by B A Simmons
Moments later, the line was brought back up and Harry said, “a fathom and a half.”
The wind was still pushing them south by east, but Tom turned them eastward again. He said, “Well Rob, we’re here. I pray to Ayday this is as close as we need get.”
“Keep a sharp lookout everyone. We must find that ship,” Rob called out.
Piers approached him, “Rob, take a look here,” he said and held out Max’s map. “Supposing we’re correct about this being Engle Isle. We’d orient this map like so, making this direction east. Here, we have two channels a short distance away.”
“But did we pass these during the night? There’s no scale to indicate distance.”
“True, but should we come across one of these, we then would have a scale. At least enough of one as to navigate more properly with this map.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to use the map at all. If the Falcons have been able to avoid going in there, we’ll be grateful for not having to use it.”
An hour later, Max called down to Rob from atop the mast.
“I see a long channel of water running south through the grass. It’s as bendy as a sea serpent, but it’s there.
“Do you see a ship in it?” Piers called back.
“No, but if it were down a ways, I couldn’t be sure.”
“Then we keep on easting,” Rob settled it. “We don’t enter that place unless we’re sure they’re in there.”
Dark shapes swam leisurely behind them in the shallow water though. Especially with the angle of the sun against the water, it was impossible to determine what they were. They had gone by the time the sun rose higher in the sky, illuminating the sandy floor beneath them.
“One fathom.”
Rob’s anxiety rose with the sun and, as if on cue near midday, Greg called out from the bow, “Sail! I see a sail!”
“Give the position!” Tom shouted, snatching his far-see and letting Piers take the oar. He shimmied up the mast as Greg responded.
“One . . . no, two points off the starboard bow!”
“She’s inside the maze,” Rob murmured before Tom confirmed his lament.
“I see her. It’s the Stella Marina, but how did she get in there? There aren’t any channels that I can see.”
“How far in is she?” Rob asked.
“At least half a mile. She looks stuck fast on a sandbar. They must have got there during last night’s high tide.”
Tom came down from the mast and looked sternly at Rob.
“I know, Tom,” Rob said. “It’s not where I want to take the Entdecker either, but we’ve little choice. Our people are on that ship.”
“Along with a bunch of angry Falcon soldiers and sailors. We put them there.”
“We have to approach this differently than with the Perla de Margareta. Then, we were only feigning a rescue. Now, we must actually provide it. Whether they realize it or not, they’re doomed without us. The Entdecker has a shallower draft and narrower beam. We can get in there through the smaller channels and retrieve them all.”
Overhearing the two men talking, Harry now interrupted. “You’ve got to be joking. You want us to rescue all of them? What about sneaking in and firebombing them?”
“This is the best option for getting our people without more bloodshed. We’re down a man and our target is no longer on the open sea, but stuck and in danger. We can’t wait for nightfall, either. The longer we wait, the more likely Misters Jones and Johnson will be killed before we can rescue them.”
“He’s right,” Piers said to the crew. “It’s the smart way to do this, but we should be ready for them to fight us, even if they understand how bad off they are.”
Tom spoke up. “The sandbar they’re on extends in a long crest north to south. If we can get the Entdecker to the north end, we could probably go on foot the rest of the way. It’ll keep the ship safe at least and not get us stranded here, should the rescue fail.”
“There it is,” Rob said. “I’ll go up and negotiate for our people, offering to take them all out of here if they submit peacefully.”
“May Ayday have mercy on us,” Harry spat.
Rob looked again at Piers and saw a wry grin curve his mouth. Tom took his place on the quarterdeck and turned the Entdecker into a gap between the long, thick grassy stems that swayed in the westerly wind.
8: A Fight for Refuge
Pete suspected his crew knew about his relationship with Trina. Even though she had been coming to see him for weeks, they now seemed to be looking at them with surreptitious smiles. Whether Trina herself noticed this, he did not know. Nor could he bring himself to ask her. He became more cautious around her. Gone were the simple days aboard the Entdecker. They could not, as Mark and Anna had, feel free to express their love for each other without feeling the judgment of others.
