Red Seas Under Red Skies: The Gentleman Bastard Sequence, Book Two (Gentleman Bastards 2)
3
Locke stared out across the whitecaps at the Dread Sovereign, now well over the horizon, fixed on them like a needle drawn toward a lodestone. It was the tenth hour of the morning, and Rodanov’s progress at their expense was obvious.
Zamira slammed her glass shut and whirled away from the taffrail, where she’d been studying the same phenomenon.
‘Captain,’ said Delmastro, ‘there must be something ... if we can just keep him off until nightfall—’
‘Then we’d have options, aye. But only a straight stern chase could buy us that much time, and if we fly north we’ll find the coast long before dusk. Not to mention the fact that she’s fresh-careened and we’re past due. The plain truth is, we’ve already lost this race.’
Drakasha and Delmastro said nothing to one another for several moments, until Delmastro cleared her throat.
‘I’ll, um, start getting things ready, shall I?’
‘You’d better. Let the Red Watch keep sleeping as long as you can, if any of them are still asleep.’
Delmastro nodded, grabbed Jean by the tunic sleeve and pulled him with her toward the main-deck cargo hatch.
‘You mean to fight,’ said Locke.
‘I have no choice but to fight. And neither do you, if you want to live to see dinner. Rodanov has nearly twice our numbers. You understand what a mess we’re looking at.’
‘And it’s all for my sake, more or less. I’m sorry, Captain—’
‘Avast bullshit, Ravelle. I won’t second-guess my decision to help you, so no one else gets to, either. This is Stragos’s doing, not yours. One way or another his plans would have put us in a tight spot.’
‘Thank you for that, Captain Drakasha. Now . . . I know we’ve had our talk concerning the real extent of my skills in battle, but most of the crew probably still thinks I’m some sort of man-killer. I ... I suppose I’m saying—’
‘You want a spot in the thick of it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thought you might ask. I already have a place for you,’ she said. ‘Don’t think you’ll have it easy.’
She stepped away for a moment and shouted forward: ‘Utgar!’
‘Aye, Captain?’
‘Fetch the deep-sea lead and give me a cast!’
Locke raised his eyebrows by way of a question, and she said, ‘Need to know how much water we have beneath our feet. Then I’ll know how long it’ll take the anchor to drop.’
‘Why would you want to drop an anchor?’
‘On that matter, you’ll just have to wait to be amazed. Along with Rodanov, hopefully . . . but that would be asking a great deal.’
‘Captain,’ Utgar yelled several minutes later, ‘got about ninety fathoms under us!’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘Ravelle, I know you’re off-watch right now, but you were witless enough to wander back here and call attention to yourself. Grab a couple of Blues and bring up some ale casks from down below. Try to stay quiet for the sake of any Reds still sleeping. I’ll call all hands in about an hour, and it’s never wise to send people into a tussle like this with their throats too dry.’
‘I’ll be happy to do that, Captain. About an hour, then? When do you think we’ll be—’
‘I mean to bring the fight before noon. Only one way to win when you’re being chased by someone bigger and tougher than you are. Turn straight around, punch their teeth out and hope the gods are fond of you.’