Granger, wrapped in his boat cloak, emerged onto the deck, “ahead full, we are going to overtake Tess so we can fire freely astern” he ordered to the sailors about him. The word was quickly passed to the helm. Nock’s men raced aft, carrying crates of shells. Farley bounded up the stairs in his nightclothes with a carbine slung.

Tess’ signal lamp had been lit and its shutter was being held open to serve as a searchlight. It scanned across the water until it fell on the enemy, illuminating only a small part of its hull at any one time. On Fletch’s bridge, a sailor lit his ship’s lamp and did the same. Much of the enemy could be seen now. She rode low in the water and her superstructure was heavily damaged. Her deck guns though, were well manned, and keeping up fire. As Fletch overtook Tess and drew closer to the foe a hush spread across the decks of both raiders. By the light of the lamps and gunfire it was now clear: they had been engaged by the trawler.

Granger approached the bridge but was unable to climb up, he regarded the sailor at the signal lamp, “you there, leave off lighting them up and signal Tess. Tell Mr. Luft that this is his kill if he should like it. We stand ready to pull back.”

A reply flicked across the water. “He says we may fire at will,” the sailor relayed.

Granger nodded and turned as quick as he could on his stick, facing aft, he boomed: “Mr. Nock, sink her.”

The deck gun was loaded and meticulously ranged. In the interval several shots struck Tess, damaging her rigging and opening her hull to the sea, but she pressed her attack.

Bethany looked at the barquentine’s great cabin, Clotilde was certain to be there. It was still intact.

Nock’s gun fired. It struck the trawler’s bow, taking one of the deck gun’s out of action but failing to hole her hull. The trawler’s second deck gun swung around and barked at Fletch. Due the trawler’s list it missing high, but the howl as it passed over the yacht sent every man to the deck.

“Evade! The next one will hit true for certain!” Granger ordered. Fletch’s rudder battered against its port-most stop as the ship turned into her enemy.

“Mr. Granger ought ta’ write ta’ the Bexarian high command reccomdin’ a commendation, this little bastard is fighting like hell,” Bethany heard a sailor joke. It was met with, “shut up till it’s done or she may be gettin’ one for sinking us!” from another.

Another shell hissed down Fletch’s beam, just missing the masts. As Fletch closed, however, the trawler ceased to fire.

“She’s goin’ ta’ strike!” the sailor beamed.

There was activity at the enemy’s stern, though it was not her colors going down. Her aft dug into the water and her wake, shining in the searchlight, grew heavier.

“She’s trying to escape!” Farley called. He had taken a position near the bowsprit, his spyglass in hand. Granger moved up the deck as quick as he could to look for himself.

“We could sink her now if only we had bow chasers,” Granger groused, “but never mind that, we shall simply overtake her.” He faced the helm, “are we still going full ahead?”

“Aye, sir!” the helm replied.

“Very good. Any ship as short and stout as that will be slow, there’s no need to chase her dead astern and risk running afoul of her aft gun. Put us a few points to one side of her so we pass out of range.”

Fletch’s deck was lit by the flickering of Tess’ signal lamp.

“Tell them we are giving chase and will come back for her,” Granger instructed.

“I will sir,” the bridge replied, “but they are requesting that we come and put them under tow straight away. They should like to assist us in engaging the trawler but say they are in no condition to make sail.”

Granger began to speak but stopped and grunted. He looked about the deck, to the trawler, and to Tess.

“Very well. The trawler is their phantom anyway. Helm, come about.”

Fletch quickly intercepted Tess and found a boat bearing a towline had already set off from the barquentine. Fletch turned again so her stern faced the bow of the sailing ship, took the line and made it fast. All the while she had kept her lamp open and fixed on the trawler as it shrank into the night. Occasionally the light fell onto a gray wall of fog or storm well past her. Seeing this the second time it happened, Boyle mused, “that’s why she ran. I reckon she engaged when she thought she had no choice, but, laying eyes on that safety, decided maybe she could live on.”

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“We’ll catch her yet, old fellow,” Granger replied, “she is flooding as we speak and with every drop of water she takes on she grows slower.”

“With all due respect sir, the same is true of the lady we’re towing,” Boyle remarked, nodding grimly toward Tess.

“Every hand aboard her is manning the pumps and I have been assured she has been expediently patched.”

Bethany was moving more freely about the deck now. She had withdrawn to her cabin for a while but now stood at the stern. Tess was close enough on the line that the happenings on her deck could be easily seen. Large teams of men were indeed working the pumps, though Bethany was more interested in the great cabin. She watched its forward doors intently and after a while, once both ships were making headway toward the trawler, one opened. She could see it by the light spilling out, one point of which remained after it was shut. A pale candle moved awkwardly forward, skirting the pumps and climbing the forecastle until it was just aft the bowsprit.

“Would somebody please fetch Bethany?” Clotilde called across the water.

“I’m right here!” Bethany replied.

“Oh! Well, very good!” Clotilde fumbled.

“Are you alright?”

“I meant to ask you the same thing!”

Bethany paused, she would tell her later, “don’t mind me. It’s your ship that took the thrashing!”

“She’ll be fine but Letitia’s porcelain is done for!”

A figure came up behind Clotilde and spoke quickly to her, his hands on her shoulders.

“I have to go to bed now!” she announced with a haughty turn to the man behind her, who Bethany suspected to be Mr. Luft.

“You should, before the shooting starts again!” Bethany answered.

Clotilde began to walk aft again, turning to remark “I would say good night but we’ll be up again before it’s over I’m sure.”

