The men would be fine. When they finally got back to Calphoris, they would be shore-bound for a while, but would eventually be assigned to another vessel. Ghassan, on the other hand, would be disciplined very heavily for his actions. In ordinary circumstances, he would probably be retired from service. There were, after all, extenuating circumstances; the crew would be able to confirm that the ship had been sabotaged by Asima prior to the Dark Empress’ arrival, but that would not be enough now. The Imperial navy was new here. It had been decades since the Empire had had control over the ships of Calphoris and now, within a few weeks of the transfer of power, Ghassan had lost their most notable vessel, more or less the flagship of the Calphorian fleet. Moreover, he had lost it to the very man he had been assigned to hunt down and remove and in the process he had lost a cargo that the lesser governor in M’Dahz had entrusted to him.
No, things would not go well for Ghassan.
He watched the low, sandy coast of the island slide toward him. Pelasian territory. This would be the first time in his life he had set foot on Pelasian soil, though he had brought destruction to their navy for many years. How did the Pelasians feel toward the Imperial military now? They had no reason to feel animosity, but that hardly mattered.
They would have to argue, persuade, beg, and possibly even barter, transport on Pelasian fishing boats to get to the mainland; to attempt to row that far in the lifeboats was unthinkable madness. Failure would mean being trapped on an island in Pelasia indefinitely, at which point they might as well settle there and fish for a living.
For a moment the need to fulfil his duty wavered in the face of the attractive proposition of a quiet life of fishing on an island far from what he considered ‘civilisation’. It had a lure, he had to admit.
He took a deep breath. Even if they could make their way from settlement to settlement along the chain of islands, they would arrive in Pelasian territory and have to make their way along the coast back to Imperial lands. The journey would take weeks at best, more likely months… and, of course, it was entirely possible they would never make it back.
His mind latched on to M’Dahz for a moment. Every time he went to the town of his birth it was a disaster. Their youth had seen earth-shaking events that had almost broken them all. Then, after decades away, he had returned with a naval commission, only to take on a cargo that had ruined his career and almost cost him his life.
But now, if he managed to get back to Imperial territory, he would have to stop there first to inform the local governor that Asima had been taken by pirates. Even though the governor knew little of her and probably cared less, the news would not likely be welcome.
Sighing, he turned to the sailors under his command.
“Alright, men. We’ve no ship and we’re refugees in foreign waters right now, but remember that you’re men of the Imperial navy, and the Pelasians are now our allies. When we land, you will treat anyone you should meet with respect and we will maintain military order. Once we reach the shore, beach the boats, carry all the goods we have ashore and make an equipment store. I want two foraging parties to search out fruit, game and fresh water.“
He straightened, the familiar mode of speech of a captain in command returning to him.
“Everyone else needs to set up camp just back from the beach. We’ll need to gather wood and get a fire going, and construct some sort of shelter. We may be there a few days before we can move on.”
He cast his eyes across the crew, wishing Samir had left them a few weapons.
“As soon as we’ve landed I will take a small party with me along the coast until we find the nearest village, and try to negotiate passage toward the mainland. Is that all clear?”
There was a low murmur among the crew.
“Did I hear something?” Ghassan barked. “Are my orders clear?”
Silence reigned.
Ghassan glowered at the men in his boat.
“Does anyone have something to say?”
The was a pregnant pause, and then a burly man squared his shoulders. Ghassan eyed him thoughtfully. Caro, his name; an oarsman who had been on that bank of oars that Samir’s artillery had targeted. While there were no marks on him, he had likely been sat in the centre of hell this morning as men burned and were smashed to pieces around him.
Ghassan was surprised that he hadn’t seen this coming, but then he’d had rather a lot on his mind. There was a word for this in the navy.
“Mutiny, mister Caro? Is that it?”
“You c’n call it that sir, if you want. But the way I look at it, we’ve no ship and we ain’t in Imperial waters. I ain’t in the mood to take orders, right now, see sir? And I don’t think many of the lads are neither.”
Ghassan nodded.
“So what’s this to be? A direct takeover? Will you be the new captain or is this to be a democracy? If the former, I hope you have your plans ready.”
Caro growled.
“’S not funny, cap’n. As of now we ain’t navy no more. No one’ll hurt you, long as you sit there quietly and don’t get in the way.”
Ghassan gazed levelly at the man. He was an oarsman, not a marine; burly and big but not trained to fight. Ghassan, on the other hand, had had more than his share of brawls.
“It doesn’t matter whether we’re floating on a tray in the underworld, you’re still a sailor in the Imperial navy, Caro. Sit back, grab the oar and get ready to row and I’ll forget I ever heard the word mutiny.”
Ghassan almost laughed as the other twenty or so occupants of the large boat shuffled backwards as much as possible to be out of the way of this potential clash. There was precious little room to stretch in here, and yet somehow they managed to open a clear passage between the two men. Duty brought responsibility… and one responsibility was to keep the crew together and under the chain of command.
Caro leaned forward and cracked his knuckles.
“Don’t push it, cap’n. We don’t wanna hurt you. Just sit quiet and relax.”
Ghassan straightened.
“Very well, Mister Caro. I hereby officially charge you with attempted mutiny and have no choice but to bring you before the authorities on our return, if you survive that long.”
The oarsman rumbled deep in his throat.
“I ought to…”
Ghassan cut him off with a shout.
“You ought to what, mister Caro?”
He nodded inwardly as he watched the man reach down to one of the supply crates wallowing in the bottom of the boat. Predictably, Caro wrenched at the crate’s lid and tore a short length of wood from it, gripping it tight enough that his knuckles whitened.
Ghassan treated him to a smile. This was a critical moment. To lose now was to lose everything, but to win in the wrong way would be to cause anger and resentment and to invite further challenges. He sized the man up. Caro was big and strong, and any blow by the man would hurt tremendously, but would be wild and fuelled by frustration and anger. Ghassan had the luxury of already knowing what he needed to do and how to bring that about. He smiled as he looked at the man’s face, those dark eyes glowering under a heavy brow. The oarsman’s hair was short, as was his beard, but one eyebrow ran along the ridge above his nose… a nice, straight nose.
He hated to lose people, but better one than all.
“Why’re you smilin’?” the man asked uncertainly.
“Because I know something that I believe you do not, mister Caro. And because of that, I give you one free shot. Make it count, as, if you can put me down with that shot, the crew is yours.”
As he finished speaking, he shuffled forward into the space between the crew and held his arms out level from his shoulders. Caro stared at him.
“Changed your mind, sailor?” Ghassan asked lightly.
The man flared for a moment and launched his attack, just as Ghassan had hoped. He had goaded the man into wasting his opportunity. The blow was heavy, as Caro swung the plank, angling the makeshift weapon so that it landed with the edge rather than the flat. Ghassan felt bones break: probably two ribs, but maybe even three. This had better settle things, as he’d be in a bad state to deal with anyone else afterwards.