“We’d have to sell a lot of it directly to the Kimbulans then,” said Dason. Sako realized that the entire Crew was watching them. He climbed up the ladder to the helmdeck and turned to face his men. He had to look up to see the hands lining the rail of their prize.
Tirpa stood up there with two black men. I’ll have to meet them, see if they want to join or not, but first…
“Brothers, you’ve done very well today!”
They answered with a cheer.
“Those of youse who were on Gull Stut Island know that Sturo is a master shipwright. He estimates the value of this ship to be about eighty thousand crowns!” Sako had to stop again for the yelling and cheering. “There are two Freshboxes in the galley and the hull is painted with Neverrot! And Ellor says the cargo’s worth double the haul from Stafa.”
The Smilers howled and laughed, shaking hands and slapping each other on the shoulder. Sako took advantage of the break to light a cigar. “However, we have a problem, as well.”
Once again he had their complete attention. “The Alarfaji are likely to want their ship back. I’m told that the fifth son of the Sulmir was killed here today. They are certainly going to want vengeance.” Sako showed them his ‘so what?’ smile. “But there aren’t very many of them in the Buxacan Sea, are there?”
There were laughs and smiles and the Hyena let out one of his disturbing cackles.
“It’s time for a vote, Brothers. We can sell both ships and all of our loot, dissolve the public fund and share out everything. We’re all rich! Or, we can go back home, sell the Horizon and our cargo and put back out to sea when we feel like it and sail wherever we wish. How do youse vote?”
The Smilers shuffled their feet and looked at each other sideways. No one spoke. Sako looked them over for a few moments, and glanced at Dason. He looked as confused as Sako.
“What is it, lads?” Dason called out.
Brog looked up first. “What do you want, Sako? I won’t say my wish until I hear yours.” There was a general murmur of agreement.
“Does everyone want to know my vote first?”
“Yeah,” they chorused.
“Alright. What I want is this ship. Look at her! With this ship we can go anywhere. There’s not a ship in the whole Buxacan Sea that can stand up to her short of a frigate, and I’m willing to bet she can outrun any of those. She’s painted with Neverrot—no weed, no careening! There’s Freshboxes aboard—fresh meat, cheese, eggs, vegetables—we could eat like we’re ashore all the time! And with Gomeneg in the galley? Retire? Someday. But not today.” Sako looked around again.
There was Kostek, leaning against the mast. Aler stood to the fore, Clenchjaw sat on a gun. Olik was on the prize at the rail. Thard and Afnir together. And the new men; Fishbait grinning like a loon. The brothers Red. Ieskott halfway up the shrouds.
“Who’s with me?”
The response was loud and raucous enough to wake Finve below. Only Afnir and the two Alarfaji remained silent.
Amidst the bedlam, a strong voice made itself heard, “Captain Pizi, Captain Pizi!” It was Tirpa. “What are we naming her?”
“How about,” Sako smiled again, “The Spicerunner?”
37
Aboard the Speed
The squadron had sailed in convoy from Dalaria twelve weeks past. They had stopped in Nesang for resupply, and separated according to Captain Sweetwood’s instructions. Dolphin and Mist were sent northwest into the Chains. Ghost went southeast. Sweetwood and Calwin took their ships due east to scout the scattered islands south of Kimbula.
They separated after the first uninhabited island, confident that either could take down a pirate if they encountered one. Calwin guided Speed due east.
The Kimbulan Archipelago consisted of fewer islands spread out over a greater area than the Chains. It was inconveniently far from most of the pirates’ favored cruising spots and far from the shipping lanes.
“That makes it an ideal place to hide a pirate port,” Calwin said to his First Lieutenant.
“I agree, Sir. We’ve all heard of Port Buxaca, which is just a euphemism for no port at all, but most agree that Rumtown is real, but almost no one has seen it.”
“Exactly. I doubt it’s in the Chains, else it would have been discovered by now. Perhaps we’ll be the first, eh?”
“Yes, sir!”
