L. Modesitt - Wellspring of Chaos

Kharl glanced down into the dry dock, where water still swirled around the lower sections of the keel, although the water level continued to drop, revealing greenish moss on the lower stones of the dry dock walls. “He always dealt with me fairly when he bought cooperage.”

“You gave him the best, I’d wager, because he did.”

Kharl had given everyone the best, but he merely answered, “I did.”

“Sooner or later, what you do comes back,” Tarkyn declared.

Kharl still had to wonder whether that was truly so. No one had avenged Charee’s death, nor had any good come from it that he could see. While he had managed to help Jeka a little, no one had done anything about Lord West’s corrupt tariff farmers in either Sagana or Brysta. Tyrbel’s death and that of Jenevra had both occurred, and nothing had happened to Egen. Then, Kharl reflected, he had killed Tyrbel’s assassin, who had probably been the one who had killed Jenevra. Still…nothing had happened to redress the balance with Lord West and his sons, and Kharl had seen nothing to make him believe that it would.

Even with the Lydian shipwright’s workforce, the crew of the Seastag , and the wood-handling skills of Kharl and Tarkyn, it took almost an eightday to replace the worm-damaged hull sections. The actual woodwork had only taken about a third of that time, but the caulking and the finish work, and then the trials in the Great North Bay, and the second round of caulking and ensuring that the hull was both sound and watertight, accounted for the majority of the repair time.

Hagen had not wasted that time, but had the crew work on other repairs that would not have been enough to warrant a dry docking. The rudder was cleaned and repaired, as were several paddle wheel spokes, and all the fittings and piping in the steam engine were checked and cleaned-as well as other small repairs that Kharl could not have explained. More coal was brought on board, and the bunkers refilled.

Kharl was kept busy with the hull work, and, at the end, with refitting the interior timbers and braces against the new hull. Hagen personally inspected every bit of work that affected the seaworthiness of the ship. The Seastag finally left Lydiar on a threeday.

Early afternoon on sixday found Kharl on the foredeck, just aft of the bowsprit, taking a break from the lathe. The wind was light, barely enough to puff out the sails, under a bright and cloudless sky that made the day seem warmer than it was. The swells were little more than a cubit and a half from trough to crest, and so long and flat that there was almost no foam at all, making the water look even darker.

Kharl stretched, then glanced to starboard, quickly taking in the headlands to the west and a pair of small islands, possibly as close as three kays away. He turned and looked off to port, out toward the seemingly endless Eastern Ocean. He frowned, seeing in the distance a speck of darkness. At first, he thought it might be the kind of darkness that he’d first seen in Nylan, but it resolved itself into a low black shape a good four kays east. The black ship cut through the choppy waters, moving swiftly northward, first passing abreast of the southward-bound Seastag , and then swiftly vanishing.

Kharl shook his head, still not certain he’d seen the ship.

“You saw it all right,” said Rhylla, from his right. “Move fast, don’t they?”

“That was one of the black warships?”

The third nodded. “Wish it had been headed south, instead of back to Nylan. Do us more good, specially with the wind so light.” She turned and crossed the main deck.

Musing on her words, Kharl started back down to the carpenter’s shop.

“Long for a short break,” Tarkyn said, stepping away from the lathe.

“I’m sorry. I saw one of the black ships. I couldn’t believe how fast it was.”

“You mark its heading?”

“It was headed north, maybe northeast. Third said it was going back to Nylan.” Kharl stepped up to the lathe and readjusted the foot pedal for his longer legs, then took the shaping chisel, studying the section of oak that would become a rough-shaped spare railing support.

“Captain better think about powering up the engine,” Tarkyn said.

Kharl looked up from the lathe, lifting the chisel.

“We’ve barely got headway. We’re heavy-laden, ’bout as heavy as we’ll be, ’cause we’ve got copper for the druids. That’s what the first said.”

Kharl didn’t understand.

“We’re south of Renklaar, short of Pyrdya, and we’re close to shore ’cause the trades blow north farther offshore.”

The carpenter’s explanation still didn’t make any more sense to Kharl.

“Pirates,” the carpenter finally said. “Got to worry about ’em till we’re well south of here, past Worrak, for sure.”

“But Recluce…I mean, we’re about as close as we can be to Recluce.”

“That’s the problem. All sorts of ships port at Nylan, with rich cargoes. They come through these waters. All sorts of islets and marshes off the mouth of the Ohyde. Hide a fleet there, if you wanted. Recluce doesn’t have too many of those black ships. Can’t be everywhere.”

“You think pirates would come after us?”

“They’ll come after anything they think they can capture. We had wind, with the engine, be a hard chase for them.”

Kharl sniffed the air. “Something’s burning.”

“Good. Captain’s lighting off the engine. Doesn’t like to. Coal’s not cheap, but losing a ship to pirates makes coal cheap at twice the price.”

Kharl continued to work the lathe, and neither man spoke until Kharl finished the turning.

“Best you rack that and clean the lathe, stow the brackets and clamps.”

Kharl nodded. After putting the railing support in the overhead rack used for partly finished work, he swept up the shavings and sawdust into the flat scoop and emptied them into the burn box. Then came the rags, and finally the oil to coat all the exposed metal.

“Good,” grunted Tarkyn.

Somewhere, Kharl could hear the hissing of steam as pressure built up in the boiler aft of the carpenter shop. A slow rumbling echoed through the ship, followed by a regular thumping, and then the deliberate thwup…thwup of the paddle wheels.

Bemyr’s whistle shrilled throughout the ship. “All hands topside to repel boarders! All hands topside to repel boarders!”

“Worried about that,” muttered Tarkyn.

Kharl glanced toward the overhead bin, looking for the dark staff.

“The far side,” Tarkyn said.

Kharl eased the staff out of the longer of the two overhead bins. He glanced over at the older man, and saw that Tarkyn had opened a locker and was taking out a crossbow, a rewinding assembly, and a quiver of dark bolts, but the bolts didn’t look like iron.

“Lorken,” the carpenter said. “Can make ’em here on the lathe. Almost as good as iron, and they work real well against pirates, specially those touched with chaos. You better get topside. I’ll be up in a moment.”

When Kharl left the carpenter shop, the paddle wheels had begun to pick up speed, but only fractionally, and a long groaning told Kharl that the engine was straining, probably because the steam pressure wasn’t high enough yet. As he came up the ladder, staff in hand, he was met by the third, who stood by an open locker, filled with weapons of all sorts, ranging from long and short blades to cudgels and spears.

Rhylla looked at Kharl and his staff. “Better put you on the poop.” She gestured.

“Yes, ser.” Kharl glanced aft, across the main deck where sailors were forming up behind each railing. Most carried cutlasses, but Kharl saw spears and a cudgel as well, and even one woman with a quiver and longbow. He took a quick look to starboard, inshore. There were two pirate vessels, each long and slim, with a bastard rig and a huge balloon sail, each less than a kay away. Both were filled with armed men.