Part of Joron expected Gavith to loose immediately, and bow three did. The bolt went high, but a roar went up from Tide Child as it cut a swathe through the busy deck of the nearest flukeboat, women and men being tossed overboard, some whole, some in parts. But Joron knew it was a wasted shot.
Tide Child hit a wave, the swelling water lifting Joron’s side of the ship so the bows pointed skyward. For a moment Joron stared along the shaft of the bow at clouds, then Tide Child rolled back down and the mast of the flukeboat came into view. Then the deck covered in furious faces. Then, at what to Joron felt like the lowest point of the ship’s roll, Gavith’s arm jerked back, and he heard the deep basso groan of the bow releasing. Joron’s heart sank for he was sure the boy had missed, the bolt vanishing into the water with barely a splash. A moment later the final bows loosed, their bolts smashed into the hull of the same flukeboat, tearing great holes in it, but too far above the waterline to sink it.
“Spin!” shouted Joron, and the process started again.
At the same time Meas shouted, “Hold on. I’m bringing him about!” A momentary gale blasted the ship, his ears hurt, and the huge jointweight of bone that made up Tide Child started to swing round in the water. As he did, Joron saw that Gavith had not missed at all. He had holed the flukeboat below the water, and the boat was slowing, the front of it dipping to bring the other holes in its hull below the waterline. The boat began to list, the faces which had screamed in fury now screamed in panic. Arrows cut through the air from Tide Child’s rigging.
“Hold with the bows!” shouted Meas. “Those women and men are already lost.”
Three boats now remained. Tide Child came round to bring the bows to bear on them as the landward bowteams wound and loaded.
Meas ran down the deck. “Same as the landward bows. Aim for the waterline! Sink them if you can.” Tide Child was still leaning into his turn; Joron’s bowteam stared at the water while the seaward teams stared into the sky. “Hold with the wind, Gullaime!” shouted Meas, and the Gullaime dropped to the deck. The sudden gale died away. The ship straightened on the sea as Joron turned to watch the seaward teams loose their weapons.
Thruum!
Thruum!
Thruum!
Screams but no roar of joy at a boat being sunk. Arrows flew from the rigging.
“Give me a breeze, Gullaime!” shouted Meas, and again the ship heeled round, pushing away a huge wave as the three boats closed on Tide Child. Joron expected the ship to come full about so he could aim his bow, but Meas stopped the wind before this. “No time for a second shot,” she shouted. “Coughlin, be ready to earn your passage.” Meas ran back to take her place before the rumpspike and shouted. “Bows, swing for’ard and loose when you have a target.” Then she smiled and glanced up into the rigging.
Something changed.
There was a moment of stillness in the battle, as if all knew what Meas was about to say and longed to hear it.
“Full wings,” she said, then raised her voice. “Get up in the spines and unfurl me the wings, you layabouts! Gullaime, give me the best speed you can!” Then she added, quite calmly but loud enough for all to hear, “Barlay, aim our beak at those approaching boats.” She reached up, straightening her two-tailed hat. “Since they have seen fit to get in our way, we shall smash them out of it.”
Tide Child leaped forward, and if Joron had not been grabbed by Anzir he would have sprawled on the decks – many others did. A scream echoed across the water, quickly stopped by the sickening sound of a body hitting slate as a deckchild lost their footing in the rigging and fell to their death. Then Meas was screaming at them, “Brace! Brace!” Joron grabbed the legs of the gallowbow along with Gavith. Behind them Anzir grasped the rail.
And Tide Child ground into the leading flukeboat. There was a huge groan as the ship’s forward momentum was checked – but only momentarily – and then a terrible rending as the sharp beak and hull of the boneship ripped apart the far more fragile flukeboat.
A moment of quiet aboard.
Shock at the sudden violence.
Then bows loosed and Joron heard screams. Grapples, soaring over the rail. Two, three, four came aboard and were quickly, and professionally, pulled tight.
“Axes!” yelled Joron, and he pulled his curnow to hack at the rope attached to the grapple nearest to him.
“Coughlin, bring up your men!” shouted Meas. “All hands to repel boarders!” Arrows whistled down from the rigging as the first raiders clambered over the front rails.
“D’keeper!” shouted Gavith, “D’keeper, move to the side! D’keeper!”
Joron looked round to find the gallowbow aimed directly at him. He ducked aside as Gavith got into the firing position. Joron’s mind lagged. Only at the last second did he realise what the boy meant to do. The great bow was aimed at the flukeboat that was making itself secure against Tide Child, its crew pushing and shoving each other to be the first to scale the boneship’s spiked side. Joron had not realised how much bigger this boat was than the others, sixty aboard at least.
“I’ll stop ’em!” shouted Gavith. “Hag can have ‘em.”
“No!” Joron dived forward, his shoulder hitting the bow and pushing it to the side just as it fired. The bolt ripped past the flukeboat and punctured only the sea, which did not care. One of the bow arms caught Joron a glancing blow on the back of the head, and he fell forward, his hip hitting the rail, and only Anzir’s strong arm stopped him going over into the ever-hungry sea, or the arms of the raiders below.
“Not you too,” she grunted, pulling him back, but he was dazed, unsure of what she said. So much noise, so many people shouting.
“Not me too?” he mumbled.
“Soffle went into the sea when we hit. Lost ’im,” she said.
“Why did you stop me?” shouted Gavith. His eyes widened as he realised who he screamed at and he added more quietly, “D’keeper.” He bowed his head. “Sorry, D’keeper, but I could have sunk ’em.”
“You could,” said Joron as he tried to pull himself to his feet. The world spun around him. “Sunk a ship tied to us,” he said, “and maybe dragged us down with it.” He screwed his eyes shut. Shook his head. Winced at the pain. Then opened his eyes and looked around.
All the action was currently at the rump. He may not have liked Coughlin, but he and his men were fighting with a rare fury while Meas and a group of deckchilder held the landward side of the ship. The attackers’ numbers were of no help to them at the moment as they could not get enough of them on board. All was noise. Screaming. Shouting. Swearing.
A face peered between the uprights of the rail. Anzir shot it with a crossbow.
“They’ll be coming over our rail soon,” she said.
“Call Farys and the underdeck bowteams up here.” His world was a little clearer now.
“You needs be with the hagshand,” said Anzir. “Head wounds can be bad, D’keeper.”
“No,” he said and pulled himself up. He took the small crossbow Meas had given him and loaded it, then unhooked his curnow. “I’m not that eager to die.”
Joron pulled Gavith away from a grabbing arm and put a crossbow bolt into the face of its owner. She fell back in the silence of the dead, but she was only the first raider to come flooding over the rail in a wave of naked flesh painted with the Hag’s face in the hope it would keep them from harm. More hands, more faces. Joron hacked at them, joined by Gavith and Anzir and the rest of the landward bowteams, but they were not enough. More raiders swarmed over the rail, forcing Joron and those around him back. Then the underdeck bowteams appeared from below with a great shout, throwing themselves into the fray, and Joron found himself part of a wall of women and men, hacking with curnows and axes, stabbing with wyrmpikes and hooking with gaffs and poleaxes.