MacKinnie nodded. “Suggestions?”
“Just fix the boat and hope we can outrun them. Sure as hell can’t outfight them. Oh, and this is a bigger boat than most of the pirate stuff. Faster. Warship, one of the best on the planet, I’m told. But there’s a hell of a lot of pirates. Without a full crew, if one of their ships boards us, we’re dead.”
“Yeah. Well, we cross that when it happens. How long to get the work done?” Now that Nathan was no longer watched by the Imperials every moment, he had control over his actions again, and the new sense of purpose drove him impatiently. He glanced about himself, took out his pipe, and borrowed MacLean’s lighter to fire it. “How’d you get this past?” he asked.
“This?” MacLean looked at the lighter as if he had never seen it before. It was an ordinary flint and steel device, not as elegant as the flameless units the Imperial Navy carried. “I just walked out with it. Landry saw it, but he didn’t say anything.”
MacKinnie nodded slowly. By Empire standards, the lighter was primitive enough to be classed with Makassar technology. He wondered how many more Samualite devices were strange to Makassar but would be overlooked by the Navy; it was a point to remember.
“How long until we can sail?”
MacLean scratched his chin. “With luck, a few days. Decking’s the hard part. There are a lot of hands to do the work, but they’ve never done this kind of thing before. Still, by the time you get the goods and provisions on board we should be just about ready to get under way.”
It took two of the local weeks. Although the Makassar day was somewhat longer than Samual’s and quite a bit longer than the standard Earth day, MacKinnie noticed that he and his crew soon became accustomed to living by local time, which was measured by sundials or not at all.
One reason the work went slowly was that the local church insisted on Sabbath-keeping, and in addition seemed to proclaim at least one Holy Day each week. These, and the inexperience of the locals with the construction methods MacLean insisted on, caused the first delays. Then when the ship was completed, another week was consumed in obtaining cloth suitable for sails and have the Drapers sew it.
MacLean was the only man available to design the equipment needed. He designed and cast anchors more advanced than anything seen on Makassar since the war; installed windlasses and winches, cast in bronze by the Ironsmiths; and had the Drapers lay up ropes and cables from local fibers. It all had to be done, and MacLean had to see to each detail personally. The days dragged on and on.
MacKinnie watched nervously one day when a party of Imperial sailors led by the junior lieutenant of the planet walked around the dockyards, but they evidently saw nothing to disapprove of. Anchors and winches were things for primitives, and the Navy men did not even understand the purpose of some of MacLean’s devices. As a precaution, MacKinnie had taught Brett the use of most of them, so that if asked he would appear familiar with the equipment. The Navy might think it in common use elsewhere on Makassar,
By the time the ship was ready for launching, the trade goods and weapons they would carry were piled on the docks. A light drizzle driven by the strong westerly winds thoroughly soaked the party as they stood watching the locals launch the ship. The primitive ways did not permit much sophistication — half the young men in the town simply lifted and strained until Subao was in the water, then fell to carrying aboard the iron ingots MacLean had selected for ballast. MacKinnie expected to get under way immediately, but found that there was more to do.
“What now?” he asked MacLean.
“Masts. Stays. Running the sails up to see how they fit. Securing the ballast. Trader, that ship may be on her ear in a storm one of these days, and you’ll hardly want the ballast shifting around down there. And we still have the leeboards to install. You can save time by getting your gear aboard today, but don’t plan on leaving for at least three days more.”
MacKinnie cursed, silently so that MacLean would not hear him. There was little else he could do.
That afternoon MacLean gave instruction on how to sail the boat. He discovered that young Todd had sailed small boats in the Haven harbor, and, under MacKinnie’s questioning, the boy admitted to being a military cadet for one of the wealthier families of the kingdom of Haven. MacLean immediately appointed him midshipman and quartermaster.
