Kiddish and Settek were just loading the bolt for another shot when Dhars directed them to look forward. Settek nodded and bent to sight on the most distant craft. He took careful aim and loosed the bolt. Immediately he stood erect to follow his shot and took a javelin in the throat. He fell bleeding and wheezing to the deck. Neither Kiddish, his shipmate of years, nor we could help. He thrashed about for a few seconds and then lay still.
A half dozen or more pikes remained where they had been pre-positioned two days before. Dhars and I each armed ourselves while Kiddish worked the action on the crossbow. It consoled no one to see that Settek's shot had passed entirely through one of the crew of the skiff and had pinned the other to the hull leaving only the tillerman alive. The remaining skiffs continued maneuvering to drop their chocks and stop the Dumpling. To the starboard Dhars stood ready, pike in hand, the skiff was a mere 10 meters ahead but was out or reach of the pike blade or the wicked hook which joined the blade where it attached to the shaft. Two robed figures moved to the side of the skiff and tossed out a block of what may have been wood. It was more then a meter long and shaped to a triangular rather than circular cross section. If it found purchase a skid could be ripped away by the momentum of the vessel now making 4-5 knots in a fair wind. Dhars saw it fall and with amazing skill or incredible luck was able to turn it end on so that it passed harmlessly beneath the vessel. On the port side another vessel was now moving to try a similar maneuver. I doubted if I could displace the heavy chock if they succeeded in placing it in the Dumpling's path. Instead, I unslung the air rifle, charged the chamber and fired directly at the eye slit of the tillerman's helmet. An instant later the robed figure slumped hard over against the stearing gear. The skiff veered, the sail went limp and there she sat directly in the path of the Dumpling. Two seconds later there came the sound of timbers splintering beneath the hull and the muffled screams of the remaining skiff men as they were pressed between hull and sand.
Dhars and I were caught off balance and almost thrown overboard as the Dumpling responded to the extra drag and abruptly slid to a halt. Dhars lost the pike he'd been holding and would have followed it onto the sand had not the belt and scabbard of his short sword been fouled in a cleat near the rail.
Within seconds the attackers began climbing the boarding ladders permanently affixed, fore and aft to each side of the vessel. Other members of the crew were using their pikes to good advantage as the skiff men attempted to scramble aboard. Some attackers cast grappling hooks over the rail or into the lower rigging and scrambled aboard that way. Once on deck the tide of battle turned quickly. The crew was brave and well motivated, as beings fighting for their lives generally are, but lacking any real skill at arms. They were sailors, not warriors.
The skiff men produced curved swords and small metal shields from beneath their robes and quickly ended further resistance. Roughly one third of my shipmates lay dead. Another third were wounded. These latter the robed figures dealt with efficiently. Those judged badly wounded were murdered with a cut to the throat. Blood pumped from still moving bodies even after heads had fallen to the deck.
I was dazed, shocked at the carnage. In my world people died in hospitals after long illnesses or in some distant disaster, or in some remote and senseless crime, or as my wife and daughter had at the hands of a stupid drunk who actually bore them no ill will.
Even the screams of the wounded dragged to the deck to join their shipmates now seemed far away. Thark-qan's death was almost dreamlike as the old captain initially resisted being forced to the deck, then seeing it was useless, drew himself erect to await the blow without flinching. A second later his knobby blue head hung by a thin strip of gnarled hide, refusing to be parted so easily from the body it had guided a lifetime. Avila Thark-qua, his mate, moaned softly and then stood silent, face set, eyes searching the faces of the remaining crew.
By now it was growing quite dark. The entire battle had lasted less than fifteen minutes. After a thorough search of the vessel the crew from below decks were herded top side. I saw Soltan, tall and lank and bleeding from a cut above his eye, emerge from the direction of the kitchen. I was surprised and heartened to see him. A figure with three jagged crimson stripes on his robes ordered torches lit and assembled the entire company on deck.
As he prepared to address us his lieutenant standing directly to his left crashed to the deck. A second later, with a loud crash a hole half a meter across appeared in the deck on the spot just vacated by the enemy commander. Sledat or Kettes were using the stones hauled to the crow's nest for their intended purpose.
The commander moved near the ranks of the prisoners and with the wave of a hand had his men do likewise. He called for the lookouts to come down but the only response was a hail of stones rained down on the skiffs tied at their stations alongside the Dumpling. At this the commander strode purposefully but not hurriedly to the crossbow still standing at the bow, examined the mechanism, drew back the wire, fitted a shaft in the slot, elevated the weapon and fired upward through the bottom of the lookout's platform. A shriek was heard and followed in a few seconds by blood dripping to the deck.
We were all locked in the hold for the night. Lady Camille had been left undisturbed while the others were herded on deck but her quarters/stable was in the aft hold the way to which had was closed and guarded. I’d have to delay any attempt to communicate.
Among our small party all were accounted for. Soltan, Dhars, and I had minor scrapes. Verek had a small wound where a javeline had grazed his forearm. He had also been knocked unconscious for a time. Now his arm had been bandaged and he was awake if not alert. He had a wife and several grandchildren and had come a long way from home to be taken captive. I felt responsible for his being here. It would not be a good night. . . not a good night for any of us.
