The Corsairs of Aethalia: A Thalassia novel
Page 7
“Aye, Captain.” He turned the big wheel and the ship slowly shifted course. Idzy bellowed curses at the crewmen and the huge lanteen sails swung. The waves frothed at the bow and even from his position at the raised stern, Jorse could feel the cold spray. The sharp breath of the ocean wind filled his nose. Today they were Corsairs on a raid, and the wallowing traders had better beware. Sleek gray dolphins rode the bow waves, frolicking in the morning sun.
“Mister Radoslaw!” The captain shouted into the wind. “Prepare the cannon, if you please. No mistakes this time.”
Two days later the weather had moderated a bit; at least Jorse was able to do without his gloves. Clouds hung heavily, threatening rain, and the captain seemed excited. This was, she had told him earlier, the ideal weather for waylaying a fat merchantman. Corsairs were experts at dodging in and out of the hazy clouds, to spring on the slow transports before they had time to flee. Swords and axes were being sharpened, and even Jorse had brought his staff on deck and propped it near to the ship’s wheel.
“Sail ho!” The shout from the lookout seemed to electrify the crew. “Three points off the port bow.” The Donner-kind slipped starboard into a wall of hazy mist.
“What sort of vessel?” Captain Jolenta called up.
“A fat brig, Cap’n. Two master, by the looks. Bout four er five knots I’d say. She’s low in the water.” Even from the deck Jorse could see the man grin. Low in the water meant heavy with cargo. Rich plunder!
“Good job! Keep your eyes open. We’ll be going in soon.” She turned to Jorse. “Three points to port, Jorse.” Her look was considering. “This is your first raid, so I want you to stay at the wheel till we grapple. Once we’re tied on, you stay on the quarterdeck and prevent any of the brig’s people from gaining our deck or cutting the lines. We should have the brig secured in just a few minutes.”
The boy didn’t know whether he was disappointed or relieved at the news that he wouldn’t be taking part in the fighting.
The captain surveyed the controlled chaos on deck, and smiled. “Four points to port, if you please.”
The Raider swung in the stiff breeze, heeling, the waves hissing alongside. There was the merchantman! He had seen them; his sails blossomed.
Idzy shouted commands to the clustered seamen on deck, and the great lanteen sails came about and seemed to bite into the wind. The result, to Jorse, was exhilarating. The Raider literally flew through the water. The huge wheel vibrated in Jorse’s hands and he struggled to keep the speeding ship on an even heading. “Hold er steady, helmsman.” Captain Jolenta’s voice was calm, her tanned face serene. Although her long blond hair was flying, she stood with her hands clasped behind her back, eyes never leaving the fleeing vessel. “Prepare the boarding pod!” The crew began to ready the pod. A sailor tripped on his scabbard and he cursed; another laughed. “Prepare the cannon!” In the bow Jorse could see Radoslaw pull the canvas cover off the big gun and begin trundling it toward the bow rail. Another sailor carried up a cannon ball, which he deposited carefully in a small box next to the cannon. The stone ball looked to be the size of Jorse’s head. “Helmsman, two points to port.” Jorse fought with the wheel and the ship slowly responded. “Fire the cannon!”
There was a crash from the front deck and the whole ship shuddered violently. A cloud of acrid, sulfery smelling smoke rolled down the deck and Jorse could hear men coughing.
“A cable short and half a cable to the right!” The lookout called.
“Adjusting, Captain.” Jorse heard the gunner growl. “Ready.”
“Fire!” Another crash.
“Hit!” Came from the masthead. “There goes er mainmast, Cap’n. She’s done.”
“Launch boarding pod! Slow us down a bit, Mister Idzy.”
“Aye, Cap’n.” Came a muffled reply. Idzy was busy pulling a line that swung the long green boarding pod into the water. Through the clear dome over the top of the pod Jorse could see a dozen sailors crouched, faces set with toothy grins. The boarding pod looked grown somehow, and as soon as it hit the ocean, a great stream of water shot out of rear-facing holes in the sides and stern and the pod shot forward. Jorse stared as it sped toward the crippled ship. Soon Raiders were swarming up the high stern to the quarterdeck. Now they had control of the wheel!
