It was relatively easy to pick out the divisions between his and his "allies'-" galleys; theirs were the ones falling steadily farther behind. His own squadrons formed the vanguard, exactly as planned, although he was forced to admit that even their stationkeeping was far from perfect. His lead squadron was well in advance of his main formation, for example, and he shook his head.
Donyrt Qwentyn, Baron Tanlyr Keep, was an aggressive, thrusting officer, not the sort to let sailing conditions like these go to waste. Those qualities were to be encouraged, but Tanlyr Keep's disdain for what he considered Emerald's tardiness and lack of enthusiasm was only too evident, and his dislike for Corisande's traditional Chisholmian foes was equally pronounced. Which probably had something to do with the baron's determination to get his ships out in front and keep them there while he showed Mahndyr, Sharpfield, and their "laggards" how a real admiral did things.
Black Water had chosen him to command his own vanguard specifically because of those qualities, and Tanlyr Keep had responded by getting his ships to sea almost a full hour before dawn, well before anyone else had even cleared the breakwater. He'd opened the gap between him and the rest of the fleet steadily since then, and the hulls of his ships were only intermittently visible from deck level now.
Black Water made a mental note to discuss the concept of coordination and at least outward respect for allies with his subordinates. Not just Tanlyr Keep, either.
"I beg your pardon, Your Grace," a voice said, and he turned to find one of Corisande's lieutenants at his elbow.
"Yes?"
"Captain Myrgyn asked me to inform you, Your Grace, that Baron Tanlyr Keep is signaling that a sail is in sight to the southwest."
"Only one?"
"That's all the Baron has reported, Your Grace."
"I see."
Black Water considered for a moment, then shrugged. They knew Haarahld had been keeping scout ships spread across the approaches to Eraystor Bay. It was the only sensible thing for him to do, after all, and Black Water wouldn't be a bit surprised to discover he was using those infernally weatherly schooners of his for the task. If that was the case, no galley was going to catch one on a day with winds as brisk as today's, but that might not always be the case. For now, it was simply confirmation of what they'd anticipated all along.
"Thank the Captain for keeping me informed," he said.
"Of course, Your Grace."
The lieutenant bowed and withdrew, and Black Water returned to his earlier thoughts. He was tempted to signal the straggling components of "his" fleet to keep better station. The probability of any signal from him accomplishing any good, however, had to be weighed against the querulousness it would reveal. Nagging ineffectually at them to close up their formation would only make it more difficult in the long run to exercise effective command.
Whatever he might think of Sharpfield and Admiral Mahndyr, both of them were experienced men, he reflected. They had to be as well aware as he was of what they were seeing, and it would be far more effective to discuss that with them face to face than to fire off signals which probably wouldn't be obeyed, anyway. Assuming, of course, that their signal officers could even recognize them as signals in the first place!
He sighed and shook his head. No doubt this had all looked far simpler from the comfort of a planning session somewhere in the Temple.
* * *
Earl Lock Island stood in his chart room, contemplating the various ships' positions marked on the chart spread out on the table before him while he scratched his chin. His aide, Lieutenant Tillyer, stood quietly to one side, watching and waiting.
The earl gazed at the chart for several more seconds, his eyes focused on something only he could see, then nodded.
"I think it's time to go back topside, Henrai."
"Yes, My Lord." Tillyer reached the chart room door before the earl and stood aside, holding it open for his superior. Lock Island smiled at him and shook his head as he stepped through it, but the smile faded quickly as he climbed the short ladder to the aftercastle.
"My Lord!"
Captain Sir Ohwyn Hotchkys, Tellesberg's commanding officer, saluted as Lock Island appeared. The earl returned his salute a bit more casually, then gazed up at the masthead pendant.
"Any change in our friends' formation?" he asked.
"No, My Lord. Not according to the schooners' reports, at any rate."
"Good." Lock Island turned away from the pendant and smiled unpleasantly at the captain. "In that case, Ohwyn, I believe it's time to put your signal parties to work. Here's what I want to do. . . ."
* * *
"Pardon me for interrupting, Your Grace, but I think Baron Tanlyr Keep's sighted something else."
Black Water looked up from his belated breakfast as Sir Kehvyn Myrgyn stepped into Corisande's great cabin.