Calwin’s navigator was kept busy updating the charts with dozens of small insignificant islands that were previously unknown to the empire. Many had no fresh water and were of interest only to those who studied wildlife and vegetation. Some few were larger and were inhabited by hostile savages. Calwin found one of those the hard way.
A party had been sent ashore to look for water and came back empty handed. They were also two men short. The midshipman in charge reported that the savages were little brown men who wore nothing but painted designs.
Most of the men wanted to broadside the island, but Calwin would not allow it. “There’s smoke visible on many of these islands,” he said patiently. “Smoke usually means men, be they savage or pirate. If the next island has Rumtown on the far side, how do you think they’ll react to hearing cannon they themselves didn’t fire?”
The Speed continued without retaliating. The routine didn’t change for three weeks.
One hot, sultry afternoon, the masthead sighted a sail. It was a brig on a westerly heading.
“I would very much like to meet that captain,” Calwin said.
“There’s no legitimate reason for him to be here,” the First Lieutenant said. The brig had altered course slightly to the north, but the ships continued to close.
“Set a course to intercept and send an ‘I-Y’ when we’re in range.”
“Yeah yeah, Sir.” The ‘I-Y’ was sent as ordered, but response was slow. Finally a Kimbulan flag appeared with the signal ‘Dalk’s Girl’.
Calwin gritted his teeth and sent another signal.
‘Where origin?’
‘Bilitown’
“Ster-dammit!” Calwin’s officers and helmsman looked away at the uncharacteristic outburst. ‘Bilitown 700 miles north. You from east. Repeat: where origin?’
‘Island. Personal source merchandise’
“Enough,” said Calwin. ‘Stand to and prepare for boarding and inspection’
‘Not in Tayan waters’ was the reply.
“Deck! I can make out her name: Stinger.” That was the name of a known Bloody Fist ship.
“Thank you, masthead.” Calwin turned to his officers. “Put a shot as close as you may. I know the range is long.”
“Yeah yeah, Sir.” Less than a minute later, one of Speed’s guns spoke. Every telescope on the Imperial ship watched the trajectory. The ball splashed aft of the brig, not even close enough to wet her. The brig came about to the north and ran. Calwin gave the order to chase.
Speed lived up to her name and stayed close to Stinger. Every so often Calwin would turn and fire, but his gunners had no luck. They were almost in range for another shot when the masthead saw something alarming.
“Deck! Reef, dead ahead!” A midshipman was sent aloft with his glass, to get more complete information. He came back down quickly, doubled up to the helmdeck and snapped to attention in front of Calwin.
Not even out of breath, Calwin noted with approval. “Report.”
“Sir, the reef runs as far as the eye can see, port to starboard in a curve toward us. There’s a coral head with breakwater a mile west—”
“Can you tell me why the Stinger has altered course?”
“Yes, Sir. There’s a gap, Sir. But it’s very narrow, I’m not sure we’ll fit through.”
“Very well, Midshipman. Dis—”
“Deck! She’s taking in sail!”
Calwin snapped open his glass and watched as the pirate negotiated the narrow channel. He was startled by the twin ‘boom’ of his bow chasers. They missed once again.
“Take in all sail, but maintain course. Navigator, get forward and determine if we
can fit through.”
“Yeah yeah, Sir.”
The bow chasers banged again as Speed drifted closer to the gap. One of the balls actually struck a glancing blow along the pirate’s hull. The pirates answered with jeers and obscene hand gestures. They put on all sail again and began to pull away. Calwin began paying more attention to the men taking soundings.
“Four fathoms.” Splash. “Three fathoms, two.” Splash.
“Helm, come about to the west.”
“Hands aloft! Staysails and topsails! Look alive now!” the First Lieutenant shouted.
“Number One, let’s follow the reef to the breakwater. I suspect it may be deeper after we pass it.”
“Yeah yeah, Sir.”
But it was not to be. Stinger was hull down on the horizon by the time stars were visible. By dawn they still hadn’t found a way around the reef, and the pirate was no longer in visual range.
