“Let’s make it happen.”
“I’ll get the line,” said Buck. He darted off to their stores dump and retrieved a coil. With a practiced cast, Buck tossed one end to Finve’s waiting hands. Brog and Olik moved Ellor, and Sturo and Arno grabbed the table as Finve dove again. Buck held on but was forced to wade out about eight feet past the waterline. “I need more rope.”
“On the way,” said Sako. He estimated the distance between Buck and the nearest tree large enough to serve as a pulley, took up a coil of line, and swiftly inspected it for fraying. It would do. Sako cast the end to Buck and ran a loop around the tree. Buck secured the ropes as several hands joined Sako at the tree.
“Ready!”
“Pull!”
Sako and the others heaved a few feet until they ran out of slack, then an extra few feet.
“One two, one two!”
“Heave!”
Sako and his mates grunted and strained to drag the heavy gun up to the beach. Finve popped up, gasping for breath. Dason tried to replace a spent Finve for the diving portion, but was unable to handle the depth. Aler gave it a try and successfully secured the second gun. This one was harder to raise; its bore was full of sand. The tree was smoking from the friction by the time they got it up. Afnir stood over the guns with a smile and looked at Sturo.
“Well?”
“Sure, I can make carriages for these. Just need Chos and Sako to determine where they’ll balance best once we’re afloat.”
“Finishing the hull first,” suggested Tirpa.
“Yeah, let’s make that happen. Once we’re floated and our guns are back in her, then I’ll feel safe experimenting with these two.” Another thought occurred to him. “Wasn’t there some shot in that?” Afnir indicated the Predator.
“Yeah,” said Balgo. “I’ll get it.”
“I’ll help,” Drac said.
“Good. Make it happen. You like these, Ster Gunner?”
Clenchjaw nodded. He seemed pleased, but not excited enough to use words.
“All right, Brothers; back to scraping.”
There was some good-natured grumbling but no one shirked.
The Smilers worked feverishly for the next two tides; only Brog and Ellor were excused. Brog continued to add meat to their pile and had even found a good stream of sweet water. Ellor was the lookout. Drac and Balgo had retrieved seventeen cannonballs from the wreck that were suitable for the new guns. Clenchjaw used his off-time to scrape and clean the tubes, examining them closely for cracks and flaws.
Finally the Golden Sunrise was floated and her stores and guns reinstalled. The long nines were hoisted aboard and lashed to the deck until they could make carriages for them. Sturo beamed proudly. “Trims better than she ever did.”
“She does,” said Afnir. “Well done, Brothers!”
The Smilers boarded happily and made ready. They had provisions for at least five more weeks of cruising. The Golden Sunrise rolled easily back out through the break in the reef and put on sail. The last line had been set when Olik, who was at the masthead, said the one thing no one wanted to hear: “Deck! Sail!”
“Where?”
“Aft of the port beam, by the point of the island.”
Tirpa produced his looking glass and scanned. Hidden partially by the bulk of the island was a sleek three master with a distinctive hull and rigging.
“Jono frigate,” he reported. “She’s seeing us. Altering course and putting on sail.”
“Stut!” Afnir wasted no more time. “All hands aloft except a gun crew. Break out every stitch of canvas. Clenchjaw, load ‘em all. Calas to the bowsprit: find us some shoals too shallow for him!”
The Jonos had to know what they were; they were too far from any shipping routes. Honest ships had no reason to be here and it was obvious that the Jonos were aware that the beach was suitable for careening. That explained the Predator. It was Stessaca’s luck they were patrolling near here today.
The Golden Sunrise fled. Aler called out a shoal sighting and Sako turned to follow. Everyone felt the difference in their speed. Sako had no time to cast the log, but an eyeball estimate said they were moving at double their previous best speed. Even so, the frigate closed to within gun range swiftly. She turned neatly and white smoke bloomed along her entire starboard side.
“GET DOWN!” several voices cried as one. Seconds later there was the swoosh of passing shot followed immediately by the thunder. Several sails were holed and a few stays were parted. The Golden Sunrise slowed.
“Let her fall off, Sako!” Sako pulled the whipstaff and their gunner shouted his favorite word.
