Blue Sea Burning by Geoff Rodkey Page A

up and ran for the quarterdeck. Burn Healy was standing at the wheel next to his pilot, Pike. When I got a look at my uncle, I gasped. A bloodstained bandage covered the upper half of his head, including one full eye, and streaks of crusted blood ran down his face and neck to his shirt, which was stained a copper red down to the chest.
    In spite of the wound, he was grinning from ear to ear—until he saw me, and then the grin vanished.
    â€œThe patch in the hull is bust!” I yelled. “Carpenter says, ‘Take her down to six and no turns to port!’”
    Healy’s good eye widened at the news. He turned to Pike.
    â€œReef the tops. When the next round’s off, bring her to starboard.”
    Then he ran past me, headed for the companionway. Not knowing what else to do, I followed.
    Healy moved fast. By the time I caught up, he was on the steps of the hold, yelling past the bucket line at Quint. Three burly pirates had their full weight pressed against the failing patch, which was still squirting water around its edges. Two more crewmen were pulling lumber from the carpenter’s room on the far side of the water barrels.
    â€œNot even reinforced?” Healy was yelling.
    â€œNot at speed!” Quint yelled back.
    â€œThen how fast?”
    Quint’s face twisted in a pained grimace. “Eight . . . ?”
    â€œOh, —!”
    I’d never heard my uncle curse before. He turned and pushed past me, back up the steps, bellowing as he went.
    â€œTHIRD MATE!”
    Ismail came running. As he approached, Healy barked orders at him. “Pull a crew from the port side to back up the carpenter!”
    â€œRoger that,” replied Ismail as he leaped up the steps for the gun deck.
    Healy turned to me. “You’re off carpenter duty and running messages for me. Find the gunner, tell him I need cannon at the aft gun ports. Aft! Understand?”
    â€œCannon at the aft gun ports,” I repeated.
    â€œThen find me in my cabin. Go!”

    THE SHIP’S CANNON UNLEASHED another round just as I was repeating Healy’s message to the soot-blackened gunner. The noise was so deafening that as I ran back up to Healy’s cabin, my ears rang like someone was hammering sheet metal inside my head.
    Healy was standing over the table with Pike and Spiggs. Pike was gesturing at a chart that was unscrolled in front of them.
    â€œAnything more than two hours from high tide, we’ll run aground at the far end,” Pike was telling my uncle.
    Healy looked at Spiggs. The first mate shook his head. “It’s too big a risk. Unless we know what the tide’s—”
    â€œWe’re doing it,” said Healy, cutting him off. “Chart the course and brief the sailors.”
    Pike and Spiggs both winced. Whatever was about to happen, they didn’t like it.
    Healy opened the door to his cabin and nodded in my direction. “Tell the gunner all hands starboard and aft. We’re running the Fangs.”

    WHEN I RETURNED from delivering Healy’s message, he was back at the ship’s wheel, and the
Grift
was in a turn so tight I had to grip a rail with both hands to stay on my feet next to him.
    Looking ahead, I realized for the first time that we were close to shore. I could see the coast of the New Lands off our port side, and straight ahead to starboard was an offshore island, stretching east as far as I could see. A channel no more than a couple of miles wide separated the coast from the island.
    The
Red Throat
was still half a mile from us, off starboard now and so far aft that I had to crane my neck around the poop deck to find her. A mile or two farther back in the haze were the massive bulks of the two Cartager men-of-war. The only signs of either
Frenzy
or
Blood Lust
were two smears of black smoke on the horizon.
    We came out of the turn and the
Grift
leveled off, our bow pointing straight at the channel between the coast and the