Calwin had a new idea. “Let’s find out where they came from, shall we?”
The navigator extrapolated a back course and found a single charted island three hundred and fifty miles east.
“It’s a volcano, Sir, on an island that’s five miles by two. The coastline doesn’t show a harbor, but that doesn’t necessarily mean there isn’t one.”
“It’s worth investigating.”
Speed arrived at the island in a light steady rain. The volcano was quiet but there was too much smoke for a mere village of savages.
“Put the men at quarters. We’ll round it to the south.”
There was a nasty surprise waiting on the southeast side. It took the form of more than fifty war canoes and hundreds of savages dancing around a massive bonfire.
The sight of the Buxan ship enraged the warriors. They immediately ended their ceremony and charged down the beach. Within minutes, every canoe had been launched. A disciplined broadside failed to deter them.
“Lower your elevation,” the Gunnery Lieutenant called calmly.
“Marines to the rail with your muskets!” the Marine Lieutenant ordered.
The canoes charged right into the teeth of a second broadside. Two suffered direct hits and sank, a third was swamped. Still they came on, angrier than ever. The marines opened fire and scored a few hits.
“Hands aloft! All plain sail! Helm, make your course to the south!”
Spears were thrown, but only one reached the Speed. It bounced off the hull near the waterline.
“Switch your loads to grape and lower elevation.” The Gunnery Lieutenant was still unruffled. More spears arrived, and two men were injured. The marines fired again and took out an entire canoe.
“Fire!” The grapeshot did some damage, but most of the canoes were too close for it. The savages were unfazed by the shot whistling over their heads. Speed completed her turn and began to pull away.
“Cease fire!” said Calwin. “Waste no more shot on them. They can’t catch us.” He looked up and raised his voice. “Masthead, are there any islands to the east?”
“No, Sir! Blue water to the horizon.”
The provisioning Lieutenant had reported that they had eight weeks of supplies left that morning. Calwin decided he’d pushed the limit as far as he dared. If they reversed course now, they’d arrive in Tevon with a few days worth of food and water. He’d report to Sweetwood and await further instructions.
38
The Sugar Queen
The IskronDionSaleet, which translated to Pride of Saleet in Buxan, was as long as a Tayan dreadnought of a hundred guns, but a little less than two thirds as wide. Her masts were tall but there were only two large sails per mast. She could be easily sailed by a small crew. She was deep keeled, but the fore and aft decks hung out over open space. Those decks were home to two swivel guns each. The main deck was also a gun deck, and the center was open to the sky. There were thirty-four well-kept guns there. Each masthead had a fighting top with a swivel falconet.
Dason led Sako around as he surveyed his new kingdom. They were accompanied by the surviving Alarfaji, who’d elected to join the Crew.
Jat Bipeous was a short, stocky man who shaved his head. His skin was the darkest Sako had ever seen. He was quiet and competent with an appealing wry sense of humor. The Bipeous family was old if not noble and had gone to sea for generations. Jat’s rank was somewhere between midshipman and lieutenant, best described as a warrant-ensign. His seamanship was exemplary but his specialty was gunnery. Born in Ekrat, Jat had learned to speak Buxan as a boy.
Ibe Loneous was a tall gangly sort who wore his hair very short. He was from the Yemor District far north of Saleet. He was an able deckhand and coxswain. Ibe had run away from his family farm with a strong desire to see more of the world. He’d wanted to see Saleet, and it had impressed him to no end. Ibe hoped to see the great barbarian cities of the far south, which were nearly a fable in Yemor. His Buxan was halting at best, so he was most comfortable with Jat and Tirpa.
By rights, both should have died defending the Sulmir’s son. In fact, it was their sacred duty to do so, or follow him into death. If they went back to Alarfaj, they would be executed immediately.
“I’ve heard that barbarian hangings are much easier than ours anyway,” Ibe said privately to Jat when they were given the choice to join. “Hang as a criminal here or as an oath breaker back home—that’s what we get for surviving the Bleeding Gum Sickness.”