The captain was at his side. “Bring us in a little closer.” The Raider was only a hull’s length away and closing dangerously fast. Jorse strained his neck to see the action. “Drop the sails, Mister Idzy!” With a crash the great sails slammed down just as the hulls touched. There was a crash of splintering wood and the shouts of men as the Raiders swung aboard the stricken merchant. Jorse lashed the wheel, grabbed his staff and turned just in time to block a wild eyed merchant sailor with a cutlass, from cutting his head off. After that he was too busy to keep track of what went on around him. A shout that turned into a scream caught his attention. As if in slow motion, he saw Lin double over from a sailor’s punch to her stomach, and slowly fall between the two grinding hulls. Without much thought, Jorse jumped over the rail, dove into the falling girl, wrapping one arm around her waist, caught a loose stay with the other hand and swung up and onto the merchantman’s deck. They stood and stared at each other for a heartbeat.
“Are you all right?”
Lin nodded mutely, her eyes wide. Clashing swords drew their attention. The captain of the merchantman was battling Captain Jolenta, driving her back against the far railing with his sheer size. The heavy blade of his sword shone blue, while the quillion, cross brace and handle gleamed of gold. Jorse pulled a long belaying pin from its place on the mast and crept forward, keeping a watchful eye on the rest of the fighters. He was ten feet from the pair when the Raider captain’s sword shattered. Ceramic weapons, Jorse knew, were good, but not unbreakable, like stelwood crystal. He jumped and seemed to fly, again. The merchant captain was drawing his arm back for the final thrust when the belaying pin caught him above the ear. He went down like a bag of dropped potatoes.
Captain Jolenta stared, first at the hilt of the shattered sword in her hand, and then at the boy, just getting to his feet, belaying pin in hand. “You’re not at your post, Jorse.”
Her face was a shifting play of conflicting emotions.
“Sorry, Captain.” Jorse replied, an idiot grin on his face. “I’ll go right back. It won’t happen again.” On the deck the merchant crew, seeing that their captain was beaten, began throwing down their weapons. A cheer came from the Raiders.
“Oh, never mind, Jorse.” Captain Jolenta continued, all bemused. “You did good.”
It was Jorse’s turn to get bemused when Lin came over to him and kissed him, full on the lips. He thought his knees would buckle for a moment. “For saving my life.” She whispered. “I would have been ground to jam between the hulls, if it hadn’t been for you.”
There was a sparkle in her eyes that definitely made Jorse uncomfortable and his cheeks turned to flame.
“Bring the prisoners up on deck.” The captain’s voice was businesslike, once again. Jorse stuck the belaying pin in his waistband and backed to the railing, Lin standing so close that their shoulders touched. Surprisingly few of the merchant crew had been killed. Most of the wounded were able to hobble aft without aid. All the sailors from the merchantman had looks of bleak despair on their tanned faces. It was common knowledge that Corsairs took no prisoners. Jorse took a deep breath walked across the quarterdeck to where Captain Jolenta was watching several of her crewmen attempt to wake the unconscious merchant captain. A large lump where the belaying pin had hit him was visible through the man’s dark curly hair. The man on the deck twitched and groaned.
“Ahhh, ma’am, may I speak to you a moment?”
The Raider captain turned and looked down at the boy. “What is it? Be quick, boy.”
“Two things really, Captain.” Jorse suddenly found his mouth dry; his hands shaking. “First, why don’t you have the cre
w of the trader do the unloading? Your men have worked hard and made a fine profit for you. Let the traders do the work.” The captain was smiling. “Talking about the merchant crew,” Jorse plowed on, “why don’t you just let them go? They can’t hurt you anymore. If merchantmen thought that they could surrender to a Corsair rather than fight; surrender and live, then it would make life easier for you all around. Even the smallest rat, when cornered, will fight for its very life.”
The captain stared at the boy. “We have a reputation to maintain. We are the dreaded Corsairs of Aethalia. We take no prisoners, and we kill all we capture.” Her voice was hard, but, was that a doubt Jorse heard?
“That’s just bad business, you know. If you sink this merchantman, then there are fewer ships out there for you to rob.” The merchant crew had picked up a few words of the conversation and silence descended over the deck as they watched their lives being discussed. “You would be sinking your own source of supply.” He swallowed. “I was a trader at one time, Captain, and you let me live. I think that you have profited from it, am I correct?”
