The Celestial Globe: The Kronos Chronicles: Book II (19 page)

“We’ll leave ’em in our chop,” Neel agreed.

“In this wind?” Treb scoffed. “It’s as soft as a lady’s breath.
Depending on what kind of ship that is, she could gain on us. We can’t risk engaging an enemy ship. With the Terrestrial Globe on board . . .”

The three of them looked at one another.

Treb narrowed his eyes. “Did someone blab our secret in Sallay?”

Andras was stern. “What do you think?”

Neel suddenly remembered the goatherd. “Well, it wasn’t me!”

“Neel,” threatened Treb, “if I’ve got a reason to, I’ll hoist you up into the rigging by your toes.”

“That ship,” said Andras, looking over their shoulders, “is definitely gaining.”

“If they want the globe, it could be to our advantage,” said Treb. “They won’t risk firing on us. Any ship that holds the globe would be too valuable to sink. If they’re after our prize, they’ll pull up alongside the
Pacolet
and board her. They’ll try to cut us down one by one with swords. But if they’re your average pirates, we can expect cannon fire. We’ll give ’em as good as we get.”

“They could be friendly,” said Andras.

“In
these
waters?”

“We shouldn’t sink a ship if it means us no harm.”

Treb snorted. “Were you always this soft?”

“They could even be Maraki,” argued Andras. “We can’t see what flag they’re flying.”

Treb paused, considering.

Andras pointed at a far-off knot of dark blue. “There’s a storm coming. The wind’ll pick up.”

“Right,” Treb said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Neel, set up the drogue. We’ll let them believe we’re a slow ship run by inexperienced sailors. They’ll get close, and we’ll see what they’re all about. If we’re being chased for the globe, we’d better find out that
our secrets are not as safe as we think. We will
not
let them board. Andras, get Garil to ready the cannons.”

Andras started to walk away.

Treb called, “Tell him to aim them
high
!”

“W
HAT
’
S HAPPENING
?” Tomik asked Neel.

“Nothing.”

Tomik scanned the crew. They were bristling with swords. “Nothing looks a lot like something.”

“Then maybe you ought to get below deck and stop pestering me with questions you know the answers to.”

“I can figure out what’s going on. What I want”—Tomik crossed his arms—“is details. And my knife.”

“What?”

“My glass knife.”

Like every other sailor onboard, Neel had many more important things to do than stop and stare. But that’s what he did.

Both Neel and Tomik sensed that this was going to be a recurring theme with them—trying to figure out who owned what, and who owed what.

“All right,” Neel said. “Follow me. You can help.”

They descended into the belly of the ship until they reached a large wooden door that yawned wide. Nicolas stepped out of the room. There was a sword in his hand, a long dagger at his waist, a knife in his boot, and a second sword strapped to his back.

Neel raised an eyebrow. “How are you going to move with all that?”

“Like a well-armed man,” Nicolas answered, and left.

The air in the room was tangy. It smelled of the oil burning in the lamp that hung from the ceiling, and of well-kept wood, leather, and steel. Weaponry poked out of thrown-open trunks.
Neel unlocked a canvas-lined box and took out the glass knife. He handed it to Tomik. Not having a better place for it, Tomik tucked it into his belt.

“Can’t you make some of those glass bombs?” asked Neel. “Like Petra used in Salamander Castle?”

“Sure.” Tomik shrugged. “Just give me several days, a brassica-fueled fire, a glass-blowing pipe, some—”

“Forget it.” Neel walked deeper into the dark recesses of the room, Tomik at his side.

On the floor lay a peculiar object. It was large, long, and shaped like a cone. Its shape had been made by attaching animal skins to a metal hoop, stitching them together, and drawing them down to a point. Ropes braced the cone, running along its sides and coming up over the hoop. A foot above that, the ropes were knotted together to an iron ring.

“Get that end,” Neel ordered. “We have to set this up before the ship gets close enough to see us.” They lifted the thing and carried it out of the room like they might carry a body.

They brought it up on deck, where the wind had already begun to blow strongly. Tas and Kiran were waiting for them at the stern of the ship. The men quickly went to work, attaching heavy chains to the pointed end and a long length of rope to the ring. The other end of the rope was securely fastened to a bolt on the deck.

“It’s called a drogue,” Neel said, just as Tas and Kiran heaved the object overboard and the coil of rope at their feet began to unwind. Most of the rope slipped into the waves behind the
Pacolet
. The rest of it lay in a taut line.

Tas and Kiran nodded at the boys and lifted themselves onto the ratlines, heading for the sails.

“The drogue’s going to slow us down,” Tomik stated.

“Yep. The
Pacolet
’s quick on the wind, but the drogue’ll make those other fellows think we can’t outrun ’em. They’ll get confident,
they’ll get close, we’ll find out what they want. If they’re not very nice, we’ll cut the drogue and hightail it out of here—after we do a little damage, if need be.”

This struck Tomik as a dangerous strategy. “So it’s a
good
thing that ship’s gaining on us?”

Neel looked troubled. “We’ll see.”

The
Pacolet
slowed, the sky darkened with the coming storm, and the mysterious vessel drew close.

Treb and Andras stood at the port side of the ship. Sailors thronged behind them, armed and wary.

“They’re not Maraki,” said Andras.

The other ship, which bore no Roma flag, sliced across the water. It fired a warning shot. It wasn’t the thud of cannon fire, but the crack of a pistol.

