"Very good, sir," Knolles replied.
"Deck, there!" The lookout cried. "Dhow, sir! Tackiri!"
Mlavic had been loafing along on the starboard tack, pointing up higher on the winds, even so, than Jester ever could, presaging a close-aboard reunion, unless Lewrie had ordered them to come about to stand aloof of his dhow. Suddenly, though, she racked over to larboard tack, bearing Sou'west, still pointing high and expanding the size of her lateen sails to full size. Mlavic had spotted the strange brig and was going after her with every stitch of canvas aloft!
"Damn him. Just damn him!" Lewrie rasped.
"He'll scare her off!" Midshipman Hyde exclaimed, outraged.
Mlavic had been off Jester's larboard quarter and only two sea-miles to leeward. On her new course, he'd close them before sweeping past, crossing Jester's stern and surging upwind of her. Mlavic, it appeared, had found some courage for the chase at last-but at the very worst possible moment!
"Greedy bastard," Lewrie commented sourly. "Hmm… aloft, there!
What is the brig doing?"
"Standin' on, sir! Courses 'bove th' horizon, runnin' free!"
"They've seen us by now, surely. Might not be able to see that pirate yet," Knolles muttered. " 'Til he crosses our stern, sir."
"Or do 'ey not keep a proper lookout, like most merchantmen, sir, Buchanon added. "Nought t'fear so far, e'en do 'ey."
Lewrie looked aft. To save wear-and-tear, Jester only flew her national colours when challenged or when doing the challenging. With her courses above the horizon already, the brig couldn't be more than a scant four miles up to windward, and still held to her off-wind slide. She didn't yet acknowledge Jester as a warship, since she'd made no move to close her, but was standing on Sou'east, on a diverging course as if bound for Durazzo herself.
The line of sight, Alan thought, looking to windward once more; aye, Mlavic is hidden below us now, blotted out by our hull and sails, even did they spot him earlier. Might be the brig's whey-faced innocent, or a I neutral, but he had to stop her and speak her to ascertain that. To run up the flag now might spook her, either way, and they'd waste half a day running her down for nothing.
And best we fetch her first. Alan shivered. God knows what that pig-eyed fool'd do, neutral prize or no! Fight us for her?
"Mister Hyde," Lewrie decided. "Fetch out that Frog flag of ours. Bend it on and hoist it to the mizzen peak. Mister Knolles, prepare to come about to larboard tack. We'll see what answering hoist we receive… then we'll pretend to run from those terrible Serb pirates yonder… and unmask 'em to her, as we come about. See what she makes of that!"
"Oh, I see, sir!" Knolles chuckled. "Eek eek, a mouse, Captain? Bosun! Pipe 'Stations for Stays'!"
"Once round, Mister Knolles…" Lewrie added. "Beat to Quarters."
Scant minutes later, all had altered. Jester was thrashing windward, hobby-horsing over the long but steep sets of waves. Their pirate dhow's way had been blocked, as Lewrie had flung his ship squarely across her course, and was now pitching and rolling dead in Jester's wake-as if she truly were pursuing her-working her way up to windward of them, certainly, since fore-and-aft rigged lateeners could pinch up much closer to the eye of the wind any day.
And the brig…!
She'd taken one look, hoisted a matching French flag, and turned away, wearing herself to a broad reach, with the Sirocco winds large on her larboard quarter, headed Nor-Nor'west. She was steering directly for a meeting with Jester!
Comin' tsave me, are you? Lewrie speculated with a sneer, as he glanced astern and ahead in a constant mental juggling act of courses and speeds; me, a fellow Frog? Damn brave of you. Or d'ye think your own safety lies in numbers… two armed merchantmen 'gainst one pirate?
"A mile, I make her, sir," Mr. Buchanon suggested.
"We'll stand on a bit more, 'fore…" Lewrie mused, turning for another peek at what Mlavic was doing. Which, he imagined, might involve tearing his hair out in frustration at the moment. His dhow had worked her way back windward of Jester, out on her larboard quarter again. And no more than a mile astern, down to leeward. Edging out to pass, but he'd be just a bit too late. Depending on what the brig did, of course. Then Lewrie turned to peer forward once more.
"Three-quarter mile," Buchanon speculated, sounding excited. "Ah!" "Uhum!" Lewrie beamed. The brig was turning, bearing more Westerly and bracing her yards round, hauling taut as she swung in a wide arc to put herself on the wind on the same tack as Jester! Nowhere near as fast, she planned to match courses and let Jester-a "fellow countryman"-surge up to her so their firepower was concentrated. Should he speak her, captain-to-captain, and plan what they could do to "save" themselves?
"Pinch us up, quartermasters. Luff up, and nothing to loo'rd." Lewrie snapped. "Mister Crewe, ready with the starboard battery!"
The wheel-drum groaned as Spenser and Brauer fought it for two or three more spokes of lee helm to take their ship up to the very edge of the winds, clawing out another fifty yards of advantage. Then they backed off only one or two spokes, at most, as the fickle wind shifted, eyes on the luff of the main-course and main-tops'l, the flutterings of the commissioning pendant high aloft as it streamed like a weathervane to steer by… the compass bedamned, from there on out. They cursed softly as they put their weight on it, judging by feel of the tiller-ropes' tension and the wind on their cheeks if they were coasting too close toward luffing; scanning the sea off the larboard bows for a contrary skeining of rivulets on the wavetops, or a glass-smooth patch of calm.
"Over, now, ye square-head!" Spenser grunted. "Oh, ye lady, oh, ye sweet'un! 'At's our darlin' lass!"
"Rasmus!" Brauer hissed as he fed from the lee side to Spenser on the windward. "Ach,ja! Lir… bitte!"
Christ, e'en the Germans're believers now! Lewrie grumbled to himself. Callin' on his old sea-god… and ours!
The brig was most nicely cooperating. As she rounded up, wearing close-hauled to the Sou'west, she lost ground to leeward and spent all her windward placement. Suddenly she was within a quarter mile off the starboard bows and nearly a cable to the right of Jester's course.
Should he charge up her larboard side? Lewrie smiled. They were not two hundred yards off! Mlavic? Hah! Stupid shit.
The brig s manoeuvre had thrown Mlavic off. Jester would reach her first and be between him and the prize. With a happily imagined eruption of head-fur as Mlavic tore his hair out, the dhow was hauling her wind and falling off to cross Jesters stern. If Mlavic couldn't catch her by passing left, he'd duck down and pass right, and assault the brig's leeward side. But that'd put him in the wind-shadow of Jester's tall masts and massive spread of sail, and rob him of the wind-strength he needed to hold his course or make his current speed, making his attack even later!
"Might be uncanny knacky t'keep finding us, Mr. Buchanon," Lewrie noted. "But he's not a clever sailor, is he?"
"What need have we o' such a 'no-sailor,' 'en, Cap'um?"
"Only God above-and Captain Charlton-knows, sir," Lewrie replied. "Mister Knolles? Ready to get our way off. Once we've fired her a cheery hello, be ready to fetch-to and get boats down."
"Aye aye, sir!"
"Mister Hyde, still with us?" Lewrie asked, craning about.