farther away from the Katos and closer to the treacherous shore. Maq doubted her father would have tried this maneuver, and likely would have stopped her had he been within arms' reach. She didn't want to risk the two ships bumping in the unpredictable water, and she wanted to attempt what Limrod had—but in a little deeper water. She knew the Perechon didn't sit quite as heavy in the water as the Torado had, and secretly she wanted to impress her father and prove something to the crew. A spray of seawater splashed in her face, refreshing and cooling her. Taking another sidelong glance, she noticed the Perechon had made some headway—it was pulling ahead of the Katos. Her maneuver had caused the Perechon to regain the lead!

  Cheers erupted from the sailors on the Perechon deck. A loud cheer behind her signaled the approach of her father. Melas slapped her strongly on the back.

  "Good job, Maquesta!" he beamed. "And it was a good thing I gave you the wheel—I certainly wouldn't have done that." More softly, he added, "And I'd better not catch you trying to do something like that ever again. I made a few adjustments, and that should help us pick up even more speed. It will tax the sails and the rigging a bit, but I want very badly to win this one."

  She grinned up at him and stepped back, returning the wheel to his control and forgetting his gentle scolding. Nothing could dim her spirits now. She had succeeded at the Torado's failed gambit—keeping the Perechon close to the Mithas coast. They had squeaked between the Katos and the shore, recapturing the lead with a vengeance.

  The summer's evening sun still warm against her skin, Maq allowed herself to think about the celebration she knew would take place that night in Lacynos. Standing next to her father at the helm, Maq grinned up at Melas, who winked back. Maq had remained on the aft deck, within earshot of her father, while he continued to lengthen the lead they had on the Katos. As she had on countless occasions throughout her youth, Maq had performed tasks as ordered and listened as Melas explained his strategy to her: why the sails needed to be trimmed a certain way, what potential hazards or advantages particular waters held, how the king's spoke felt in his hand in certain conditions versus others. When she was younger, Averon would sometimes join them, and Maq and her father would spend hours discussing the finer points of navigation—with the boisterous first mate throwing in his opinion here and there. In more recent times, however, these had become exclusively father-daughter occasions. Everyone else, including Averon, was discouraged from interrupting unless the matter was extremely urgent. As Maq's knowledge and experience had grown, Melas had increasingly solicited her opinion, not Averon's. These times always caused a thrill of pride to course through Maq.

  Now, once again, the Katos trailed the Perechon at a steady distance of about a league, unable to close the gap. With constant winds, Maquesta estimated they would sail into Horned Bay and claim their victory a good hour before darkness set in. She reminded herself to ask her father about purchasing a new topsail for the mainmast. While the minotaurs did not build their ships as well as other races did, she reflected, they were expert sailmakers—and certainly good sails were available in Lacynos.

  Then an odd thought crossed her mind.

  "Father, don't you think it's strange that we neither saw nor heard of the Katos before this race?"

  "Krynn is not such a small place," replied Melas. "There are ports we have never visited in waters we have not sailed."

  "Not so very many, and anyway, by its design the Katos appears to be a Blood Sea ship. I would not have thought there were any ships unknown to us here" Maq said, staring thoughtfully at the Katos. "At least it looks like a Blood Sea ship except for one thing. Did you notice?"

  "Yes. It's a bit out of the ordinary, but not unheard of, Maquesta."

  They both referred to a striped awning extending from the base of the upper aft deck over the main deck of the Katos, with three sides so that it looked like a small, closed tent.

  "I would hate to have to work around that on our main deck," Maq said. "I wonder… Wait a minute!" Maq, who had been regarding the Katos rather dreamily, snapped to attenti
on.

  "Did the winds change?" She hadn't noticed any difference. Checking the Perechon's sails, Maq saw there had been no change. She looked back at the other ship. "Father, I don't know how she's doing it, but the Katos is gaining on us!"

  "What!" Melas roared. "Maquesta, here!" He motioned her over to take the helm, then stood for an instant, hands on hips, staring back at the Katos. He pulled his spyglass out of his pocket, extended it, and raised it to his eye. A string of curses erupted from his lips. He shoved the glass back into his pocket, then vaulted down the steps to the main deck. "Averon, come help me here! Vartan, Hvel, to the foremast!"

