My presence in the crow’s nest had allowed me to discern personally that the ships had altered course and formation in an alarming manner, albeit only after taking our principal watchwoman out of service for an extended period of distraction. After testing the fastenings of my clothing for durability, I shouted down a warning before making a hasty descent down to the deck.
Alighting on my feet, I doffed the gloves I had worn on the way down (they were now ruinously abraded and uncomfortably warm) and hastily explained the news to a startled Captain Felix Rimehammer before heading to the forecastle to don my armor. Georg followed in my wake, having transformed herself from being Felix’s personal assistant to being my de facto squire around the time we arrived in Venice – her principal squirely duty being to assist me in and out of my new Corsican brass wizard armor and ensure it sparkled afterward with the aid of a polishing cloth.
It was only after I had stripped down to my smallclothes that I considered the possibility that Katya might object to having a woman involved in dressing and undressing me, but it was too late at that point. Even with Georg’s assistance, getting my armor on took too much time; and on my return from the forecastle, I found that Captain Felix Rimehammer was deep in discussion of the problem of our lack of maneuverability.
Lieutenant Fyodor Kransky was of the opinion that unfurling the sails and waking his wife would be unlikely to allow us to evade the incoming vessels, which could now be seen clearly by him from the deck. They were manned by sailors with more experience and had arrays of sails that looked both larger and more complicated; we and they would face very similar amounts of wind whichever direction the wind was pointed.
Lieutenant Vitold Szpak had a lengthy report to make on the status of the rowing-engine, the gist of which was that it wasn’t quite ready yet and he wasn’t sure how long it would take, other than the fact that it wouldn’t get any closer to ready while he was standing around discussing matters.
I made several decisions in short order with immediate effect. We would unfurl our sails right away and weigh anchor. The wind blowing us backward would earn back some of the time I had lost to my negligence.
Fyodor would wake his weather-witch wife and then prepare artillery. The steam knights were to warm up their boilers and then carry cannon. Vitold would work on getting the rowing-engine ready, along with anyone that the elder Rimehammer cousin thought could be spared. Banneret Teushpa, being well-educated but otherwise nearly useless as far as I was concerned, would be entrusted with the tiller at the rear of the ship, which I told him was a fine honor and a sign of great trust. He would be in charge of making any decisions about maneuvering if neither I nor Captain Rimehammer could send him directives.
I would perch in the forecastle, ready to speak with or signal to the approaching ships. If we were fortunate, they were merely interested in trading goods and gossip at sea. Briefly, I worried that our defensive posture might provoke a hostile response; and then I put the possibility out of mind. A convoy of merchants choosing to approach us directly could not mistake us for aggressors when we were adrift.
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My cerulean cloak flapped behind me and I gripped the orichalcum-plated trident in my left hand, watching the ships come closer. If the eyes painted to either side of our ship’s ram made a face, I was perched on the crest of the ship’s hairline, where I could see; the vantage from the main deck was too low and blocked by the foresail we had unfurled. We wobbled as we drifted slowly backward. From where I stood, I could not see Katya in the crow’s nest, the backward foresail blowing between us.
The blonde mermaid’s head popped up out of the water. She swam after us for a few minutes before deciding to hold onto the ship’s ram. “Why are you sailing backwards?” she asked, arching her back artfully as she brought the whole of her torso above the water to look up at me.
“We’re not very experienced at sailing,” I told her. “We don’t know the magic for sailing into the wind.”
She giggled musically. “Where’s your friend?”
Assuming she was referring to Ragnar, I shrugged. “Busy trying to get the oars working.” Ragnar’s moodiness had led his cousin Felix to order him to go assist Vitold instead of helping organize soldiers on deck.
“So you do have rowers after all?” She smiled winningly, licking her lips. “My sisters said there weren’t enough men on the ship to row it.”
“No, that’s true,” I said. “We’ve put together a rowing-engine. Much more humane than having men stuck below working the oars.” My mind briefly flitted back to my missing men and their likely fate as galley slaves.
Her face fell. She opened her mouth to ask another question, but I held up a finger in warning and she fell silent. I could hear the men on the approaching ships talking in the Dalmatian dialect, their accents a little strange to my ear but their words easy enough to understand. They spoke of plunder and of easy targets, puzzled but encouraged that our crew very obviously lacked sailing experience. They spoke of signaling each other, and surrounding us; the ships on either side let out more sail, building speed as they raced to surround us and block off possible escape routes.
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They were also loading their bombards; each of the three pirate galleys was armed with a single great gun fixed forward, larger than anything in our arsenal.
“I do not mean to be rude,” I said. “But from what I hear, I think the ships who approach have ill intentions for us, and I am afraid I must try to speak with them.”
She huffed, causing a distracting bouncing motion through the violence of the sudden contraction of her rib cage. “Surely you cannot hear each other over the wind and waves yet,” she said. “Sound is so muddy and unclear above the water.”
