Behind the gun crews, the officers and midshipmen acting as battery commanders were exactly spaced. The decks were cleared for action. Everything that could be disassembled was struck down into the hold. Scuttlebutts full of fresh drinking water were centrally located with dippers hanging from them. Roxy, the one-eyed old cook stood by with her mates, ready to refresh the scuttlebutts and to act as litter bearers. The upper and lower cabins were stripped of internal partitions and furniture so that the two 12-pounders in each cabin could be manned without obstruction.
High up in the rigging, the topmen stood with pistol and sword at their hips, ready to adjust sails, repel boarders, or attack the enemy rigging. On the upper side old Hans stood with the topmen. On the lower side the bosun did the same. Marine sharpshooters manned the crow’s nests. Gathered aft and beside the upper quarterdeck, Lieutenant Broadax and the remainder of her marines served as a ready reserve. In the same location on the lower side, Petreckski and a handful of purser’s mates stood with the two rangers, forming an additional reserve.
Their surgeon was moved down into the hold. The operating table, consisting of sea chests lashed together and covered with tightly drawn sailcloth, was centrally located beneath an expanse of radiant white ceiling. Dressings and coil after coil of bandages sat beside the leather-bound chains sometimes required to lash down patients. An array of grim saws, retractors, scalpels, forceps, trephines, catlings and other mysterious torture instruments were arranged with loving care by Mrs. Vodi. Elphinstone and Vodi both wore starched aprons, bib and sleeves, and white caps over their startlingly different dresses. one buttercup yellow and one drab black. Buckets and swabs waited in the corner. Buckets full of water to swab the decks when they became bloody, buckets full of sand to spread on the slick wet decks, and, most ominous of all, empty buckets to hold amputated limbs and body parts. Etzen and Brun, their two corpsmen, stood at the upper and lower hatches with their heavy aid bags, ready to provide immediate, lifesaving medical attention, and to direct the evacuation of the wounded.
Deep in the hold the carpenter and his mates formed a damage control party, standing by to provide repairs to the precious Keel, brace up structural damage, or to sally up and assist Hans or the bosun with repairs to masts, yards and spars.
By now almost every crew member, and most of the dogs, had a monkey. And most of the monkeys held a belaying pin. Even some of the Guldur crew members had been adopted by a monkey and they delighted in the little creatures, finding them to be in every way the opposite of the hateful little Goblan they’d been forced to carry into combat. The process of monkey procreation and reproduction was still a mystery, but everyone was happy to have them on board. The little spider monkeys all chittered apprehensively to themselves as combat approached, with heads pulled in and eyes peering out anxiously. Except for Broadax’s monkey, which chittered and screeched excitedly in a cloud of cigar smoke atop her helmet, flailing its belaying pin in intricate figure-eight and cloverleaf patterns with such speed and power that it hummed and whistled as it sliced through the air.
The dogs were excited and happy, pacing the decks like an eager bird dog that sees its master pull the shotgun from the rack on a crisp fall morning. The puppies were all gathered into the surgery, out of the way, but they looked for any opportunity to escape and join the fun. The cats also lingered in the hospital, curled up in corners or peering out from beneath bunks. They had absolutely no intention of joining in the dogs’ fun. An old, one-eyed, three-legged cat, down to his last life and his last ear, sat at Vodi’s feet and loudly, plaintively made the position clear. If the enemy boarded, and if they brought vermin with them, and if said vermin made it to the surgery, then and only then would the cats deem it their responsibility. They’d already participated in one boarding action, thank you very much, and that was enough for all nine of their lives.
During combat Melville’s place was on the quarterdeck with his coxswain, a quartermaster and two mates. Hargis, Melville’s clerk, was also there to time and record the battle, and little midshipman Ngobe served as a runner. On the lower quarterdeck Fielder commanded with his own quartermaster team, a clerk’s mate, and a midshipman. If anything happened to Melville, Fielder would take over. If both quarterdecks were wiped clean, Hans would drop down and take command until one of the lieutenants in command of a gun section could join him.
Prior to combat, as he was trying to assess the situation, Melville went up in the foremast crosstrees with Hans, where they engaged in quiet discussion and contemplation. It was bitter cold up at this height, and they were refreshed periodically by the devoted McAndrews, who came aloft carrying a stained tin pot of coffee slung from his teeth by a loop of cord. McAndrews’ monkey gripped his shoulder with six hands and carried the cream and sugar in the other two. ” ‘Offee shir,” said McAndrews through the cord as his head came up level with the crosstrees. Both he and his monkey were rolling their eyes in mute terror at the fall beneath them, and at the glare from Melville’s coxswain.
Melville’s new coxswain stood beside him in the crosstrees, balanced like a cat on the slim yard with one hand up in the rigging. Assigned to Melville by Hans, up until now the captain and his coxswain hadn’t worked together. The coxswain was a petty officer with other duties, who was pulled out to command the captain’s boat crew as needed, to serve as the captain’s personal bodyguard during combat, and to accept other duties as the captain saw fit. An ill-tempered, ill-faced, shrewish man named Ulrich, he was quick as a grasshopper and mean as a mantis. A perpetual suspicious expression was as much a part of his equipment as the pistols, knives, and a wicked little short sword that hung from his belt.
In private Hans confessed to one of his old petty officer cronies that, “I’ve never known a real rat-pizzened, murderous little killer of a hater who would talk like ‘at man, think like ‘at man, move like ‘at man, even shoot like ‘at man. ‘E’s tailor made ta save our innercent young captin’s life, dam me if ‘e ain’t.”
Melville was convinced that Hans had inflicted Ulrich on him as punishment for promoting the old CPO to “ossifer” rank. There were many angry men in the world. Fielder was angry when the world didn’t go his way, which was most of the time. Broadax was angry at the enemy, and let them know it. But Ulrich was just flat pissed at everybody and everything, and was itching for the opportunity to let the world know it. Fielder would run from a fight if he could. Broadax would run toward a fight whenever she could. Ulrich was the fight, and now he belonged to Melville, like a pet pit bull who couldn’t be trusted around the children.
Like the rest of the crew, Ulrich carried a monkey, but it seemed to be a mangy, discreditable, sullen example of the species, always looking suspiciously over its shoulder. His monkey carried a wooden belaying pin, which was now standard-issue. But this was the only monkey to also wield a small dagger, carried in one paw with an air of casual insolence that seemed to reflect its master’s attitude perfectly.
As they approached, they could see a widely spaced ring of Guldur 24-pounder frigates, Fang’s sister ships, firing into the melee from a distance. On the Guldur side the main battle was being conducted by a fleet of the curs’ 12-pounder frigates, which were poorly constructed versions of their old Kestrel. They were mixing it up with a combined Sylvan and Stolsh fleet defending the Pier. Once the defending fleet was finished, the 24-pounder frigates could move in and eliminate the 12-pound guns on the enemy Pier with impunity.
“Aye, Hans,” said Melville, handing his coffee cup down to be refreshed by McAndrews and sweetened by the steward’s monkey, “there is one serious battle brewing out there. We’ll cut through the gap between those two 24-pounder ships. I’ll delay raising our flag as long as I can. Once they fire at us we’ll hoist the Westerness flag and we’ll play long bowls with them. When we cut into the main battle I don’t think we can avoid a close-in exchange with those 24-pounder frigates that are engaging the Sylvans and Stolsh.” He flashed a feral grin as he continued, “We’ll see how they like those 24-pounders at close range. So, as soon as they open fire we hoist the colors and put up all sail.”