The Sword of the Lady

Rudi nodded. When both ships could throw globes of napalm at wooden hulls, death was the most likely outcome of a slugging match with no restraints. He knew these corsairs were proud and brave, good fighting men, but they were in business to make a profit and not to die. Salvaging was a dangerous trade but a trade still; so was outright piracy, in a way. ?Then from what you say, I think it most likely that your friend does not command that ship,? Rudi said.?The false Marabout does, or the High Seeker, or both. And Graber should still have twenty or so of his men; and some of his Bekwa. If they escaped to the Gisandu with your friend?s crew and struck without warning-?

Abdou hissed again, and raised the binoculars.?Maybe. If those two evil sorcerers like you say. Now I want rescue Jawara. Will talk to him.?

The Gisandu came closer with shocking speed; both vessels were sailing with the wind on their beams, a good angle for their rigs. She looked much like her sister-ship, save that someone had painted a toothy mouth on her bow at the waterline. He leveled his own glasses. Most of the crew tending the sails were corsairs, but he could also see the reddish armor of the Sword of the Prophet, and Bekwa. More might well be waiting belowdecks. ?Land,? Abdou said.?Nantucket.?

Rudi started slightly; he?d put it out of his mind. When he looked over his left shoulder it was there, a long low bluish-green line, marked with white where surf pounded. Just as Ingolf had said, the high bluffs were marked with a tangle of low thick forest. None of the trees were over fifty feet or so, between the sandy soil and the salt sea breeze, but it was plainly old-established. ?Jawara at wheel,? Abdou said.?Shields up. Catapults ready. They closing us, want come alongside.? ?Don?t come too close,? Rudi warned.

He didn?t put his hand to his sword. Abdou had had personal experience of what Rudi Mackenzie could do with a blade, and confirmation watching him practice since. Strain showed on his face, graving the lines beside his dark eyes that a lifetime of squinting over water had produced. The deck was silent now; Rudi looked behind him for an instant, and Mathilda gave him a cheerful-seeming smile and a thumbs-up from beside the murder-machine on its turntable.

For one mad instant he imagined telling the corsair turn back. And sailing, sailing away over the horizon, ignoring the place he could feel calling him as northward drew a compass needle. Going somewhere peaceful, and…

Just saying?No, thank you very much, O Powers, you never asked me what I thought of the idea of being the foredoomed Hero, now, did you??

His mouth quirked upward. He could imagine that; he could imagine strolling barefoot over the waves and into Nantucket. And both were about as likely. A spire showed there now, white and beautiful, like a Christian church. A squat lighthouse, beside the narrow entrance to the harbor. No wrecks or obvious impediments in the cha

The Gisandu was heeled over against the same norther that was making the Bou el-Mogdad bound forward at a good twelve knots. That put the rail the Shark had towards its sister ship sloping down, and its counterpart on Rudi?s own ship point up. Which meant that the Bou el-Mogdad?s war engines would bear on the other corsair vessel while the enemy weapons were pointing down into the water.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Abdou. Just opening fire was not going to be a good idea, if he wanted this man?s cooperation. And he?d promised not to try to force him to fight his own people. Onrushing speed; the Shark?s bow was dark with men. Soon he?d be able to see their faces. Closer, well within range, closer still…

Abdou had a speaking trumpet. He used it to shout across the diminishing distance, through the whine of wind in rigging and the endless slapping white-noise shsrrshshrrsh of water along the hulls of the ships: ?Jamm ga fanan!?

Rudi had learned that much Wolof in the last few days; it was a greeting. ?Nanga def, Jawara??

The thickset black man at the wheel of the other vessel didn?t reply. Not in words; instead he screamed, a long desolate sound like a prisoner?s cry from deep within some dungeon. Almost at the same instant Tu

A globe flew towards them from the bow engine of the other ship. It trailed smoke in a low flat arc. There was a crack as it struck near the Bou el-Mogdad?s own prow, and the onrushing bow wave scrubbed its load of liquid fire off to float oily orange-red on the ice-blue waters. ?Shoot!? Rudi shouted.

He hardly needed to. Arrows lifted in a rushing cloud from the Bou el-Mogdad at Edain?s bark of wholly together! A like volley came back, and every one of the broadside engines on the other ship cut loose. Most of their loads struck the water harmlessly-even at maximum elevation their angle was bad. The arrows were another matter. Rudi swept his knight?s shield up, giving the corsair shelter as well. Three shafts stuck quivering in it, and one banged off his left greave and skittered off across the deck. More rattled like metal hail on the sloped shield of the engine Mathilda commanded.

The tunggg of its discharge sounded very loud, and all the starboard broadside machines and the bow-chaser shot in the next half second. Sheet-metal shields rang and distorted and collapsed as the heavy granite balls struck; some of them went over the barricade or through it, plowing gruesomely through flesh and sending snapped rigging and wood splinters flying.

Abdou was screaming orders at the crew on the rigging lines and at the helm; the men there crouched and spun the wheel. The schooner paid off suddenly and heeled southward; booms swung out as it turned to run before the wind, and Rudi ducked as the thick timber swept by overhead. The Gisandu turned behind them; the world swung with disconcerting speed, and suddenly he could look over his shoulder and see the other vessel appallingly close. Another globe of napalm snapped out. There was a crash below as of glass and shutters, and a wisp of smoke billowed up. ?Falilu!? Abdou barked.

The bosun led a rush of men with buckets of sand and water. Then the slim Moorish captain shook his head in amazement. ?He not talk! Just try to kill me, his brother!? ?He?s not his own man, Abdou al-Naari,? Rudi said grimly.?His mind and soul are not his own.? ?Now I believe,? the corsair said grimly.?Not before. But now, yes.?

Mathilda jerked the lanyard as the stern rose. Rudi could feel the deck quiver a little beneath his feet as the force of the throwing arms was transmitted through the turntable. The stone ball skipped twice, plunked through the very top of a wave and then caught the Gisandu?s bowsprit at its base. There was a cracking sound loud enough to hear, and Abdou winced even then; he must love these ships like his own children.

Falilu came back upside; there were scorchmarks on his clothing. He spoke in rapid Wolof, moving his hands in a fashion that left no doubt as to what he was saying. ?Old pagan dog not get use of Bou el-Mogdad after all,? Abdou said with grim amusement.?Falilu make fire slow, not able put out. Ship burn to waterline. Soon now, soon.?

Tu

They both ducked, but the bolt from the Gisandu?s bow-catapult hit the steel protection of their stern-chaser and pinwheeled away and up in fragments. Shields were raised and men ducked across the deck against that hail. Father Ignatius came to the wheel, wiping off hands bloody from field surgery. ?Two dead, five wounded,? he said.