After the initial collision, his main worry had been that they would stick fast, or even that the rudder would jam on the wreckage before they could get clear. It had been a fascinating and heart-stopping minute and a half as his ship had sliced somewhat messily through the midsection of the enemy vessel.
The initial heavy shots had been well-placed enough that they had shattered the main beams and bulkheads in the hull, and Faerus’ ship had long been renowned and feared for its outsized ram; just under a ton of iron, fifteen feet long and reinforced all the way from the keel up along the breakwater and to the bowsprit. As they had struck, the ram had punch through with ease, the iron breakwater shattering the remaining boards as they met. The main problem had been that the Retribution had not had enough room to build up ramming speed and the initial impact had slowed their ship further. In danger of grinding to a halt, jammed across their enemy, Faerus’ artillerists had begin to fire shot, both solid and canister, into the structure of the ship ahead, beside and below them.
Even then, they had almost become wedged. The oarsmen, given their objective, hauled their oars in at the last minute, a couple of them in the front half of the ship waiting too long and watching helplessly as the long wooden implements shattered on the enemy hull while they came up. Most, however, had managed to get the oars up in time and spent the next minute using them to push the disintegrating hull of the enemy ship away from them, heaving as hard as they could as though they were punting a barge, every ounce of strength adding to the ease of passage.
Had the crew of the pirate vessel had their wits about them, they could have taken the opportunity to pick off many of Faerus’ crew as they sawed their way through, but the imminent demise of their own ship had them panicked and those that hadn’t already run fore or aft and dived into the water before impact were desperately running up the tilting deck away from the scene of the destruction.
By the time the Retribution was far enough through the enemy hull for the foremost oars to be dipped into the water once again, the pirate ship had separated into two neat halves and was beginning to disappear below the waves.
“Are we clear?”
Alif, the weathered second in command, standing on the main deck above the hatch, shivered and rubbed his head.
“I can’t believe you even tried that, cap’n let alone that it worked!”
“But are we clear?”
Alif nodded.
“We’re able to manoeuvre a little, but we’ve taken a hell of a lot of damage, sir. The prow’s a mess and people are shouting up from below that we’re taking on water in a dozen places.”
“Critically?”
Alif shrugged.
“Water coming in is never good, captain. In a perfect world, the water stays on the outside of a ship.”
Faerus smiled. That his grouchy subordinate felt the subject worthy of humour spoke volumes.
“Then let’s get those holes plugged as best we can and set the crew to emergency repairs only. We’ve not got time to affect a full repair; I want to get us back into the fight as soon as possible.”
“With respect, captain… you’re barking mad! Has anyone ever told you that?”
“You, Alif, and on more than one occasion.”
The swarthy man grinned.
“At least five minutes for a desperate patch up before I’ll feel safe even trying to make a turn, alright sir?”
“Whatever you say, Alif.”
He sighed as he stood back and leaned on the railing. His ship may have taken a pounding form this, but they came off better from the attack than the other two vessels. He watched with a slight undercurrent of sadness as the last timbers of the shattered ship around them disappeared beneath the waves. A glance behind revealed the burning mass of the other vessel, now leaning at a dangerous angle as it began its descent to the underworld. Unfortunate for the crew, caught between the choice of a fiery death or a watery one. In the most perfect of worlds they would help the stricken sailors bobbing in the water and shouting for help, hauling them aboard to save them.
But that was for military engagements with men of honour, such as Faerus had faced in the old days. He knew those men in the water from the last decade or more, though. Most of them would gut him the moment his back was turned and, realistically, what chance did they stand? If Faerus relented and rescued them, he would have to deliver them to the governor, who would hang them in Calphoris of M’Dahz, watching as they jerked and soiled themselves in front of a jeering crowd. Better that they disappeared here, forgotten.
Better for him and better for them.
He smiled sadly at the ship of the line Retribution. Five minutes and no more. Then he would go and help Samir and Orin.
In which threads come to a close
Samir shook his head.
“Not yet.”
“But we’re in range. A heavy firepot might stop them.”
Samir turned from the rail to look at Ghassan.
“Not yet!”
“But Samir…”
“Listen! Gharic is far from stupid. He’s seen what’s happened up and down the line. Hell, he knew he was beaten that first moment. While the other captains started fighting back, Gharic knew they were done for and fled. Not brave, but clever. He’s seen what shots have been fired and he knows what we’ll do. He’ll be expecting the fire shot by now. Every man who’s not on the oars will be standing by with poles and water to sort it out. At best we’ll create a minor distraction and singe the deck. No. I need that catapult ready.”
Ghassan ground his teeth.
“Then tell us what you’re planning. Damn it, Samir! I know you have this whole personal superiority complex where you need to know things that other people don’t and be ahead of the game, but now is not the time!”
“I am who I am, Ghassan” Samir grinned.
Ahead, Saja, leaning on the rail amidships, turned and shouted back to them.
“He’s reached the rocks and slowed. Any minute now we’ll lose him in the mist.”
Ghassan growled at his brother.
“Alright, Samir. This is it. Whatever you’re going to do, do it now.”
Samir shook his head.
“One more minute. We need one more minute; let him get safely in the rocks.”
The exasperated Ghassan turned to look out to stern. The remaining active pirate ship was bearing down on them, matching speed. They would catch up the moment Samir turned… on the assumption he was going to turn and hadn’t planned merely to fly over the reefs.
Moments passed in tense silence and finally the deep voice of Saja called out.
“That’s it… she’s gone into the mist. Two minutes and we’ll hit rocks and fog ourselves. Hope you’ve got the compass ready, Samir?”
The captain of the Redemption grinned.
“You have no idea, Saja.”
Reaching into his tunic, he withdrew the disc with its mummified finger. With a laugh, he beckoned to Culin and Ghassan and made for the steps down to the main deck.
Frowning, the two officers followed him down the stairs and out onto the deck where the crew worked tirelessly, the oarsmen on their benches hauling and grunting, trying to bring the ship within reach of the now- invisible target. As the three, Samir striding out ahead, approached the midsection, Saja hurried over from the rail to join them.
“Alright, Samir… what’s going on?”