She looked at the boy; her fingers touching the hilt of the bladeless sword in her scabbard, nodding slowly. Then she looked at the merchant sailors as if seeing them for the first time. “We be a few hands short, too, an some of those well fed sailors could do us well.” Captain Jolenta put her hands on her hips and faced the merchant crew. Her dark eyes flashed like chips of black ice. “This ere boy, as argued in favor of your lives.” No one before her moved; no one even breathed. “Despite our long and sometimes savage traditions, I have agreed. You will all live.” There was a massive intake of breath as she continued. “Some few of you will be selected to remain with us as crewmen. It be a hard life.” She turned and looked at Jorse, her face unreadable. “But if this one can do it, so can you.”
A tall grizzled merchant sailor with a bloody bandage wrapped around his head spoke up. “What be yer name, boy?”
Jorse looked to the captain for permission, then replied after her nod. “My name is Jorse, and I was foretop man on the Dagfred, out of Vaigach.”
“I heared o her.” Another man spoke up. “She limped into the port of Bratsk on the island of Xicocu bout six month ago, all beat to the hells she was. Talked about Corsairs and a young topman who had saved their ship. That be you?” Jorse nodded and the second man, lean and tough looking as dried leather stepped forward. “Then I’ll ship with you, mate. I owes ye my life, I figger.”
The tall sailor with the bandage stepped forward only a second later. “I’ll serve with ye too, Jorse, if you’ll av me. Kibwe and I be mates, anyway. We’ve shipped together fer years.”
Captain Jolenta looked at the two. “Make sure you’re aboard with your things when we sail. Ye think so much o young Jorse here, you’ll be berthing with him.” She looked up. “We have cargo to transship. Now get crackin.” The sailors sprang into action. Several patted Jorse’s back on the way by, and several called blessings to him.
The merchant captain struggled to his feet; made his hesitant way over to the boy. “Thank you for what you did for my crew, lad.”
“It was the least I could do, after what I did to your head.” Jorse replied, shaking the proffered hand.
“That was you!” The man reached a tentative finger to the bruise and winced. “You probably saved my life with that, too. If I’d o known we might survive I would a hauled down our flag as soon as our mast went by the way.” Captain Jolenta was standing behind the merchant captain, nodding slowly. “I do know Captain Svetla of the Dagfred, young Jorse. I’ll see she gets word that you live, and are a good man, despite the surroundings.” He shot a disarming grin at Captain Jolenta. “I believe you need a new sword, ma’am.” He said quietly, handing his stelwood crystal sword to the Raider captain—hilt first. “To the victor...”
Chapter 5
“...go the spoils.” Jorse said aloud to the air around him. He sat on his bunk and stared at the small slip of paper the ships purser had given him. There was a number written on it and it meant that he was now well off. By the hells! He was rich! With this much he could almost buy his own boat.
The Donner-kind had turned north-east after the raid, heading for Aethalia, and they were making good time. The brig had been carrying a rich cargo, and although the loss to them was monumental, the sailors of the merchantman were almost festive as the Raider sailed off. More than a few of the Corsair’s crewmembers mumbled that it just wasn’t right for their victims to be so bloody happy. Jorse thought that the irony of the situation was lost on them, but he too was smiling.
Aethalia. It was snowing lightly on an early winter evening when the Donner-kind slipped up to the long wooden pier in the city of Zamora. Smoking torches set in rusting sconces on building fronts lit the frozen mud of the main street, dripping burning pitch onto the icy roads with a sputtering hiss. Jorse shivered as he secured the big ship’s wheel. Men were already grunting and wheezing as they unloaded cargo into waiting wagons while teams of horses stamped, their breath puffing out into thick white clouds that hung around their heads. The air had that peculiar dusty smell of unshed snow, and Jorse wrinkled his nose as he caught the scent of emptied chamberpots and dead fish. The reality didn’t live up to the legendary pirate city of Zamora, with its streets paved in gold and beautiful women walking tree-lined lanes while strangely plumed birds sang as if their hearts would break. An emaciated dog ran by yelping, its tail tucked between bony legs. Other Raider ships stood at the pier or anchored in the wide harbor, while boatloads of men, and women Jorse was surprised to see, were ferried back and forth to the waiting ships. The din made his ears ring.
