The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [181]
Incredibly, the bird raised its head and scratched at the deck. A moment later it pulled in its wings and lay there, its chest expanding and contracting slowly. It looked sickly, as though it could just as easily die as pull in another breath.
“You see,” Nikandr said, “if the bird lives, then your mother surely does too.”
“We will see. If I find you have lied to me—”
His next words were cut short by an explosion of wood at the bow. A moment later, the boom of a cannon rent the still air. Another volley of grape shot tore into the ship. Two more rang out in succession, cutting huge holes into the starward sails. One sailor screamed as he fell from a yardarm. He missed the deck and continued to plummet toward open sea.
Grigory spun and fell to the deck, grimacing in pain and holding his left arm tightly. In moments his shoulder was swathed in red.
A bell rang out over and over as the crew rushed to their stations. The streltsi manned the fore and aft gun positions, preparing the stout iron cannons to fire upon the two ships that were bearing down on them from above.
Nikandr’s heart sank as he took them in. They were not Khalakovan, nor Bolgravyan. They weren’t from any of the Grand Duchies.
They were Maharraht.
They were small, fast-moving ships with two small gun emplacements, fore and aft. With superior numbers they were a good match for the Kavda and her three guns, but with the Kavda now hampered by the damage, it was going to be a slaughter.
Though he didn’t know for certain why the Maharraht had come, it was too much of a coincidence to ignore the fact that they were attacking the very ship that held Nasim. They would probably want the boy alive, perhaps Ashan as well, but the rest would be put to death.
Seeing that he was all but forgotten, a rough plan formed in his mind. He grabbed Nasim and pulled him to the ladder leading belowdecks. The ship was already listing aftward. With so many holes already cut into the starward sails the seaward winds were pushing the ship off balance. If Grigory were not both very careful and very lucky, this was going to be a short battle indeed.
“Wait here,”he told Nasim and then he sprinted down the passageway beyond where his men were being kept. Common men such as they would not be harmed and there was little they could provide in the way of information that Grigory didn’t already know. In order to give the Kavda time to escape, it was crucial that the Maharraht see Nasim escaping, but they also needed to be highly mobile in order to move fast enough to evade pursuit.
He reached a door secured by an iron padlock. He kicked the door in and found Ashan kneeling on the floor next to Jahalan, who was unconscious but breathing evenly.
“Come,” Nikandr said, knowing that if Jahalan were not able to move on his own he would have to be left behind.
“Where is Nasim?”
Nikandr pointed up the passageway as another volley struck the deck above them. “He is close. Now come, unless you want to give him up to the Maharraht after all we’ve been through.”
Ashan frowned, but stood and followed Nikandr to the ladder. Nasim was cowering there, holding the ladder tightly. He left him to Ashan and climbed to the top of the ladder as another volley tore into the Kavda. One man’s screams were cut short as sporadic musket fire began falling on them from above.
Grigory, holding his bloody shoulder tightly, was standing below the helm as a fat sailor maneuvered the three stout steering levers.
“Descend!” Grigory yelled. “Descend!”
Nikandr ducked out of sight as Grigory turned and ran toward the fore of the ship.
Clearly he hoped to gain speed by dropping down near sea level, but if he wasn’t careful, they would end up in the sea, not riding the currents above it.
As the ship began its descent, another volley howled in from the attacking ships. A series of groans and cracks ren the air. The starward main mast was tilting to port. Some of the rigging snapped and the mast fell to the deck, shattering the wooden railing. Without the mast connected to the bulk of the ship, the windwood