I shook my head. “I can hear their voices clear as bells on a winter night,” I said. “More clearly than I can hear your sisters whispering below, the surface of the water reflects most of the sound back down into the deeps. They think blonde hair goes poorly on you.”
The mermaid frowned sternly, her arms crossing in front of her chest. “You’re lying! They said it was a very cute look!” She looked me in the eyes, and her face fell as she took in my mirthless expression.
“They’re wrong about that,” I added with haste, trying to reassure her. “Don’t listen to them, your hair looks lovely. But I must try to dissuade the other men from attacking us.” I looked up, the ship growing nearer. I would need to shout to be heard clearly. Straightening my posture, I took a deep breath and then shouted as loud as I could in the Dalmatian dialect.
“Hello the ship! We are the Raven’s Battalion. If you attack us, it will be at your peril!”
A splash sounded as the mermaid dove beneath the water, her hands clasped over her ears. The men on the approaching ship – now barely a few thousand yards away – rudely ignored my shout, though I thought I had spoken loudly enough to be heard at such a distance. Sound carries well over water, after all; I could hear their voices and I doubted any of their shouts were a tenth as loud as mine. They should be able to hear me easily.
In the absence of a reply, I sent Georg back to tell everyone to prepare for imminent hostile action. She returned with Johann in tow; he had many questions to ask. Some of those questions were simple; some were more complex; and one made me stop and think:
“Are you going to cast a shield now, like you did in Batavis?”
This seemed like a good idea; on my perch on the forecastle, I was an exposed target, and the pirates could very well have sharpshooters. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the protective magic in my armor, pushing outward. I opened my eyes; a soft turquoise glow lit the edges of the wood beneath my fingers. Closing my eyes, I tried to feel the shape of the magic. Did the protection extend to the whole of the forecastle?
Overhead, I heard the distinctive crack of Katya’s rifle, followed by a splash down low that made me worry for a moment, wondering if Katya had shot the friendly mermaid; then there was a great booming noise, and I felt a great shock, a sudden wave of exhaustion taking hold as a deep yet short splash sounded, something small but heavy entering the water with great speed. Katya’s rifle fired again, and I opened my eyes. The center galley was driving through a bank of smoke, slewing sideways with its tiller (and therefore rudder) pushed to one side under the weight of a dead helmsman. As I watched, there was a third report from Katya’s rifle and the main sail lurched as a rope snapped. In the crow’s nest, a man pulled out a black and red flag attached to a rope, waving it in the wind as he looked toward the galley to our right.
On both sides, the two flanking galleys were turning under oar power, bringing their bombards to bear. I closed my eyes tightly, the Hebrew incantation from the abbot's vestments tripping over my tongue as I sought to reinforce the shield that I now knew protected not only myself but the ship. Both fired within a few seconds of each other; I staggered as the first shot was deflected into the water, and then fell as the second shot bounced away from the other side of the hull, deep splashes sounding one after another.
The turquoise light flickered out as I got up on my hands and knees, and then I was rocked by the nearer and louder sound of my men returning fire. Our guns were smaller but more numerous, Swedish walking guns and steam knights’ cannons with a few other light field pieces and a pair of mortars. All of that fire was focused on the ship to our left, Fyodor having determined that it was better to try to put a single enemy out of action than to disperse our fire. The lighter chatter of arquebuses followed in both directions and a second more ragged volley sounded from my steam knights as I regained my feet, pushing at the deck with the butt of my trident.
The ship to our left was smoking, showing that somewhere a fire was burning its way through sails and rope; its deck was awash in blood, and its oars were in disarray. The ship to our right stroked steadily forward on its single bank of oars, its crew unable to see the carnage on the opposite side of our taller ship. As they neared, I realized our ship’s greater height was an advantage in any boarding action.
“Now!” Banneret Teushpa’s shout from the aft of the ship surprised me. I had left him in charge of the helm of a ship whose sails were slowly pushing it in the wrong direction, a ship dead in the water waiting for either a weather-witch to provide a friendly wind or for Vitold to finish hooking up his rowing-engine. My expectation was that this would occupy him harmlessly without insulting his dignity.
As I fell flat on my back, I realized three things. First, as I looked up into the sky, I could see that our sails were furled. This implied that, second, Vitold must have finished hooking up the rowing-engine. As I rotated through the air, I quickly inferred from the scene below me that the pirate ship that had been nearly directly in front of us earlier had lost a third helmsman while its crew tried to correct their course from its earlier slew, which had then brought them quite close to the bronze ram on the front of our ship.
Gripping my trident firmly, I noted that the impact between the two ships had considerably slowed the forward course of our ship, with the two halves of the pirate galley entangled in our oars. My own trajectory, however, had not slowed, and the water was rapidly approaching.