Burning Bright (30 page)

“That is not true. And
Athena
is not poky, whatever you mean by that.”

“Come now, Pembroke, you were on the ship long enough to know
Glorious
outguns and outsails her. The Navy is much better served by having you here.”

“Where I can play my part in covering
you
with glory?”

“I care only about serving king and country, Pembroke.
I
am not the one who foolhardily attacked a squadron of six pirate ships to make the admiral look bad.”

“That is not what happened!”

Crawford shrugged. “I’ve known Miles Ramsay for years now, and I assure you his reputation within the Royal Navy is that of an ambitious, cocksure glory-hound who’s won success more by luck than by skill. Consider yourself fortunate you’re serving on
Glorious
now—Ramsay might have got you killed in one of his mad plans.”

“And I assure
you
, Captain,” Elinor said, forgetting all caution, “that I recognize jealousy when I see it. Captain Ramsay is no more a glory-hound than you are a…a gentleman. I have no doubt his successes taste like ash in your mouth because you know he will always be ten times the officer you are. At least he did not have to go running to Admiral Durrant as you did, looking for an advantage that would guarantee you success because your own abilities were insufficient!”

Crawford’s mouth had fallen open, and now he was furious. “You
shrew
,” he said, “I ought to have you flogged, and damn the consequences!”

“Beat an Extraordinary under your command? There would be consequences indeed!”

“
Get out of my sight,
” Crawford grated, raising his hand as if to slap her.

Elinor stood firm and met his gaze unflinchingly. Her own hand curled into a fist; arguing with her commanding officer she might get away with, but bringing her talent to bear on him might actually get her hanged, Extraordinary or not. Crawford abruptly turned away and strode to the taffrail, gripping it with both hands as if he intended to wrest it free and beat her to death with it.

Elinor, not hurrying, descended below and went to her cube, where she sat on her trunk and tried to calm herself. She was a fool. Ramsay did not need her to defend him to that sniveling, jealous
lump
. She would succeed only in bringing trouble down upon herself.

She leaned back against the thin partition that separated her cube from the next, closed her eyes, and concentrated on her breathing, in and out, in rhythm with her heartbeat. After several breaths she was relaxed enough to slip into a reverie, a familiar and comforting daydream in which she was having supper with the officers aboard
Athena
, and Beaumont made a joke that made Ramsay’s lips quirk in that little smile of his, and she missed them all
so much
—

Someone pounded on her door. “Pembroke! Dinner!”

She wearily stood and tidied her hair. She would need to stay out of Crawford’s way for a while. She could not bring herself to apologize to him, but perhaps time would let them both pretend nothing had been said. Perhaps.

After the noon meal, she risked going up on deck again and taking her place at the starboard rail. Ahead to starboard was one of the little islands, most of them unmapped, that sprang from the waters of the Caribbean like hillocks, verdant as every other scrap of land in this part of the world. Farther ahead there was another ship, the size of a fly skimming the water, sailing in their direction. She looked around; no one seemed worried about it.

“Shouldn’t we be prepared for the possibility that it is a pirate?” she asked one of the sailors. He spat over the side, but grinned at her in a friendly way.

“Naught to worry about,” he said. “Flyin’ our colors. Matched our numbers. Cap’n’s set a course for ‘er.”

“But… could it not be a ruse?”

“Nah, it’s one ‘o ourn,” he said. “Fourth-rate like
Glorious
. Could be
Sandringham
or
Breton.
We’ll know when we can see ‘er rigging. We’ll stop along ‘er and get the news.”

“Oh,” Elinor said, and went back to watching the oncoming ship, trying not to let hope take hold of her. Whatever ship this was, it would not miraculously bring orders that would free her from Crawford’s command and put her back on
Athena
where she belonged. No, it would provide an hour’s diversion, and then they would continue to Port Royal.

Not for the first time did she wish Durrant would give over his strategy of picking off the pirate ships one at a time and instead put his efforts toward finding and eradicating the Brethren’s lair. If they could eliminate the leaders, it would break the back of the pirate consortium, and the Navy could easily defeat the rest. And then she could…what could she do? Go home? Receive her payment and set up a new life for herself?

For the first time, she realized she had never considered what her new life might be. If the First Lord kept his promise, she would have financial independence, even if on a small scale, but what else was there for her? Marriage, on her own terms? A business? She would likely fill her hours with the same tedious things she had left behind. No. She wanted more than that, but what kind of more it might be she could not say.

Minutes passed, and the ship slid closer. Elinor yawned and settled her hat more firmly on her head. She wanted to take a nap, but inertia kept her rooted to the rail, reluctant to leave until she’d seen what the ship brought with it. They were close enough now that she could see the British flag flying over it. She tilted her head back and squinted to look at
Glorious
’ flag. They were flying signal flags as well as their kingdom’s. It would be interesting to learn the signals, though Crawford would certainly refuse to teach her.

