“No wonder Gretchen told me you are all heretics,” Lucinda murmured. “This is blasphemy almost as astounding as the Jacobites’.”
He smiled. “It is not blasphemy if it is what you believe to be true,” he said mildly. “And, as you can see, it is a philosophy that makes it very easy to accept the idea that Yovah is in fact a machine. A starship, if you will. With no other power than that bestowed upon it by men.”
“And is that what you believe?” she asked.
He spread his hands in a considering gesture. “I am not entirely convinced,” he said. “I think it is a possibility. I think, technologically and mathematically, it could be true. But I am not completely willing to give up the idea of my personal god, standing so close to my homeland that he can cool it with his breath or wet it with his tears. I would be sad to lose Yovah as a god. But I would not be as sad as Bael.”
“But you think it is possible? You truly do? That men could have created something so complex, so wonderful, that for centuries it could imitate the functions of a god?”
“Yes,” he said. “I truly do.”
“Then I must learn more about these Jacobites,” she said.
He laughed, obviously surprised. “So you are not offended? Horrified? Shocked? I thought you would be.”
“I have not been raised among the holds,” she reminded him. “I do not know what it feels like to be an angel who is revered by the common men. I have learned to pray to Jovah, true, and I have had him respond, but no one but me was much impressed. I have always thought he was my god. And I would be sorry to lose him. But I think I would be more sorry not to know the truth.”
“Then,” Reuben said, “I have something interesting I should show you.”
But he never got a chance. At that moment Michael shouted to him from the stern, and Rico (or Joe) called to him from belowships. “Looks like I’m wanted,” he said, and spared a moment to give her a final smile. “We’ll talk more later.”
She knew she should retire to her cabin and keep out of the way of whatever emergency was occurring, but curiosity sent her following Reuben, a few discreet paces behind. Still shouting, Rico erupted from the galley hatch and raced toward the main mast. He flung himself on it and started to frantically climb the knotted ropes to the top. Lucinda stared in amazement. Just then, she felt a sudden thump and roar beneath her, and the ship lurched forward with such abruptness that she almost lost her balance. Someone had deployed the engine. Rico had made it halfway up the main mast and began calling numbers down to his crewmates. Joe and Michael and Reuben were hauling down sails, coiling ropes, and shouting directions to each other so rapidly that Lucinda could not keep track of who was where or what they said. Maurice apparently was still in the bridge, guiding the boat forward, though it began a disorienting weave from side to side just as it picked up speed. She hoped he was in the bridge, and that they hadn’t just suddenly run amok.
Someone grabbed her arm from behind, and she almost screamed. “Get belowdecks,” Michael ordered. “Now!”
“What’s happening?”
“Jansai. Get below!”
“Jansai?” she cried, but he had left her; he was running across the deck shouting something unintelligible to Reuben. Lucinda stood immobile, uncomprehending, feeling the deck shake beneath her feet as the engine revved to a higher pitch. She could see the bow lift a little against the rocking sea as the ship pushed its way more forcefully through the uncooperative water. Every separate plank and nail seemed to tighten against the strain, to grow sleeker and more sheer, as the ship cut through the water with ever-increasing speed. And yet, Lucinda felt panic rising from the men around her. It was not fast enough.
There was another great boom, louder and more distant, and she whirled to see what had caused it. Something huge dropped into the ocean twenty feet away, sending up a spray of water so broad that she was completely soaked. She wiped her eyes impatiently and stared. So close she could not believe she had not seen it before, a second ship was veering toward them across the waves. Like the Edori vessel, it had dropped its sails, so it must be moving under outside power. It was bigger than The Wayward and painted a cobalt black, hard to see against the waves, particularly at night. No flag flew from its highest mast, but it was not difficult to identify its origin: Breven.
A Jansai ship was firing on The Wayward.
A second time she heard that buried explosion, only this time she saw the cannon on board the Jansai ship glow with fire a moment before the heavy ball arced across the water. Again, the shot fell short; again, Lucinda and the whole deck of The Wayward were drenched with seawater. The Jansai ship kept coming at an alarming pace, angling across the water to intersect with the Edori vessel. Maurice had altered their course, and the whine of the engine continued to increase as The Wayward went faster and faster, but it seemed only too obvious that the Edori boat had been caught unaware and could not correct for disaster in time.
Someone grabbed Lucinda violently from behind, and she was whirled around to face Reuben’s angry eyes. “I thought you were told to go belowdecks!” he shouted over the roar of the engine. “Do it! Go!”
“I want to help!” she shouted back. “How can I—”
He wasted no more time on words. Heedless of how he handled her wings, he spun her with his hands and hustled her across the deck toward the ramp to the lower levels. She tried to protest and she tried to resist, but he was impatient and furious, and he nearly shoved her through the narrow door. She felt her feathers scrape agonizingly against the tight frame, and she allowed herself to be pushed through rather than suffer further injury. Under her own power, she completed the climb down, then stood for a moment in the hallway, indecisive.