On deck, Pete spoke to Trina deliberately, giving orders, never conversing as they used to. Of course, they still met at night, when only the watchmen were on duty. During those hours, they talked and laughed together. Then, and only then, did they feel free to embrace each other as one might embrace the sunlight after a long storm. Such change in the weather of their personalities remained hidden from everyone else. Or so Pete hoped that the awkward glances were only his paranoia.
The weather around them and Forgotten Isle improved slightly. For two days they experienced overcast skies with only intermittent rain. The winds, for the time being, gave up their assault on the island, the ships, and the men on both. But the men grew bored, and the food stale. Even the supplemental meat rations of hare and fish were not enough to satiate the Punishers. Fights broke out; luckily, they were never serious.
In the early morning gray, the men on watch atop the mountain spied an approaching ship, coming from the south. Once the signal was sent down, Edward, with the Punishers encamped on the island, broke down their tents and moved into a secreted position on the slope near the western shore. Fully armed and armored, they laid themselves flat against the ground and awaited the call to action. The Alphina and Old Man sailed around the northern point and dropped anchor off the western shore.
The trap was set. They awaited Joshua, who with three others remained atop the mountain, and would send the signal to spring their ambush. The hours of waiting seemed drawn out, as one might draw pus from a wound, only to find more there than expected. Pete grew troubled and weary of looking to the peak in hopes of the signal.
Of course, as these events always come to pass, as soon as he delegated the watch to Jacob and busied himself with another task, the signal came. The crews of both ships erupted into cheers of excitement, until Pete barked out orders to get underway. As had been planned, the Alphina traveled back around the northern end of the island, while the Old Man came around the south. The idea was to catch the Falcon ship between them, cutting off any escape and forcing them to split their fire against the two targets. Pete felt it safe to assume they had cannons aboard, though how many and what poundage, there was no way to tell until fired upon.
Another hour passed as they came back against the morning sun, which peeked out from a break in the clouds. The wind seemed to sense their excitement and freshened from the northwest. This gave the Alphina added speed toward her target and gave Pete added anxiety. He realized that the same wind that rushed him onward, would slow Tim and the Old Man.
Indeed, as the Falcon ship came into view, sitting at anchor with her boats ashore, the Old Man was not yet in sight. Pete hoped it was simply a matter of the Falcon ship, a grand caravel, blocking his view of her. Yet he couldn’t suppress the doubt that grew in his mind.
Jacob stood ready by the three-pound cannon, which had been mounted on the forecastle. Trina was near him, her face that of a huntress stalking her kill. It frightened Pete, how different this version of her contrasted with the woman he was in love with. She was the same woman, of course, he knew that. Yet at the same time, her countenance was so altered with the change in her moods, that he felt it was an
evil twin he now saw, bow in hand, waiting for the chance to shoot.
Pete ordered Donald, his helmsman, to veer two degrees starboard. This course allowed them to target the boats, should they attempt to bring them back to the ship. They did not. Rather, the grand caravel unfurled its own sails and began to turn herself. Through his far-see, Pete saw two gun ports open on the portside. The Falcons were prepared to receive their attack, and they were more than a match for the Alphina.
They weren’t yet close enough to ensure their small cannon would reach the Falcon ship, yet after another couple of minutes, both Falcon cannons opened up on them. These were ranging shots; used to gauge the distance to the target. Both shots fell just a few yards in front of the Alphina’s bow.
In a move of either sheer genius or desperation, Jacob angled their small cannon up a few extra degrees and fired. Pete cursed at him and, had not the whole length of the ship been between them, he’d have hit the much bigger, stronger man.
