by Robin Hobb
Althea did not reply immediately. Then she said, "I don't know. Paragon seems to be changing lately. It used to annoy me when he was sulky or melodramatic. He seemed like a neglected boy to me then. Yet there were times when he was eager to please. He spoke of proving himself to me and Brashen. But lately, when he talks with me at all, he says shocking things. He brings up pirates, and all he talks of is blood, violence and killing. Torture he has seen. He says it all in such a way that it is like dealing with a braggart child who deliberately lies to shock me. I cannot even decide how much of it to believe. Does he think I will be impressed with how much cruelty he has witnessed? When I challenge him, he agrees such things are horrendous. But he relates those stories with such salacious glee; it is as if there is a violent and cruel man hiding within him, relishing what he is capable of doing. I don't know where all the viciousness is coming from." She glanced away from Amber and added quietly, "But I don't like how much time he spends with Lavoy."
"You could more correctly say how much time Lavoy spends with him. Paragon can scarcely seek out the mate. The man comes to him, Althea. And truly, Lavoy brings out the worst in Paragon. He encourages him in violent fantasies. They vie in the telling of such stories, as if witnessing cruelty were a measure of manhood." Amber's voice was deceptively soft. "For his own ends, I fear."
Althea felt uncomfortable. She had the sudden feeling that she was going to regret leading the conversation in this direction. "There is little that can be done about that."
"Isn't there?" Amber gave her a sideways glance. "Brashen could forbid it."
Althea shook her head regretfully. "Not without undermining Lavoy's command of the ship. The men would see it as a rebuke to him and—
"Then let them. It is my experience that when a man in command of other men starts to go rotten, it is best to expel him as soon as possible. Althea, think. The ship is not subtle. Paragon says what is in his mind. The sailors are wiser than that. But if Lavoy is influencing the ship to his way of thinking, can you imagine he is doing less with the crew, especially the Tattooed? Lavoy has gained far too much influence over them. They are, in some ways, like Paragon. They have been brutalized by life and the experience has left them capable of cold cruelty. Lavoy builds on that in men. Look how he encourages the crew to deride and torment Lop." She looked away from Althea, out over the water. "Lavoy is a danger. We should be rid of him."
"But Lavoy Althea began. She was interrupted by Amber springing to her feet.
"Ship!" she shouted, pointing. On the deck below, the secondary watchman took up the cry and pointed in the same direction for the benefit of the man on the wheel. Althea saw it now, a mast moving behind a thin line of trees on a long point of land, close to where Amber had been watching earlier. The ship had probably held back and waited there, allowing the Paragon to come closer before they made their attempt.
"Pirates!" Althea confirmed. And "PIRATES!" she yelled down to alert the crew below. As if aware that they had been seen, colors suddenly unfurled from the other ship's flagstaff, a red flag with a black emblem on it. Althea counted six small boats being prepared for launch from the other ship. That would be their tactic then; the little boats would harry Paragon and board him if they could while the larger ship tried to force him into the shallows ahead. If the small boats' crews were successful at overrunning Paragon's deck, they could deliberately run him aground and pluck him at their leisure. Althea's heart hammered. They had spoken of this, prepared for this, but somehow it still shocked her. For an instant, fear gripped her so strongly she could not breathe. The men in those boats would do all in their power to kill her. She choked a breath past her terror, shut her eyes and then opened them wide. There was no time to fear for her own life. The ship depended on her.
Brashen had appeared on deck at her first shout. "Put on sail!" Althea shouted down to him. "They're trying to wolf-pack us, but we can outrun them. Six small boats and a mother ship. Be wary! There are shallows ahead." She turned to Amber. "Go down to Paragon. Tell him he must aid us to keep him in the best channel. If the pirates start to get close to us, arm him. He could do a lot to drive back a small boat. I'm going to keep the watch here. The captain will run the deck."
Amber did not wait to hear more. She was gone, spidering down the lines as if she had done it all her life. As Paragon drew abreast of the point of land, the small boats raced to intercept him. Six men in each craft manned the oars while others clutched weapons or grapples and awaited their opportunity.
Below her, Paragon's deck swarmed with activity. Some crew hastened to add canvas while others passed out weapons or took up watch positions all along the railings. The frenzied activity was not the coordinated preparation she had hoped to see.