There was another cannon shot, this one sounding more muffled because she was belowdecks; the whole ship rocked with the force of the waves kicked up by the ball as it hit the water. Lucinda heard a helpless shriek coming from the cabin next to hers, and rushed down the hall to see what she could do for Gretchen.
Her aunt was standing at the edge of her bunk, one hand splayed against the wall, and her face completely colorless. “Sweet Jovah save us!” she exclaimed when Lucinda burst into her room. “Is there a storm?”
“There’s a Jansai boat coming up—we didn’t see it in time,” Lucinda said, hurrying to her aunt’s side. “We’re trying to outrun it. You might be safer sitting down. Or lying down.”
“Merciful god!” Gretchen cried. “Jansai! Attacking us? Whatever for? Will we all be killed?”
“I hope not,” Lucinda said. “Please, you must be calm, there is nothing you can do—”
“We must make this boat go faster! We must escape them!”
“Maurice is trying, I believe. Reuben says Edori boats are faster than Jansai ones, and we should be safe, but apparently we didn’t see this one coming until it was almost too late—”
“Jovah, Jovah, Jovah, merciful Jovah,” Gretchen moaned, obeying the urging of Lucinda’s hands and collapsing onto the bed. “I cannot believe this is happening. Jansai attacking. We will all be killed, I know it. We will all be drowned.”
“I hope not,” Lucinda said again. But the words were barely out of her mouth when another explosion was followed, seconds later, by the crashing noise of a cannonball connecting with wood. There was a terrible sound of rolling thunder overhead as boards were splintered and masts were struck and boxes were knocked askew. Gretchen screamed. Above them, the hoarse shouts of the Edori men tallied the damage and estimated their chances. They sounded afraid, Lucinda thought; and she grew even more frightened.
“But why are they attacking us?” Gretchen demanded again. “What have we done?”
“They think there are Jacobites aboard,” Lucinda said absently.
“Jacobites,” Gretchen repeated numbly. “Why would we— and even if—dear god, if they but knew. Not Jacobites aboard this ship, but an angel. If Bael finds out—ah, dear god, dear god—”
She went on this way for some tim
e, but Lucinda had stopped listening. Yes, indeed, an angel aboard; and Bael would not like it at all if he found out.
“Stay here,” she said suddenly to her aunt, and slipped from the room. She ran down the short hallway and up the cramped stairway, hoping no one was close enough to notice her in time to stop her. Up on the deck, the air was acrid and thick with smoke, and the Jansai ship had drawn frighteningly close. The noise—the engine, the shouting, the whining of every timber— was incredible. Lucinda felt her eyes water and impatiently shook her head. She must see clearly. She must think clearly.
She had heard one ball land; she looked around for it. Not hard to follow its erratic trail of destruction—and there it was, fetched up against a toppled stack of crates not ten yards from where she stood. She darted across the deck to retrieve it, knowing that the instant she went into motion, a crew member would notice her. She was right. Someone shouted her name just as there was another boom, a singing whine, and a terrifying crash as a cannonball plowed through the wall of the captain’s bridge. She heard Maurice cry out, and she saw, from the corner of her eye, Reuben running her way across the deck. She scooped up the spent ball and flung herself aloft.
It was much heavier and much hotter than she had imagined, and she almost dropped it on both accounts as she drove her wings hard against the smoky air. But she adjusted quickly for the weight, and she would not be holding it that long. She attained an extremely low cruising altitude, and circled once above the Edori ship.
Faintly below her, she could hear more shouting—coming from The Wayward, coming from the attacker. She could see— or, from this distance, imagined she could see—the Jansai crowded together at the railing of their warship, pointing at her, calling out to their comrades, “Do you see? Do you see? An angel aboard that vessel!” That should give them reason enough to pause, and so she hovered above the Edori ship, her wings spread as wide and steady as they would go, allowing the afternoon sunlight to turn her feathers golden and halo her yellow hair. If they were really tracking Jacobites, they should abandon their pursuit now, for surely they wouldn’t believe that angels and rebels would travel in peace together on the same ship.
But the Jansai boat did not slacken its pace. Maurice, she was glad to see, had not slowed The Wayward just because she had left it, and it seemed to her that, imperceptibly, the Edori ship was drawing ahead. The Jansai still followed, and she saw the red glow of their braziers heating up for another round of cannon fire. So she shifted her position and beat her wings against the sullen air, and attained an altitude so high above the warship that she could barely make out its dark colors. And then she opened her hands and let the cannonball fall.
She could hear the mighty crash of its arrival, the thunderous reverberations as it tore through the deck and tunneled through the hull and fell with a great splash into the sea. She had aimed just right; it had smashed through the edge of the stern and ripped away a good chunk of the planking, and even now the cold, excited water must be rushing in on two levels. She balled up her fingers, which felt taut and crackled from the heat they had absorbed, and slowly spiraled down for a better look.
