Langlade merchant ship.”
“Maybe she was taken before the pirates could refurbish her,” Jane said. To me she added, “Pirates don’t build their own ships, they just take existing ones and modify them. Usually they pick something with a little more muscle, though. A Langlade merchant ship is just a raft with ambition.”
“Why would a Langlade merchant ship be flying the pirate- hunter safety signals, then?” I asked. “For that matter, what exactly are the pirate-hunter safety signals?”
“It’s a way to let other pirate hunters know a ship has already been taken,” Clift said. “There’s a code in the way the flags are flown, which masts they’re attached to, which ones are higher or lower. Otherwise, we might start fighting before either side recognized the other.”
“Could it be a trick to lure us in close?” I asked. I felt tingles of excitement at the thought of a break in the monotony, even if that break might mean bloodshed.
“Maybe,” Clift said thoughtfully. “If someone bought the code, which gets changed every six months, and used it correctly. It’s not a simple thing. Still, that doesn’t explain why a ship like that would be sailing under such a banner.” He looked back at the quartermaster and called, “Call the watch below, Mr. Seaton. The men can use the practice.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” he said, then repeated the order in a roar that rippled the canvas.
Turns out “call the watch below” meant, essentially, what we were already doing: watching as the new ship grew closer. Jane’s description of it was accurate. It had a single mast, a low waterline, and a deck that was flush from bow to stern. The big, crude tiller seemed wholly inadequate to open ocean travel. In the middle of the deck, just forward of the lone mast, stood a pyramid of wooden crates held in place by a net and ropes.
There seemed to be about half a dozen men aboard her, no more frantic than our own. At last Greaves bellowed, “That’s Fernelli, first mate on the Randagore . They’re for real.”
“The Randagore is another pirate hunter,” Jane explained to me.
“So everything makes sense now?”
“Fuck no. Not a lick.”
The man Greaves had indicated waved from the other ship’s deck. “Hello, Red Cow ! Do I smell rum from your ship?”
“You smell it from your own foul breath!” Clift yelled back good- naturedly. “But come aboard anyway!”
The ships pulled abreast, and a boat lowered from the other ship. A few minutes later, Fernelli, bald and with a bushy beard decorated with ribbons and little bells, leaped aboard the Red Cow. His two oarsmen followed with much less flair.
He gave Clift a hearty kiss on each cheek, then froze when he saw Jane. “By the giant stingrays of Bola Bola, it’s Jane Argo!” he cried. He wrapped her in a hug and spun her around as if she weighed nothing. Jane laughed with delight and, when he put her down, kissed him on the mouth.
“Fernelli, I’m glad to see you saw the light and joined the right side,” she said.
“The light had nothing to do with it. I got tired of lice in my beard and no gold in my pocket. At my age, regular wages plus bonuses sounds mighty good.” To Clift, he added, “What are you doing in the Randagore ’s part of the ocean? She’s only a day behind us. Did they redraw the patrol districts again?”
“We’re chartered,” Clift said.
Fernelli’s eyebrows rose. “A private charter? You got permission for that?”
“Of course not. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Clift said with a grin. “We’re looking for Black Edward Tew’s old quartermaster.”
“Marteen?”
“Aye. He’s back on the account.”
“So I’ve heard.” He looked at Jane. “You back hopping waves as well?”
She shook her head and nodded at me. “I’m hired muscle. He’s the gold.”
Fernelli gave me a once-over. “And why would a land- bound gentleman such as yourself be wanting to find Wendell
“Maybe she was taken before the pirates could refurbish her,” Jane said. To me she added, “Pirates don’t build their own ships, they just take existing ones and modify them. Usually they pick something with a little more muscle, though. A Langlade merchant ship is just a raft with ambition.”
“Why would a Langlade merchant ship be flying the pirate- hunter safety signals, then?” I asked. “For that matter, what exactly are the pirate-hunter safety signals?”
“It’s a way to let other pirate hunters know a ship has already been taken,” Clift said. “There’s a code in the way the flags are flown, which masts they’re attached to, which ones are higher or lower. Otherwise, we might start fighting before either side recognized the other.”
“Could it be a trick to lure us in close?” I asked. I felt tingles of excitement at the thought of a break in the monotony, even if that break might mean bloodshed.
“Maybe,” Clift said thoughtfully. “If someone bought the code, which gets changed every six months, and used it correctly. It’s not a simple thing. Still, that doesn’t explain why a ship like that would be sailing under such a banner.” He looked back at the quartermaster and called, “Call the watch below, Mr. Seaton. The men can use the practice.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” he said, then repeated the order in a roar that rippled the canvas.
Turns out “call the watch below” meant, essentially, what we were already doing: watching as the new ship grew closer. Jane’s description of it was accurate. It had a single mast, a low waterline, and a deck that was flush from bow to stern. The big, crude tiller seemed wholly inadequate to open ocean travel. In the middle of the deck, just forward of the lone mast, stood a pyramid of wooden crates held in place by a net and ropes.
There seemed to be about half a dozen men aboard her, no more frantic than our own. At last Greaves bellowed, “That’s Fernelli, first mate on the Randagore . They’re for real.”
“The Randagore is another pirate hunter,” Jane explained to me.
“So everything makes sense now?”
“Fuck no. Not a lick.”
The man Greaves had indicated waved from the other ship’s deck. “Hello, Red Cow ! Do I smell rum from your ship?”
“You smell it from your own foul breath!” Clift yelled back good- naturedly. “But come aboard anyway!”
The ships pulled abreast, and a boat lowered from the other ship. A few minutes later, Fernelli, bald and with a bushy beard decorated with ribbons and little bells, leaped aboard the Red Cow. His two oarsmen followed with much less flair.
He gave Clift a hearty kiss on each cheek, then froze when he saw Jane. “By the giant stingrays of Bola Bola, it’s Jane Argo!” he cried. He wrapped her in a hug and spun her around as if she weighed nothing. Jane laughed with delight and, when he put her down, kissed him on the mouth.
“Fernelli, I’m glad to see you saw the light and joined the right side,” she said.
“The light had nothing to do with it. I got tired of lice in my beard and no gold in my pocket. At my age, regular wages plus bonuses sounds mighty good.” To Clift, he added, “What are you doing in the Randagore ’s part of the ocean? She’s only a day behind us. Did they redraw the patrol districts again?”
“We’re chartered,” Clift said.
Fernelli’s eyebrows rose. “A private charter? You got permission for that?”
“Of course not. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Clift said with a grin. “We’re looking for Black Edward Tew’s old quartermaster.”
“Marteen?”
“Aye. He’s back on the account.”
“So I’ve heard.” He looked at Jane. “You back hopping waves as well?”
She shook her head and nodded at me. “I’m hired muscle. He’s the gold.”
Fernelli gave me a once-over. “And why would a land- bound gentleman such as yourself be wanting to find Wendell
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