“Yes, yes,” he croaked when his voice worked.
“Captain says to wake you,” came a voice through the door. “Sun’ll be up in an hour, and it’s light enough to see your dick when you piss.”
“Thanks. I’ll be up in a minute.”
He swung upright to dismount his hammock and saw Maghen looking at him.
“I’ll check what’s happening on deck and be back,” he said. He put his boots on and shifted the wrapped-up doomsters to manipulate them into the corridor. There, he hefted them to his shoulders, went to the forward ladder, and climbed up through the open hatch. The crew moved through their duties as if nothing unusual was happening. He saw preparations the crew had carried out during the night, which had been concealed enough so the Narthani couldn’t see them. At the base of the starboard side were muskets covered by canvas. Two swivel guns lay beneath metal posts protruding from the starboard rail—he envisioned them being hefted by two men onto the posts and fired to rake the boarding parties. They were limited because the men would be too exposed to canister and musket fire for more than a few re-loadings.
The Narthani cutter lay on a parallel course a hundred yards to starboard.
“They came up alongside about thirty minutes ago,” said Gulgit, appearing from somewhere in the dim light. “Partinel figures in about an hour they’ll start whatever action their captain has decided on—probably firing one across our bow, then a salvo at us with his port cannon if we don’t heave to.
“The rest of the crew who aren’t yet awake are being roused. Partinel wants us to give the appearance of a normal crew shift at work until he gives the signal. The rest of the crew will be waiting below to boil up to the deck. Most of them have worked and fought together before, with you and I being the outsiders. Partinel’s assigned me to help you any way I can. You’ll want to get ready, so tell me what I can do.”
Mark looked up toward the top of the mast. “I need to climb up to figure out how to fire and not fall. Obviously, I can’t reload up there, so we’ll rig ropes to raise and lower my two rifles. Maghen knows how to load, but the rifles are heavy. Maybe you can help load and pass them up to me. I wish we had two more doomsters, but with these two, probably one shot a minute will be the best we can do.”
Mark laid the wrapped bundle on the deck, undid the leather ties, and rolled the contents open.
Gulgit whistled. “Worktal’s Ass! Never seen such muskets. Oh, no, rifles, I mean.”
He knelt and lifted one rifle off the deck and cursed. “Are you sure you’ll be able to hold, aim, and fire one of these from up there?” He pointed to the lookout platform.
“Well, we’ll find out, won’t we? While I’m climbing up to check, you find some appropriate-size rope to tie to the rifles where it won’t interfere with firing. And figure out where’s the best place for you to do the loading.”
Mark went to the mast and began climbing the metal rungs embedded in the timber. He estimated the alternatingly positioned rungs on each side were two feet apart. He counted them on the way up—thirty rungs to the platform at the top of the mast. It wasn’t until he reached the top that he realized there had been a modification since the previous day. The platform now had a wooden plank siding that faced starboard and half as wide on the sides fore and aft. He fingered the planks—about an inch thick and smooth. When he rapped the wood with his knuckles, it almost rang like metal, instead of thumping like wood.
“Creolin wood?” he muttered. “It must be.”
He felt along the edges and peered as close as he could in the dim light. The plank pieces extended the same distance above and below the platform. Wooden pegs were slotted diagonally in four places along each vertical corner.
“They must have drilled holes with hand augers. If it’s creolin wood and as hard as Partinel says, I wonder how long it took? Maybe all night.”
The one issue he hadn’t told Maghen about was that he imagined the Narthani firing grapeshot and canister at him. It might be sheer luck for a cannon ball to hit him, and he didn’t know whether the small cannon on the Narthani cutter could fire grapeshot, but they had to have canister. The odds of one or more musket balls from a canister round hitting him would rise from piss poor to an almost certainty. Now the question was, would the makeshift shield stop a canister ball?
He spent fifteen minutes trying out different positions. He imagined holding a doomster, timing the ship’s motion, and trying to keep himself from falling. It wouldn’t be easy.
“What do you think?” asked Gulgit when Mark returned to the deck.
