Red Seas Under Red Skies

"Take my best glass to the foretop," he said. "Tell me… as soon as you know anything." "Aye," she said. "At least it's something to do."

The morning progressed with torturous slowness, but at least the sky was cloudless. Good conditions for spotting. The sun rose higher and grew brighter, until-

"Captain," hollered Ydrena, "witchwood hull! That's a two-masted brig with a witchwood hull!"

He couldn't stand waiting passively any more. "I'm coming up myself," he shouted.

Laboriously, he crawled up the foremast shrouds to the observation platform at the maintop, a place he'd left to smaller, younger sailors for many years. Ydrena was perched there, along with a crewman who shuffled aside to make room for him on the platform. Rodanov took the glass and peered at the ship on the horizon, stared at it until not even the most cautious part of himself would let him deny it.

"It's her," he said. "She's done something fancy to her sails, but that's the Orchid." "What now?"

"Set every scrap of canvas we can bear," he said. "Steal as much of this ocean from her as we can before she recognizes us."

"Do you want to try to bring her up with signals? Offer parley, then jump her?"

" "Let us speak behind our hands, lest our lips be read as the book of our designs," " he said. "More of your poetry?"

"Verse, not poetry. And no. She'll recognize us, sooner or later, and when she does she'll know exactly what our business is."

He passed the glass back to Ydrena and prepared to climb back down the shrouds.

"Straight on for her, cloaks off and weapons free. We can give her that much, for the last fight she'll ever have."

…J-

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Between Brethren

1

"Does Jerome know that you're asking me to do this?" "No."

Locke stood beside Drakasha at the taffrail, huddled close to her so they could converse privately. It was the seventh hour of the morning, more or less, and the sun was ascending into a cloudless bowl of blue sky. The wind was from the east, a touch abaft their starboard beam, and the waves were getting rowdy. "And you feel that—"

"Yes, I do feel that I can speak for both of us," said Locke. "There's no other choice. We won't see Stragos again unless you do as he asks. And to be frank, if you do as he asks, I think our usefulness ends. We'll have one more chance at physical access to him. It's time to show this fucker how we used to do things in Camorr." "I thought you specialized in dishonest finesse."

"I also do a brisk trade in putting knives to peoples" throats and shouting at them," said Locke.

"But if you request another meeting after we sink a few ships for him, don't you think he'll be prepared for treachery? Especially in a palace crowded with soldiers?"

"All I have to do is get close to him," said Locke. "I'm not going to pretend I could fight my way through a wall of guards, but from six inches with a good stiletto, I'm the hand of Aza Guilla Herself." "Hold him hostage, then?"

"Simple. Direct. Hopefully effective. If I can't trick an antidote out of him, or cut a deal with his alchemist, maybe I can frighten him half to death." "And you honestly believe you" ve thought this through?"

"Captain Drakasha, I could barely sleep these past few days for pondering it. Why do you think I wandered back here to find you?" "Well—"

"Captain!" The mainmast watch was hailing the deck. "Got action behind us!" "What do you mean?"

"Sail maybe three points off the larboard quarter, at the horizon. Just came around real sudden. Went from sort of westerly to pointed right at us." "Good eyes," said Drakasha. "Keep me informed. Utgar!" "Aye, Captain?"

"Double the watch on each mast. On deck there! Make ready for a course change! Stand by tacks and braces! Wait for my word!" "Real trouble, Captain?"

"Probably not," said Drakasha. "Even if Stragos has changed his mind since yesterday and decided to hunt us down now, a Verrari warship wouldn't be coming from that direction." "Hopefully."

"Aye. So what we do is we change our own heading, nice and slow. If their course change was i

The Poison Orchid slowly heeled even further to larboard, until she was headed almost due north-west. The stiff breeze now blew across the quarterdeck, nearly into Locke's face. To the south he fancied that he could see tiny sails; from the deck the vessel was still hull-down.

A few minutes later came the shout: "Captain! She's come five or six points to her larboard! She's for us again!"

"We're off her starboard bow," said Drakasha. "She's trying to close with us. But that doesn't make sense." She snapped her fingers. "Wait. Might be a bounty-privateer." "How could they know it's us?"

"Probably got a description of the Orchid horn the crew of that ketch you visited. Look, we could only hope to disguise my girl for so long. These lovely witchwood planks of hers are too distinctive." "So… how much of a problem is this?"

"Depends on who's got the speed. If she's a bounty-privateer, that's a profitless fight. She'll be carrying dangerous folk and no swag. So if we're the faster, I mean to show her our arse and wave farewell." "And if not?" "A profitless fight." "Captain," hollered one of the top-eyes, "she's a three-master!" "This just gets better and better," said Drakasha. "Go wake up Ezri and Jerome for me."

2

"Bad luck," said Delmastro. "Bad damned luck." "Only for them, if I have my way," said Zamira.

The captain and her lieutenant stood at the taffrail, staring at the faint square of white that marked their pursuer's position on the horizon. Locke waited with Jean a few steps away, at the starboard rail. Drakasha had nudged the ship a few points south, so that they were travelling west-north-west with the wind fine on the starboard quarter, what she claimed was the Orchid's best point of sail. Locke knew this was something of a risk: if their opponent was the faster, they could lay an intercepting course that would bring them up much sooner than a stern chase. The trouble was that such a chase to the north could not last; unlimited sea room existed only to their west.

"I'm not sure we're gaining any ground, Captain," said Delmastro after a few minutes of silence.

"Nor I. Damn this jumpy sea. If she's a three-master she may have the weight to carve a better speed out of it."

"Captain!" The cry from up the mainmast was even more urgent than usual. "Captain, she's not falling away, and… Captain, beggin" pardon, but you might want to come and see this for yourself." "See what?"

"If I ain't mad I" ve seen that ship before," shouted the watchwoman. "I'd swear it. I'd appreciate another set of eyes."

"I'll take a look," said Delmastro. "Mind if I fetch up your favourite glass?" "Drop it and I'll give your cabin over to Paolo and Cosetta."

Locke watched as Delmastro went up the mainmast a few minutes later armed with Zamira's pride and joy, a masterpiece of Verrari optics bound in alchemically treated leather. It was a few minutes more before her shout fell to the deck: "Captain, that's the Dread Sovereign]" "What? Del, are you absolutely sure?" "Seen her often enough, haven't I?" "I'm coming up myself!"

Locke exchanged a stare with Jean as Zamira leapt into the mainmast shrouds. A buzz of muttering and swearing had arisen among the crewfolk on deck. About a dozen abandoned their chores and headed aft, craning their necks for a glimpse of the sail in the south. They cleared away in alarm when Drakasha and Delmastro returned to the quarterdeck, looking grim. "So it's him?" said Locke.