  Melas shouted one command after another, having the crew adjust first one sail, then the next, shouting directions to Maq at the helm. The sailors worked frantically. But still the Katos gained.

  Maq grasped the helm, rendered nearly immobile. Her heart pounded wildly with joy—again she had been given the wheel at an important time. Her right hand gripped the king's spoke tightly. At the same time, a constricting band of nerves threatened to squeeze her heart to a dead stop. They were in jeopardy of being overtaken again!

  Maq glanced back over her shoulder. Despite everyone's efforts, only an hour from Horned Bay, the Katos was steadily erasing the Perechon's lead. How ignominious! Maq felt ashamed, ashamed at herself for having such self-centered emotions. But she burned with a combination of anger and shame at the thought that she was helming the Perechon as it might be sailing down to defeat.

  The Perechon's sails snapped loudly in the wind. Melas had ordered every scrap of sailcloth unfurled. He had directed their positioning to take utmost advantage of every puff of wind. The Perechon leapt and crashed through the waves with an energy rarely seen before. Sea spray dampened Maquesta's face and plastered her curls to the sides of her head. She was leaning every ounce of her body weight into the wooden spokes of the helm in an effort to hold the speeding ship to a steady course. Considering whether to tie a length of rope to the aft deck railing to aid her with her task, Maq cast her eyes around the deck to see what was available. When she looked up, she found her father standing next to her. His brows knit together in a frown, he was staring out to sea. One look at his face told Maq the news was not good.

  But glancing backward, Maq nearly leapt with joy. The sea was empty! They must have completely outdistanced the Katos. But in the next instant, she realized the sea behind her was empty because the Katos sailed abreast of the Perechon. With a nod of his head at Maq, Melas took over the helm. Several moments passed, and both father and daughter shook their heads to clear out their ears. Yet each still heard it, though faintly at first: a high piping, for all the world sounding like a flute playing a rapid jig.

  The Katos sailed quite near the Perechon now, still abreast but unable, it seemed, to finally pull ahead. The music grew louder, more insistent. Maq and Melas looked at each other with the same question in mind: where was the sound coming from? The slow realization that the source of the music was the Katos made Melas's brow furrow even more. Who in Krynn would be playing a flute in the final stretch of a race?

  "If it's meant to improve spirits over there, I bet it's not working," Maq said excitedly. "I don't think they can outrun us! What do you think, Fa—"

  She never completed the question. The jig stopped abruptly Maquesta thought she noticed a bit of tension leave the Katos's sails. Then across the waves the music resumed; this time the air carried a haunting tune, pitched in an even higher range than the jig. Inexplicably, contrary gusts of wind enveloped the Perechon, bringing with each blast gritty dust that stung the crew's eyes. The Perechon's sails snapped and cracked, filling with wind blowing first one way, then another. The tall wooden masts creaked ominously as if they were in pain, strained almost to their limit.

  "Take down the sails," Melas bellowed from the helm. "Take down the sails or we'll lose our masts!"

  Holding her forearm in front of her face to try to shield her eyes from the blowing dust, Maquesta fought her way against the wind to the mizzenmast where Averon and several others were attempting to lower both sails.

  "Someone's going to have to climb up to the boom," Averon shouted in her ear. "Part of the topsail rigging has snagged on something. Here, take my place holding this rope and I'll go."

  Maq shook her head without saying anything and began climbing the rigging. She knew where the problem was, because she had fretted over the topsail before. She also knew Averon was saying something to her because his mouth was open—but the sound was carried away by the wind. Maq was one of the best climbers on board. She was certain she would be better at unsnagging the sail than at holding a rope, which demanded more strength than skill. And, as ever, she felt she had something to prove to the rest of the crew.

