by David Weber
Seagull was one of the larger of the schooners attached to Cayleb's galleons. She mounted twelve carronades, six in each broadside. Unlike Dreadnought's, the schooner's carronades' bores measured only five and a half inches, and the round shot they threw weighed just a bit over twenty-three pounds each. That was far lighter than her larger consorts' weapons, but much, much heavier than anything her size had ever been able to mount before.
At the moment, however, the weight of her broadside was irrelevant. The flush-decked schooner, barely ninety feet in length, was crammed with Marines. Cayleb had managed to pack an additional eighty men into her, plus Merlin, Cayleb's Marine bodyguards, and Cayleb himself.
"This is not something you should be doing," Merlin said quietly into the prince's ear. The two of them stood to one side of the helmsman as he leaned on the tiller bar.
"No?" Cayleb returned, equally quietly, and his teeth flashed white in the dim light of the setting moon as he smiled.
"No," Merlin said, as deflatingly as possible. "Getting yourself killed doing something as minor as this would be stupid, not gallant."
"Father always told me 'gallant' and 'stupid' usually meant exactly the same thing," Cayleb said.
"A smart man, your father," Merlin replied.
"Yes, he is," Cayleb agreed. "But as it happens, I think I do have to be here. Unless, of course, you're prepared to explain to the Captain just how it is that you know exactly where to go?"
Merlin had opened his mouth to respond. Now he closed it again, glowering at the prince. Unfortunately, Cayleb had a point. By now, every man in the galleon fleet was firmly convinced Cayleb could literally smell his way to the enemy. They were thoroughly prepared to follow his "instincts" anywhere, and not at all surprised when they found enemy warships wherever he took them, which neatly deflected any attention from Merlin's contributions. In the long term, that was undoubtedly a good thing, but in the short term, Merlin wasn't at all happy about Cayleb's risking himself on a harebrained stunt like this one.
Come on, he told himself. It's not really a "stunt" at all, is it? Because Cayleb's right; if we pull this off, Black Water's going to be in for a really nasty surprise about sunrise.
No doubt he would, but Merlin could think of all too many examples from Old Earth's history of essential men and women who'd gotten themselves killed doing important but not essential things.
"Well," Merlin murmured into the prince's ear now, "if you're the one doing all the explaining to the Captain, you'd better tell him to alter course about half a point to starboard."
"Aye, aye, Sir," Cayleb said with an ironic smile and crossed to where the schooner's captain stood watching his ship's sails.
* * *
The light galley Sprite ghosted slowly along on one more leg of her endless patrol. Sprite's Emeraldian crew wasn't especially fond of Duke Black Water. They hadn't particularly cared for the orders which subordinated their own navy to the Corisandian's command. And they especially hadn't cared for the orders which had kept them at sea for the last three and a half five-days.
Every member of the galley's seventy-five-man company knew they were out here primarily as an afterthought. Oh, it was always possible the mysteriously absent Charisian galleons might try to come creeping up behind the combined fleet from the north. It wasn't very likely, though. Especially not in light of how persistently the Charisian galleys had insisted on heading south. Sprite's crewmen didn't object to the notion of having someone watch the main fleet's back; they simply didn't see why they should be stuck with the job.
Her captain had ordered a single reef taken in her sail just after sundown. Not because the wind had freshened enough to pose any sort of threat, but because he had to reduce sail if he wanted to maintain his assigned position to windward of the main fleet's bigger, slower galleys. He'd also turned in after supper, leaving the deck to his second lieutenant, and most of the rest of his ship's company was working assiduously to get all the sleep it could before yet another boring day of playing lookout.
* * *
"There," Cayleb whispered into the ear of Seagull's captain, and pointed to leeward.
The schooner was on the starboard tack, broad reaching with the wind coming in over her starboard quarter. And there, almost precisely where the prince had predicted, were the running lights of a small vessel.
The moon had set, and the schooner, all of her own lights extinguished, was sliding along under jibs and foresail alone as she crept stealthily closer to the galley.
The picket boat was even smaller than Seagull, little more than sixty feet in length, if that. Her stern lanterns picked out her position clearly, and the schooner's captain nodded to his crown prince.
"I see her now, Your Highness," he whispered back, and Cayleb's lips twitched as he heard the semi-awe in the man's voice.
"Lay her alongside, just like we planned," he said, carefully suppressing the amusement in his own voice.
"Aye, aye, Your Highness."
The captain touched his shoulder in salute, and Cayleb nodded, then stepped back over beside Merlin and Ahrnahld Falkhan.
"And when he does lay us alongside," Merlin said just loud enough to be certain Falkhan could hear, "you stay right here aboard Seagull, Your Highness."
"Of course," Cayleb replied in a rather absent tone, watching as Seagull changed course very slightly, edging ever closer to the unsuspecting galley, now little more than a couple of hundred yards clear.
"I mean it, Cayleb!" Merlin said sternly. "Ahrnahld and I are not going to explain to your father how we managed to let you get killed taking a dinky little galley, is that understood?"