“Let’s go!” Jorse looked up in surprise to see Lin’s grinning face above him, one of her feet already on the railing as she prepared to jump to the dock. He glanced over his shoulder to the captain who stood silently on the bridge, supervising the unloading. She nodded.
“Be back.” She had to shout to make herself heard. “Be back by dog watch tomorrow.” Her glance seemed to take in Lin too. “Have a good time.”
Lin jumped and Jorse, after he collected his stave, followed close on her heels. The two flew through the city, sampling food here, drink there. The sights were strangely exotic to Jorse, but in a sad way strangely familiar. Drunken sailors filled the streets, and it was not uncommon to see two or three men rolling in the mud, flailing at each other with whatever came to their hands.
Jorse drew Lin into a side street, where they could talk. “Is it always like this — so... wild? Aren’t there any laws?”
She laughed, her eyes bright. “Always! Sometimes it’s worse. Sure there are laws, but nobody enforces them. The king pays for a mortuary crew to pick up the bodies in the morning; it’s easier that way.” She pulled his arm and they continued their weaving journey.
In the darkness surrounding the bawdy sailors Jorse saw the eyes of the poor, destitute and hungry, watching for the dropped crust of bread or half gnawed leg of mutton, carelessly tossed aside. He saw one brave lad of seven or eight, it was impossible to say under all that dirt, run up to an unwary sailor and snatched the drumstick of some huge bird right out of the man’s hand. The sailor roared and fumbled drunkenly for his sword, but by the time he had the weapon free, the boy had already disappeared with a laugh, back into the shadows. The sailor staggered toward the darkness, then stopped when he saw the eyes. Cursing, he turned back to the pub, already shouting for another drink.
“Do you see that?” He said to the slim girl at his side, waving his hand at the vague forms lurking in the darkness.
“See what?” She looked around, frowning. “Oh, them. They’re always there, lurking. Pay them no mind.” The tide of the crowd swept them away, and Lin did a little twirl on light feet. “Come.” She said, taking his hand. The night opened her velvet wings to the two, and they reveled in t
he noise and confusion.
At some time that night a sailor took Lin by the arm and made as if to drag her away; she was after all, a very attractive woman. Before Jorse could even react, Lin kicked the man as hard as she could in the fork of his legs. The man gasped, releasing her arm. His eyes rolled up into this head and he fell at her feet. She laughed again.
At another time the biggest man Jorse had ever seen stepped in front of him, carrying a staff as thick as Jorse’s arm.
“You think yer any good with that there twig, boy?” The giant asked in a mean bass rumble, pointing with his log at Jorse’s thin staff. The boy frowned, then raised his weapon up, slowly, as if to consider the slender hickory versus the tree trunk that threatened him. A fight was inevitable, and Jorse knew it. The giant, he could tell, was feeling belligerent.
“It wouldn’t be much of a fight, sir.” Jorse looked the giant sailor in the eye.
“Damn straight it...”
Jorse brought the tip of the staff down with all his strength and weight behind it, on the top of the giant’s foot. The breaking bones sounded like the snapping of a handful of thick twigs. The man collapsed, screaming, holding his wounded foot. Then he stopped moving—for the tip of Jorse’s stave was pressed lightly against his throat.
“Bang! You’re dead.” The boy moved the staff tip by a fraction and drove it into the ground with a solid thump. The big man jumped. Jorse turned his back and walked off. This time it was Lin that followed.
There was more eating and more drinking, and then...
~~~
There was a smooth warm bare hip under his hand and it wasn’t his. He sat up, quickly.
“Yer making a draft!” The sleepy voice mumbled next to him, pulling the blanket back and off of him in the process. He shivered; the room was cold. There was a warm, musky smell in the air. It seemed... “Give me a kiss, Jorse, and go back to sleep. The sun is hardly up.” He looked at the sleepy form next to him, remembering the wild night of firsts, the hot sweaty skin, the passion, and gently kissed the juncture of neck and shoulder - she tasted salty. Lin seemed to be purring. “More... more... more.” He complied. This was where the warm musky scent was coming from.