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A Seafaring SagaChapter 12: Pursuit
The instant the soldiers in the rowboat knew Broadside wasn’t going to comply, they put their backs into rowing and sped toward the harbor, shouting at the other soldiers at the dock. On board the , Viktor was surrounded by a flurry of activity as the sailors -- or were they really pirates? Viktor wondered -- made sail and raised the anchor. Viktor glanced back at the dock and saw with satisfaction that most of the soldiers simply stood about arguing among one another or staring dumbly at the Bombardier. Apparently Crusaders were not used to being disobeyed by anybody.
“My thanks to ye, Captain.” said Viktor earnestly.
“Tisn’t a problem, sir, tisn’t a problem a’ all…” replied Broadside, chuckling some, “Actually I have ye to thank. Ye know where Storm-Rider be goin’, and I’ve wanted to catch that tyco fer years now.”
Viktor forced a smile, then turned away.
This is a problem thought Viktor, this fellow thinks I know where this pirate is headed. Well...I guess I’ll just have to fake it...at least ‘til I get out of here
“Where too?” Broadside interrupted Viktor’s thoughts.
“Err…” Viktor mentally spun at bottle, “South. Yeah. South.”
Broadside nodded. Somewhat to Viktor’s surprise, the Crusaders didn’t even bother to follow the Bombardier once it had left the harbor.
“Them soldier types,” Broadside explained, “They knows there are too many pirates out there to be bothered with one escaped refugee and a ship that refused to heave to. They’ll spend their depleted resources on chasing real troubles, like slavers and raiders.”
Viktor was relieved to hear that, but his relief was short lived. Already the evil of the sea was creeping upon him.
“Ye best get below deck an’ take to a cot, sir.” suggested Broadside, “It takes landlubbers like you a few days to adjust to the sea’s whims.”
Viktor nodded, well aware he probably was beginning to turn green.
“I’ll...be below…”
“Right.” nodded Broadside, “I’ll send Bill with you to find ye a cot.”
Patrol work was certainly an important job, but not a fulfilling one. Two months had been spent patrolling the massive gulf shared mostly by the Crusaders and Eastern Kingdomners. Still, the men were better fed, better rested, and overall had a much more pleasant disposition then they did a few months ago, probably because of the promise of higher pay.
Legally, these waters were international. The Crusader navy though viewed the area as their “turf”. In the past few weeks, Captain Horatio Johnson had captured no less then six pirate ships. Only one of them had been worth keeping -- the rest had been burnt while his latest prize -- renamed the Wasp had been sent back to port.
It was a fine day at any rate. The sun shone brightly and the only clouds in the bright blue sky was a bank far to the south, hovering over the Rascun peninsula. Horatio stood on the main deck, scanning the horizon more out of sheer boredom then watchfulness. Just then, a sudden cry from the crow’s nest broke his daydreaming. Looking up, he saw a midshipman call down to him.
“There’s a sail out there Capt’n -- right out from the port bow.”
Johnson instinctively called back as he crossed the deck, “Very good -- carry on then.”
From his green overcoat he pulled out a telescope. It was a crude little thing, having only two imperfect lenses encased in a wood and brass skin, but it did its job. Carefully Johnson brought it up to his eye and began to scan the horizon. It took awhile, but after a bit he spotted it -- a sail just off to the northwest. It was likely that the ship would be some merchantman or other warship but you could never take chances. Pocketing his glass, the captain turned to the officer at the wheel.
“We have the wind favoring us. Plot a course Nor’ west by north.”
“Aye, aye capt’n,”
Slowly the warship began to ease around into the wind. The sails first flapped uselessly, but after a few more moments of turning the ship was in position. All in unison the spars were pulled and the sails caught the wind straight on. Johnson liked traveling close-hulled – it was the best position to obtain the most speed out of a ship, especially a well built one like the Aterops.
Viktor was in agony. Pure agony.
“Ooohhh…I shoulda stayed and been ‘anged by the Crusaders…this is ten times megablocks worse…” he moaned.
He was on the forward deck, leaning over the rail in the position often used by those with ill bellies. Viktor’s face was a pale green, and the rest of his body was pale. His hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, and his clothes hung on him limply. He hadn’t been able to eat since he had boarded the Bombardier, and that was four days ago. His stomach growled for food, but he knew if he ate so much as a crumb of hardtack he’d puke it back up. Viktor heard a guffaw from behind him. It was Captain Broadside, flagon in hand, his hairy face creased into a grin.
“Tyco, Vikky, the swea still w’angling yer belly?”
Viktor muttered and groaned and swore all at the same time. Broadside obviously had had a little too much to drink.
“Try sommat dish!”
Broadside trust the flagon at Viktor.
“Wha’ ‘tis it?”
“That’s a secret…” winked Broadside, “Tycosh good to givee swea legs…”
Viktor looked at the flagon warily, then took a swig. He coughed most of it up, not from the nausea in his stomach, but from the fieriness of the drink.
“What the tyco’s this??”
Broadside shrugged.
“C’usader ale. Like Is said, goods fer swea legs.”
Viktor could hardly believe it, but Broadside was right. His stomach still clenched and gurgled, but already he was feeling better. He took another swig.
“My thanks to ye, Cap’n.”
Just then there was a cry from above.
“Sail ho! A point off the port stern!”