They learned the language the locals used aboard ships, although MacLean had to adapt several local words for terms they would not be familiar with. Then he had Todd drill everyone on the names of lines and gear on the ship. MacKinnie noted that Brett seemed very adaptable, learning faster than the outworlders, although his friend Vanjynk was almost uninterested. Stark, as usual, soon learned his tasks and drove the guardsmen to theirs, not a bit upset by Todd’s sudden promotion over him. That night Stark and MacKinnie sat in MacKinnie’s small room at the inn overlooking the water.
“Best we get the men some action, sir,” Hal said. “All that drill with sword and shield’s fine, but they get restless carrying stores and driving nails. Got some good pointers from that Vanjynk fellow, he’s gifted with this armor and stuff. Reckon he’s in the same business we are.”
MacKinnie nodded. “From what I can see, it was all he ever learned until he lost his lands and had to go wandering with the singer. What do you make of Brett?”
“Don’t know, sir. Takes my orders right enough, better than Vanjynk, but there’s no understanding him.”
MacKinnie nodded. “He’s a tough one. That’s a pretty strange partnership he’s got with Brett. Vanjynk seems to be one of the iron men Blatt forever tells us about.” He hoisted his glass and winked at his sergeant. “Iron MacKinnie’s new troops. Few enough of them. Had any success at recruiting?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, sir. There’s a shipmaster I’ve been drinking with, man named Loholo. He claims he can get us a crew for a price. Part of the price is he wants to go with us. Mr. MacLean wasn’t too interested in having a native shipmaster aboard, said there was enough command problems already what with nobody knowing who ranked who. He’s not happy with you being in charge, sir. But I can’t tell about Loholo; the Guild people seem to think a lot of him. Should I send for him? He’s in the Blueglass tonight waiting to hear.”
“No harm in talking to him. Sure, why not?”
Stark nodded and went to the door. He spoke briefly in low tones to one of the guardsmen outside. “Be here in a couple of minutes, Trader. Be best if I were on duty when he came in.” Stark took his glass to another table across the small room.
Captain Loholo was a short, dark-brown man, stocky and strong-looking, with a distinct slant to his eyes, reminding MacKinnie of the starship officers he had seen. He had seen many others of his type on Makassar, in sharp contrast to the tall, blonde men like Vanjynk. Loholo wore a golden skull ornament in his left ear, and carried a large curved knife in his belt. His clothing was of finer material than was usually seen on Jikar men, and everything he wore was freshly cleaned. He stood self-confidently in the doorway, coolly eyeing the star men.
“Trader,” Hal said, “I want you to meet Captain Loholo, shipmaster and merchant. I’m told he’s the only captain left in the port.”
“Please have a seat, Captain,” MacKinnie said, pouring a glass of wine. “My guard chief tells me you can raise a crew.”
“Aye.” Loholo fingered the glass, looked at MacKinnie for a moment, and drank. “Not a very good crew, Trader. The good men are at the bottom of the sea or run off to join the pirates. But there’s men here who can pull an oar. Not seamen. Apprentices from all the Guilds, boys on tithes who’d like to be men again.” He spoke so rapidly that MacKinnie had difficulty following him, and had to have Loholo repeat his words.
“I’ve seen them,” MacKinnie said. “But Captain MacLean has not been able to recruit anyone.”
“Nor will he.” Loholo touched the wine bottle and looked at MacKinnie, who nodded. The brown man filled his glass and drank before continuing. “Your Captain MacLean
is a strange man, Trader. He puts decks over the ship so that oarsmen can’t breathe properly. He has taken out most of the rowing benches. What’s left is up too high for proper leverage. You couldn’t row that ship a hundred klamaters. And all the iron he put in the hull is no more than dead weight to be carried along. The men won’t sail with him because even though they aren’t seamen, they can see your man is no seaman. The ship will be too slow to escape the pirates, and it won’t sail properly if it does get past them.” He shrugged. “Your pardon if I speak bluntly.”
“But you’re willing to come? And bring a crew?”
“Aye.”
“Go on. Why?”
