Sea of Ghosts - Alan Campbell [121]
Yes, sister, Windflower said.
She’s not going anywhere against these winds, Pascal remarked impatiently. How long will you be?
Briana shot back her reply, As long as it takes to get there.
Driven forward by the same strong southerlies that were impeding the deadship’s progress, the Irillian Herald sped across the Mare Lux. Her mainsail and spinnaker billowed; the rigging creaked. Fine metallic spray blew across her top deck. At noon the ship’s navigator struggled to take sight on the pitching boards. The afternoon remained bright, but blustery. A pod of nomios broke the surface of the waters to port and followed the Haurstaf ship for over an hour, flashing through the waves like chrome shuttles. Briana stood on the foredeck, scanning the northern horizon. She remained in contact with her Guild sisters, but there was little more to report. Maskelyne had retreated below decks and seemed content to remain out of sight. The deadship continued her creeping zigzag progress south, while her crew made no attempt to contact their pursuers. Finally, as the sun sank towards the edge of the world and the western sea turned a coppery-red, the Herald’s lookout gave a shout.
At first, Briana could see nothing, and then in the distance she spotted the yellow-white glow of sailcloth bobbing in the slanting sunlight. The two Haurstaf ships were coming about, following the darker iron vessel as she tacked to the south-east. There was a sudden commotion around Briana as the Herald’s crew turned the ship to intercept.
They came upon the deadship at dusk. Briana stood on the bridge, coordinating between Howlish and the captains of the other two Haurstaf vessels. As the Herald ran from the south, the rearmost Guild vessel, Trumpet, passed Maskelyne’s stern, on a broad reach that caused her to lift and crash through the wave tops, while her sister, Radiant Song beat hard to cover the western flank. At Briana’s orders, Trumpet fired a warning shot down the ironclad’s port side, but the deadship merely continued on her present course and speed.
‘We’ll have to turn about, ma’am,’ Howlish said. ‘Or run the length of her guns at close range.’
Are those guns likely to be operational?
He made no reply.
‘Are those guns likely to be operational?’ she repeated, aloud this time. ‘That ship doesn’t look like much.’
‘I’d rather not find out, ma’am,’ Howlish replied.
‘What do you suggest?’
The captain thought for a moment. ‘She can’t outrun us. With that spinnaker, it’s amazing she’s making any progress at all. So she’ll need to barge a path between us. I imagine she’ll probably snap tack to put her stern against the Song and her broadside to the Trumpet’s bow. That would keep two of the three cannon batteries out of line.’ He scratched his nose. ‘That’s what I would do, ma’am.’
‘And how should we respond?’
‘The fact that Maskelyne is using that spinnaker suggests that his engines are dead. It might be advisable to have the Song haul off to starboard and chainshot the ironclad’s sail. That will take away what little manoeuvrability she has left.’ He nodded to himself. ‘It would give the captain a good reason to cooperate with us.’ He inclined his head towards the waves. ‘Using the corvus will be risky in these seas.’
Briana nodded. ‘All right.’ She sent the orders to the psychics aboard the other two vessels.
After a moment, the Song began to turn, bringing her cannons to bear on Maskelyne’s ironclad. A series of flashes ran along the side of the Haurstaf vessel, followed a heartbeat later by the crackling boom of artillery fire. The Haurstaf shot tore through the ironclad’s sail, reducing it to ribbons.
Smoke drifted over the waters.
‘She’s trying to turn now,’ Captain Howlish remarked. ‘We’ll see.’
The remains of the Unmer ship’s spinnaker began to luff and snap. Briana could see Maskelyne’s crew rushing about on deck, trying to pinch their rudely rigged sail, but it was hopeless. The ironclad had stalled mid-way through her turn.
‘She’s in irons,’ Howlish said. ‘Shall we haul close?’