Althea felt a sudden rush of anticipation. The excitement was giddying, submerging her fear. After all the waiting, her chance had finally, finally come. She would fight and she would kill. All of them would see what she could do; they would have to respect her after this. "Oh, Paragon," she whispered to herself as she realized abruptly the source of her feelings. "Oh, ship, you have nothing to prove to anyone. Don't let this become you."
If he was aware of her thoughts, he gave no sign of it. Almost, she was glad to cloak her fear in his bravado. As she called down to Brashen the locations of the oncoming boats that he might steer to avoid them, Paragon was shouting for their blood. Amber had not armed him yet. He roared his threats and thrashed mightily, blindly flailing his arms as he sought for prey within his reach. As Althea watched from her rocking perch, two of the small boats slackened their efforts at the sight and sound of the infuriated figurehead. The other four came on unchecked. She could see them clearly now. The men wore red kerchiefs with a black sigil on their brows. Most of them had tattooed faces. Their mouths were wide as they yelled their own threats back at the ship and brandished swords.
What was happening on Paragon's deck was not so clear to Althea. Rigging and canvas blocked her view, but she could hear Brashen bellowing orders and curses. Althea continued to cry the positions of the small boats. She took heart that two of the little boats were already falling back. Perhaps they might just slip by all of them. Brashen gave orders intending to evade them, but the wild leaning of the figurehead was thwarting the steersman's efforts. From her perch, Althea heard Amber's voice raised clearly once. "I decide!" she declared emphatically to someone.
Brashen's heart sank within him. None of the crew's training seemed to be bearing fruit. He glanced about for Lavoy. He was supposed to be commanding the archers. The mate should also be bringing the deck under control, but the man was nowhere to be seen. There wasn't time to find him: Brashen needed the crew to function now. They raced about like unruly children playing a wild game. At this first challenge, most of them had reverted to being the waterfront scum he had recruited in Bingtown. He recalled with chagrin his orderly plan: one set of men to defend the ship, a second ready to attack, whilst a third saw to the sailing of the ship. The railing should have been lined with a row of archers by now. It wasn't. He estimated that perhaps half his crew recalled what they were supposed to be doing. Some gawked, or leaned over the railing shouting and making bets as if they were watching a horse race. Others shouted insults at the pirates, and shook weapons at them. He saw two men squabbling like schoolboys over a sword. The ship was the worst of all, wallowing about instead of answering the helm. With every instant, the pirates drew closer.
He abandoned the distance a captain kept from his crew. Haff on the wheel seemed to be the only man focused on his task. Brashen moved swiftly about the deck. A well-aimed kick broke up one group of gawkers. "To your posts," he snapped at them. "Paragon!" he bellowed. "Straighten yourself!" Five steps carried him to where the men were pawing through the arms. The two squabblers he seized by their collars, knocked their heads together, and then armed them both with less desirable blades. The sword they had fought over he kept for himself. He glanced about. "Jek! You're in charge of passing out weapons. One to a ma
n, and if anyone doesn't take what he's offered, he does without. The rest of you, get in line!" He ordered aloft three men who were hanging back, bidding them watch and cry down to him all they saw. They sprang to with a will, gladly giving up their weapons to those more anxious to fight.
Brashen berated himself for not foreseeing this chaos. As their cries and Althea's shouts told him the positions of the advancing boats, he shouted his orders to the man on the wheel and the crew working the rigging. He judged that they would be able to evade the smaller boats, but not by much. As for the larger vessel behind him, well, the same wind filled her sails as his. He had a lead, and should be able to keep it. Paragon was a liveship, damn it. He should be able to outrun anything he had a lead on. Yet for all that, the ship's responses lagged, as if Paragon resisted the crew's efforts to speed him along. Dread uncoiled inside Brashen. If Paragon did not pick up speed, the smaller boats would close with him.
In a matter of minutes, Brashen had the ship's deck crew working smoothly. As the chaos subsided, he glanced about for Lavoy. Where was the man whose job he'd been doing?