“You’re not a beached captain, Trader. If you had the seawater in your blood, you’d know. My ship went out to fight with me ashore laid out by plague. She never came back. Everything I had was in that ship, Trader. Nothing left to buy the Ironsmiths’ vessel. Even if a warship is no good for trading, I tried to buy Subao, for a ship’s still a ship. I figure you’ll all come to your senses about the ship when you see it won’t work. And you’ll need a man who knows how to sail these seas. I expect to be your shipmaster a week after you leave port. If you live that long. But the chance is worth it to me.”
One way or another, MacKinnie thought. The dagger at the man’s belt had once had a jeweled hilt, but it wasn’t meant for show purposes. With his own crew aboard, Loholo could make himself master of the ship if he were that kind of man. He looked over at Stark, who obviously had the same thoughts. Still, there was a way to make use of the man, and perhaps he was honest.
“Your own crew went down with your ship?”
“Aye. Every man. It won’t be real seamen I can get you, Trader, but they’ll be willing.”
“Why?”
Loholo grinned. “I’m well known as a captain who comes back. Rich. And I’m said to be lucky.”
“Still, how will you get them to join, with the pirates outside the harbor?”
“Tell them the star men will protect them. They know what happened out in the harbor the day they landed. They’ll believe.”
“And you don’t?”
“If the star men will help you, you don’t need to have the guard captain out giving free wine to find men, Trader. So they won’t.”
MacKinnie nodded. “What of the pirates?”
“There are ways. I know these waters, Trader. When the moons come together, there’s deep water over the reefs. It goes down fast. Get over them at the right time, ahead of anybody chasing you, they never catch you. I doubt the pirates know my waters as I do. We’ll have a chance. That is, if you can row the ship. Got to put the benches back in.”
“What if I told you,” MacKinnie asked, “that after we have returned to Jikar from where we are going, we will make you master of the ship and our trading agent, with gold every month and part of the trading as well?”
Loholo looked at MacKinnie closely. “Do not tempt a desperate man, Trader. Do you mean what you say?”
“If you serve me faithfully. The first service is to find a crew of twenty men who can fight. Say that we are insane, but that you, Loholo, will get the ship past the pirates. Get us a crew without talk, and have them ready to come aboard by dark tomorrow.”
“And you’ll give me the ship when you return? Mine to sail and command?”
“Yours to sail and command. And the chance at carrying trade from starships all over Makassar. You will become the owner of many vessels if you like.”
Loholo grunted. “One is all I need. You’ll have your crew, Trader. But this man of yours commands this voyage?”
“Yes. He commands. He has a young apprentice who will be a ship’s officer. And there is my guard captain But if MacLean wants you as an officer, he’ll tell you so. I expect he will.”
“I was a crew master once, Trader. I can be one again. Until you need me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
RIPTIDE
They sailed at dawn. Loholo, now crew master, had brought twenty young apprentices, all well armed. The stores were aboard, and MacLean had fitted the leeboards, huge, fan-shaped, wooden boards pivoted at the small end of the fan and fastened nearly amidships of the vessel. When raised they were like giant shields. MacKinnie got the crew and passengers aboard the night before they were to set out, and watched with interest as MacLean and Loholo helped the crew sling hammocks, cursing the men into place in the narrow space below decks.
MacLean had placed the quarters in a traditional manner, his own cabin right aft with smaller staterooms to each side for MacKinnie and Mary Graham. Just forward of them, Longway and Kleinst had even tinier compartments, really not much larger than bunks with doors to close them in; then Hal and his guards slung their hammocks in a compartment which stretched from one side of the ship to the other. MacLean insisted that two of Stark’s men be on duty and armed at all times, posted on the quarterdeck near the great tiller which steered the ship.
In the first light, mist still rising from the water, the crew was turned out from their hammocks to man the sweeps.
Loholo clucked his tongue at the arrangement. There were no rowing benches; instead the men walked the decks with great oars dipping down to the water, two men to an oar. The ship moved slowly away from the shore out into the bay.
“Wouldn’t it be better to go at night?” MacKinnie asked. They stood on the quarterdeck with the other Samualites, Hal and his guards in full armor. Armor for the rest of the crew was secured with rawhide lashings in convenient places about the deck. Just forward of the quarterdeck Brett and Vanjynk stood at the ready, also in armor. It was impossible to make Vanjynk man a sweep, and MacKinnie decided that it would be senseless to require Brett to do so, so the two were carried as guards. Their mounts were stabled in the hold with the cattle Subao carried as part of the food supply.
