“Yes, sir,” Hal answered. He gave MacKinnie a quizzical look and turned back to his soldiers now turned afterguard. The ship was barely moving through the water now, the men straining at the oars, and Loholo stood silent with his hands on his hips looking at MacKinnie as if to say he had told him so.
“Put the helm over, Mr. Todd. Bring her four points to starboard.”
“Aye aye, sir. Helm’s to weather.”
The boat turned, and the wind caught the big sails and pushed them off to the right. “Trim those sheets,” MacLean ordered. “More. Bring them in. Strain, you blackguards. Belay. Mr. Stark, I’ll have the starboard leeboard down.”
The boat was skidding sidewise now, moving to leeward as fast as it was going ahead. The oarsmen struggled to keep steerage way, Loholo back to counting the pace when he saw no response from his silent appeal to MacKinnie. Stark cast off the line holding up the great fan-shaped leeboard, and the heavy wood splashed into the water. An iron shoe along its lower edge sank it quickly.
“Mr. Loholo, get those oars in,” MacLean ordered. “Quickly, man, and get your crew set.” The boat heeled sharply to a gust of wind, almost tumbling the starboard crewmen over the side. “Any man can’t stay aboard gets to swim ashore,” MacLean said. “Stark, get those jibs up.”
The gust heeled the ship, and the leeboard bit into the water. The boat began pulling ahead, slowly gathering way, until it was apparent that it was rushing along, faster than the oarsmen had been able to pull it, and still it gathered speed. A white, creamy wake appeared at the bow, and two quarter waves angled off from the stern. It seemed to MacKinnie that the wind picked up noticeably, and the boat was headed into it. Subao rose gently over the waves, rushing along until Loholo stood looking over the side with amazement before making his way aft.
“Yes, Mr. Loholo?” MacLean asked.
The former captain stood looking at his new master in silence, then brought his hand to his forehead in an awkward salute. “She’s faster than oarsmen have ever been able to push her, Captain. This may be the fastest ship on Makassar.”
“Let’s hope so, Mr. Loholo. Faster than the pirates, anyway. Get your men to lookout stations, if you please.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Loholo turned to his crew. “Banta, up those shrouds. Move along there, lad, and keep your eyes open. Fast as we’re going, we’ll be in pirate waters soon.” He strolled along the deck, expertly keeping himself erect, as he placed crewmen in the bow and sent the rest to the waist.
“How does she sail, Captain?” MacKinnie asked quietly.
“Well enough, Trader,” MacLean answered. “A little better to windward than I’d thought she might. Doesn’t point as high as a proper keelboat would, but with a full keel we couldn’t beach. As it is, we can go closer to the wind than anything the pirates have got. That’s how I expect to outrun them. They’ll have to use sweeps, and I don’t think they can catch us going to windward. We’ll leave the bastards behind … uh, your pardon, freelady.”
“Don’t apologize on your own ship, Captain MacLean. I think it’s wonderful what you’ve managed to do with this primitive boat.” She looked up at him, then at MacKinnie. “Can I get you anything, Captain? Trader?”
“Chickeest,” MacKinnie said. “If you can cook in this.”
“If she can’t we’ll have cold food the whole voyage,” MacLean snapped. “This is perfect weather, Trader. By afternoon we’ll face some real waves. I’m not looking forward to the tide either. You may not have noticed, but we had the aid of a strong tidal current going out. It should be even worse when it turns. Best get some practice in the galley now, freelady. Take young Brett down to help you.”
“All right, Captain,” She stumbled across the deck, looking for handholds, then let Brett take her arm to guide her to the companionway. The ship was heeling sharply, the deck standing at perhaps forty degrees off the horizontal.
It took her nearly half an hour to heat last night’s chickeest, and she spilled part of it bringing the pot and cups up to the quarterdeck, but Mary Graham seemed proud of her achievement even so. Now she had the same slightly green cast as Kleinst, and MacKinnie looked around to see the scholar grimly holding the rail and staring at the distant shore to starboard.
“Sail ahead,"the lookout called. “Two sails.”
Loholo scampered up the shrouds like a monkey, shading his eyes and staring off where the lookout pointed. He bounded down to the deck and trotted panting to MacLean. “Pirates right enough, off the port bow, Captain. Under sail.”
MacLean nodded. The pirates were to windward, using square sails to run down toward Subao. “Steady as she goes, Mr. Todd. Mr. Loholo, it might be best if you stood with Todd at the tiller. Steering to windward’s trickier than just watching the compass, and we’ll need more experienced helmsmen. Have you any of your crew who might have some ability?”
“None, Captain. They’re all landsmen. Willing lads, but no sea legs.”
“You’ll have to do it, then. Take your post, mister.” MacLean cupped his hands to shade his eyes and stood easily on the pitching deck. True to his earlier promise, the sea was running higher now, and Subao heeled farther, making it impossible for anyone but the three sailors to stand without something to hold on to.
“Best tack now and get sea room,” MacLean said. “Stark, get your hands to the jibsheets. The gaffs will take care of themselves. Snap to it, man, we haven’t all year.” Hal and his guards ran to the foredeck, motioning to some of the oarsmen sitting idle in the waist to join them.
“Stand by to let those sheets go,” MacLean shouted. MacKinnie was surprised to note that the Navy man’s voice carried easily into the wind, although Brett repeated the order from his post at the mizzen.
“Put her helm down, Mr. Todd.” The ship swung into the wind, through it, the booms snapping across the deck. One of Loholo’s men scrambled to get out of the way, flinging himself to the deck to allow the main boom to pass over him, while the quarterdeck crew, copying MacLean’s example, ducked low. The jibs backwinded, pulling the bow around. “Let go the jibsheets,” MacLean shouted. “Now trim them in on the port side. Snap to it. Man the leeboards! Smartly, men!”
The port leeboard was pushed down, and tackles strained to raise the starboard one. MacLean stamped with impatience until the task was done, then turned to MacKinnie. “She’s lively enough. Bit slow, easy to get caught in stays. If I end up out of action, remember that. Leave the jibs cleated until the bow’s well around, or you’ll be in irons.”
Nathan fervently prayed he would never have to work the ship himself. At least there was young Todd if MacLean were killed.
Now they were approaching the pirate ships rapidly, and the lookout called down, “Five sails beyond the two ahead, sir.”
“That’ll be more of the pirate fleet,” Loholo said. “Beg your pardon, sir, but the reefs are over there.” He pointed off to starboard and ahead.
MacLean nodded coolly. “We can’t make that course yet, Loholo. When we’ve sea room, we’ll try your advice.” He gauged the distance to the rapidly closing pirate vessels. As they watched, the enemy ships extended their oars, the sweeps working rhythmically, rippling down each of the vessels. The pirate ships were much like Subao had been before MacLean’s modifications, with more beam to weather storms in the shallow sea but generally resembling her. On the bow of each was carved one of the large tentacled creatures MacKinnie had seen in the water, the stays to the stubby masts running into the nest of arms which jutted forward and upward.