Instead, Pete brought the far-see back to his eye and looked to see where one of their few shots landed. Expecting to see a splash in the water between them, he was shocked when a bit of wood flew off from the Falcon ship’s hull. Angling the shot had lessened its force, and it did not penetrate the hull, but Pete realized why Jacob had fired. He wanted the Falcons to know they were dangerous.
The grand caravel began moving slowly away from the island. Its wide beam and deep draft made it slower, so it needed more room to maneuver. This was exactly what Pete wanted to prevent.
“Swing us to port, Donald!” he cried out. “All hands, keep your heads down until we close the gap!”
Finally, as they veered away from Forgotten Isle, Pete caught a glimpse of the Old Man. Tim had not failed them; he came quickly up on the Falcon ship from its starboard quarter.
The faster Alphina sped out in front of the Falcons. This forced their captain to choose which ship he wanted to face. The one he knew had a cannon on board, or the one he could see was sporting a ballista. He turned his ship southward, fleeing from Pete, but closing the gap between themselves and the Old Man even more. The Falcon ship fired their starboard cannons, one of which scored a hit across the Old Man’s deck. Pete winced, realizing that such a hit does more damage to the crew than it does the ship.
Jacob fired the three-pounder again, but Pete did not look to see if or where it struck. He took control of the tiller from Donald. It was faster to make the maneuvers himself than calling out the orders. Donald stood at the ready, for he knew that without warning, Pete might abandon the tiller and go elsewhere.
The Alphina closed in quickly as the Falcon captain realized that moving in against the Old Man also put him back toward the island. He resigned himself to reducing speed and making a fight of it.
“Look, Cap’n!” Donald said, and he pointed at their sister ship.
Pete shifted his gaze to see an explosion of wood as a Falcon cannon blasted them at close range. The Old Man responded with a bolt from the ballista, which landed somewhere on the deck amidships. A smaller, quieter popping sound followed.
A perfectly aimed shot by Jacob sent a ball across the Falcon’s quarterdeck, and Pete heard the cries of men as he swung the Alphina around to that point. They glided in along the Falcon’s portside and Trina shouted a command to fire. She and half a dozen other archers loosed arrows into the Falcon gun crews. Jacob left his post at the cannon and drew his favored weapons. Hooks were tossed across the gap, and the two ships were soon fastened together. More arrows and crossbow bolts were traded. Two of the Punisher archers and one of Pete’s crew, a man named Conrad, were struck down.
With a ferocious scream emanating from his throat, Jacob launched himself aboard the Falcon ship. He was joined by equally ferocious Punishers. Pete left the tiller to Donald again and picked up his shield and axe. He was about to jump across the narrow gap when he heard a voice call his name.
“Pete!” Trina shouted. He paused and looked her way, both annoyed and pleased at hearing her say his name. Yet she wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the enemy ship and pointing at their stern.
He followed her direction and saw smoke pouring out from under the grand caravel’s quarterdeck. The captain’s cabin and officer’s quarters were aflame. He pulled his attention back to the fighting amidships.
“Jacob! Jacob!” he shouted. Yet he could not see who was who in the chaos. The Old Man had taken a position on the opposite side, and as soon as her boarders had entered the fight, the remaining Falcon crew surrendered.
“Get our people and all prisoners aboard immediately!” Pete ordered. He knew that someone had set fire to the caravel, meaning to deprive him of his prize. They had underestimated Pete’s intentions and skill. As the flames began to spread across the deck, Pete frowned at the cowardly act of setting one’s own ship ablaze as much as the waste of a good ship.
Most of the Punishers returned with either a prisoner or some object taken from the Falcon ship. A group of them formed a conveyor line and were passing barrels, crates, and boxes across to the awaiting arms of their comrades. The whole operation of looting the enemy was carried out with expert efficiency. Clearly, it was not the first time they’d raided a ship.
“Is everyone aboard?” he asked a few minutes later, noting that he saw only dead bodies on the smoke-filled deck across from him.
Trina answered, “I think so, Cap’n. Anyone who’s not is doomed to burn at this point.”