MacLean eyed the distance to the slowly vanishing shore, then peered through the mists ahead and astern before answering. “No, Trader. The night would not keep the pirates from seeing us, and the wind dies away then. By midday there should be a strong wind. The sea breeze and the prevailing westerlies lie together on this shore. It will take a strong wind to outrun the pirate ships.”
“If you say so,” MacKinnie said with a shrug. And if the wind doesn’t come up? He shrugged again. “It’s the only chance we have, anyway. Carry on, Captain MacLean.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” There was a note of the contempt seamen have for lubberly owners in MacLean’s voice, but Nathan saw no reason to make a point of it. He needed MacLean to reach Batav.
He went to the rail and stared overboard. Around him the dawn was already turning the dark water clear. Small fish-like creatures swam lazily near the boat, looking at it before they darted away, easily outdistancing the men at the oars in spite of Loholo’s shouted oaths. The crew master counted strokes in a tireless voice, keeping a steady rhythm not interrupted when he fell to cursing one of the men: “Sweep, step, back, back, Fool, step, back, back, Pull, you, stinking, filth, Sweep …”
MacLean left MacKinnie to stand near the tiller, his eyes on the compass mounted on the small mast just forward of the helmsman. Another mast, well forward, towered above the ship, and on both the sails were laced around the booms, their covers removed and stowed below decks. The sails were ready for instant action. MacKinnie could already feel the morning breeze coming from the south before it shifted to the west in the afternoon.
Mary Graham and Longway made their way over the slowly rolling deck to stand at the starboard rail with MacKinnie. Loholo’s calls were clear and slightly musical. “Stroke … step … back … back … Stroke …”
“Point to starboard, Mr. Todd,” MacLean said softly.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“We should see the land over there as soon as it gets light,” MacKinnie told his companions. “I understand Loholo thinks we should hug the shore. There are reefs and rocks only he knows, and he swears he can get us through them without the pirates being able to catch us.”
<
br /> “Interesting,” Longway said pensively. “Then why did he not take some other ship through there? Why has the pirate blockade been so effective?”
“You’re not supposed to ask that,” Nathan replied. “But MacLean thinks it’s worth trying anyway. Add something to our chances, and the farther we get before the pirates intercept us, the better chance of coming ashore where there aren’t any barbarians.” It was getting light faster now, and the shoreline could be seen dimly ahead. Above the fog, fifty miles away, the peaks of mountains flashed whitely in the morning light.
“If we can get to those, the barbarians won’t matter,” MacKinnie said. “All we’ll have to worry about will be the pirates. We could even beach and run for it.”
“It would be a long walk,” Longway said.
“True. But what else can we do?”
Kleinst stood quietly at the rail, and MacKinnie thought he noted a slight tinge of green to the scholar’s complexion. If the young fellow couldn’t manage in the gentle swell they were experiencing, he was in for big trouble when the real wind came up. Kleinst had kept out of the way the whole time they were on Makassar, although he seemed to have developed a strange friendship with Brett. Nathan had more than once noted the scholar and the singer conversing over wine in the physicist’s quarters at the dockside inn.
“Where are these pirates, Trader?” Longway asked. “As a practical matter, should we be getting the oarsmen in their armor?”
“Not for hours,” MacKinnie replied. “They stay well out of the harbor itself, probably afraid of the Navy boys. But they’re out there, all right, just over the horizon. You’ll see them soon enough.”
“Sooner than I’d like,” Longway muttered.
It was fully light now. The Eye of the Needle had cleared the eastward land mass to send its rays slanting across the sea. The early morning mists vanished rapidly as the ship moved quietly along, and there was no sound but the commands of Loholo, who had lowered his voice until he could barely be understood on the quarterdeck. “Stroke…”
King David's Spaceship (codominion) Page 11