"Of course," Cayleb repeated, and Merlin looked across at Falkhan.
The Marine lieutenant looked back and shook his head, then jerked it to indicate Sergeant Faircaster. The burly, powerfully built noncom stood directly behind the crown prince, and he looked quite prepared to rap the heir to the throne smartly over the head if that was what it took to keep him aboard Seagull.
Which, Merlin reflected, suited him just fine.
* * *
"Now!"
Seagull's helmsman put his tiller sharply up to windward, and the schooner slid neatly alongside Sprite. Someone aboard the galley spotted her at the very last minute and shouted in alarm, but it was far too late to do any good.
Grappling irons flew, biting into Sprite's timbers as the two vessels ground together. The watch on deck—no more than a dozen men, all told—whirled, gaping in horror as Seagull came crashing out of the night. The schooner's side was a solid mass of rifle-armed Marines, bayonets gleaming with the dull, murderous reflection of Sprite's running lights, and then those same Marines swept across Sprite's deck.
Bayonets thrust. Clubbed musket butts struck viciously. There were a few screams and more shouts, but not a shot was fired, and it was over in less than thirty seconds. It took a little longer than that for the crew trapped below decks to realize what had happened, of course, and for Sprite's captain to accept it and formally surrender his ship. But there were only seven casualties, all of them Emeraldians, and only two of them fatal.
It was a neat little operation, Merlin conceded. And, best of all from his perspective, there hadn't been time for Cayleb to get himself involved in the boarding action even if he'd wanted to.
"All right," the crown prince said now, standing beside Merlin on the afterdeck of the captured galley, where he'd just accepted the surrender of Sprite's stunned, disbelieving captain. "Let's get the prize crew aboard. Then we've got to go back and get the rest of the fleet up here."
* * *
King Haarahld lay in the gently swaying cot, dutifully pretending to sleep.
The fact that there wasn't very much else he could do didn't make it any easier. What he really wanted was to call Captain Tryvythyn into the chart room and begin discussing possible deployments. In fact, the temptation was very nearly overwhelming. Except, of course, that Tryvythyn would undoubtedly wonder what had inspired it
. And except for the fact that although he knew Cayleb was almost certainly less than fifty miles from where he himself lay, that was all he knew.
It wasn't as if he and Admiral Lock Island and their commodores and captains hadn't discussed possible tactical situations and their responses to them exhaustively over the past months. Every one of his senior officers knew exactly what all of them were supposed to do, and Haarahld felt confident they would understand not simply his orders, but the purpose behind those orders, when the time came.
But the fact that there wasn't anything he needed to be doing didn't keep him from wishing there were.
He glanced at the stern windows, wondering if the sky beyond them really was just a bit lighter than it had seemed the last time he looked. It was possible, although it was more likely wishful thinking on his part.
He smiled at the thought, amused despite the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside.
Yes, the sky definitely was lighter, he realized, and—
The pager vibrated against his forearm again. This time, twice.
* * *
"It's a good thing you're young enough to not need very much sleep," Merlin said a bit sourly, and Cayleb grinned at him.
"Be honest, Merlin," he said. "You're just pissed because I behaved myself last night and didn't give you anything to complain about."
"Nonsense. I'm not 'pissed'; just astonished," Merlin replied, and this time Cayleb laughed out loud.
"Do you think they've spotted us yet, Your Highness?" Falkhan asked, and the crown prince sobered.
"If they haven't yet, they will shortly," he said, rather more grimly, and Falkhan nodded.
Cayleb's galleons were formed into a single column this time, forging ahead with all sail set to the topgallants, and headed almost exactly southeast-by-east on the port tack. Dreadnought led the column, and the sails of the closest of Black Water's galleys were clearly visible from deck level against the steadily brightening sky to the east.
"We've still got a minute or two, I think," Merlin said quietly. "The sky's still dark behind us. But you're right, Cayleb. They're going to pick us up any minute now."
"Be ready with those signals, Gwylym," Cayleb said over his shoulder.
"Aye, aye, Your Highness," Captain Manthyr replied, and glanced at Midshipman Kohrby's signal party.
* * *
The lookout in the Emerald Navy galley Black Prince stretched and yawned. His relief in the crow's-nest was due in another half-hour or so, and he looked forward to breakfast and some hammock time.
He finished stretching and turned, making a leisurely visual sweep as the sky in the east turned pale-cream and salmon colored. A few wisps of cloud were high enough to the north and west to pick up some of the color, standing out like misty golden banners against a sky of graying velvet, still pricked by stars.
He started to turn back to the east, then paused as something caught his eye. He frowned, peering more intently to the northwest. He was looking almost into the eye of the wind, and his own eyes watered slightly. He rubbed them in irritation and looked again.
His heart seemed to stop. For an instant, all he could do was stare incredulously at the impossible sight as the steadying light from behind him turned gray, weather-stained canvas briefly into polished pewter. Then he found his voice.
"Sail ho!" he screamed. "Sail ho!"
