unarmed fishermen are the easy pickings they prefer to look for. But there is a still handful of newer ships that could present a problem if the Disciples persuaded them to.
The two approaching vessels draw close over the next hour, and one of them angles in our direction. It is a single-masted sloop. As it gets closer, I make out a three-inch naval gun mounted on the foredeck. So far, I do not see any activity on deck as the ship draws near. In fact, it seems suspiciously quiet.
Aside from the helmsman, there are only two seamen lounging on deck of the other ship as it maintains a course that will pass us at about forty yards. I am getting nervous, because the ship’s master was very clear that if we are stopped, he will make no effort to run or resist. I am hardly an Olympic swimmer, even without a hundred-pound weight on my back.
“That’s the Sea Eagle, one of Reyeston’s armed escorts,” the captain says as he joins me at the rail. “They’re making a delivery up the coast, I reckon, and then she’ll bring the other crew back.”
“Do you think they know how to use that artillery piece?”
“That all depends on how they try to use it,” Hanford laughs, then leans toward me and continues in a low voice. “Truth be told, if they tried to actually shoot it, the damn thing would probably be more dangerous to them than to anything they might aim it at. Reyeston tested the first restored gun they salvaged from a Coast Guard cutter, and the first couple rounds fired okay. But the third misfired in the chamber and killed both of the artillery men. The Reyeston Nautical Board went ahead and mounted the rest, but those pieces are toothless sharks.”
“How would you happen to know that?” I ask. “And why tell me? Seems to me that a prop is a deterrent only so long as no one knows it’s just a prop.”
“Her captain is a very good friend of mine,” Hanford says as he waves to the passing sloop. “Mind you, I’m just saying that an Archivist could earn pretty much any favor he wanted from Reyeston, should he provide them with the means to make reliable shells. Having a live gun would do my friend a great favor, as well. Just in case you ever find yourself in Reyeston.”
Captain Hanford shoots me a mischievous grin and wanders off. After the helmsman on the sloop waves back, it passes by and takes a heading toward the ship it is escorting. Aside from a handful of small fishing boats bobbing near the distant shore, I see no other maritime activity.
When the evening meal is served, the captain insists that Danae and I join him in his cabin. She picks through the captain’s stock of female’s clothing and picks out a light blue dress with lace and draping sleeves, but my choices come down to whichever shirt is the cleanest. I have a light gray wrinkleless dress shirt that I keep in the bottom of my pack for just this sort of purpose. I extract it and put it on.
The captain’s cabin is luxurious in comparison with our quarters, but there is still barely enough room for his large table, which has charts rolled up in tubes on the wall next to it. Our host has wine already poured for us. When the cook brings in the stew and fresh bread, the savory odor fills the cabin.
The cabin door is not even closed before we dive into the feast. We plunge silently right into eating, aside from an occasional appreciative comment. Even Danae—who vomited several more times during the day—manages to put away a whole bowl of the stew. I am swiping my own bowl with a bread heel when Captain Hanford pours out another round of wine and leans back.
“Nothing like fresh salt air to bring on one’s appetite, eh?”
“Indeed,” Danae replies. “I admit I’m pleasantly surprised by your cook’s excellence. This rivals any tavern on land.”
Hanford chuckles. “The Lady of the Mist may not look impressive, but she is a fine ship that I could take anywhere. And thanks to you, Archivist, I just may.”
“There are no
The two approaching vessels draw close over the next hour, and one of them angles in our direction. It is a single-masted sloop. As it gets closer, I make out a three-inch naval gun mounted on the foredeck. So far, I do not see any activity on deck as the ship draws near. In fact, it seems suspiciously quiet.
Aside from the helmsman, there are only two seamen lounging on deck of the other ship as it maintains a course that will pass us at about forty yards. I am getting nervous, because the ship’s master was very clear that if we are stopped, he will make no effort to run or resist. I am hardly an Olympic swimmer, even without a hundred-pound weight on my back.
“That’s the Sea Eagle, one of Reyeston’s armed escorts,” the captain says as he joins me at the rail. “They’re making a delivery up the coast, I reckon, and then she’ll bring the other crew back.”
“Do you think they know how to use that artillery piece?”
“That all depends on how they try to use it,” Hanford laughs, then leans toward me and continues in a low voice. “Truth be told, if they tried to actually shoot it, the damn thing would probably be more dangerous to them than to anything they might aim it at. Reyeston tested the first restored gun they salvaged from a Coast Guard cutter, and the first couple rounds fired okay. But the third misfired in the chamber and killed both of the artillery men. The Reyeston Nautical Board went ahead and mounted the rest, but those pieces are toothless sharks.”
“How would you happen to know that?” I ask. “And why tell me? Seems to me that a prop is a deterrent only so long as no one knows it’s just a prop.”
“Her captain is a very good friend of mine,” Hanford says as he waves to the passing sloop. “Mind you, I’m just saying that an Archivist could earn pretty much any favor he wanted from Reyeston, should he provide them with the means to make reliable shells. Having a live gun would do my friend a great favor, as well. Just in case you ever find yourself in Reyeston.”
Captain Hanford shoots me a mischievous grin and wanders off. After the helmsman on the sloop waves back, it passes by and takes a heading toward the ship it is escorting. Aside from a handful of small fishing boats bobbing near the distant shore, I see no other maritime activity.
When the evening meal is served, the captain insists that Danae and I join him in his cabin. She picks through the captain’s stock of female’s clothing and picks out a light blue dress with lace and draping sleeves, but my choices come down to whichever shirt is the cleanest. I have a light gray wrinkleless dress shirt that I keep in the bottom of my pack for just this sort of purpose. I extract it and put it on.
The captain’s cabin is luxurious in comparison with our quarters, but there is still barely enough room for his large table, which has charts rolled up in tubes on the wall next to it. Our host has wine already poured for us. When the cook brings in the stew and fresh bread, the savory odor fills the cabin.
The cabin door is not even closed before we dive into the feast. We plunge silently right into eating, aside from an occasional appreciative comment. Even Danae—who vomited several more times during the day—manages to put away a whole bowl of the stew. I am swiping my own bowl with a bread heel when Captain Hanford pours out another round of wine and leans back.
“Nothing like fresh salt air to bring on one’s appetite, eh?”
“Indeed,” Danae replies. “I admit I’m pleasantly surprised by your cook’s excellence. This rivals any tavern on land.”
Hanford chuckles. “The Lady of the Mist may not look impressive, but she is a fine ship that I could take anywhere. And thanks to you, Archivist, I just may.”
“There are no
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