Finally, I could stand no more. "What did they want?" I demanded.
"The usual," Colgrave replied without looking up. "A little murder. A little terror. With his enemies on the bull's-eye, of course. Not ours." "His?"
"I think it was a he. You cut a big hole, Bowman?"
"Big enough. It'll stop them." He seemed so damned blase after what had been done to us. Was he still trusting in divine protection? After the Itaskian sorcerer? If so, he was a fool. That was one thing that had never been pinned on Colgrave.
"Tor, go to the masthead. Let us know when they go dead in the water. Toke, make sail for Freyland. I think she'll respond now."
I watched while Colgrave examined several books. He seemed awfully undignified, sitting on the deck with his legs crossed. Finally, "Captain, what're we going to do?"
He peered at me with that one evil eye till I thought he was going to have me thrown to the sharks. One did not address Colgrave. Colgrave called one to the presence.
He finally replied, "It would be a raid to belittle anything we've ever tried. Portsmouth itself. Burn the docks. Burn the town. Kill everybody we can." "Why?"
"I didn't ask, Bowman." His voice was cold and hard. He was tired of my questions. Yet I remained where I was. He had changed. He was more open than ever I had seen. "He ordered us. We haven't yet tested the limits of his control. We may not be able to do otherwise."
"And we do have our grievances." "Yes. We have scores to settle with Portsmouth."
Dragon shifted her heading to north-northeast. We were on course for the island kingdoms.
"The little sailmaker must have overlooked something," Colgrave said. "There's nothing here we can use. All we can do is deny this stuff to him."
"She's taking in sail, Captain," Tor called down. A vast amusement filled his voice.
The story had passed through the crew, spread by Mica. There was a lot of laughter.
I looked north. I could barely make out the other vessel.
Damn, did that Tor have eyes.
Excellent eyes. "Sail ho!" he called a moment later. "She's a big one. War galleon, by her look."
His arm thrust aft. Colgrave and I turned.
We could just make out her main tops. I looked at Colgrave.
I could see the torment in him. The need... He had to have bloodshed the way I had to have rum, had to use my bow.
"She's an Itaskian," Tor called a few minutes later. The bloodlust filled his voice. He, too, needed the killing.
Nervousness and uncertainty washed the maindeck. The men no longer had the absolute confidence that had impelled them before our capture.
Dragon had changed indeed. And was changing still.
"Maintain your heading, First Officer," Colgrave finally croaked.
It tore him up to say it. But he did.
A breeze came up. It took us on our port quarter, setting us to landward. The more we turned to seaward, the harder it blew.
The smell of wizardry tainted it.
Colgrave gathered Mica's plunder, took it to his cabin, then returned to
the poop. He said nothing more. The stubborn Colgrave of old, he kept Dragon's course inalterably fixed on Freyland.
We passed within three hundred yards of the sorcerer's ship. Its crew were too busy keeping from drowning to pay attention. Several called for help. We sailed on.
Colgrave laughed at them. I'm sure his voice carried that far.
The breeze died soon afterward, as the other ship began going under. I guess the wizard needed to concentrate on surviving.
One round for us.
We took orders from nobody. Not even those who pretended to be our saviors.
That is what Tor said the thing in red had claimed when it had spoken to Colgrave. It had wanted to bargain.
To bargain? I thought. Then its hold on us could not be as strong as it would like.
I smiled. And stood on the forecastle looking forward to the coasts of Freyland. It had been a long time since we had sailed them.
The black birds circled overhead. After a time, one by one, they settled into our tops. They seemed less outraged than they had been.
VIII
Spring had only recently conquered the western shores of Freyland. The cove where we anchored was surrounded by low, forested hills blushing green. The afternoons were warm and lazy.
There was nothing to do. For the first time since I had come aboard, Dragon was in perfect repair. Half the ship's work being done was stuff Toke and Lank Tor conjured up because they did not have anything to do either. For several days we just plain loafed.
But in the background lurked the nagging questions, the aching doubts. What would Colgrave decide? Would it be the right thing?
"Right thing?" Mica demanded. Pure amazement animated his features. "What the hell kind of question is that, Bowman?"
He and I and Priest had rigged us a couch of folded sail and were lying back staring at cloud castles while dangling fishing lines over the side. Fishing was something I had not done since boyhood.
I could not remember that far back. I just knew that I had liked to fish.
"It's a valid question," Priest insisted. "We have come to the crossroads of righteousness, Sailmaker. We stand at the forking of the way...."
"Oh, knock it off, Priest," I grumbled. "Don't you ever give up?"
"I think I got a bite," he replied.
"Take it easy, Bowman," Mica said. "He's getting better."
That he was, I had to admit. I used to loathe Priest because he insisted on being our conscience while remaining one of the worst sinners himself.
Priest dragged a small fish over the side. "I'll be damned."
"Doubtless. We're all damned. We have been for ages."
"That's debatable. I meant the fish."
It was a little speckled sand shark about sixteen inches long. Not exactly what we were after. I started to smash its head with my heel.
"Why don't you just throw it back?" Mica asked. "It ain't hurting nothing."
Trouble was, the shark did not want to go. Not with our help. Its little jaws kept going chompity-chomp. Its skin sandpapered the hide off my fingers when I tried to hold it so Priest could get his hook back.
It died before we could save it.
"You was talking about doing the right thing," Mica told me. "What made you say that? I never heard the Bowman talk that way before."
I gave him a look.
Priest took his side "He's right. Colgrave's the only man here meaner than the Bowman."
I did not agree. At least, I had never thought of it that way. I rated Priest and Old Barley meaner than me any day.
The Kid came up and joined us. He had been keeping a low profile lately. He seemed to be completely tied up inside himself. Ordinarily, he was our number-one showoff, our number-one mouth man.
I was at the end of the sail couch. He sat down beside me. Amazing.
I kind of liked the Kid. Really. He reminded me of myself when I was younger. But he had no use for me. I never understood, unless it was true that I looked like somebody he had hated before coming aboard.
"Hey, Bowman. What do you think?" he asked.
"Hunh? About what, Kid?" Why was he asking me? Anything.
"About this. About us coming back." He sat up, started making himself a fishing line of his own. He fumbled around. It was obvious that he had never fished in his life. I helped him get it right.
And I asked him why he was asking me.
"Because you're the smart guy now that Student's gone. Toke. Lank Tor. They're just zombies. And the Old Man wouldn't give me the time of day if I begged."
"Kid. Kid, I...." I let it drift off unsaid.
"What?"
I forced it. "I never much cared about anybody. But it hurts me to see you here, so young."
He looked at me strangely, then smiled. That smile was worth a ton of gold. "I earned it, Bowman."
"Didn't we all?" Mica mused.
"That we did," Priest declared. "The sins on our souls...." He shut himself off, said instead, "The question is, are we going to go right on deserving it?"
Mica got a bite. He hauled in another goddamned shark. This one was more cooperative. Or we had gotten better at handling them.