Fires of Scorpio by Alan Burt Akers

Scauro Pompino ti Tuscursmot, known as Pompino the Iarvin, turned out to be a consummate shipping magnate. Well, if not with five ships in quite the magnate league, at least a man of substance.
    I took a great interest in the technical side of the business, having been away from the sea for some time. I was always amused by a culture which produced barrels and amphorae, one from the north, the other from the south, in the northern half of the world, reversed in the southern, and took that fact for granted. The ships themselves, too, in their ranked mast-raking mass alongside the wharves filled me with a delighted sense of well-being. We went aboard
Tuscurs Maiden
— Captain Linson, master — and were made welcome.
    “We shall be sailing in Captain Linson’s vessel, Jak. So get settled in.”
    Linson, master of
Tuscurs Maiden
, did not appear to be of the usual run of sturdy old sea dogs. He was an apim, which was not at all unusual for shipmasters, and looked to be in the prime of life, clean-shaven, sharp-eyed, hook-nosed, very erect and correct. But, all the same, there was about him an air of devilment I found intriguing — and bracing.
    As we stood on the quarterdeck with a tiny breeze fanning our cheeks, watching the busy bustle of provisioning ship, a black smudge rose into the bright midday air. The source of the fire was an old ship, an argenter whose days were long past for sailing the high seas. She lay in an abandoned area an ulm off, and she burned, black and stinking to the sky.
    Linson looked disturbed, as any man looks disturbed at a burning ship.
    “Do not distress yourself, Captain,” said Pompino.
    So I knew that was the temple of Lem the Silver Leem going up in flames. No wonder the wind brought down a sharp unpleasant smell.
    Walking across to the rail with Pompino, I said: “I hope they take them all. I do not like leaving before we know there will be no more attacks.”
    “Should one or two wretches escape, I do not think they will harm my family, or Ashti. I’ve arranged for a more strict watch. By Horato the Potent! I’ve paid good gold to buy guard paktuns. Can a man do more?”
    I was not going to be drawn into that discussion.
    “All the same,” said Captain Linson, joining us and tucking his telescope under his arm. “Fire is a mortal fearful thing in a ship, by Heisha of the Fiery Flukes!”
    “You are right, Captain,” I said pleasantly. And then, copper-bottoming the bet, added: “You run a fine ship.”
    Despite that air of sharpness about him, he looked pleased. His sharp eyes sharpened and this time with pleasure.
    “Thank you, horter. You are kind.” And then, like a rapier going in: “You perhaps have some knowledge of ship craft?”
    I liked it.
    “Some, Captain.”
    “I am glad to hear it.”
    No flies on this one, by Krun!
    Pompino and I had adventured across the land dry enough to make men kill for water. He wouldn’t know how much knowledge of ship craft I possessed. I caught a sly pleased smile on his face. The crafty old devil was lapping this up, thoroughly enjoying it. I made up my mind that, if a chance of showing how clever I was at sea occurred, I would resolutely refuse it. I’d show ’em what a landlubber I was, and joy in fooling them.
    A Relt stylor came aboard and Pompino was closeted with him, going over the accounts. Linson went off ashore. I was left at a loose end. We were due to depart with the evening tide, for you do not just step into a ship and close the door and whip up the horses. You have to wait for nature’s pleasure in matters of the tides and weather and the state of the wind. We had no oars, being an argenter. So I explored the ship.
    Like all argenters she was broad and round and high and comfortable. Her sail area, as usual, was just sufficient to send her along at a stately pace without any danger of capsizing or of proceeding at a dangerous heeling rate. The gimcrack work and gilding were not ostentatious. Her lines were full