Piracy

50 miles off Vermar, 29th August 1083

Gilbert levelled a blade at the man's throat, and tried to offer him the option of joining the Qhal Company. However, a combination of the language barrier (Dormarans speaking Vadorn rather than Gilbert's native Dorlan), the continuing din of combat, and the defeated man's wounds and battle shock meant that he failed to understand properly what the Marmarkan said. Disgusted, Gilbert tied him up, kicked him, and went in search of other remaining authority.

*

Below, Mehmet had reached the lower deck by one of the companionways set either side about ¾ of the way to the stern. He found most of the lower deck given over to a large hold, stacked with barrels of cargo as well as slung with hammocks for the crew. A few experimental kicks at some of the barrels was rewarded with a heavy sloshing sound; rum with a bit of luck!

Leaving the cargo, he moved aft, to where a door in a bulkhead closed off what was obviously the captain's cabin. Unceremoniously smashing it in, he found himself in the commander's quarters.

*

Above, Percinious had quite literally stumbled on the defeated marine captain. Spotting straight away that he was a fellow half-blood, Nutbolter knelt down to talk to him. Having had more practice at pitching the idea of the Qhal Company, and given the advantage of sharing a language, he managed to persuade Eldathor to join the slowly-expanding force. "We have a choice what happens to us now, because we're qhal, rather than having things happen to us because we're qhal," he said. "You realize that there's no going back; your shipmates here are not going to want to know you after this." Eldathor looked around. "The future here doesn't look good," he said phlegmatically, "I have no problems. I'd shake, but I'm rather ... constrained," he added, shrugging his bound shoulders slightly. Nutbolter freed him, and Eldathor healed himself before shaking hands, and asking for his axe back.

*

Gilbert had located the first mate, the ranking officer left of the small crew, and presented him with a simple choice. "Let us rob you, show us where the valuables are, and we'll let you live and sail away afterwards," he said.

The first mate, a weaselly little man with a face damp with fear, understood this perfectly. He practically whimpered as he hurried to assure the hulking Marmarkan that he was more than ready to co-operate.

The cargo was largely foodstuffs, he pointed out, with some barrels of rum, but there were a hundred and eight bars of finest-grade weapon steel, very desirable. Pretty much everything else of value, and certainly any significant cash, would be in the strong-box, securely fixed to the bulkhead in the captain's cabin.

Gilbert made the man point out the captain's body, and rifled it for his keys ready to go and look for the strongbox. As he did so, however, Mehmet appeared from the companionway, lugging the strongbox as well as a significant amount of wood from where he'd ripped it off the wall.

Opening it with the keys, they emptied the contents, a bag of coin and a bracelet of forty-six fine pearls. Encouraged, all three went back to the captain's cabin for a better search, finally bringing their tally of loot to the following:

The harp attracted everyone's interest. Each in turn sat down and ran their fingers through the strings. Although the sound of the individual strings was sweet and pleasant, the total result was anything but tuneful, as none of them could play the harp in the first place. Everyone felt sure, though, that there was more to it than just a musical instrument.

Mehmet went back on deck and found the first mate. "Did the captain ever play that harp?" he asked. "Er, yes," answered the man, "sometimes he'd play it while making deals with traders, or while our cargomaster was ... that's him there ... and there ... and a piece over there...."

Descending again, he passed this information on, and Gilbert sat down and tried again, this time allowing a point of magical power to flow into the instrument. The results were startling. It sounded no different, but all of a sudden, everyone felt their mental equilibrium shift suddenly and unpredictably. Little spikes of joy, despair, anger, lust, hate prodded each of them and were gone again. Gilbert stopped playing; a mystery for another day!

As they organized their own crew to haul the loot and some extra supplies onto the raker, Gilbert asked a last question of the mate. "Any other ships in the vicinity you'd like to direct us to? Anyone that's swindled you recently you'd like to get even with?" An evil light kindled in the man's sharp eyes and he took Gilbert back down to the chart room.

Leaning over the charts covering the large table, his fingers stabbed down. "We're here," he said, "and we encountered the bastards here," as he traced back along the plotted line of their travel. "Their heading was this," a line was marked, "and I'd guess they'd be here by now," a final 'x'

The commanders of the Qhal Company squinted at the map. To most of them, it was just lines and squiggles, the same as captain Culran's maps. Gilbert, however, could make out what was meant, and picked up the chart with a grin.

Back on the raker, they handed the chart to Culran, who stared at it for a moment, eyebrows climbing, before striding to his chart table and laying the new map next to his own (or rather the deceased raker captain's). Now everyone could see it; there was simply no comparison - the new chart was vastly superior. When he heard that it was part of a complete set of charts, Culran insisted (not against any resistance at all) that they go back for the rest.

The battered, demoralized, wounded and bereft Dormaran crew were just getting things under control when the vast sides of the raker loomed over their vessel once more. Raw terror spread from face to face; "why have they come back?" on every lip. Bewilderment replaced terror as the powerful shape of Mehmet swung himself down onto the deck clutching a sheaf of charts, disappeared below, returned clutching a different sheaf of charts, and returned to his own vessel, which pulled away again. As the raker disappeared over the horizon, these were one group of sailors who were very likely to change jobs to be farmers as soon as they hit port.

Mid-ocean, between Volhowe and Neudorn, 2nd September 1083

A couple of days later, a dot on the horizon resolved itself into three squat single-masterd clinker-built Cormaran traders, lumbering along towards Neudorn. After a brief debate, the idea of trading with them was abandoned, and the raker moved up towards the formation as her crew wound the ballistæ.

Mehmet, Gilbert and Percinious had all hatched the desire to learn to operate the mighty siege engines mounted on the raker's decks, and so as the vessels closed, a volley of inexpert fire sent 6" wide bolts crashing into the sea all around the three traders.

The effect of this was actually beneficial; the three traders scattered, unable to tell which of them the fearsome Volhowan warship was actually firing at. Perhaps because of this, a few moments later Percinious got lucky and hit the mast of one exactly where the single boom was rigged, smashing the boom and dismasting the ship, which wallowed to a halt, completely crippled.

One of the other two veered off, plainly fleeing; the other turned to attack, armed men lining up on the deck and crossbowmen poised ready for their captain to get them close enough to shoot at the raker. Gilbert laughed, but in fact this was the best response available; there was no way tubs like these could outrun a raker - their only hope was to close enough that they could make a fight of it.

As the ships converged, Gilbert loosed another bolt, holing the Cormaran in the bow just above the waterline. The raker swept past at an angle, and as she left her failed attacker in her wake, Mehmet's bolt tore through her rigging. Crippled but still moving, she lurched away, and the raker heeled across and went off in pursuit of the craven trader.