CHAPTER 22
Throughout the night the Dumpling sat where she was taken. Without lights she posed a minor hazard to other vessels but that was the least of our worries. At sunrise we were roused by guards and herded topside. A dozen or more warriors with swords drawn foreclosed any hope or resistance.
My own feelings were well expressed by the fear I saw in the eyes of my shipmates. Throughout the night, the battle and the carnage that followed had dominated my thoughts. Ativa-qan had done her best to keep the morale of the crew. She spoke of possible rescue by other vessels, of escaping ashore when we passed near port, of the merciful gods who would surely help us. We tried without success to believe there were some positive or encouraging aspects of our situation.
Here in the daylight, thoughts of "What can we do to survive?" crowded out most everything else. Our captors had, at least removed the corpses they had produced with such efficiency last evening. They had also begun scouring the near by salt clean of blood and bodies.
The figure with the three jagged red chevrons stepped atop a crate to resume the address Seldat and Kettes had disrupted last evening. Every eye followed as the enemy commander stripped back the leather helmet of the uniform. I braced mentally, anticipating merciless alien features but was more thoroughly shocked to see beneath the helmet mounds of copper hair and a strikingly beautiful woman. Not even my revulsion at her actions of last night diminished the fact of her great physical beauty. She was also instantly familiar.
When she spoke I heard not the near universal Neslan but the Threaten language (Arino) into which Leeta had occasionally lapsed. I recalled Leeta's elegant sketches of her people. No doubt she and this demi-goddess/commander were of the same stock.
"Who among you speaks 'the language'? she demanded of the assembled company.
No one made to answer so I began to respond and instantly checked myself. I was far from fluent in Neslan and got only bits and pieces from context of the commander’s Arino. . . but it seemed a small advantage. I was ready grasping for even the slimmest reasons for hope.
"Standard protocol" the commander muttered to a lieutenant.
"I will have each of you tortured until I
have an answer" she continued. "Which of you speak 'the language'?"
The only response among the crew was to stir slightly and to look even more grim. They knew they had been asked something but made no reply. Were they faking? playing the same game as I?
"Take that one" she repeated aloud pointing to Hawbash. Three skiffmen stepped forward and dragged him, terrified but un-protesting, out of sight behind the deckhouse.
Seconds later we heard him cry out. OoooWaaaaahOOOOooo.
"I ask again. Who among you speaks 'the language'?" She repeated. "Must I kill another?"
Guided mostly by instinct I said nothing.
"Him" the commander barked and pointed at me.
When two guards drew me from the ranks Dhars protested, grasping my arm to hold me back. For his trouble he was received a nasty blow to the face with the hilt and guard of a sword. They were effective "brass knuckles’.
They dragged me behind the deckhouse where I was surprised to see Hawbash, somewhat the worse for wear, but alive. Where I'd found the courage to hold out I didn't know. I'd never thought of myself as being courageous. Still I found myself being either very brave or very foolish, all to preserve a small secret I thought might serve us later.
The burlier of the guards grabbed my arm and began moves calculated to wrench it from its socket. I'd always been a quick study, and in this instance it didn't take a genius to figure they wanted me to holler. I screamed my lungs out. I wailed, I moaned, I shreeked. Consequently the guard never twisted very hard and my arm stayed largely in place.
"Return them." the commander called.
"Yes Calix" the guards replied. Whether this was her name or title I knew not.
Our remaining crew mates, relieved and heartened to see Hawbash and I still lived murmurred their approval.
"It seems we can speak among ourself in Arino. But take care not do discuss anything in front of the prisoners which might assist an uprising”.
Switching to Neslan she continued, addressing both the guards and the crew: “Divide them into work parties" she ordered. "Half to prepare this vessel to get under weigh and half to remove every sign we have been in this area. We will draw from the clean-up party those we require to operate the other vessels. I calculate we should have just enough to man the two of the captured vessels and return to Arthenia. Even so we we'll be spread thin should many die in route. Llart the Law Giver help our cause."
With this they began dividing us into two parties choosing every other man. I made sure there was someone between me and Dhars. Verek was with another group across the deck but as chance would have it we all were to stay aboard the Dumpling while the others set about scouring the sands to further erase any signs of battle or the Dumpling's passage. I spoke in intentionally halting Neslan indicating that I was with the cook crew and knew nothing of repairing the ship and was allowed to return with Soltan and Falaka to the kitchen to prepare a morning meal.
The galley was a sad sight. The sudden lurching when the skiff lodged beneath the runners had flung burning coals beyond the skirts of the brazier. The skiff men had beaten out the flames before they had spread far but the whole area was thickly coated with soot. Had we been a vessel at sea there would be water to clean the damage. Here water was a precious commodity. Though not especially "hot", this desert was exceedingly dry. Breakfast was a cold one, overcooked meat found in the pot which had held last night's supper, and some raw vegetables with a slab of bread. The crew ate joylessly. Our captors took the same portion--neither more nor less--doled out to the captives.
