Robert Redick - The Rats and the Ruling sea

More shots from the Jistrolloq; more wild and useless return fire from the Chathrand. Then Neeps returned from the quarterdeck, but his face wore no hint of satisfaction. 'You can call me a swine now, if you want,' he said. 'I–I cacked things up, Pazel. I was trying to explain that when you acted strange around her it was because you were worried about what Oggosk would think. But I was still thinking about the murth-girl, and said Klyst when I meant to say Oggosk. And when I realised what I'd done… aya, Rin-'

'What next?' said Pazel. 'Out with it.'

Neeps closed his eyes, wincing. 'I said, "He's not in love with her." '

Pazel grabbed him by the shoulders. 'You didn't. Neeps, you couldn't have-'

'I thought you'd want her to know!' Neeps shouted defensively. 'It's just that the way I said it was all wrong! I sort of blurted it out. And it shocked her a little, I guess, because she turned her back and ran off.'

Pazel sagged against the mizzenmast rail. 'She's going to think I do fancy Klyst. Which I don't. Oh Pitfire-'

His collarbone gave a warning throb.

'Oggosk!' cried Neeps. 'This is all her fault, the hag! But listen, mate, don't you worry! I'll straighten things out with Thasha. I'll explain.'

'No!' said Pazel desperately. 'Don't do any more explaining. And don't go after Oggosk either. Just… go stand still somewhere.'

Neither of them had the chance to stand still, however, for scarcely had Pazel spoken when they were dragged into another job, this time by the gunner, Mr Byrd. Two of the Chathrand 's ancient guns, crude behemoths from her early days as a warship, had stood lashed like old monuments behind the kevels since Pazel first stepped aboard. Now Byrd's men had freed the starboard gun and cranked it halfway to firing position, kicking open the gunnery door and unbolting the sliders that would let the cannon extend. Neeps and Pazel, along with eight sailors, were herded together on either side of the gun carriage. In went the powder charge, then the ram, and finally two men heaved the forty-eight-pound ball into the muzzle.

'Take hold!' shouted Byrd. 'We're going to run all-out, boys, as we slide down the next wave. Just mind you don't go overboard! Steady, now-'

Baffled, Pazel looked from sailor to sailor. Who was carrying the match?

The wave crested; Byrd cried, 'Now!' and eleven bodies threw themselves at the big gun. It flew forwards — the sliders must have been freshly greased — and with a terrible sound of breaking wood, the cannon and carriage smashed right through the gunnery door. Men cried out, ropes snapped, ringbolts were torn from the deck. The big gun toppled forward and plunged into the sea.

Pazel gaped at the ugly wound in the Chathrand 's side, thinking, Rose is going to tear off our heads.

'That'll do nicely,' said Byrd without a hint of sarcasm. 'Carry on, tarboys — my crew, below.'

The sailors vanished. Neeps could not have looked more stunned if he'd been beaten with a shoe. '"That'll do nicely?" This crew's gone raving mad. And if this is how we fight they're going to slaughter us.'

'We look like a troupe of clowns,' Pazel agreed. He turned — and four men bearing lumber nearly bowled him down. They had carpentry tools as well, and immediately set about repairing the rail. As if they were expecting the job, Pazel thought.

Then he froze. Expecting the job.

'That sly old dog,' he said, turning to look at Neeps. 'Rose is doing it all for them, don't you see? The powder-charge inside the gun deck, the hopeless shots, now this big muck-up. He's making us look like clowns on purpose. He's setting a blary trap.'

Understanding spread across Neeps' face. 'You're right. You must be! He's reeling that Admiral Kuminzat in. But what happens if he falls for it? We're not as lame as all this, but they really can outgun us two to one.'

A shout from the quarterdeck: Rose himself was beckoning them near. When they had raced up the ladder the big man bent level with their faces.

'You both climb well,' he said. 'I need you aloft the spankermast, now, and clewing up the topgallant.'

'Captain,' said Pazel, 'we've never worked your sails. We don't know the spanker rigging.'

'Exactly,' said Rose, 'you'll look like perfect imbeciles up there. Climb!'

The boys glanced at each other. Pazel's theory was apparently proved, but they took no satisfaction from it. 'We might do some harm up there,' Neeps protested.

'See that you don't,' said Rose. 'Find a line that's bent to the topsails and foul it up, that's all — not badly, just plain to see. And keep worrying it 'til nightfall, unless I call you down.'

'Or we're shot down,' said Pazel. 'You wouldn't mind that at all.'

Rose struck at him with his massive fist. But the thousand blows Hercol and Thasha had landed on him had not been in vain. Just in time he leaped backwards, and found himself in fighting-stance, almost without conscious thought. It was the same pose that had so amused Drellarek, moments before the Turach died.

But Rose was not at all amused. 'You offal-brained Ormali layabout,' he said. 'I'm the captain of this ship! What if I'm not mad, eh, and we survive this engagement? Do you know how many ways I can make you wish you'd been killed? Get up that mast!'

There was no help for it: Rose was sincere in his threats, if in little else. Once more the boys took to the shrouds, bare feet on the decrepit ratlines, hands on the sturdier ropes. This time the ascent was horrifying. The topgallants rode a hundred feet above the quarterdeck, and before he'd climbed thirty Pazel began to suffer fantasies of falling, flying, letting go. The wind was like a frigid hand trying to claw them from the ship; the rain flew at them horizontally in a ceaseless, biting spray. Over and over the ratlines snapped, letting them half-drop through the shrouds, feet kicking wildly. And now the Jistrolloq was close enough for him to see the fire leaping from her chaser-guns.

Don't clench your hands! Captain Nestef had taught him. If you squeeze the blood out of 'em they'll soon be too tired to hold on. That's one of the fifty ways fear can kill you.

But Pazel was afraid — he was cold and dizzy and scared to death. Neeps' skin was pale; he looked as if the wind were trying to melt him down to bone. Up and up they went, like a pair of deranged hermits scaling a cliff in the Tsordons, going to meet the gods. At ninety feet Pazel looked down and saw Thasha pointing up at them, arguing with the captain. Then he saw Alyash grin and gesture at the stern as the largest wave yet passed like a moving hill under the vessel. A sixty-footer, thought Pazel, and vomited into the storm.

When they reached the topgallant yard the array of snapping ropes and heaving wheelblocks was a perfect mystery. Neeps groped to Pazel's side and shouted in his ear. Pazel could not make out a word.

Out along the yard, feet on the clew line, arms over the huge wooden beam. They flailed from rope to rope, hauling at each to see where it led. But the wind's strength so completely outmatched their own that they could barely move the thick hemp lines.

Half a mile between the ships. The Jistrolloq was firing selectively now. She would not have to wait long for point-blank accuracy.

Was Rose committing suicide? The Jistrolloq was as good a target as she would ever be, until she began to pass and rake them with her own huge array of cannon. Pazel knew for a fact that a dozen guns could fire from the Chathrand 's stern — thrice as many as could be wielded from the enemy's sleek bow. Yet still no guns fired from the Chathrand save the beleaguered nine on the starboard quarter. He's risking everything to lure them closer. What in the Nine Pits for?

Keep breathing. Think of something else. Strategy, tactics. What had Rose been going on about in his cabin? Motives, that was it. What had driven Kuminzat to take his vessel even this little distance onto the Ruling Sea? What did he want?