He spotted Lavoy headed for the foredeck. Even more unnerving than the previous disorder was the small, orderly group of men around Lavoy. Composed mostly of the former slaves they had smuggled out of Bingtown, this group flanked the first mate as if they were his personal escort. They carried both bows and swords. They ranged themselves on the foredeck. Purpose was in Lavoy's stride as he paced it. Brashen felt an irrational flash of anger. The way the men moved around Lavoy told all. This was Lavoy's elite crew. They answered to him, not Brashen.
As Brashen crossed the deck, his coat snagged on something. He spun in annoyance to free it, and found a flush-faced Clef hanging on to him. The boy held a long knife in his right hand and his blue eyes were wide. He quailed at Brashen's stern look but did not let go of his jacket. "'m watchen your back, Cap'n," he announced. A disdainful toss of his head indicated Lavoy and the men around him. "Wait," Clef suggested in a lowered voice. "Jes' watch 'em for a minute."
"Let go," Brashen ordered him in annoyance. The boy complied, but followed him as closely as a shadow as Brashen headed for the foredeck.
"Come here! I'll kill you all! Come closer!" Paragon shouted gleefully at the pirates in the small boats. His voice was deeper and hoarser than Brashen had ever heard it. If not for the volume of the words, he would not have known it was his ship. He felt Paragon's bloodlust himself for an instant; a boy's wild determination to prove himself spiked with a man's drive to crush any who opposed him. It chilled him, and his spine grew colder as he heard Lavoy's wild shout of laughter. Was Lavoy unknowingly feeding off Paragon's wild emotions?
The mate goaded the ship on. "You bet we will, laddie. I'll cry you where to strike and you knock them. Give him his staff, woman! Let him show these rogues what a Bingtown liveship can do!"
"I decide!" Amber's voice was not sharp, but the pitch of it made it carry. "The captain put me in charge of this. I decide when the ship needs a weapon. We've been ordered to flee, not fight." He thought he heard an edge of fear in her voice, but the cold anger masked it well. In a quiet, earnest voice, he heard her exhort Paragon, "It's not too late. We can still outrun them. No one has to die."
"Give me my staff!" Paragon demanded, his voice going shrill on the last word. "I'll kill the bastards! I'll kill them all!"
Brashen could see them now, a tableau on the foredeck. Amber stood, Paragon's long staff gripped in both hands. Lavoy's stance was confrontational, but despite his words and the men at his back, he hadn't dared to set a hand on the staff. Amber looked past him to Paragon.
"Paragon!" Amber pleaded. "Do you truly want blood on your decks again?"
"Give it to him!" Lavoy urged. "Don't try to hide a whole ship behind your skirts, woman! Let him fight if he wants to! We don't need to run."
Paragon's answer was interrupted by a different sound. Behind Brashen, a grapple thudded to the deck, rattled across it and caught for an instant in the railing before it fell back into the water. Eager shouts rang out from below, and another grapple was thrown.
"Boarders!" Haff cried out. "Starboard aft!"
Brashen put steel in his voice as he swiftly mounted the foredeck. "Lavoy! Get aft. Repel those boarders! Archers. To the railing and hold the boats off us. Paragon. Answer the helm, with no wallowing. Are you a ship or a raft? I want us out of here."
There was the tiniest pause before Lavoy answered, "Aye, sir!" As he moved aft to obey, his hearties went with him. Brashen could not see what glance passed between Amber and Lavoy as he passed her, but he marked the white pinch of Amber's lips. Her clenched hands tightened on the weapon she had shaped for the ship. He wondered what she would have done if Lavoy had tried to take it. Brashen stored the incident in his mind, to deal with later. He stepped to the railing, and leaned over it to shout at the figurehead.
"Paragon! Stop thrashing about and sail. I'd rather put these vermin behind us than fight them."
"I won't flee!" Paragon declared wildly. His voice went boyish and broke on the words. "Only cowards run! There's no glory in running from a fight!"
"Too late to run!" Clef's excited voice piped from behind. "They've caught us, sir."
In dismay, Brashen spun to survey Paragon's deck. Half a dozen boarders had already gained the deck in two places. They were practiced fighters, and they held their formation, keeping a clear place behind them for their fellows swarming up the grappling lines. For now, the invaders sought only to defend the small gain they had made, and they did it very well. Brashen's inexperienced fighters got in one another's way as they attacked as a mob. Even as he watched, another grapple fell to the deck, slid and caught. Almost as soon as it was secure, he saw a man's hand reaching for the top of the railing. His own men were so busy fighting those on board they did not even notice this new threat. Only Clef leaped away from him, to charge across the main deck and confront the men coming up. Brashen was horrified.
