Corsair

“Well, there it is,” Hamil murmured after peering over the rail. What do we do if Narsk catches her? he asked. Do we go along with the rest of the crew and keep to our ruse? Or do we interfere and keep Narsk from taking that ship?

Geran looked down at his friend, brow creased in worry. “I don’t know,” he said. He should have anticipated they might find themselves in this very situation. He didn’t doubt the three of them could find a way to fight ineffectively or hang back from the worst of what was coming, but their shipmates might notice, and that would do very little to advance their standing in the crew. More to the point, it would hardly absolve the three of them of responsibility for not thwarting a pirate attack that they were in position to foil. But it was hard to see how that wouldn’t give away their ploy and bring their effort to infiltrate the Black Moon to an end.

Sarth glanced at Hamil; the ghostwise halfling was evidently repeating his question for the tiefling. Sarth looked around to see if any of the crew were in earshot and leaned on the rail beside Geran. “A difficult decision,” he said. “I am not sure how to counsel you, Geran, but I suppose you could consider the matter in this way: What would have happened if we weren’t aboard? If it seems that Moonshark would catch the merchant and take her without our help, our participation wouldn’t change what fate had already intended for that ship. For that matter, it might not be in our power to prevent an attack. There are only three of us, after all. If we can’t prevent Narsk from taking that ship, then we might as well maintain the ruse. What we learn here may save other lives on some other day.”

“I hear you,” Geran answered. “But, as it turns out-we are aboard and nothing is fated at the moment. Besides, we’d have the advantage of surprise and your magic as well. If we deal with a few key crewmen right at the outset, the rest might lose their nerve.”

“I think I’m with Sarth on this,” Hamil said softly. “I’m not anxious to pick a fight with fifty enemies for the sake of total strangers. But we might be able to interfere in another way. If the ship were to lose a sail or the rudder were to fail …”

“It will mean a fight if we are caught at it,” Sarth answered.

Geran thought of what Nimessa had told him about the fate of Whitewing’s crew. If they stood aside or went along because the merchant was doomed anyway, they’d still be a party to the worst sort of murder. They might be able to defeat Moonshark’s crew by killing Narsk, Sorsil, and perhaps Skamang or Khefen quickly … but it was probably more likely that any such mad assault would succeed only in getting all three of them killed, and he was not any more eager than Hamil to lose his life for a handful of strangers.

“If we can keep Narsk and the rest of the cutthroats on this ship from murdering the crew and passengers of some hapless ship, I think we have to try,” he said. “Hamil’s suggestion has merit. We’ll just have to make sure no one notices.”

Over the next hour, Moonshark steadily closed on the cog. Geran was surprised to see that the merchant ship didn’t try to flee, but instead kept to her original course. Either she hadn’t noticed the pirate galley on her beam-which seemed more and more unlikely-or the captain blithely assumed that he sailed in friendly waters. He supposed it was possible that the merchant captain had already determined for himself that there was no escape and therefore hoped to bluff his way out of an attack by a simple show of boldness, but that struck him as even more unlikely. As the pirate galley slowly overtook the merchant cog, Geran and his comrades began to plan their act of sabotage.

They were well along in their planning, and the cog was a little less than a mile off, when Sorsil shouted down at the main deck from her position by the helm. “Back to your stations!” the first mate called. “Go on, you dogs! There’s nothing for us here!”

Geran and his companions exchanged looks then turned to the quarterdeck. Narsk gripped the rail, glaring at the cog with his fangs bared. Then he snarled something to Sorsil and stormed off the quarterdeck, disappearing into his cabin once more. Sorsil took one more look at the cog then ordered the helmsman to turn away. Moonshark turned smartly to starboard and cut across the wake of the ship a mile astern of her, now running downwind.

“What in the world?” Geran asked aloud. “What was that about?” He heard a few murmurs from other crew too, likely expressing the same sentiment.

“Narsk gave up the pursuit,” Sarth observed. “Why would he do that?”

“Look!” Hamil said. “The merchant’s raised a pennant.”