  Buffeted by the wind, Maq inched her way up the rigging, by feel rather than sight. The dust was blinding and forced her to close her eyes. Then, when she had almost reached the boom, the wind squall died as suddenly as it had begun. Blinking her eyes to clear them, Maq observed that the sky was still cloudless, the sun shining, and the Katos now sailed far ahead, apparently unhindered by contrary winds. She worked the topsail until the fold was free, then she looked at the minotaurs' ship again.

  On the deck of the Katos, she spied a lean figure, heavily cloaked and hooded. Not a minotaur, she judged, realizing that the outline of horns would have shown beneath the material. Before Maquesta could study the figure further, it stepped back beneath the striped awning.

  Chapter 3

  Betrayed

  "Com'n."

  The invitation was slurred. Maquesta had expected her father to sample the ale on board—liberally sample it. What surprised her was that he had retreated to his cabin alone after the Perechon had slipped, unheralded, into the Lacynos harbor—just in time to see a bedecked minotaur barge bearing away a group from the Katos, presumably to accept their prize for winning the race. He drank in solitude, accompanied only by a couple of large pitchers of the heady brew. She took one look at him and whirled around and left. She'd come back later when he was sober or sleeping it off.

  With a book and an oil lamp in hand, Maq retreated to the upper aft deck. Her perch near the helm was predictably deserted now that the Perechon was moored in Horned Bay. However, though secluded on the opposite end of the ship from the galley and the sailors' quarters, Maq was able to hear much of the wake they held to mourn the Perechon's loss and drown their sorrows.

  Several hours later, most of the noise had subsided. A few of the sailors had stumbled up on deck and passed out, including Vartan, whom Maq could see sprawled on the main deck. Those remaining in the galley had settled down to some even more serious drinking. But Melas had still not emerged from his cabin, nor had Averon joined him, both of which Maq found odd. Normally the pair would be in the thick of it with the rest of the men. Maq rarely drank and never in the midst of the crew. She didn't want to risk losing control and opening herself up to ridicule.

  Maq preferred reading as an escape, anyway. Her mother, a teacher from her elven village, had read to Maq often in both the tongue common to humans and in the lilting Elvish language—and Maq always associated the activity with her mother. She derived considerable comfort from it, even when her reading matter was an old sea map or mariner's journal. However, that night, brooding over the Perechon's loss, Maq read very little before deciding to check on her father again.

  When she pushed open the door to her father's cabin, Maq hesitated. The cabin was dark, lit only by the light of Krynn's moons, which entered through portholes on two sides of the cabin. Melas was slumped over his desk, its top strewn with pieces of paper, two empty pitchers by his feet.

  Approaching him, Maq hoped her face didn't betray the sudden anguish she felt. Her father was crying. She hadn't seen his tears since that first year after her mother had disappeared. He had cried so much then, Melas once said, he had used up all his tears. But he was crying now.

  "Father, what's wrong?" Maq knelt by Melas's feet, lo
oking up at him. "It was only a race. There'll be other races to win. Other prizes to claim. The crew will wait for their pay. They've done it before. They won't leave you."

  Melas turned his face away from her. "Ah, no, Maquesta. It was more than a race. It was the Perechon herself."

  Melas's entire frame convulsed with a wrenching sob, then quieted. He swiped a burly forearm across his face, wiping away the last of the tears. He turned back to look directly at his daughter, seeming to have sobered up. "Now I've said it."

  She looked at him and brushed her hand gently across the top of his head.

  "Said what? What do you mean?" Maq regarded her father with a puzzled expression. "There's nothing wrong with the Perechon. She's as sound as ever. Nothing could have raced through that squall. All she needs is a new topsail." A twinge of guilt flashed over her at the recollection of her role at the helm, thinking perhaps she could have done something as the Katos passed them by a second time. Maq shook it off.

  "Why, I was just reading in the Manual for the Maritime-Minded about a tremendous squall that…"

  "No, Maquesta. The Perechon is still the best ship on the Blood Sea, and you did as well as anyone could have at the helm."

  Even in his current state, Melas had known how she must be feeling, Maq thought with a rush of affection.

  "It's just that the Perechon won't be our ship anymore," Melas continued, his voice sinking to a whisper. Once again, he averted his eyes from his daughter's.