lee to boot,” Pryce warned in his West Country rumble. A cautionary nod indicated a nearby island.
“That she does, but we have the greater will, have we not?” said Nathan with a fleeting smile.
“She’s brailing up her courses, sir,” came a call from overhead.
“Well, there’s your answer, if anyone fancied she meant to hail us for tea, eh?” Nathan grumbled.
Cate understood precious little of the exchange, but none of it sounded good, she thought as she watched the lower corners of the Nightingale’s mainsails draw up. Even a landsman such as herself could see the two-masted ship was smaller and sleeker, her sails triangular as opposed to theMorganse’s square, and ran her length rather than across. A long, dove-tailed streamer broke from the Nightingale’s peak and the pirates gave a jeering roar.
“What is that?” she asked.
“He’s declaring his superiority, like he’s the goddamned Commodore hisself. We’re expected to hove to,” said Nathan.
“’Tis usually reserved for ships sailing under the King’s papers,” Pryce explained with equal contempt.
Nathan glared across the water. “Not bloody likely, the split-tongued, master rogue. She might be smaller and handier, but she’s outnumbered and outgunned. Action stations. Hoist the colors.”
A heavy flap, of a different timbre than canvas, drew her attention upward. There she saw the black and white banner at it was unfurled from a backstay, and a cheering roar went up from the crew. When seen from directly overhead, the haloed skull leering down, it was even more massive and imposing. Cate burst in a half-laugh, half-sob, seized by a thrill of fear, and at the same time, an inexplicable surge of empowerment and pride.
“On deck, there. Sail ho!” came from above again.
“You’ve gone feeble, mate. We’ve made her,” Nathan called up.
“Nossir, ’tis another. Larboard astern.”
Nathan cast an eye in that direction and swore. “It would appear an escort had been sent for the good ship Constancy.”
Guilt heated Cate’s face, as if she was somehow responsible for this. It was possible the two ships had intercepted the Constancy and Chambers had told them of her being taken. Judging by Nathan and Pryce’s reaction, this was a continuing rivalry, which made her presence no more than coincidence.
“She’s the Eclipse, sir,” came from overhead shortly after.
“Captain Eldridge Simmons, commanding,” sighed Nathan with a scornful smirk.
“Harte’s minion,” said Pryce.
“More like sacrificial lamb,” Nathan shot back, grudgingly. “One would have liked to assume His Pompousness Commodore Harte would have sent one with a stomach for the smell of powder.”
“Which means?” Cate asked, more testy than intended.
Nathan smiled tolerantly. “The Royal Navy puts a great store in its gunpowder. A ship is set out with an allotment and not a grain more. Anything beyond said allotment is the captain’s expense. Yon Captain Simmons is ambitious, but he’s also cheap.”
“Which means?” she pressed.
“Which means our fair foe will do everything in his power to avoid using the one thing what could gain what he desires: a prize, and a fat prize we would be.”
“Thrice afore he’s cut ’n’ run,” Pryce put in.
“And more than likely to now. Pass the word to Mr. MacQuarrie: bar and chain shot. Dismast them before they splinter ours,” Nathan told Pryce as he handed off the helm. “Clear the decks. Blood is what these bastards came for, so let’s show them theirs.”
Pryce thundered down the gangway, the men scattering to their posts ahead of him. They raced either to the guns, and the ship’s defense, or the rigging, and the ship proper. None of the dread seen on the Constancy was here. These men knew full well what was about to come, and like a glutton dove in without regard for indigestion.
In the face of the burst of activity, Cate’s first urge was to do something, yet had no notion of what. She discovered again that it was possible to be bathed in a cold sweat in the tropics, an icy stream of it trailing between her shoulder blades. Seeing the pirate ship bear down on the Constancy had been a nightmare. Now she stood on that very ship as another enemy bore down. It was like a revisiting bad dream: scary, yet familiar. The waiting, however, was the same, time being ticked off by each wave cut by the Nightingale andEclipse’s bows.
“Mates,” Nathan called down to the main deck. “Yon ships desire our heads. Let’s hand them their asses instead. Blow these bastards back to the festering hell from which they came. A fourth of me share to the gun crew what takes out their