She leaned heavily against the rail and watched the approaching ship. Soon they would send up their own signal flags, responding to whatever message
Glorious
had sent. Soon… no, that was wrong. They should have sent up signals immediately. But the crewman had said the number signals were correct…

Elinor looked around; still no one seemed worried. It must be her mistake. Even so… She left her position and went to the companionway. She could at least tell Fortescue they might need to be ready for an attack.

Thunder pounded from the clear sky, and Elinor was knocked to the deck as it heaved and cracked around her. Splinters filled the air, jabbing her legs and back and tangling in her hair. Thunder again, and something pierced her sleeve and sent a jolt of agony down her left arm. She reached up in a daze and tore a six-inch-long sharp, jagged sliver of wood from her arm and stared at it dully. She felt as if she were underwater, her limbs moving slowly, her ears numb and throbbing with her pulse. The sharp stink of gunpowder filled the air.

She raised her head, then staggered to her feet. Men lay bleeding all around her, their mouths open as if they were crying or screaming for help; she still heard nothing but the pounding of her blood. The enemy ship sailed past to starboard, cannons protruding from its sides like hungry mouths, smoke trailing from some of them. In the silence, it all seemed like a nightmare, something from which she would soon awake.

Then the starboard rail went up in flames, and Elinor felt as if she
were
waking, but from one nightmare into another. She extinguished the blaze and saw it break out elsewhere, again and again, always somewhere new as if their Scorcher were taunting her.

“Get Fortescue up here
now
!” she screamed at no one, anyone, and tried to regain her focus. They needed to press the attack, and that needed all four of them, because this enemy Scorcher was clever and cruel and Elinor wanted more than anything to find him and turn him to ash. She put out yet another fire, spared a grateful thought that he apparently did not know how to burn a treated sail, tried to manage a fireball but had to let it collapse when the capstan started burning.

“Stand back, Pembroke,” said Fortescue, and raised his hands; he loved the drama of gesturing, and encouraged them all to do it, but Elinor never remembered. Across the gap, where the enemy ship had begun to maneuver around
Glorious
for another raking broadside, a section of the deck started to burn. Thatcher moved astern to cover the waist amidships, which meant Ross, whom she could not see, was most likely angling around to the bow.

Then the fire went out.

A second later, fire blazed on
Glorious’s
deck as Fortescue turned into a screaming pillar of flame. Elinor, reacting without thinking, extinguished it, and Fortescue collapsed, still screaming. The capstan began burning again. Elinor ignored it and set the entire enemy deck on fire.
It has to be a mistake. Fortescue did it wrong.

There was a moment in which fire wreathed the other ship’s deck, and then the fire vanished. Elinor put out the capstan fire, her heart thudding painfully. “No gestures!” she screamed, and crouched and moved forward to help Fortescue, who seemed more shocked and terrified than injured. She felt dizzy with shock herself. Not just a Scorcher. An Extraordinary Scorcher. And one far more experienced than she was. They might already be doomed.

In which Elinor discovers another Extraordinary and has a very long swim

ortescue’s face was blackened and blistered, his clothing singed, and Elinor tried not to gag at the smell of burned flesh rising off his body. “It’s an Extraordinary!” she screamed at him, guessing his near-immolation had prevented him realizing what they faced. Fortescue’s eyes were wide and his breath came in quick, short pants, and he seemed not to understand what she said. Elinor shook him, failed to get a rational response, and let go of his shirtfront, allowing him to fall backward to the deck. This was her battle.

She could understand nothing of the screams and shouts that filled the air on
Glorious’
deck, whether orders or cries for help, and the mad scrambling over the rigging and the sails shifting to bring the ship about made no sense to Elinor as she extinguished one fire after another. All she could tell was that the enemy had the wind, and that was bad for
Glorious
.

Smaller fires erupted on the pirate ship’s deck, each going out as quickly as they appeared. If that Scorcher could extinguish fires as he simultaneously ignited them…
Don’t panic. You’re as strong as he is. Maybe stronger. Think.
However capable he was of doing two things at once, his fires were much smaller than hers, so either he could not manage a large fire while dividing his attention, or he was not capable of anything larger.
If he could set a larger fire, he would do so. Take the fight to him.

Elinor staggered as
Glorious
shifted, turned hard to starboard and began a perpendicular pass, something Ramsay called “crossing the bow” and had explained could be a particularly devastating attack. As their guns began pounding the pirate ship, Elinor ignored the fires burning on
Glorious
and
leaned
on the pirate’s sails, feeling an ache pass through her as if she were pushing hard on a door someone else stood behind, pushing back. Then she was through, and all four of the mainsails went up in that beautiful green-blue flame.
How many square feet is that? And I know I could do more.