“The shtern?” muttered Broadside.
Viktor turned and made his way up to the poop deck.
“There’s a ship behind us!” he said.
“Can ‘ee see the makin’s…?” asked Broadside, trying to become as un-drunk as possible.
“Nay, Cap’n, not from dis distance!”
“Right then…keeps a sharp eye…”
“Aye Cap’n!”
Viktor turned to Broadside. “Could they be following us?”
“I dunno, Vikky, I dunno…”
Viktor was on the main deck of the Bombardier, thinking.
This is one megabloks of a fix... he contemplated, Here I am, on a ship in the middle of the ocean, sailing toward a ship I don’t want to sail to, and which is more likely than not filled with pirates. In addition to that, I’m being followed by another ship who wants to jail me for crimes I didn’t do! What a bunch of megabloks!
“How’d I get into this?” he asked out loud.
A nearby sailor, who was swabbing the deck, replied wryly, “‘Cause ye climbed aboard, duh.”
Viktor glared at the sailor but said nothing. The bloke was right.
If only if I had picked a smaller boat to hijack...I wouldn’t be in the mess with a drunkard captain bent on chancing a mad pirate…
Even though Viktor’s seasickness had faded away with every slurp of Broadside’s cure, Viktor wanted to get off the Bombardier. Viktor felt trapped on the ship, with nothing but sea surrounding him and every direction looking the same.
The sooner I get off this tub, the better. thought Viktor.
However, he knew he was stuck. Broadside was convinced Viktor had some information about this so-called Storm-Rider. Unfortunately, Viktor had never heard of any Storm-Rider until now. Well, Viktor would simply have to wait it out for now.
And wait Viktor did. For eight days he waited either on or below the deck of the renegade Crusader vessel Bombardier. For eight days he did next to nothing, swigging Captain Broadside’s ‘magic’ sea-sickness-curing brew and snoring in his bunk. Viktor, though a fine warrior, was a self-described ‘land animal’, and couldn’t weigh an anchor or let loose a sail or even tie a good sailor’s knot to save his life. The other sailors resented that. They couldn’t see the worth of keeping a good-for-nothing runaway convicted criminal who couldn’t pay or work for his stay. They probably would have thrown him overboard if they had known he was an Eastern Knight’s Kingdomer.
However, Viktor had a single ally, and that was Captain Jacques Broadside. Broadside was convinced Viktor somehow, someway, for some reason, knew where the scurvy pirate Burtrand Storm-Rider was and where he was going, and Broadside was intent on catching Storm-Rider. So, Viktor stayed, precariously stuck between a crew that disliked him, a captain who sought knowledge Viktor didn’t have, and the very wide and very deep ocean. For now, Viktor’s ruse would hold up, but he vague order to “head south” would only last until the Bombardier ran into Kingdom Isle. T hen Viktor would be in trouble when Broadside asked for new directions. Big trouble. Viktor knew his only hope was for the ship’s lookout to actually catch sight of the phantom ship Mantis. Then Broadside could order a chase, and Viktor would be relieved of his duty of guide.
Speaking of chase, Viktor had another worry: that other phantom ship, the one behind them, the Crusader warship that was obviously set on overtaking the Bombardier. If it succeeded, it would be back to the gallows for Viktor. Then he’d have to escape all over again, and he doubted Tim E. would be there to save him again with his so-called BURPs. Yes, that other ship was a big problem. As far as the lookout could tell, the Crusader ship hadn’t made any progress in the last week. It remained a minute floating sail on the edge of the horizon.
“Don’t ye worry yeself.” Broadside comforted, “The lass Bombardier be a mighty fine ship, that she be. She be a notch above any normal Crusader vessel.”
“Well, at least she’s staying ahead.” agreed Viktor, “but I note that other ship’s keepin’ pace fine, though it’s many leagues away.”
“We’ll catch a little burst o’ speed when we hit the Westward Current.” assured Broadside.
Broadside turned from Viktor and sniffed at the wind.
“Summat’s up.” he said.
“Cap’n!” cried the lookout, “There be a mighty whale’s mega blocks load of dark clouds yonder. Big mean ‘uns!”
Broadside whipped out his battered but functional spyglass and peered southward.
“Bleedin’ barnacles and bloated blowfish.” he murmured, “That be a mighty squall up ahead. And…tyco…we’re heading right fer ‘er…and she’s comin’ fer us …”
Captain Broadside thrust aside his spyglass and shouted, “Bill! We’re heading fer a rough ride. Give the order t’ batten down!”
“Aye-aye, Cap’n!” cried Bill, then filled his lungs with air and bellowed, “Roight, ye water-rats, all hands on deck, double-step now! Have the hatches secured! Tie down anything not already done so! Furrow them sails! Tell Cookie to stow ‘way ‘is pots ‘n’ pans an’ prepared the carpenters! Oh, and tyco, secure that bloomin’ ballista!”
Instantly the Bombardier exploded to life. Men already on deck swarmed up the rigging like monkeys, and they were soon followed by their comrades coming up from below. More sailors crowded around the decks like so many ants, armed with rope and adrenaline. Up at the helm, Broadside turned to Viktor.
“Into me quarters, Viktor. I don’t want to be loosin’ me guide in this’n typhoon.”
Viktor smiled ever-so-guiltily, but gratefully hurried below.
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