Geran turned back to the cog, now falling astern. A pennant floated in the breeze from the ship’s mainmast; he was sure it hadn’t been there a few minutes ago, so the cog’s captain must have just ordered it flown. It was a quartered flag of red and gold, and Geran knew it well. “That’s a House Marstel ship,” he said.

“Marstel? As in the Marstels of Hulburg?” Sarth asked.

“Yes,” Geran replied. “That double-dealing bastard! He’s paid off the Black Moon to leave his ships alone. And he was the one who argued for the harmach to do something about piracy.”

“Badgering the harmach to do something likely kept other merchant companies from making a deal with the pirates,” Hamil said. “Lord Marstel’s a sly old fox if that’s the case. I never would have thought he had it in him.”

“Nor would I,” Geran said. He frowned, trying to figure out what to make of it. Then the pirates crowded along the rail drifted back to their duties and the ship returned to its routine.

The crew’s disappointment at being turned away from a prize in their grasp likely accounted for what happened that evening. Moonshark was too small to have anything like a mess deck; the galley was located in the forecastle, and Tao Zhe, the cook, ladled the evening’s stew into whatever cup or bowl each man brought to him. After receiving warm food and a hunk of coarse bread, the deckhands retreated to whatever corner of the main deck they could find that offered shelter from the weather and a good place to sit and eat. Geran, Hamil, and Sarth had just settled down to their unappetizing meals when several crewmen belonging to Skamang’s fist sauntered up to them. A round-bellied Chessentan named Pareik, who shaved his head and wore large gold earrings, led the band. “Get up, new fish!” he snarled. “That’s our place you’re in.”

It looks like Skamang’s decided to try us out, Hamil observed. With a sigh, he carefully set his dinner on the deck.

“It suits me well enough,” Geran answered Pareik. It would have been easier to defer and avoid what was coming, but he suspected that he’d be at Skamang’s beck and call for the rest of the voyage if he did. Standing up to Pareik now and showing a quick and violent temper might save him no end of trouble later, as well as furthering their ruse. Besides, he was in a foul temper, and he didn’t like the look of the fellow. “Go find a different place.”

Pareik grinned. “So you’re too good to take your supper somewhere else,” he said. He slapped Geran’s dinner tin out of his hands, spilling the stew. “You can eat it off the deck, then! What do you think about that, new fish?”

Without a moment’s thought, Geran seized his dinner tin from the deck and leaped to his feet. He didn’t have to feign his anger; before he could think better of it, he threw the tin and the remaining stew in Pareik’s face. Pareik recoiled, belatedly raising his arms to defend himself, but Geran planted his boot at the Chessentan’s belt buckle and propelled him back across the deck. The pirate stumbled to the deck and rolled, fetching up against the opposite gunwale. “I think I’ll knock out your damned teeth, that’s what I think!” Geran snarled at him.

He took two steps toward Pareik, intending to administer the beating of a lifetime to the Chessentan, but heavy footsteps to his right caught his attention. The ogre Kronn stood close by, glaring down at him with his piggish little eyes. Behind him, the tattooed Northman Skamang sat watching with a small smile on his face. Kronn spoke in a rumbling voice. “You hidded Pareik,” he said. “Thad mean any Skamang’s fisd can hid you. Kronn belong Skamang’s fisd. Kronn hid you!” The ogre lashed out with one enormous fist, mashing it straight down as if he meant to drive a nail into the deck.

Geran leaped backward out of the way, not with any particular grace. His old mentor Daried would have winced; he’d always said that Geran had the slow-footedness of any big human. The elf bladesinger could have evaded Kronn’s fist with half a step and a twist of his shoulders. Hamil could have too. But Geran’s off-balance jump was enough to get him out from under Kronn’s blow. The ogre bellowed in annoyance and sprang after him; Geran skirted around the mainmast to put it between him and his foe, buying himself a moment to think.

Sarth and Hamil surged to their feet and moved forward to join the fray, while the rest of Pareik’s little gang dropped their own suppers to the deck and stood their ground. But Murkelmor the dwarf moved between them and