Crusade - James Lowder [57]
"All right, fletcher. Get your bow and get right back here." The first mate cupped her hands over her small, cruel mouth. "All archers to the starboard rail. Bring your weapons."
The cry was relayed around the cog, and John listened to men and women grumble as they gathered up their weapons from the spots where they slept.
The fletcher took his longbow from his bed near the bowsprit and returned to the first mate's side.
Much of the ship's attention was focused on the little boat as the sailor and the cleric made their way across to the Turmish ship, then boarded her. Only the gold-haired priest climbed up to the carrack's deck. The few mottled seabirds that had gathered along the rails scattered into the air when he got close. Squawking and screeching angrily, the birds circled over the two ships.
A few of the men attempted to shoot the scavengers out of the sky, but the first mate swiftly ordered the men who'd fired at the birds be put to hard labor for the afternoon. John simply frowned at the waste of good arrows for impromptu target practice.
After a few moments the priest appeared at the Ouroboros's rail and waved to the Sarnath. "No one left alive," someone muttered behind John. The fletcher was thinking the very same thing.
The Sembian sailor rowed the small boat back to the Sarnath faster than he had rowed away from her. The priest seemed to be bowed in prayer the entire way back.
"Well?" the captain asked when the ship's boat got near. "What did you find?"
The priest tried to stand, but the boat rocked so much that he nearly tumbled into the sea. His companion grabbed him by the hem of his scarlet robe and yanked him back to a sitting position. From their erratic, almost frantic actions, it seemed clear that both men had been frightened by what had been discovered on the abandoned carrack.
"Plague," the priest replied at last. He took his holy symbol-a wooden disk painted a rosy pink-and rubbed it between his hands. "They're all dead."
A rumble of concern and fear ran along the rail, as those who heard the priest's report discussed it with their neighbors. The first mate cursed and spat into the water. "Well, Captain," she said at last, "there's not much doubt about what we should do now."
Again the captain nodded. "Not much doubt at all."
The two men in the boat couldn't hear the discussions held at normal levels onboard the ship, but they must have sensed something was wrong. They both grabbed for the oars and attempted to push the small boat closer to the black-hulled Sembian cog.
The first mate turned to Razor John. "Kill both the sailor and the priest, fletcher."
John gasped. "No!" he said, outrage in his voice.
The first mate raised her callused hand as if she were going to strike the fletcher, then she stopped. "Those men have been exposed to plague," she hissed. "Kill them before they get aboard, or we'll end up just like the Ouroboros."
The comment stopped John cold. He stared out at the two men in the small boat, then thought of a plague spreading through the ship, killing everyone on the Sarnath. I'll die, too, he realized. And Kiri. That thought, above all, disturbed him terribly.
He met the cold, hard gaze of the first mate. "Why me?"
She smiled a malevolent, evil grin. "Because you're a soldier now, Cormyrian, and I'm an officer. You do what I say. Besides, do you want a ship full of crusaders to die because of two men? You won't beat the Tuigan that way."
Closing his eyes, John came to a decision. He hesitated for only an instant, pulling his black, fingerless gloves tight on his hands, then snatched a bluefletched arrow from his quiver and nocked it in his bow. The sailor in the small boat looked up just as John