Bethany returned to her cabin and sat on her bunk. She thought of sleep, and began to drift off when Threlfall again entered her mind. The men moving about on deck and the thought they might take fire at any moment sealed it, and she rose, going to her desk. There was still rum there, and she poured it into a teacup. She lifted a sheet of paper and a short pencil from the drawer and began to idly make studies for paintings. Better with a brush, few of them satisfied her, and after an hour she was sitting before her stove, empty handed except for her drink. She thought of Clotilde, who was surely asleep, wondering if she lay alone or with Letitia and her step-sister. Tess great cabin was large, but not, perhaps, large enough for separate beds. Tomorrow, after they sunk the trawler and after the celebration with Mr. Luft would launch, how would Clotilde fill her time - how had she filled it thus far - she had no particular vices or hobbies Bethany knew of. All Bethany could be sure of was that she read to Carolina and walked the deck with an air of melancholy. She was strange in that her face was very suited to unhappiness, but when she was happy, as she often was when Bethany saw her up close, that looked wonderfully natural as well.

The night passed in bleary tension, with Bethany sleeping in fits. At dawn she went on deck, wondering if perhaps they had lost the trawler. She found Farley at the forecastle. He had finally changed out of his nightclothes, wearing now his uniform, sword, and pistol. He smelled of coffee and shaving soap.

“Good morning,” he greeted.

“Is it?” Bethany replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Are we going to catch the trawler?”

“Do you really care so much?”

“I think Mr. Luft shall go mad if we do not and... Threlfall thought this venture would end in our destruction, I do not know if he ever told you, but he was very upset. I cannot be certain that is why he did what he did, but I hope for our sake this over soon and over cleanly, if he is proven right then we may all be joining him.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Farley admonished. He extended his spyglass and sighted on the trawler, “we are certainly gaining on her. The storm has shifted, she’s no longer running into it as before, either her rudder won’t answer or she’s been bound for somewhere else all along.”

“Isn’t she terribly slow? Why haven’t we caught her yet?”

“We are dragging our anchor, so to speak,” Farley replied with a glance aft.

“Mightn’t we leave her behind, for a while?”

“That has been raised with Mr. Granger who has raised it with Mr. Luft. Both would prefer we stay together. Luft wishes to be present at the sinking.”

Farley handed Bethany the spyglass. She looked at the trawler, a greasy little shape set against the gray sky. It was indeed no longer steering for the storm, but its periphery had given rise to dark skies and choppy sea as far as anyone could see.

“That’s quite the storm,” Bethany observed.

“It is. There are songs about the spring storms in the south ocean, warnings more than anything, they’ve wiped out entire fishing fleets - ours, Bexarian, native. A few years ago we lost the flagship of the polar squadron, an icebreaker called Massif, with all hands, and the two cutters they sent to search for her, which only encountered the storm after it had mostly blown out.”

Bethany was about to ask the officer he thought Fletch could survive such conditions when the bridge lookout shouted, “target appears to be stopping!”

Farley nearly lunged for his glass, pulling it from Bethany’s hand. He fixed on the trawler and watched it in silence for nearly a minute. Lowering the glass he pronounced, “she has stopped. Pass the word to wake Mr. Granger.”

The Sailing Master appeared after too long, wearing his best uniform. “What exactly is she up to, Mr. Farley?” he inquired as took the longest strides his stick allowed toward the forecastle.

“She has come to a stop, sir. No other changes.”

Granger extended his glass, “very good, maintain this course and speed until we are close enough to bring Tess’ guns to bear. This will be very near a scuttling, not a fight, I expect her pumps have gone, may as well give Mr. Luft the honor, and...” Granger smirked, “allow him to expend his ammunition instead of ours.”

Fletch and Tess drew nearer the trawler. When only a verst of distance remained, Granger ordered, “wake the men and arm them should there be a boarding, but go easy, there’s no need to beat to quarters again.”

The sailors not already on watch came on deck in little clumps, with the marines standing by to hand out swords and pistols. Once armed, they coalesced about the forecastle, gazing hungrily at the trawler. A few also looked rather sideways at Bethany. After a few of these glances she realized she was still wearing bloody clothes. She retreated to her cabin, washing with saltwater soap and dressing for the day. As she was stepping through the door to go on deck she heard a distant ‘pop’ and an excited murmur from the sailors. Looking forward she saw a flare bursting over the trawler. The streaks of burning phosphor disappeared into the clouds above, then fell slowly to the water.

“Look there,” a sailor called, pointing to the trawler, “she’s launching boats.”

The men with spyglasses confirmed that the ship’s two lifeboats had been put out, heavily loaded. They rowed away from Fletch, in the direction the trawler had been steaming, “Why aren’t they making for us?” Badrine wondered. “There’s nothing for them out there.”

“The Bexarians aren’t keen on surrender,” Farley replied, “but I agree it’s foolhardy. They have no choice, no court martial, even the most rabid Bexarian one, would fault them for giving themselves up to us.”

Silence fell again as the sailors watched the lifeboats beat away. They would be intercepted in due course, but now it seemed the trawler would be boarded and searched rather than sunk out of hand - with no crew to contest it there was nothing to lose. Without warning, another flare rose from the trawler.

“By god she’s still manned!” a sailor exclaimed.

“A stay behind crew to scuttle her,” Farley theorized.

Scuttling came, but not from within the trawler. A naval gun cracked in the distance, its enormous shell connecting with the trawler amidships. When the cloud of flame and soot dissipated, the ship was gone.

One by one the sailor’s faces soured. Granger spoke for them, “that is not a raider’s gun. It would take a cruiser at least to mount that.”

A great shadow fell across the water where the trawler had been moments before. Spyglasses looked at it and from side to side, fruitlessly, until a sailor screamed: “sirs! Look up!”