“I guess they’re not friendly,” Andras said.

“And they’ve got guns,” Treb muttered with jealousy.

“Newfangled, unreliable things,” Andras consoled. “The bullets don’t go where you want ’em to even half of the time.”

“And the other half?” Treb shook his head. “With a shot like that, they mean business. But not enough to fire a cannon and sink us. Go aloft, Andras. I need you up by the topsail on the mainmast. Catch that wind, and hold it tight until we’re ready.”

Andras walked to the mast and began to leap up the Jacob’s ladder.

The enemy ship drew closer. Its narrow body was swift on the waves, its sails looked new, and the deck held enough people to tell Treb that the Maraki were outnumbered. Treb waited. The ship pulled up to the
Pacolet
, and the two vessels sailed side by side.

“Where’s your captain?” someone yelled.

With some surprise, Treb registered that the words were in Czech. “What do you want with us?” he shouted back.

“I think you know!”

“Maybe I’m a little slow.”

The other man laughed and pointed with his sword at the
Pacolet
. “I can see that. Let me explain, then, what’s going to happen. Your ship’s practically dead in the water, she’s so slow. You can’t escape from us, and we’re prepared to board your boat and kill you all. But it doesn’t have to be that way. You’ve got one thing, and one thing only, that we want. Surrender it, and we’ll let you go. We’ll do you and your ship no harm.”

The wind began to blow fiercely, and far-off thunder rumbled over the ocean.

“If you come aboard my ship, you might win against us,” shouted Treb. “But I think you won’t, and many of you will end up bleeding in the water for sharks to eat. What do we have that’s so precious you’ll risk that?”

“You know perfectly well!” snarled the Bohemian captain. “Give us the globe or give us your lives!”

“You’ll get neither!” In Romany, Treb called, “Neel! Cut that drogue loose!”

Neel pulled his dagger from its sheath and sawed at the rope that bound the drogue to the
Pacolet
. The rope frayed, but wasn’t breaking fast enough. Neel could see the other ship edging up to the
Pacolet
. It wouldn’t be long before the Bohemian sailors leaped across the divide.

For a split second, Tomik thought about surrendering himself to his countrymen. Then a gunshot rang out, and he saw Klara clutch her arm.

Tomik brought his glass knife down on the rope. It flashed in the air, and sliced the rope in one clean stroke. The rope spun away into the water.

The
Pacolet
surged forward, its sails puffed full of stormy wind. As lightning stitched across the sky, the Maraki up in the rigging did everything they could to harness the wind’s power. They
hauled the sails into the best position to give the
Pacolet
the distance needed for their next move.

“Fire!” yelled Treb.

The Maraki at the cannons lit their fuses. The cannons began to boom. Chain shot and bar shot flew into the air and struck the enemy ship, tearing through its sails, splitting its yards. The Maraki aimed for the ship’s rigging, and finally they got the hit they wanted most of all. The foretop mast—the highest point of the Bohemian ship’s mainmast—shattered. Chunks of wood rained down.

There was a clap of thunder. The storm was here.

In the sudden rain, the Maraki didn’t look back at the chaos they left behind them—or, if they looked back once, they didn’t do it again.

“What will happen to them?” Tomik asked Neel as the
Pacolet
hurtled over the waves. “Will they sink?”

“No. We could’ve punched a hole right through that ship’s gut. We didn’t. We just wanted to cripple her, to clip her wings so she couldn’t fly after us. So we aimed our cannons high at their rigging. That ship won’t sink, but she can’t sail.”

“What will they do?” Tomik persisted.

Neel paused. “I don’t know.”

T
HE STORM WASN
’
T
as bad as it seemed, and the
Pacolet
rode it out.

The bullet had only grazed Klara’s arm. The wound was bloody but shallow, and Brishen cleaned it.

When the sky was clear again and the waves calmer, Tomik walked up to Neel.

“I’ll give you this”—Tomik offered the horseshoe—“for the crystal you took from me.”

Neel agreed.

It was a fair trade.

T
HE DAY AFTER THE BATTLE,
the wind changed. It blew from the east, and was as hot and dry as air in a brick oven. This wind has a reputation: it’s called a levanter, and it’s mean. The Maraki stowed the sails, because a levanter could blow them off course. It blew them off course anyway, carrying them farther out into the Western Ocean than they ever wanted to be. It was late January, and this time of year in that particular region of the sea meant one thing: storms, and lots of them. Serious storms. Storms that could chew you up and spit you out.

But Neel had more important things to worry about than the weather. He was reminded of this when Treb’s hand reached out of a dark passageway and seized him.

“Hey!” yelped Neel.

“I’d like a word with you, little cousin.”

“Ever hear of asking? Your habits are getting right rude.”

“They’re about to get ruder.” Treb pushed Neel into the room where they stored all the food. There were sacks of barley, dried fruits, dried meat, dried vegetables, and, most valuable of all, large casks of fresh water.

Treb shut the door behind them. He struck a match and lit his
pipe. The red glow of the burning tobacco was the only light in the room.

“Why all the secrecy, Treb?”

“ ’Cause you seem to be a little short on it.”

“Is this about the globe?”

Treb didn’t reply. Neel could hear the crackle of the tobacco as it burned.

“And you got to lock me up in the pantry to ask me about it? Come on, Treb. Everybody on this ship knows what we got, and what we’re after.”