With helmets removed to eat I saw that the enemy force was more or less evenly divided between males and females. Nearly all had light colored hair. The colors ranged from copper to bronze with a metallic sheen that was quite striking. There was not a man or woman among then that could not have modeled in an earth side fashion advert, not that there had been anything "model" about their treatment of the wounded last night.
About noon a skiff pulled alongside with extra barrels of water. By signs and by showing the officer at the tiller the galley I made him understand that I wanted a barrel of water to clean up with. His response was to indicate (I pretended ignorance of all efforts to communicate verbally) that I could have the water but that he must have the container in order to refill it.
We transferred water to every pot and container available and returned the barrel. Three hours later he was back with another load. Where were we bound that we needed need ten times the usual water supply for half the usual crew?
Coming aboard with the water were supplies which I judged to be from one of the plundered vessels the commander had spoken of. There were baskets of fruit that could not have been picked more than a half-van since.
I was bound for the vegetable locker to fetch supplies for the evening meal when I saw the lookout making signals via a large banner with someone stationed atop the "Princess". On my return I could see two vessels tacking slowly towards us. Their treads were not fully retracted on the chance they would be needed again. I guessed them to be two of the three vessels that Thark-qan had described as missing. With them were nine or ten of the skiffs and a much larger vessel of similar design that I took to be our captors’ mother ship/support vessel.
As they neared, Diam-Noo, a grizzled Erake with a cud of dise-dise grass in his pouch, waved them to my attention. "I make 'em to be the "Wind Weasel" and the "Mother" out of Axtak."
"As a lad", he went on, "I served under Captain Rabizna of the "Mother". A hard being for sure, now dead these 12's of years, sure he could trim a sail. From the set of her sails now they'd s'well have a farm hand at her helm. These skiff demons for all don't know the sailing of a proper ship."
I made to answer but the guard on deck thrust a javelin between us and made clear that we were to move on. I wondered what had become of the third vessel, "The Sunset". Perhaps she had been destroyed by the raiders. Perhaps unrelated misfortune had befallen her. In any event she was not to be seen.
There being a favorable offshore breeze and no need to wait for the tide, the Dumpling was ordered to make preparations to join the others of the rag-tag flotilla. The mother vessel of the Threaths was called the "Bone Breaker" after a favorite consort of a long ago Queen Mother. Though more maneuverable than the rest she was also slower under full sail with following winds. Threatian officers ordered our sails shortened twice in the first watch to keep the Breaker within hailing distance.
For a day and a night each vessel trailed behind it a heavy mat of rope weighted with whatever odd bits served the purpose. The mats wiped away most of our tracks. Steady winds and thin layer of loose salt at the surface would finish the job. Within days no sign would remain that a vessel ever passed this way.
For eight hours we sailed west-south-west angling out from the "coast". Then, during the night, orders were relayed and all changed course to run to west-north-west. When day broke the mats were taken aboard and we rigged for all possible speed.
The Threatians had gone to great lengths to cover their trail and disguise their true destination. Even the heads were closed during the first hours so our wastes would leave no trace of our passing. Out captors seemed to know what they were about in keeping prisoners. They were well supplied with shackles and chains. Only those prisoners essential to the operation of the vessel were released at any given time, and these were closely watched by armed warriors. We were moved from one holding area to another without prior warning. We were never allowed to remain with the same group longer than a few days so that all the talk of rising was distupted.
I'd been chained with Dhars for the last 2 days but then they had brought the "Mother" along side and exchanged a dozen or so crew between the two ships. He'd been one of those swapped. Before he left he'd told me....
"Pe-tar, we have been sailing steadily west. So far as our people know there are at least 3 x 12³ passages of bare salt between us and the next continental mass. Among the river people we have no history of anyone ever cross
ing this far north. Even Friend and his people say a crossing at this latitude is impossible. They know that far to the south after following the coast for many passages a crossing to the opposite shore may be made. We have no ways to navigate a return course accurately. Even if we were freed this instant it is possible that we could not make our way back. I'm sorry my friend. It does not look good for our expedition."
"Perhaps", I replied, trying to look more optimistic than I felt, "but our original destination was to the west. This route is even more direct than we originally planned. These Threatians seem to know what they are about. If their navigation is as efficient as their killing we have no fear of being lost. Were it not for the fact that we are prisoners rather than passengers there would be no cause for despair. Besides, "It ain't over till it's over" I quoted, the words a philosopher whose name escaped me.
Three passages (ie 36 days) later we had weathered a half dozen minor salt storms and one major blow which had cracked enough spars and destroyed enough canvas and rigging to keep the ships company making repairs for 6 or 7 days. One of the skiffs and its crew had been lost without a trace. Another was damaged beyond repair even though anchored in the lea of the larger vessels. The major craft had all lowered treads for extra purchase and had remained "parked" bows to the winds to ride out the blow.
Moving during a storm was risky but so was standing still. By standing one ran the risk of having the vessel fouled beyond recovery in drifting salt. To forestall this possibility all available hands turned out to man the treads and move the ship about fifty meters every hour. I helped where I could. Slowly I was beginning to feel like a real part of the Dumpling’s crew and less like a scullery maid.
The Ways Between Worlds: Peter Cooper Page 18