“FIRE!” Clenchjaw’s meager three gun broadside was loosed in response. Every shot hit, but the balls merely bounced away as far as they could tell. “Reload! Chain!”
“I’m reading her name. Sword’s Edge.”
“Apt,” was Afnir’s only comment.
“Shoals ahead, just a few points to starboard!”
“Thank you, Aler! Sako, four points starboard.”
“Yeah yeah.” Even as the Smilers altered course cannon snouts started to poke out from Sword’s Edge’s starboard side.
BOOM. The guns were fired in perfect unison. As Afnir had narrowed his profile, many of those shot missed, but not all. Two struck glancing blows along the hull, one breached just below the aft gun on the port side. The last one smashed into the stern and punched through the top shaft hinge. The whipstaff was severed from the rudder and Sako was smashed into the starboard rail by the impact. Sako climbed shakily to his feet and realized what had happened.
“Rudder’s gone! I can’t con, Afnir!”
“Passing shoals now, more ahead!”
“Let the tops and jibs fly!” Afnir couldn’t think of anything else to do. They were finished, but he wouldn’t strike the Bloody Smile. The frigate was dead astern; another broadside would destroy the Sunrise. If they board, I’ll not be taken alive. Afnir glanced over the side and was surprised at how shallow the water was here. We draw seven and a half feet; the frigate must draw twice that…
There was a sudden bump, violent enough to alter their course and knock Finve and Brog off the main spar. Both hung precariously for a moment before they swung back up. We must have hit the second shoal and gone over. Afnir looked up at the rapidly closing frigate and smiled.
The Sword’s Edge made a horrendous sound as she hit the reef. At least five sailors were tossed from the rigging. Sails began falling away and Afnir could clearly see the Jono captain’s ironic salute. Signal flags began to appear.
‘Damage repairable. Chase no longer necessary. Good luck with no rudder.’
Afnir looked at Sako and Dason: “Got any witty replies?”
“Sure. How about: Watch out for reefs?”
“Send it.” And the Smilers drifted away.
29
Becalmed
Afnir decided to leave the mainsail reefed at the half. The wind was favorably pushing them away from their adversary.
“Our luck, we’re going aground in a hundred yards or so,” Tirpa said sourly. “Aler, how’s the bottoming on this course?”
“We’re clear, Tirpa. Bottom disappears in twenty yards.”
Afnir studied the receding frigate through Tirpa’s telescope. The Jonos had furled all sails and put an anchor over forward. A second anchor was being carefully lowered into a boat astern. Repairable? At a shipyard, maybe. In any case, they weren’t coming after the Smilers anytime soon. Now, about the rudder…“Sturo!”
“Down here.” Afnir leaned over the taffrail to see Sturo’s head poking out through the hole. He was surprised to see the main part of the rudder still attached at the lower hinge. It didn’t look very secure.
“Can you fix it?”
“I need to rebuild this bulkhead first. Before that, I’d like to go over the stern in a breeches buoy and nail some braces in before we lose that thing. I can’t make a new one that’d work as well. We’d need my father for that.”
&
nbsp; “Make that happen then. Need any help?”
“Balgo, if you can spare him, and enough guys to work buoys for the two of us.”
“You’ve got them.” Afnir turned and explained the problem and solution to the Crew. A work team was put together and soon the two were lowered carefully to the water astern. Both men had hammers tethered to their wrists.
Thard cut a plank into manageable lengths for braces and Kostek lowered a bucket of nails and tied it off. The rudder was braced on both sides such that wave action couldn’t dislodge it. Everyone was relieved when the carpenter and his mate were raised with the job finished.
“I can’t make a ‘for now’ patch,” Sturo was saying. “This section supports the upper hinge. I want an ‘x’ across the hole from the inside, and then…” Afnir lost the rest of the conversation as they passed him on their way to the ladder.
Tirpa had the rest of the Crew repairing sails and running new lines. There was nothing for Afnir to do. They’re a good Crew. Too bad they’re sailing under Captain Komiver.
