Chase the Morning

Jyp chortled. ‘Surely, yes, but that’s a great lumbering merchantman! The Defiance here’ll have the heels of it, and draws far less; she’ll outsail the Chorazin at every point, and go where they’d ground or founder. And if need be she can outrange them. See there, just along the tumble-home!’ He pointed to a row of closed panels like upright trapdoors on the shallow incoming curve of the hull. ‘There’s eighteen-pounder guns behind those gunports, ten to a side, and long nine-pounders as chasers in bow and stern both. More ordnance than most ships this size’d carry, near as much as a frigate, but she was built for that, see? And to carry a larger crew than usual. The Chorazin’s a wallowing whale, but this, this is a shark, built for speed and snatching prey. Think I’d find you anything less? Though it was our luck Pierce had her in dock till this week, careening. It’s a privateer we need, and Defiance – she’s one of the best!’

It seemed I’d hired myself what was essentially a miniature private warship. I was all for private enterprise, but this was a bit much. I was still clutching my head at the thought when there came a sudden hail from high above, from the mist-cloaked mastheads. On deck and wharf alike all movement froze, and the clear voice sang through an expectant silence.

‘Wind’s from the land! Dawn ho! Dawn is coming!’

The very call seemed to strike through the mist, severing its tangled streamers, flattening its billows. Through it, somewhere out in the still-hidden distance, I saw the first faint trace of light. It fell upon the faces of the men about me, and revealed them as the weirdest crew of cutthroats I could have imagined. Faces lined, faces scarred, faces that could have been carved from ancient wood, or simply formed in it by the vagaries of age; fierce, feral faces such as few men bear in this modern age, faces of every race I knew and some I didn’t. Not all were men. There were several women, every bit as hard-faced and dressed much the same way – though there was little uniformity among them. And at that hail, without waiting for the bellowed order that followed, they snatched up every scrap of gear that littered the wharf and staggered, grotesquely laden, to the gangplank. Somebody coughed beside me, and I turned to find a hard-eyed little brute of a man bobbing nervously and touching his knuckles to his mahogany forehead. ‘Beggin’ yer pardon, master, but cap’n’s compliments and may I kindly be seein’ you aboard now?’

‘Yes, of course –’ I began, but he’d already snatched up the flight holdall that was all my luggage, seized my elbow and more or less dragged me to the gangplank. It was only three planks wide, without rails or anything at the sides, but I had no trouble till I was almost at the end. Some eager soul stepped on too vigorously and almost bounced me over; but a long hand shot out from the deck, caught my arm and more or less lifted me in.

‘Losing your sea legs already, Master Stephen?’ asked a husky, sardonic burr.

‘Mall!’ I laughed. ‘You’re coming along?’

She turned at a shout from the stern, but stayed to clap me on the back. ‘A shame to leave the hunt half done, and me with the smell of Wolf just in my nostril! Aye, I’m shipped as quartermaster – and that’s me called to the helm now!’

‘Told you I’d get you the best, Steve,’ grinned Jyp, appearing as she vanished. ‘Scrappers all, and she a match for the whole pack of ’em.’

‘Nobody I’d want more at my side in a roughhouse,’ I agreed. ‘Except you, maybe.’

‘Me?’ Jyp shook his head ruefully. ‘That’s rightly kind of you, Steve, but you little know. Her – well, there’s not a swordsman or woman to match her in all the great Ports, nor any other kind of fighter from Cadiz to old Constantinople. Hasn’t been, since before my time.’

‘Before – she doesn’t look so old! Younger than you, if anything.’

‘Must be a heap of folk she’s younger than, but I don’t see so many. She’s been around, Steve –’

A sudden commotion stopped him. Down the gangplank, complaining loudly, the old man called Le Stryge came limping. Two figures ragged as himself supported him on either arm. One was Fynn, vulpine as ever, and the other, to my surprise, was a young girl, skinny, pale and bare-legged beneath a ragged black dress, but by no means unattractive. Her dark hair straggled damply over her high cheekbones; they made her green eyes look immense, and gave her smile that hungry quality that refugees have in news pictures. I would have expected a tough crew like this to be wolf-whistling her, if nothing else, but instead they gave back, positively scuttled out of the way. Many of them made the jabbing-horns sign with their fingers, or whistled and spat. Fynn looked around with a horrible leer, and they stopped at once. Le Stryge halted at the gangway’s end.