“Repairs? Is Ilyria at war again?”
“Didn’t stop to chat, so I don’t know. But it’s been six months, which is about all the peace they can stand.”
“No pirates or ghost ships?”
“Alas, no. But starting today, we’ll be following prime shipping routes. We could see action at any moment.” He gestured around him. “That’s why we’re putting on our best civilian frock.”
I’d wondered how such an obvious vessel could possibly catch an experienced pirate unawares. Now I saw: wooden boxes were strapped to the deck in a pile ten feet high, just as seen on the Mellow Wine. Since they were empty, though, they did little to slow us down and could be quickly cast overboard. Instead of the banner of the Anti-Freebootery Guild, we flew the flag of Klarbrunn, and beneath it the banner of the International Cargo Federation. Most significant, the deck ballistae were gone from their sockets, arranged in a neat row on the wooden deck. The ones below remained in place, though, and I knew the gunnery crew could have the deck crossbows remounted and ready to fire in minutes. I used disguises myself on occasion, and could appreciate the scale and effectiveness of this one.
Sweat trickled down my spine and forehead; I’d probably melted off ten pounds on this trip already. I excused myself, walked to the starboard bow rail, and looked down at the bow waves. The spray, at least, was cool on my face. Big fish leaped gracefully out of the ship’s path, only to circle back and repeat the move.
A man hung over the side, strapped in a harness, removing the brass letters that spelled the ship’s name. He saw me, smiled, and waved.
On one of my first days at sea, I’d asked Seaton the origin of the ship’s strange name. Far too loudly, he said, “Ah, so you be wanting to know why she’s called the Red Cow. She’s not always borne that moniker, though.”
He waited. So did every man on deck, grinning in anticipation. At last I played along. “What was she called before?”
“The Impatient Cow. Come on, lad, ask me why.”
“Why was she called the Impatie-?”
“Moo!” bellowed every sailor from the open hatchways to the foremast crosstrees.
I sighed and shook my head. I was on a ship crewed by twelve-year-olds.
The actual explanation was much more mundane. Originally she was known as the Red Crow, but a letter had fallen off during battle. The crew believed this to be a sign that the ship had chosen her own name, and so Red Cow it had remained ever since. Her reputation ensured that no one familiar with the sea laughed when she was mentioned.
“Morning to you, Mr. LaCrosse!” cried a voice from above, bringing me back to the moment. Celia Zandry, the boatswain- which of course came out “bos’n” whenever anyone referred to her by rank-hung from the mainmast shrouds and directed adjustments to the rigging. She was almost as tall as Suhonen, although she weighed considerably less. She reminded me of a stick insect; rumor said that when the wind was strong enough, she could raise one bare arm and it would whistle.
“Morning, Celia. How’s the wind today?”
“Strong and damp. Makes the canvas sluggish.”
“Does the same to me,” I said.
I greeted several other crewmen with whom I’d become friendly. They were, on the whole, a good- natured lot, content with their jobs and glad not to be in Queen Remy’s prison, or worse. Some diligently scrubbed the decks, while the crossbow crew, under the direction of Mr. Dancer, the gunnery master, disassembled and cleaned the ballistae before storing them below. With such a large crew, shifts were short and we had an adequate, if strictly controlled, supply of rum. Sometimes I got so bored, I almost volunteered to help, but I sensed that these professionals wouldn’t welcome a dilettante like me. Besides, they sang while they worked, and no one needed to hear me sing.
Then I saw something new. Three men emerged from the hold carrying barrels on their shoulders. They had to be empty, given the ease with which the men handled them. They went to the stern and handed them over the rail to waiting hands below, where more men evidently hung in harnesses.
“What’s in those barrels?” I asked Captain Clift when he joined me.
“Why, nothing at all.”
“So you just dump your empties over the side?”
“Oh, no. They have a very specific function.”
When he said nothing else, I prompted, “And?”
He laughed. “Should we need them… Well, you’ll see.”
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Jane called. Today she wore an even skimpier outfit; I never knew she had a tattoo below her navel. She leaned on the rail between Clift and me, looked out at the sea, and said, “We’re in the shipping lanes, if I’m reading it right.”
The ocean looked the same to me as it had every day before this, but Clift nodded. “Aye. And we’re now the totally defenseless merchant vessel Crimson Heifer. ” He looked at her while she gazed over the water, and again I saw that little shift in his demeanor. “If you’ll both excuse me, I’m sure there’s something more productive I can be doing.” He touched his knuckles to his forehead in a casual salute.
When he was out of earshot, I said to Jane, “Are you deliberately trying to torture that poor guy?”
She looked blank. “What?”
“What?” I repeated, imitating her. “I’ve seen less skin on a Selian bride.” Selian women wore only ankle bells during the ceremony; the men wore bells in a much less discreet location.
“Hey, this is just how I dress at sea. When I was a captain, I wore the same sort of thing. And you know what?” She winked. “I never had to give an order twice.”
“I bet. What about when you went into battle? A getup like that seems to leave a lot of things… unsupported.”
“Maybe, but half the bad guys surrendered with a smile before the first blow was even struck.”
She laughed, and it was so wide open and joyous that I smiled, too. I’d seen Jane in action on land, of course, her cape aswirl and her fur-edged boots sliding into a battle stance, but I realized that this was actually her element. It wasn’t just her lack of self-consciousness; it was clear that she felt so at home here that she knew she could always turn any situation to her advantage. I envied that, especially since I couldn’t imagine ever feeling that way. For her to give that up for Miles Argo must have taken an awful lot of willpower.
I noticed that the sailors scrubbing the nearby deck watched her very closely, hoping the wind would blow her blouse tight against her body. I’m sure she noticed it, too; she just didn’t care.
The first time I saw her dressed like this, I commented, “Where’s your cape?”
“Cape’s aren’t real practical at sea.”
I nodded at her ensemble. “And this is?”
“Were you looking at my sword arm?” When I didn’t reply, she said with a grin, “I rest my case.”
Now I said, “So why are they putting empty barrels on the stern?”
“You’ll see.”
“I’m paying for this trip. I don’t think it’s polite to keep secrets.”
“It’s not a secret; it’s a surprise. Trust me, you’ll love it.” She mussed my hair again, and I remembered my earlier promise, but punching a woman so gleefully flashing her boobs to a bunch of sailors seemed both ill-advised and rude. Still, I promised one day to even the score.
I opened my cabin door. The boy Dorsal stood beside my bunk. He jumped and backed up to the far wall, eyes down, clearly guilty of something. “What are you doing in here?” I asked.
He scuffed one bare foot against the floor. “Nothin’.” He wore the same often-patched shirt and pants that were too big. I wondered if he even had a change of clothes. His hair was cut raggedly short, the mark of a knife instead of scissors. I noticed his rope belt had a series of loops tied into it at regular intervals. I grunted in disapproval and said, “Whatever it was, it ain’t as bad as lying. Let’s try that again. What are you doing in here?”
He chewed his lower lip, then nodded at my bunk. “Lookin’.” “At what?”
“Your sword.”
It didn’t appear that he’d moved it; it was still in the scabbard, on the floor beneath my bunk. I closed the door and said, “I appreciate you telling me the truth.”