* * *
"Well, they've seen us," Merlin commented quietly to Cayleb as the nearest ship, the rearmost galley in the Northern Force's westernmost column, flying the red and gold standard of Emerald, turned suddenly into a kicked ants' nest of furious activity.
He didn't need his SNARC's overhead imagery to see it, either. He could scarcely believe how close Cayleb had managed to get, although he knew Cayleb himself was more than a little frustrated.
The crown prince was running well over two hours behind his own original ambitious schedule. He'd hoped to overtake Black Water's fleet before dawn, announcing his arrival only with the first broadsides, delivered from total darkness. But even with perfect information on the relative positions of the two fleets, he'd been unable to allow properly for vagaries of wind and current.
His irritation at the delay was probably a bit more evident than he fondly believed it was, Merlin thought with a grin. For all he'd already accomplished, there were times when Crown Prince Cayleb was very young.
Fortunately, he'd allowed for at least some slippage in his original timing, and the weariness of the enemy's lookout, coupled with the poorer visibility to the west, had allowed Dreadnought to get to within less than six miles before being spotted. Black Water's nearer two columns were hull-up, clearly visible from Dreadnought's deck, although no one else could see them quite as clearly as he could.
"Hoist the signal, Captain!" Cayleb snapped.
"Aye, aye, Your Highness! Master Kohrby, if you please!"
"Aye, aye, Sir!"
The colorful flags rose to Dreadnought's yardarm, streaming out in the wind, repeated by the schooners stationed up to windward of the galleons' battle line, and a hungry cheer went up from Cayleb's men.
"Number One hoisted, Sir!" Kohrby reported. "Engage the enemy!"
* * *
King Haarahld was half-finished dressing when the pager on his forearm vibrated yet again. This time there were three pulses, and he raised his voice in a shout to his cabin sentry.
"Charlz!"
The door flew open instantly, and Sergeant Gahrdaner stepped through it, sword half-drawn. His eyes snapped around the cabin, seeking any threat, and then he relaxed—slightly—when he found none.
"Your Majesty?" he said.
"Pass the word for Captain Tryvythyn," Haarahld said. "And then, get me my armor."
* * *
Lieutenant Rholynd Mahlry spun in place, staring disbelievingly up at the crow's-nest.
"Ships on the starboard quarter!" the lookout bawled frantically. "Many ships on the starboard quarter!"
Mahlry stared for another heartbeat, then raced across Black Prince's aftercastle to stare up to windward himself. For just a moment, he saw nothing—then he saw altogether too much.
"Beat to quarters!" he shouted, watching the endless line of galleons bearing down upon his ship. "Someone wake the Captain!"
* * *
"Signal to Gale," Cayleb said, eyes fixed on the rapidly nearing enemy vessels.
"Yes, Your Highness?" Kohrby asked, chalk poised over his slate.
"Engage the enemy column nearest to windward," Cayleb said.
"Engage the enemy column nearest to windward, aye, aye, Sir!" Kohrby said, and turned to his signal party once more.
"Captain Manthyr, we'll pass astern of at least the two nearer columns, if we can."
"Aye, aye, Your Highness." The flag captain gazed at the nearest enemy galleys for a moment, then looked at his helmsmen. "Bring her head two points to port."
* * *
Captain Payt Khattyr came bounding up Black Prince's aftercastle ladder like a hedge lizard with its tail on fire. He hadn't waited for his armor, or even to dress, and he was bare to the waist as he arrived at Mahlry's side.
"Where—?" he began urgently, then chopped the question off as he saw the galleons for himself.
"They've altered heading in the last few minutes, Sir," Mahlry said, pointing at the lead ship. "They're edging further up to windward."
"Steering to cut us off from home," Khattyr muttered. Mahlry didn't know whether the comment was intended for him, or not, but he found himself nodding in grim agreement with his captain's assessment.
"Make the signal for enemy in sight," Khattyr said.
"I already have, Sir," Mahlry replied, and Khattyr spared him a brief glance of intense approval.
"Good man, Rholynd!"
The captain turned back to his perusal of the enemy, and his jaw tightened as he saw the lines of gunports opening and the cannon muzzles snouting out like hungry beasts.
He turned to stare south, along the line of hi
s ship's column. Black Prince was the rearmost ship in the westernmost of nine columns. There were twenty galleys in her column, all of them Emeraldian, and the next two columns to eastward were also Emeraldian, with the nearer one headed by Earl Mahndyr's flagship Triton. The fourth column was headed by the last ten Emeraldian galleys, followed by nine Chisholmian ships. The fifth consisted of another twenty Chisholmian galleys, led by Earl Sharpfield, in King Maikel. Then came the sixth column, composed entirely of Corisandian ships and led by Duke Black Water in the fleet flagship. Then another column of Chisholmians, and two final columns of Corisandians.
With an interval of two hundred yards between ships, even the shortest column was over two and a half miles long, and the the interval between columns was three miles. That meant the entire formation stretched twenty-four miles from east to west . . . and that a masthead lookout in Black Prince couldn't quite see the ships in the farthest column at all.