Read Online The Continent Makers and Other Tales of the Viagens by L. Sprague de Camp - Free Book Online Page B

“Captain, why are we sailing directly away from the harbor?”
    “To get sea-room to wear ship.”
    “But why can’t you simply turn to the left?”
    “Port helm and back sails? Think ye I’m mad? Y’only do that when ’tis a matter of dodging rocks!”
    Abreu, realizing that he was no sailor, left the technical end of the art to Zardeku.
    “The fire-ship’s coming out!” called the lookout.
    “Better hurry, Captain,” said Abreu.
    Zardeku gave more orders. The rowers ran out their oars. The helmsman swung the ship hard to starboard until the bow pointed toward shore, while the sailors let out the sheets until all three sails were flapping. The rowers backed, holding the ship immobile, the swells smashing against the stern.
    “Have to see which way he turns,” said Zardeku. Then, after a minute: “He’s bearing south. Let go the luff braces; haul the leech braces; haul the sheets; starboard the helm!”
    The high ends of the yards came down as the low ends rose. After much running about and hauling on ropes the ship shook herself out on the other reach and headed towards the Kerukchi, which had come out of harbor against the wind on her paddles alone and was now shaking out her sails. The Alashtir ’s rowers grunted as they dug in their oars.
    The two ships sailed on converging courses until Castanhoso said: “They seem to be running up flags. What are they saying?”
    Zardeku put eye to telescope. “Interrogatory. In other words, have we any business with them? Qorvé, run up ‘heave to.’ Hain, load the catapult.”
    The Kerukchi, instead of stopping, continued on her way, running up more flags. Abreu supposed that the proud prince was telling them what he thought of them.
    Zardeku said: “They have a catapult too. On the poop.”
    The wind hissed through the rigging. Presently a thump came from the Kerukchi, and a shower of specks rose from her poop and arced towards the Alashtir. They plunked into the water before they reached the other ship.
    “Bullets,” said Zardeku. “I like that not; my rowers’ll suffer.” He put his megaphone to his mouth and roared: “Heave to, miserable baghana! We wish to parley!”
    “What would you?” came back the answer.
    “Tell him his ship,” said Abreu.
    “Your ship!”
    “Go to Hishkak!” came the thin voice across the water, and there was another thump. This time a shower of lead balls over a kilo in weight bounced against the Alashtir ’s woodwork. There were yells from the benches, and Abreu saw one rower sprawled on the deck with his head mashed. A couple of relief rowers dragged him out of the way, and one took his place. Other men were laying weapons alongside the benches.
    The Alashtir ’s own catapult whanged, sending a javelin over the Kerukchi ’s stern. The catapult crew of the steamship ducked and scattered, to be bullied back to their weapon by the officer commanding the squad.
    Abreu said: “Captain, if you can get further forward, they won’t be able to reach us with that catapult because their rigging will be in the way.”
    “But then they could reach us with their ram,” said Zardeku. “We have no ram; I took it off when I converted the ship.” After a few seconds he added: “Besides, they seem to be gaining on us.”
    Although Zardeku called encouragement to his rowers, who responded with mighty grunts and visibly bent their oars, the stack of the Kerukchi was now smoking furiously. The spray kicked up by the wheels hid most of the stern of the ship, which began to inch ahead of the Alashtir. Thump! The lead balls flew high, making several holes in the sails. Whang! A javelin stuck in the Kerukchi ’s planking.
    “If you can hit one of those wheels,” said Abreu, “as I told you . . .”
    Zizz! Abreu ducked as a couple of crossbow bolts flew over his head. Up forward one of their sailors was down, and others were shooting back.
    Zardeku went forward to oversee the catapult himself, trotting along the catwalk over the