"What do you mean, 'sighted something else,' Captain?" the duke asked, chocolate cup hovering in midair.
"I'm not certain, Your Grace," Myrgyn said a bit apologetically. "He's shaken out the reefs in his squadron's sails, and he's gone to oars, as well."
"Did he make any signals at all?" Black Water demanded, setting the cup down.
"Not that we could make out, Your Grace. Of course, he's far enough ahead of us that he might have signaled something without our spotting it."
Black Water scowled and pushed his chair back from the table. He'd known Tanlyr Keep was edging steadily, if gradually, further and further ahead, but he hadn't expected the baron's squadron to get that far out in front.
He strode on deck, Myrgyn following at his shoulder, and climbed to the top of the aftercastle.
Tanlyr Keep's ships were completely hull-down over the horizon from Black Water's position on Corisande's deck. All the duke could see was their sails, and even they were dipping towards the hard, clear line of the horizon, but it was obvious the baron had, indeed, shaken the reefs out of his galleys' big, single square mainsails. With the wind out of the northwest, it was broad on Tanlyr Keep's starboard quarter, and he was taking full advantage of it.
"He's under oars, as well, Captain?" Black Water asked.
"Yes, Your Grace," Myrgyn confirmed, and the duke grimaced. That meant Tanlyr Keep was probably moving almost twice as fast as any of the rest of the allied force.
"Signal him to return to his station," he said.
"At once, Your Grace," Myrgyn replied, and turned to give the orders.
Another of the flagship's lieutenants sprang to obey the instructions, but Myrgyn's expression wasn't hopeful when he turned back to Black Water.
"He's far enough ahead I don't know if he'll even see the signal, Your Grace."
"I know." Black Water gripped his hands together behind him, rocking gently up and down on his toes while he considered. Then he looked astern, where the Emerald and Chisholm contingents had strayed even further out of position. Finally, he looked up at the sun.
The basic plan for today's sortie called for the fleet to return to its anchorage before nightfall. To do that, especially with the wind where it was, they were going to have to reverse course within the next three hours, at the outside. Given the speed Tanlyr Keep's squadron was making, Corisande and the rest of the Corisandian galleys wouldn't be able to overtake him, no matter what they did, and the baron knew when he was supposed to return to port.
The duke growled a silent mental curse. It was a comprehensive curse, directed at his laggardly allies, his . . . overly enthusiastic squadron commander, and at himself, for not keeping Tanlyr Keep's leash shorter. But curses wouldn't undo anything that had already happened. Signaling the baron to resume his station was all he could do, since he couldn't overtake Tanlyr Keep, anyway. And that being the case, he might as well do what he could to bolster his own reputation for phlegmatic confidence.
"Well, Captain Myrgyn," he said, after moment. "If he sees the signal, he sees the signal, and if he doesn't, he doesn't." He shrugged. "We'll be reversing course in the next few hours, anyway, and I still have an appointment with breakfast. If you'll excuse me?"
"Of course, Your Grace."
The captain bowed, and Black Water produced a confident smile as he headed back towards the breakfast which no longer seemed nearly so appetizing. But, appetizing or not, he intended to eat every last bite of it . . . and make certain everyone aboard his flagship knew he had.
* * *
"We've just received another signal from Commodore Nylz, My Lord," Lieutenant Tillyer said.
"Ah?"
Earl Lock Island looked up from the fried chicken he was hungrily contemplating. The fleet hadn't been at sea long enough yet for fresh food to become a dreamed of, unobtainable luxury, but no seaman worth his salt ever turned up his nose at a decent meal.
"Yes, My Lord. He reports that the squadron pursuing him is still overhauling. In fact, it's into long cannon shot."
"I see." Lock Island rose from the table and stepped out onto Tellesberg's spacious sternwalk. The railed platform ran the full width of the galley's high, ornate stern and wrapped around either quarter. The admiral stood for a moment, gazing up at the sky, gauging visibility and the remaining hours of daylight.
"I believe it's time, Henrai," he said, returning to the table and reaching for a drumstick as he seated himself once more. "Signal Commodore Nylz to engage at his discretion."
