The Frost Child by Eoin McNamee Page B

was long and low and its sails were black and green, barely visible against the sky. She looked like a fast craft, he thought, about five times bigger than the Wayfarer , but she was moving slowly, often going crab-wise, as though there were problems with the steering. The Wayfarer was gaining fast. As he got closer he could see that the boat was slim, with two masts and a row of gun ports on either side. There seemed to be crewmen and -women working at the stern, with a man wearing a tall hat directing them. As the Wayfarer approached, Owen knew that the man had to have seen her, but he would not look
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    up. It was not until Owen drew alongside that the man finally glanced in his direction.
    "It's a stormy day to be out, traveler." His voice was deeply accented. He had sallow skin and dark hair, and there were both laughter and darkness in his deep-set brown eyes. He wore a long black leather coat, studded with rivets, against the spray, and a pair of goggles was tied around his hat. His crew wore similar coats in all sorts of shapes and colors. They had the same sallow skin, and they moved nimbly on bare feet.
    "Are you sinking?" Owen said, giving a nervous look around at the Harsh.
    "After you, that lot, are they?" the man said, not answering his question. "They don't like us too much either. Looks like we're both in trouble. But I got an idea."
    "What's that?"
    "I got the fastest ship in the seas of time, but my rudder's busted, and I can't steer. You can steer, but with respect to your pretty little boat, she won't outrun the Harsh."
    "What's your idea?"
    "Lash the two of them together. You can steer, and the Faltaine , which is my craft, can give us speed."
    Owen hesitated.
    "Make up your mind, son. If the Harsh close that circle on us, we're all done for."
    "Yes," Owen said. He didn't know if it would work or not, but he didn't have any other ideas.
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    The man smiled, showing brilliant white teeth.
    "Captain Yarsk."
    "My name's Owen."
    "Right, lads," the man shouted. The crew swarmed all over the Wayfarer with ropes and grappling hooks. The crew wore the same tall hats, men and women, and under their long coats they had black breeches stuffed into knee boots. In seconds the two ships were lashed together tightly.
    Owen didn't notice the slow withdrawal from the gun port nearest to him of a gun that had been pointed directly at his head. The port stealthily closed.
    With the two boats tied together, Yarsk began to bark orders. His crew swarmed up the mast, and new sails billowed from the spars.
    "Keep us pointed for that gap," Yarsk said. Up ahead the two lead ships had almost completed the circle, but there was still an opening between them. Owen could feel the Wayfarer begin to pick up speed. Within seconds they were tearing ahead. The tiller felt incredibly heavy with the weight of the larger ship attached, and it took all of Owen's strength to keep the boats aimed toward the gap. It was going to be close. Owen looked across at Yarsk. The tall man had lit a cigar and was puffing on it calmly.
    "We're not going to make it," Owen shouted. The stern of the Wayfarer was dug in, and the bow was so high he could barely see over it.
    "No, doesn't look good," Yarsk admitted, picking a
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    piece of tobacco leaf from his teeth. The two great ships ahead had lowered sails and were bow to bow. The boats were two hundred yards away, the ships gathered around them in a circle. The Wayfarer and the Faltaine were trapped.
    "Looks like we'll have to fight," Yarsk said. "Better if we cut you loose, boy." Before Owen could object, the Faltaine's sailors were onboard, cutting the ropes that bound the two vessels together. Meanwhile, the gun ports of the two Harsh ships in front of them fell open with an ominous clatter. The Faltaine 's gun ports opened as well, and Owen saw the polished barrels of her guns sliding into position.
    "Wait!" Owen shouted. They were still just out of range of the Harsh guns, but Owen knew that the