“Get us away from this fire before it spreads to us.”
“Aye, sir!”
“Cap’n Pete!” called out a man with a bloodied face. He was a Punisher. Sergeant Baker, if Pete recalled the name correctly. He motioned for Pete to follow him.
Pete approached through a bustle of men, his crew assisting Punishers either wounded or herding Falcon prisoners across the deck. Sergeant Baker knelt down next to prostrate Jacob. Pete’s frown deepened when he saw the crossbow bolt protruding from just below the right knee. Jacob grimaced in pain, holding his copper-studded club as though it would bring him relief.
“I got hit the second I landed on deck,” he said through clenched teeth. “Still, I killed a couple of them before the rest were chased away.”
“Well done,” Pete said. “We’ll get Wallace or Richard to fix you up soon. You did well today.”
“Sir, the Old Man is signaling us,” Trevor reported.
Pete ascended to the quarterdeck and read the semaphore flags. Captain wounded, please advise.
“Signal them to come alongside us,” Pete ordered Trevor, then he turned to find Trina. She was at the port railing, trussing up a Falcon sailor. He let out a sigh, suddenly aware of his breathing and how shallow it was. Drawing in a deep breath, he approached Trina and a smile automatically appeared on his face.
“We’ve got nine prisoners,” she said. “Eight sailors and the captain’s slave, who is badly wounded. I don’t know if he’ll survive. It would appear that their captain and all of his officers were killed.”
“Any idea of how many we lost?” he asked, knowing she hadn’t a clue. She looked at him with an exasperated expression. Punishers were still milling about the deck, looking for friends and treating wounds. “Never mind,” Pete said. “I have a new assignment for you.”
“Oh?” she said, an expectant grin curled her lips.
“I need you to go over to the Old Man and assess their damage. You’ll likely have to take over for Tim. He’s been wounded.”
“How bad?” she asked. Pete shrugged in reply.
“If he’s badly off, you may have to be there a while.”
He saw her face drop in disappointment. He knew she didn’t want command. She had made it clear that her position as his boatswain was as much responsibility as she ever desired.
“If he dies, I’m not taking command. You can make Logan her captain, but I won’t.”
Pete smirked, “I don’t want you there any longer than you have to be.”
She smiled in respon
se, and they noted the Old Man was approaching. Behind both ships, the Falcon grand caravel was completely engulfed in orange flame. The sight was enough to make Pete forget how happy he was standing next to Trina. His frown returned as she crossed over.
The Old Man looked more a mess than they did. Bits of hull and rigging were scattered around. Wounded crew and Punishers were strewn about on deck, being attended to by Richard. The Fallen Dome medic had his hands full, yet managed a smile when he saw Trina come aboard with two others from the Alphina’s crew. Logan appeared to meet her, his left arm wrapped in a bloody strip of cloth. He pointed at one of the figures lying on the deck, and Trina accompanied him to Tim.
Tim had five large splinters and several smaller ones protruding from his body. Adele was attending to them, carefully removing as much of the wood as she could without making the wounds bigger. Tim looked dead, but Trina could see his chest move up and down and his brow furrowed occasionally as a chunk of wood came out.
Back on the Alphina, Pete ordered the prisoners placed in the cargo hold and put under constant guard. Lizzy reported that two Punishers had been killed and eleven more wounded, though most of the wounds were light. Pete smiled at the news that Jacob and Conrad had been the only casualties from the Alphina’s crew. He signaled Joshua atop the mountain, asking for a report. After a few moments, he received a terse reply: All well.
Pete set out for the island in the dinghy with Sergeant Baker, to find Edward. They found him near at the watering hole with most of his men. They seemed exuberant.
“I take it things went well for you here?” Pete inquired.
“The meechers saw our little decoy camp and sent every marine they had aboard to destroy us. Just as you predicted.”
“How many?”
“Only a platoon of eighteen. We wiped them out.”