“Hard but feasible,” Mark said with more certainty than he felt. “I’ll need a couple of eyehole spikes and a hammer to drive them into the mast, three or four eight-foot rope sections, and two lengths of rope to arrange for passing the rifles up and down.”
Gulgit yelled to two crewmen standing by. They ran off, and minutes later Mark once again climbed the mast. At the top, he used the short rope lengths to fasten a harness to anchor him to the mast. That way, he could handle the rifle exchange and firing without falling. Next, he pounded the spikes into opposite sides of the mast using the hammer. The two crewmen assigned to assist had followed him up the mast, each one pulling a length of rope strong enough for the weight of a doomster. Mark took each section, pushed an end through the eyehole on the tip of a spike, and handed it back to the men. They scampered down with each rope’s end.
The light had increased enough that men scurried to their tasks. Mark waved to Gulgit, who climbed down a newly hacked-out hatch near the base of the mast. Reloading couldn’t be done on the deck because of exposure to Narthani fire. It would happen below the deck and the rifles passed through the new hatch up and down the ropes. A tug would signal that a loaded rifle had been tied to a rope. When Mark tugged back, a rifle would be hoisted by Gulgit. It took only the first test for Mark to realize he’d have to use both hands to finish pulling the rifle to a firing position. This meant he had to trust the rope harness to hold him to the mast. Even with relatively calm seas, the sway of the mast top ranged up to twenty-five feet. At the end of each swing, he looked straight down at the deck or the sea. He suppressed his fear of falling as much as possible by remembering their lack of options and the consequences should the Narthani take the ship.
For the next fifteen minutes, he and Gulgit practiced hoisting a rifle; then he simulated firing, exchanging the empty rifle for the other, and repeating the action. After the tenth cycle, he waved for Gulgit to stop, untied himself, and climbed down.
Partinel waited for him. “Well, can you do it?”
“It’s hard, but I can fire the rifles. The question is still open on whether I can hit anything. If we had rough seas, it would be hopeless, but it will be better if you can keep the ship as steady as possible once the shooting starts.”
“I’ll try,” said the captain, “but I’m limited to how I can maneuver the ship. As long as they’re firing cannon at us, I’ll have to change headings to make it harder for them. There’s always the chance their captain will break off, though it’s unlikely. If you can’t suppress their cannon fire, our only chance may be for me to surprise them by turning in to their ship before they realize what’s happening. Then we’d grapple and fight it out man to man before they get organized. The same thing might happen if their captain decides you’re causing too many casualties and he turns into us. Again, we’d be back to fighting it out on both decks. What we can’t do is let them stand off and degrade our rigging enough to make us helpless. If we can’t lose them, it’ll be better to fight a boarding action.”
“Sounds like we’re looking at a fight, no matter what,” said Mark. “Then what are our chances?”
“If they do send a longboat first, we can reduce the odds, but they’ll still outnumber us. In that case, I’d say we’ve less than an even chance. If we do fight them off, it could be a bitter win because our casualties would be so bad we’d have trouble manning the ship.”
Mark was looking a
t Partinel when suddenly the captain’s face seemed to glow. The three men turned as one to witness the first arc of the sun peeking above the horizon.
“Won’t be long now,” said Gulgit. “We need to finish preparing. While you were testing out the crow’s nest, your wife showed me the loading procedure for your rifles. Not all that different from a musket. Your design is ingenious, making the shot a smaller diameter than the barrel. I’m assuming it works as she described, and that skirt around the shot expands after firing. Then it seals the gases as the shot exits the barrel.
“Partinel’s leaving me one crewman to help with the rifles.” Gulgit turned to a lank, grizzled man tanned to leather by the sea and the sun.
“Zandle here claims to have served in the Rumpas army in his younger years. He’s been in more than a few actions at sea. He’ll help. I think it’ll be more efficient to let me do the reloading and then help Zandle exchange rifles with you. Your wife can stand by in case there are problems, but three of us in that tight space is too crowded.”
“Show me,” said Mark. “I’ll watch you load both rifles to be sure you can do it as quickly as Maghen can.”