“I think we need to get more specific on where we want to cruise.” It was Sako, a rolled chart under his arm. Afnir allowed himself to be led to Ellor’s table and was soon lost in the discussion of trade routes around Costa, Seela and Nesang. He never realized that it was a ploy to keep him from brooding. The conversation lasted until dinner, when all work halted.
The next morning, the Sword’s Edge was at the horizon and Sturo reported to Afnir that he still had three hours work to do.
“Need any help?”
“No, it’s all me at this point,” Sturo said tiredly. “I’ll need to go over the side again later though.”
“Let me know, I’ll give you the men.”
Sturo nodded and went back to work. He had just finished attaching the whipstaff and was climbing into the breeches buoy when Dason wandered up. He made a show of straining to pull the whipstaff.
“This thing still doesn’t work,” he said. “Fine carpenter you are!”
“Of course it works. I fixed it.”
“Oh sure, if we only need to go straight, then I guess it works fine!”
“Well, I fixed it. Nobody said we needed to turn.” Sturo gave Dason a mock glare as he was lowered over the rail to remove the braces. When he was hauled back up, he went straight to the helm.
“Let me try.” It moved easily. “Turns fine! Must have been a poorly trained helmsman.”
“Piss-poor carpentry!”
“Landlubber on the con.”
“Seamstress with a hammer!”
“Hey,” said Drac. “Proper term is sailmaker or tailor.”
“Sorry,” said Dason.
“Sheepvaller!” said Sturo.
“That’s my job,” said Brog.
“Yeah, that’s his job, you blacksmith!”
“Blacksmith? You go too far!” Sturo drew himself up to his full height. “You have impugned my honor as a carpenter,” he declared formally. “I challenge you to a duel, sir!”
“Agreed. Pistols at dawn.”
“Are they serious?” asked Finve.
“Nah,” said Sako. “Watch.”
“Dawn? What about now?” Sturo pointed a finger at Dason, thumb cocked to simulate the hammer. Dason quickly ‘drew’ his own finger. “Count of three?”
“Agreed.”
“One…two…Bang!”
“Augh!” Sturo collapsed to the deck, clutching his chest theatrically. “No honor…you cheated…augh…”
“Oh shut up and die already,” Dason said. “You know I hit you in the heart.”
“Wait, I don’t feel any pain. I think you missed!” Sturo rolled onto his side and started to rise. In response, Dason drew his other finger and shot him again.
“Ow! You got my leg.” Sturo fell down again. “I’ll get you now.”
“Hold on, I’ve got to reload.”
“If we’re all done playing,” said Afnir, “I’d like to get underway. Just admit you’re dead so we can toss you over the side.”
“I’m not dead yet.”
“Yes you are,” Thard said around his pipe. “With the blood spurting like that, he hit an artery. You died a few minutes ago.”
“Dammit!” said Olik. “Now I’ve got to swab up all the blood. Drac, toss that body overboard.”
“Only if I get his share.”
“You can have my share of the debt!” Sturo said.
Everyone laughed except Afnir, whose face went blank. “Belay that nonsense! Every man to his post! We don’t have time for stage character games!” He whirled and stalked to his cabin and slammed the door. Shocked out of their fun, the Crew stared at the door.
“You’re hearing him. Let’s go.”
The Smilers made ready to sail. Only Kostek had a comment: “Now he thinks the debt’s his fault, too?” No one had an answer.
The rudder worked fine and the ship sailed well, but the wind died at sundown. They were becalmed for days.
Sturo and Balgo made carriages for the new guns. Afnir wanted to replace the center gun on each side and use the six-pounders as fore and aft swivels. Sturo wanted to make swivel plates and leave the smaller guns in their carriages.
Clenchjaw shook his head. “Recoil.”
“Balance won’t be right,” Chos said. “We’re too small for both heavy guns amidships; it’ll affect our steering.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Chasers,” said Clenchjaw.
Afnir didn’t understand, but Chos did. “Yeah…put one on one side of the bowsprit and the other on the opposite side of the rudder.”
“She’s trimming nicely that way, and not hurting our maneuv-ering.”
“Alright then. Make that happen.”
