Off Armageddon Reef (83 page)

“Thank Langhorne we're not out in
that,
” Lieutenant Rozhyr Blaidyn observed, listening to the storm.

It was blacker than the inside of a boot, but the regular, savage pounding of the heavy surf on the far side of Crag Hook and Opal Island could be heard even through the wind and rain. Of course, the wind—like the waves—was far weaker here, inside the sheltered waters of Crag Reach. Not that those waters were precisely what Blaidyn would have called “calm.”

The anchorage was deep, with its walls rising sheer-sided out of the water, especially on its eastern side, where deep water ran to the very foot of the hundred-foot cliff which formed Crag Hook's western face. On the western side, the shore was less vertical and the water shoaled much more sharply. There were actually some smallish rocky beaches in pockets scalloped out of the feet of the steep hills on that side. But the shallower water was also rougher, and most of the fleet's captains had opted to anchor further out, in deeper water which gave them more safety room if their ships should happen to drag their anchors.

Blaidyn's ship, the
Royal Bédard
, had been one of the last galleys to reach safety. Visibility had been worse than bad by the time she arrived, and she'd collided with her consort,
Royal Champion
, on their way into the reach, losing one of her bow anchors in the process. Given her late arrival and the gathering darkness, she'd been forced to find the best spot to anchor she could, effectively on her own, and her captain had felt his cautious way as far into the reach as he'd dared, then dropped his remaining bow anchor. As a result, she was one of the southernmost of the huddled fleet's ships, and also one of the furthest east, separated from
Paladin
, the next nearest galley, by about a hundred and twenty yards. She was well into the lee of Crag Hook, but more exposed than many of the other ships, and even now she seemed to jerk nervously, as if frightened by the fury of the weather outside the anchorage, as she snubbed and rolled to her single anchor.

“I didn't realize you were so devout, Rozhyr,” Nevyl Mairydyth said in response to his remark.

He and Blaidyn stood sheltering from the wind and rain in the lee of the forecastle, at the foot of the starboard forecastle ladder. Mairydyth was
Royal Bédard
's first lieutenant, while Blaidyn—who'd just completed a personal check of the anchor watch—was the galley's second lieutenant. The first lieutenant was due to relieve him as officer of the watch in another ten minutes or so. After which Blaidyn would finally be able to stumble below, find something to eat, and get at least a few hours of desperately needed sleep.

“After a day like today?” Blaidyn grimaced at his superior. “Every damned man aboard is a hell of a lot more devout tonight than he was this morning!”

“Summed up like Grand Vicar Erayk himself,” Mairydyth said sardonically.

“Well, would
you
rather be out there, or safe and sound in here?” Blaidyn demanded, waving one arm in the general direction of the seething white surf invisible through the thick, rainy night.

“That wasn't exactly my point,” Mairydyth replied. “My point was—”

He never completed the sentence.

The three-man anchor watch saw it first.

They weren't stationed in
Royal Bédard
's bows as lookouts. They were there solely to keep an eye on the anchor cable, to be sure the galley wasn't dragging and that the cable wasn't chafing—a point which had assumed more than usual importance, given that it was now the only anchor she had. There
was
a lookout stationed in the galley's crow's-nest, but not because anyone—including him—really thought there'd be anything for him to spot. He was there solely because Earl Thirsk had ordered every ship to post lookouts, and the unfortunate seaman in
Royal Bédard
's crow's-nest deeply resented the orders that put him up on that cold, vibrating, rain and wind swept perch for absolutely no good reason.

He was as wet, chilled to the bone, miserable, and exhausted as anyone else, and his body's need for rest was an anguished craving. He huddled in the crow's-nest, his oilskin draped to protect him as much as possible, and concentrated upon simply enduring until he was relieved and could finally collapse into his own hammock.

In fairness, even if he'd been fresh and alert, it was unlikely, given the visibility conditions, that he would have seen anything, despite the low range, more than a handful of seconds before the anchor watch did. But that was because HMS
Dreadnought
had extinguished all of her lanterns and running lights except for a single shaded poop lantern whose light was directed dead astern.