“I don’t think these cutthroats would transport us back to Ekrat just because we wanted to die there, anyway. They have a word, ‘maroon’, which means some kind of punishment for sailors who go against them. Whatever it is, it’s probably worse than the Traitor’s Death. I’ll tell them yes. Get used to these pale women, because that’s all we’ll ever get to touch again.” Ibe shuddered.
That had been hours ago. Now they led the barbarians around their ship. They seemed very impressed with the giant xebec. They now stood in the crew’s quarters. Sako marveled at the lockers that were built into the bulkheads, one per hammock. Forward of the sleeping area was a magazine.
All the way forward were livestock pens. Long-range runners from the southern nations often carried livestock, but the animals were just tethered on the weather deck. This ship had actual pens.
There was a cow, and room for three more. There were channels built into the deck that led to drains for easy removal of offal. There were pens for twelve goats, though only two remained, and there was even a coop for at least thirty chickens. There were three birds.
Dason led the inspection party back through the bunkroom into a large compartment with a huge fixed table that ran most of its length. In fact, the mainmast passed right through it. Fixed benches ran down both sides, but there were six chairs at the aft end. Apparently the Alarfaji officers ate with their crew.
The next compartment was a pantry, but there were also six bunks here. The last compartment was the galley. There were even tapped water barrels over basins, one of which was above the oven. Gomeneg was already there, exclaiming with wonder at how well equipped it was.
“It’s like a kitchen in a well-to-do townhouse, Captain. With some real ingredients, I can make wonders! And—Freshboxes! I haven’t seen one since I graduated from Garundel’s! Now I have two!”
Sako and Dason smiled and left as quickly as they could. They went back up the main ladder from the dining compartment to the weather deck. There were two ladders up to the helmdeck and a stout door inbetween. Jat and Dason led Sako through.
“There’s three staterooms per side, and that door aft is your cabin.”
Sako’s quarters were the width of the ship, and very luxurious without being overdone. There were huge windows with curtains, lockers, a desk, a comfortable looking bunk and a table large enough for four. Under the carpet was a trapdoor locker, which stood open. Sako looked down and saw…gold.
Dason smiled at his expression. “Ellor already counted it: twenty-five hundred Kamas.” That was almost forty-four hundred crowns. Sako had never seen so much gold in one place.
The Spicerunner was the most maneuverable ship Sako had ever been on. She was faster than the Horizon on every point, though a good frigate should be faster running before the wind. Jat and Ibe were everywhere, teaching and explaining or demonstrating what needed to be done. Both looked surprised at how well the barbarians adapted. The real test came just two days after Sako had taken possession.
The storm wasn’t the worst they’d seen, and the Horizon actually had a tougher fight than the Spicerunner did. Neither ship lost any men, nor took lasting damage. Sako’s respect for the Alarfaji shipbuilders went up another notch. After the first six watches of the storm, it was nothing but a steady rain. The ships were now several miles apart but still in visual range. There was a third sail visible to the south. Sako turned to investigate and hoped Tirpa would follow.
The stranger was a dismasted brig flying Sevulian colors. They still had one mast and had jury-rigged accordingly, but they were not making very good time. Sako cut his sail and waited for the Horizon to close, but soon lost patience.
“Let’s go ‘rescue’ their cargo,” he said. The Spicerunner swooped down on the crippled runner like a gull on a sardine shoal. Tirpa followed at his best speed. By the time Horizon was in hailing range, Sako had already engaged the Sevulians in conversation.
“The Sugar Queen, out of Tevon. Captain Dason Towers. And who might you be, sir?”
“The Spicerunner of…” Aloft, Brog upended the sack and spilled out the Bloody Smile for Towers to see. “Buxaca! I’m Sako Pizi, and you’re about to have a bad day!”
“Perhaps this other ship might have something to say about that!”
“They will indeed, sir!” Sako smiled viciously. “That’s my ship, too.”
Towers’ face fell. “Take our cargo and coin, then. I’ll not fight you.”
Buxacan Spicerunner Page 24