The three of them climbed down the newly cut opening to the below deck. Mark stood out of the way in a narrow hall and watched Gulgit load one rifle, then the other. He wasn’t as fast as Maghen for the first rifle but was noticeably faster for the second.
“All right,” said Mark. “I think you’ll speed up the more you do it, but Maghen will watch and see if you need more help. I think we’re about ready.”
CHAPTER 32
RIFLE AND MACE
Voices shouted from on deck. Mark and Gulgit climbed the ladder to find crewmen looking starboard. Several of them cursed, as they watched the Narthani pull in a towed longboat. Smoke billowed from the aftmost gun port, and a round shot splashed in front of the Dancer.
“There’s the answer,” said Partinel. “They want us to heave to. I’ll order the crew to furl the sails but not tie them down. It’ll take twenty minutes or so for the longboat to get near us. Once they’re close, we’ll rake them with swivel gunfire, then if possible we’ll drop the sails and try running again. They’ll start with the cannon as soon as we fire at the longboat. That leaves it to you, Kaldwel, to see what you can do. Get your ass to the top of the mast.”
Mark returned down to where Zandle remained with the rifles. Maghen, who had come to observe Gulgit’s loading the rifles, clutched at Mark.
“Is this it?” she asked in the tone of someone accepting the inevitable.
“Yes. How is Alys?”
“Still asleep,” said Maghen, “and I pray she stays that way and wakes to find us back to normal as if nothing happened.”
“I have to get ready. Partinel thinks it will start in about twenty minutes. If it comes to a boarding action, I’ll slide down one of the ropes to help repel the Narthani. You go back to Alys and shoot any Narthani who gets below deck.”
He turned to the crewman assigned to them. “Zandle, when I slide down from the platform, I’ll help defend the deck. Maghen can use pistols and a shotgun to shoot any Narthani who comes below deck.”
Mark grabbed Maghen in a fierce hug. “We’ll get through this,” he said into her ear. “It’s just one more fight before we can be safe.”
She gripped him back without speaking. He didn’t know whether she thought he believed his own words. He hoped so. He released her, checked the ropes tied to the two doomsters once again, and headed for the lookout platform.
They had decided not to send a rifle up until the Narthani closed the distance and the shooting started. They didn’t want to take a chance the Narthani would realize what Mark was doing. Thus, he fastened himself to the harness and watched the cutter. The longboat finished loading armed men and started toward the Dancer, both ships rocking slowly in place.
He counted. There were eight rowers in the longboat and one man at the stern with the rudder—presumably, an officer in charge of the inspection and likely the most junior and most expendable.
Mark glanced down. Four of Partinel’s men crawled along the deck, hidden by four-foot bulwarks. They stopped at the two swivel guns. One man in each two-man team set aside a piece of rope smoldering at one end—to fire their swivel. Other crewmen stood watching the Narthani or continued with their duties. Hidden from the Narthani were the positioned firearms and blades.
“Well, I wanted out of the navy because I didn’t like the sea,” Mark said to a circling sea bird. Then he grimaced. “I guess I had a premonition.”
The longboat was halfway between the two ships. Mark looked down at Gulgit, waiting for the swivel guns to fire before he started up the first rifle. He thought he caught a brief glimpse of Maghen’s face. He wasn’t a praying man, but it never hurt to be sure, in case someone was listening.
“Whatever happens, whoever you are, please help Maghen and Alys.” He didn’t mention himself; it seemed too hypocritical. Yet maybe by not including himself, if there were powers he didn’t believe in, maybe they would extend mercy to his family.
As the longboat drew closer, Mark speed-reviewed the last years: waking up on the alien spacecraft; Hal; awakening on Anyar; Ulwyn and Gwanel; leaf springs; speed looms; the guilds; fleeing Brawsea; meeting Maghen; hunting destrex; Alys’s birth; fleeing yet again, this time from the ranch; ambushing the pursuers; crossing the Timbar Sea; Tekleum and the zernik attack; reaching Heliom in Rumpas; and finally, securing passage on a ship that led to this moment. He hoped there would be more events for him to list later in his life.
He grew tense as the longboat got closer.