Unfortunately for
Royal Bédard
, she—like every other vessel anchored with her, and
unlike
Cayleb's flagship—was illuminated by anchor lights, poop lanterns, and lanterns at entry ports. More lights burned below deck, spilling illumination out of stern and quarter windows, out of oarports, deck hatches, and opened scuttles. Despite the darkness, and the rain, she wasn't at all hard to see.

One of the anchor watch straightened up suddenly, peering into the night as a shadow seemed to intrude between him and
Paladin
's stern windows, almost due north of his own ship.

“What's that?” he demanded of his fellows.

“What's
what?
” one of them retorted irritably. He was no fonder of the weather, or any more rested, then any of them, and his temper was short.

“
That!
” the first man said sharply as the vague shadow became suddenly much clearer. “It looks like—”

Captain Gwylym Manthyr stood very still by the quarterdeck bulwark. Not a voice spoke as
Dreadnought
's entire crew waited, poised statue-still at its action stations. The captain was aware of the crown prince, his Marine guards, and Lieutenant Athrawes standing behind him, but every ounce of his attention was focused on the lanterns, windows, and scuttles gleaming through the rain.

Even now, Manthyr could scarcely believe Prince Cayleb had brought them unerringly into Crag Reach with the flood tide behind them. The combination of tide, current, and wind had created a wicked turbulence, but the channel between Crag Hook and Opal Island was as broad as their charts had indicated. It was a good thing it was, too. The sudden blanketing effect of Crag Hook's towering height had robbed
Dreadnought
's sails of power for several minutes before the in-rushing tide and her momentum carried her out of its wind shadow.

In more cramped waters, that might well have proved fatal, but Cayleb had put them in what was, as nearly as Manthyr could tell, the exact center of the deepwater channel. And now they were about to reap the rewards of the crown prince's daring.

The captain discovered he was holding his breath, and snorted. Did he he expect the enemy to hear him breathing, despite the tumult of the storm outside the reach? He grimaced in wry self-amusement, but the thought was only surface deep as his ship crept between the galley so far to the south of the main enemy fleet and the next closest one, a hundred or so yards north of her. The gleam of the southern ship's anchor light stood out sharply at her bow, marking her out for his port gunners. Her consort to the north was even more visible, for her stern windows glowed like a brilliant beacon for Manthyr's
starboard
gunners.

Another few seconds, he thought, raising his right arm slowly, aware of the gun captains crouching behind their weapons in both broadsides. Another…few…

“
Fire!
”

His right arm went downward, and the darkness came apart in the thunderbolt fury of a double broadside.

“It looks like—”

The alert seaman never had the chance to finish his observation. A thirty-eight-pound round shot came howling out of the sudden gush of smoky flame directly ahead of
Royal Bédard
and struck him just above the waist.

His legs and hips stood upright for an instant, thick blood splashing through the rain. Then they thumped to the deck as the screams began.

“Port your helm!” Manthyr barked as the smoke-streaming guns recoiled and their crews hurled themselves upon them with swabs and rammers. “Bring her two points to starboard!”

“Aye, aye. Two points to starboard it is, Cap'n!”

“Stand by the stern anchor!”

Lieutenant Blaidyn recoiled in horror as a screaming round shot ripped into the bows, punched through the break of the forecastle in a cyclone of lethal splinters, and struck Lieutenant Mairydyth like a demon. The first lieutenant literally flew apart, drenching Blaidyn in an explosion of hot, steaming blood so shocking he scarcely even felt the sudden flare of agony in the calf of his own right leg.

Dreadnought
's guns had been double-shotted. The gun crews had prepared with exquisite care, taking the time to be certain everything was done right. Each gun had been loaded with not one round shot, but two, with a charge of grape on top for good measure. It decreased accuracy and put a potentially dangerous strain on the gun tubes, but the range was short, every one of her guns was new, cast to withstand exactly this sort of pressure, and the consequences for their target were devastating.