Sturo cut out a section of the taffrail and installed ringbolts. A team jockeyed the gun into position to the starboard side of the helm. It was a tight fit. Buck commented on it to Aler.
“We need a bigger ship,” was the reply.
“What we need,” said Afnir angrily, “Is some Stess-damned wind!” The men watched him warily. It was considered bad luck to talk about wind while becalmed.
Afnir ignored them and turned to address the Crew. “I didn’t want to do this as we only have the one boat, but it’s been four days so I think it’s time to start towing. Chos, make it happen. We’ll change out boat crews every two hours.”
The Smilers did as they were told. No one was happy about it, but there was no complaining. There were no alternatives. By sundown they were just a few miles further west, and there was still no wind. The next day was the same, a few miles gained by muscle power, none by sail.
Afnir had had enough. He called for Council after dinner. When the men were gathered in the waist and the officers found places on the helmdeck, Afnir stood and faced his Crew.
“Brothers, there’s a Komiver aboard. Since I’ve taken command, we’ve been separated into two groups. The group I was with was nearly pressed into the Imperial Navy. We are in debt to our eyeballs—and I can’t seem to fix it. We’ve chased three runners. Three! We only caught one and then only because she was short-handed and storm damaged. And what did we get? A few coals each? Even their food didn’t last us long. We tried to improve our odds by careening, but I picked an island known to the Royal Navy and we had to fight off a frigate! The only reason we’re not hanging in Jono City right now is because the frigate hit a reef. Not because we outfought her, and not because of anything I did. Even then we lost our rudder. As fast as youse fixed that, we lost the wind! What’s next, a hurricane?
“There’s a Komiver aboard. I’m it. I’m stepping down and I’ll support whoever youse elect.”
After an uncomfortable pause, Tirpa spoke. “We’re not thinking you’re a Komiver, Afnir. We’re having a run of bad luck is all. No one’s blaming you for it.” There was a chorus of ‘no’s as the Smilers agreed with the first mate.
“Nevertheless.” Afnir removed the checkered headcloth and hung it over the whipstaff.
He looked at it regretfully, and walked down the short ladder to join the hands.
Tirpa waited for Afnir to stop, then picked up the checkered rag. “And who’s wearing this now?”
“Why not you?” said Finve. “We all saw you take this ship with only seven men.”
There were murmurs of agreement, but Tirpa shook his head. “I wasn’t wanting it on Gull Stut Island, and I’m not wanting it now.”
“I nominate Dason Nive,” said Aler.
“Second!” said Brog and Kostek together.
“All in favor?” asked Thard.
“YEAH!” The acclaim was nearly universal, with Afnir the loudest.
“I don’t want it!”
“Too late,” said Olik. “We just elected you anyway.” Tirpa handed the headcloth to the younger man.
Dason smiled but did not don their symbol of authority. “All right then, my first order is for all of youse to elect someone else.”
Voices rose in protest and Chos pushed through to the ladder.
“Stessaca’s eyes! Why are all of youse so afraid to be captain? I’ll take it if none of youse are man enough!” He reached for the headcloth, but withered and grew pale under Sako’s glare.
Chos’ hand dropped back to his side. Dason noted the exchange and grew thoughtful. “We need a special man to be Captain of the Smilers. He needs to be a good seaman and respected as a leader, someone we’d all follow willingly, as we followed Afnir.”
“You’re describing yourself Dason,” said Ellor.
“Ah, but the man I’m describing won’t turn away if its offered, and he has one other quality that every other captain in the Brotherhood shares, but I lack.” Dason paused dramatically and looked around. He had the Crew’s undivided attention. “He’s vicious, my friends. I can hold my own, but I wouldn’t stomp on a downed enemy just to hear his bones crunch! We need someone who would butcher half a crew if one of us were trapped on the deck of some prize!” Dason paused to gauge his audience again. They were almost there. “Tell me: who is the most feared man on this ship right now?”
“Well, Buck’s afraid of Olik,” said Brog. The tension was broken by the laughter.
“So am I,” Dason said with an insincere smile. “But I mean the man even guys from other Crews are afraid to cross, and one we’re all damned glad is on our ship…”
Buxacan Spicerunner Page 16