“Must be about there,” he mumbled. Movement near the bottom of his vision field drew his eyes to the deck. Four men hurriedly secured the two swivel guns to the mounting pegs. Other crewmen scurried around, doing exactly what he didn’t know. Shouting from the longboat confirmed that the man at the rudder, the only one facing the Dancer, saw what was happening.
One of the Dancer’s swivel guns fired. The cone of balls hit the left side of the longboat. Two rowers on that side slumped motionless, hit by several balls each. The rower in front of those two clasped a hand to the side of his neck and stopped rowing. The fourth rower turned his head to look at the men behind him. Pieces of splinters marked where balls had hit the longboat.
The Dancer’s second swivel fired seconds after the first. The rudder man was flung backward out of the boat. The first rower on the right side rose to his feet, then fell limp into the water. Two other rowers were hit. Both writhed, evidently wounded, though how badly Mark couldn’t see.
The rest of the Narthani crew on the cutter had been watching from their deck but now exploded into action. Mark waved at Gulgit below. One of the two ropes began running through the eye of the bolt. Mark’s head jerked back and forth, looking at the Narthani ship, then at the rifle zooming up so fast. He worried that it might slip out of the rope and be lost in the sea. Back and forth, back and forth.
He waved again at Gulgit to slow down, but the rifle barrel smashed against the bottom of the platform. He would need to wave earlier the next time. When he tried pulling the rifle up, Gulgit or Zandle was holding too much tension, and he couldn’t raise the rifle.
“Goddamn it!” Mark screamed.
From his vantage point, he saw agitated Narthani gun crews bustling around the three cannon on the cutter’s port side, facing the Dancer. He leaned out, held onto the rifle with his left hand, and waved to Gulgit with his right. Then he yanked as hard as he could on the rope holding the rifle firm against the eye-loop. The message got through, and the tension eased off. Mark pulled the rifle up onto the platform. At first, he let the barrel rest on the platform’s makeshift wall. The top of the mast swayed too much—he couldn’t hope to get good shots off using the protective wood as a fixed support. He would have to hold the rifle with his arms and body as best he could, moving to counteract the platform’s motion.
Three cannon barrels emerged from the Narthani gu
n ports. From his position atop the Dancer’s main mast, Mark could see Narthani gun crew members’ upper chests and heads, depending on each man’s station. The first cannon fired. They evidently had orders to fire as soon as possible and not wait for a three-gun salvo.
A small fountain of water gushed up ten feet from the Dancer to mark the impact point. The other two cannon fired, one after the other. One shot hit the hull with a thud. Mark glanced down. Splinters and pieces of the outer wooden layer flew outward. The third shot passed three feet over the deck and came within inches of decapitating one of Partinel’s men.
Mark waited a few seconds, as he tried to synch with the mast’s motion while lining up sights on the aft-most Narthani cannon’s crew.
This is insane, he thought. Why would anyone think I could hit a target a hundred yards away from the top of a mast!?
He wanted to wait to gauge the mast movement better, but he had no time. The Narthani crews fired a second time. Two shots hit the hull with the same effect as before. A third shot cut a rope holding a furled jib. Its back half came loose and fell, catching the wind.
Mark waited for one more sway of the mast, then fired. The heavy rifle kicked back, and he slipped partway off the platform before the harness stopped him. He missed seeing where the shot hit, but the Narthani crew’s number and activity remained the same.
Gulgit saw Mark drop the rifle over the side of the platform and furiously pulled with both hands on the rope. Mark could hear the friction as the rope sped through the spike’s eye-loop. Zandle was sending up the second rifle. It arrived at the platform before the first rifle was halfway down.
The Dancer’s two swivel guns fired at the Narthani cutter as fast as they could be reloaded—to no obvious effect that Mark could see.
Maybe they’re firing at the gun ports, thought Mark. An occasional lucky hit with a canister ball might slow the Narthani gun crews.
The second doomster arrived. Mark strained to hurriedly lift it into position; the rope added to the rifle’s weight. The total was more than most men could handle. Even for Mark, it took significant effort.
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