* * *
"My Lord, the enemy-"
Donyrt Qwentyn, Baron Tanlyr Keep, had been gazing astern, where the white sails of Duke Black Water's main body had disappeared into the whitecapped blue of the bay, while he wondered why the duke hadn't cracked on more speed in response to his own earlier signals. Now he wheeled towards the lieutenant who'd spoken just as a sudden dull thud sounded across the water. Sudden clouds of smoke from the sterns of the six Charisian galleys he'd been pursuing for the last several hours, and the white, skipping splashes of round shot plowing across the waves obviated the report the lieutenant had been about to make.
"Good!" the baron barked, and wheeled to Thunderbolt's commander. "It looks like they've figured out they can't get away, Captain. Now let's go get them!"
* * *
Commodore Kohdy Nylz watched critically as his stern chasers opened fire. Despite the whitecaps, it was easy to spot where the shots had plunged into the sea, quite close to their targets, and he nodded in satisfaction.
"I hope the gun crews remember to fire slowly," one of HMS Kraken's lieutenants murmured.
The commodore glanced at the youthful officer, but it was evident the lieutenant didn't realize he'd spoken aloud. Nylz considered replying to him anyway, then changed his mind. It would only embarrass the youngster, and the lieutenant hadn't said anything Nylz wasn't thinking.
His squadron had been selected for this particular maneuver because its artillery had been improved considerably. When Prince Cayleb and Admiral Staynair concentrated their efforts on the most advanced galleons, work on less advanced ships had been temporarily abandoned. The guns for some of those incomplete galleons had already been delivered, however, and Earl Lock Island and King Haarahld had seen no reason to leave them sitting uselessly ashore in an arsenal somewhere. Which meant Kraken and the other five galleys of her squadron had traded in their old-fashioned guns for the new-model weapons, with long krakens mounted fore and aft and carronades replacing falcons on their broadsides.
If everything went according to plan, the ten Corisandian ships pursuing him were going to find out about that shortly, but it wouldn't do to alert them too soon.
The commodore looked astern at his enemies, and his smile turned nastier as he thought about what was coming up from the east-southeast under oars alone.
* * *
"We've got the bastards now!" Tanlyr Keep exulted.
The Charisian galleys had obviously been assigned to keep a protective eye on their scout ships in case Duke Black Water had decided to send out a few fast ships of his own to pounce upon them. But the "protectors" clearly hadn't realized the allied fleet was actually at sea. They'd continued towards him, as if seeking to make positive identification, until he'd managed to close to within no more than ten miles.
They'd turned to run then, but one of them had suffered damage aloft making the turn. It looked as if her weather sheet had carried away, and her single big sail had flogged and flapped furiously for several minutes before her crew had been able to get it back under control. That had cost her precious speed, and his own ships had charged forward in pursuit.
Her consorts, instead of abandoning her to her own resources, had reduced speed to stay in company with her. They shouldn't have. The six of them were each individually bigger than any of Tanlyr Keep's ships, but he had ten galleys to their six, and heavy drafts from the Corisandian Army had been put aboard to serve as marines. More than that, his ships' smaller size made them faster under oars.
He'd taken advantage of that, going to the sweeps and adding their power to the power of his ships' sails, and the gap between him and the fleeing Charisians had slowly but steadily narrowed. Now it was time to—
"Deck, there!" The shout echoed down from the crow's-nest atop the mast. "More ships, bearing east-southeast!"
Tanlyr Keep froze, staring up at the lookout.
"I make it at least fifteen galleys!" the seaman shouted down. "They're coming up fast under oars!"
* * *
"Ah, they've seen the Earl!" Commodore Nylz observed as the galleys which had been pursuing him so doggedly suddenly wavered in their steady course. They were swinging wildly around, turning back up to the north, but that took them almost directly into the wind.
"Turn us around, Captain," he said to Kraken's commander.
* * *
"It looks like it worked, My Lord," Captain Hotchkys observed.
"So far, at least," Lock Island agreed.
The pursuing Corisandian galleys had dropped their masts. Lock Island's own ships had been waiting with their sails already down while Commodore Nylz' squadron baited the trap. With their sails and yards sent down to leave only their bare, white-painted masts, Lock Island's twenty-four galleys had been far harder to spot; indeed, they'd been effectively invisible at any range much over ten miles or so. And, as Lock Island had anticipated, the Corisandians' attention had been focused upon their intended prey. No one had even noticed him until he'd closed to a range of less than seven miles, sweeping in on the Corisandians from their eastern flank.