"All hands, repel boarders!" he roared. He turned back to Paragon. "We're not ready for this yet! Ship, they'll take us if you don't get us clear of them. Make him see reason!" he shouted at Amber.
He sprang away to follow Clef, but to his dismay, Althea was there before him. As the boy darted his knife at the man trying to come over the railing, Althea tugged vainly at the grappling hook. The three-tined hook was set well into the railing, and the weight of the men swarming up the line attached to it only encouraged the metal to bite deeper into the wood. A shot of chain fastened directly behind the hook prevented the defenders from simply cutting the hook free. Before Brashen could reach them, Clef gave a wild scream and thrust frenziedly with his knife. It bit deeply into the throat of the grinning pirate who had just thrown an arm over the railing. The blood gouted dark red, spouting past the man's beard to drench both Clef and Althea before spattering onto the deck. A deep shout from Paragon told Brashen the ship had felt it. The dying man fell backward. Brashen heard the impact as he crashed heavily in the small boat below. Cries told him the falling body had done damage.
Brashen shouldered Althea aside. "Stay safe!" he ordered her. "Get back!" He swung one leg over the railing, and locked the other through it, so he straddled it firmly. He thrust down with his sword, slashing the face of a pirate who still clung to the line. Fortune had favored them. The falling man had near swamped the boat below and knocked down the man who had been bracing the line. As the second pirate lost his grip and fell, Brashen saw his chance. He sprang back to the deck and jerked the grapple loose. With a triumphant cry, he threw it down into the sea. He spun about, grinning, expecting Althea and Clef to share his victory. Instead, Althea's face was twisted with anger. Clef still looked numbly at the knife in his hands and the blood that coated them. A shout from aft turned his head. The fight was not going well there. He leaned down and shook Clef's shoulder. "Think later, boy! Come on, now."
His words broke the boy from his trance, and he followed as Brashen charged down the deck. It se
emed to him that in the same moment the ship suddenly picked up momentum. He felt a moment of relief that Althea had not followed him as he plunged into the battle. Three of his own men were down, rolling and punching with a pirate as if this were a tavern brawl. He sprang past them to engage the blade of a tattooed man with a gleaming bald pate. Brashen let the man parry his blade easily so that he could lunge past him and spear his true target: the pirate who was just flinging a leg over the railing. As the man fell back, clutching his chest, Brashen paid for his audacity. The bald pirate slashed at him, a cut that Brashen almost evaded by flinging himself to one side. He felt the blade tug at his shirt as the fabric parted. An instant later, a line of fire down his ribs seared him with pain. He heard Clef's hoarse cry of horror, and then the boy plunged into the thick of it. He came in low, jabbing at the man's feet and calves. The astonished pirate leaped backward to avoid the boy's cuts. Brashen surged to his feet, thrusting his blade before him two-handed. As he came up, the tip of his blade found the bald man's breast and bit deep. The man hit the railing and tipped backward over it, screaming as he fell.
Brashen and Clef had broken the magic circle of the defending pirates. His crew surged forward, turning the battle into a brawl. This was fighting they understood; they piled atop the remaining pirates, kicking and stamping. Brashen dragged himself clear of the melee and glanced about his deck. Aloft, the men were yelling that the pirate ship was falling behind as Paragon found his speed. A quick dash to the starboard side showed him that Lavoy and his men seemed to have handled their share of the attackers. Two of his crew were down, but still moving. Three of the pirates were still on Paragon's deck, but their comrades below in the boat were shouting at them to jump, to give it up.
Shouts from the bow alerted him to another boarding party. He'd have to trust that Lavoy could finish aft. Brashen raced forward with Clef still at his heels. Six men had gained Paragon's deck. For the first time, Brashen clearly saw the black sigil on their red head scarves. It was a spread-winged bird. A raven? Kennit's sign? They held their swords at the ready, defending the set grapple behind them. Yet from below came calls from their comrades. "Give it up! Cap'n's flagging us back!" The boarding party stood indecisively, obviously reluctant to lose what they had gained.
