Sallivar made a face. “That’s a terrible mixed metaphor. Don’t let any Emerald grammarian hear you say things like that, Verice, or you’ll be the one facing a provincial rebellion here.”
Demansk chuckled. Sallivar was one of the few men close enough to him to use the Triumvir’s first name. He was also one of the few who didn’t hesitate to gibe at Demansk’s not-always-elegant use of language. It was part of the reason Demansk trusted him. That and, of course, the fact that if Demansk fell, Prit Sallivar would be dismembered by their mutual enemies within moments thereafter.
“Use the old man, Prit.” Then, scrambling the metaphor hopelessly: “He’ll turn the key in the lock for you.”
Sallivar’s face was now truly sour. “Turn it which way?” he demanded. “Will you please give up the bad poetry and speak in plain and simple prose.”
“Jeschonyk will keep the Council under control. He’s . . . not my man, no. But he’ll not wish to cross me in this. And since he’s not one of Willech’s creditors or debtors, he’ll have neither a personal grudge nor any need to act impartial in the matter. And you know how well he can give that ‘for the good of the Confederacy’ speech of his.”
“None better,” allowed Sallivar. He straightened up and squared his shoulders. Stretched them, rather. It had been a long planning session.
“All right, Verice. I’ll do my best. How soon?”
There was no humor on Demansk’s face now. “Tomorrow,” he said.
“Tomorrow?”
“Why wait?”
Chapter 12
“I can delay it for another hour,” said Thicelt tightly, peering at the vessel half a mile off from the stern of their ship. His eyes were squinted against the sun, which gave his huge-beaked face an even fiercer look than usual. “No longer than that. The wind’s not good enough to stay ahead of them before their rowers tire.”
Jessep Yunkers gave the pirate ship pursuing them a last glance and turned to Helga.
“It’s your decision, ma’am.”
Helga hesitated, not sure what to do. Then, an oft-repeated remark of her father’s came back to her.
“My father always said to rely on your First Spear’s advice when you were unsure of things. So—what is it?”
Jessep’s square face creased into a grin of sorts. He turned his head and studied the oncoming pirate vessel. Then, glanced at the sun and gauged its position.
“I can’t see any point in waiting.” He jerked a thumb at the soldiers of the hundred, who were lying down everywhere on the deck. Out of sight of the pirates in their low galley, true enough, but badly cramped. “Another hour of that, and they’ll be too stiff to get to their feet easily when the time comes. Best to do it quickly.”
Thicelt glanced at Helga. She nodded. Immediately, the ship’s captain began bellowing orders.
Part of the crew swarmed up the rigging and began bringing down the sail. Once that was done, they would see to the backbreaking and risky work of removing the mast. That was always done when a warship was heading into battle—at least, a warship armed with a ram—or the mast would snap off at the impact.
Meanwhile, obeying the new rhythm of the hortator at his wooden drum, the oarsmen began turning the ship. To the pirates pursuing them, it would seem as if the merchant ship was making a desperate attempt to ram them.
And desperate was the right word for it. Unless the pirates handled their ship incredibly badly, they should have no difficulty at all avoiding the clumsier demibireme’s assault. Although Helga’s was a warship of sorts itself, the pirate vessel was much more maneuverable in a single ship action. Typical of the type used by the freebooters along the coast, it was a light and shallow-draft pure galley. Very wide in proportion to its length, true, in order to accommodate the huge number of rowers aboard her. But still a much handier craft than its prey.
Sure enough, before Thicelt had even finished turning his ship Helga could hear the loud jeers of the pirate crew. There must have been some two hundred men aboard that low galley. Even across the distance—still perhaps four hundred yards—their voices carried well enough.