Yes, the Jansai ship had stopped moving and all hands appeared to be furiously attempting to repair the damage. The Wayward had pulled another hundred yards away. Lucinda flapped her wings lazily and regained a little of her altitude, slowly pursuing. It felt good to fly, to unfurl her clenched wings and feel the thick, viscous ocean air lay its cushions under her feathers. She would follow from the air for another hour or so, watching out for other Jansai warships and enjoying a little exercise. By the time she landed, surely Reuben would have lost some of the fury she was absolutely certain he was feeling. Aunt Gretchen she could handle; but the Edori’s wrath was not something she wanted to face immediately.
As it turned out, Reuben had had other things to worry about than the angel’s dangerous maneuvering. The cannonball that had struck the bridge had sent glass and twisted metal spraying through the small chamber, and Maurice had been hit by flying timbers. He was unconscious and bleeding, and there was grave doubt about his chances for survival.
Gretchen, who had always been a competent nurse, had assumed the chore of caring for the captain. Given a compelling task, she had managed to overcome her seasickness and resume some of her usual brisk efficiency, and she already had Joe and Rico running errands and fetching supplies for her. When they were not aiding her, they were helping Michael repair the most extensive damages to the ship. Reuben had climbed into the shattered bridge and taken over the task of piloting the ship.
That left the galley to Lucinda. The space was cramped but orderly; if she did not turn too swiftly from table to grill, she could reposition her wings without knocking anything from the countertops. She was an adequate cook, not an inspired one; she knew how to prepare a meal for three or thirty, but it wasn’t a job she sought out. Still, everyone else was obviously occupied, and this was something she could do, and so she went to work willingly.
Michael, Joe, and Rico were surprised and grateful when she called them down for the meal, though they waved off her offers of any further assistance. “Help your aunt with the captain,” Michael said. “That’s about all you can do.”
“Well, and I’ll clean up here. And make breakfast in the morning. How long before we make it to Angel Rock?”
Michael looked somber. “If we keep the engine running, we could be there before dawn. But the cannon fire did some damage and I’m not sure how well the engines will hold up. Might be best to drift in under the sails. We’re still deciding.”
“We don’t have much of a harbor at Angel Rock,” she, said, “but there is a yard where you can do repairs—”
Michael nodded. “We know it We’ll be there a day or two, most likely. But we’ll be limping into port, I’m thinking.”
He didn’t say that they were in any immediate danger of shuddering apart here in the middle of the cold ocean, so she didn’t let herself think about the possibility. Much. She of course could fly to safety in a couple of hours, but how could she leave these six behind to drop slowly, inexorably, into the hungry waters? If she knew they were in danger, she could rescue them, one at a time, fly first Gretchen then Maurice then Reuben then the others to Angel Rock or some closer haven, but it would take time, hours and hours, so she would have to know in advance in order to save them all…. But they were not in any danger, they just had to be careful. By tomorrow they would be home.
She took a plate of food down to Gretchen, who was nursing the captain in his own spartan cabin. “How is he?” she asked.
“Cold and in pain. I think it’s best not to give him anything to eat right now. I think he may have a concussion.”
“The food was for you,” Lucinda said gently.
Gretchen looked at her blankly for a moment. “Oh. I see. Thank you. Yes, I believe I am hungry.”
Lucinda couldn’t help smiling. Her aunt was difficult, opinionated and stubborn, but she was so strong. Whatever the crisis, she had the skills to rise to it, and forget her own illnesses and fears. A month ago Gretchen never would have admitted that she could be so absorbed in nursing an Edori to health that she would forget her own bodily needs. But Lucinda was not surprised.
“Do you need anything else? I’m going to take dinner to Reuben now.”
“No, I believe I’ve got everything I need. Check with me again in an hour or two.”
“I will.”
Finally, Lucinda prepared a plate for Reuben and climbed from the galley to the deck to the bridge to deliver it. In the moonless dark, it was something of a trick to clamber over the disordered deck and into the ravaged bridge, careful not to tear her skin or her clothes or her wings on the sharp edges of splintered wood and ripped metal. The bridge, always small, was even more cramped now as planks lay across its tiny floor and jutted into its confined space.
Reuben sat in the captain’s chair, hands resting lightly on the rudder, eyes fixed before him on the glinti
ng black surface of the sea. As far as Lucinda could tell, he was guiding the boat by memory alone, for she could make out direction neither by constellation overhead nor instrument panel at his side. There was so little light from the stars that they did not seem to sketch patterns either in the heavens or across the water, and it was impossible to tell where the horizon line lay. The Wayward could be anywhere, it could be nowhere; it was suspended in an element as foreign to her as space.
“This must be what it felt like to travel to Samaria on Jehovah,” she said softly, almost to herself.
Reuben did not start or turn suddenly around, so he must have heard her approach, though he had offered no greeting. “I have often thought that same thing,” he said. “But surely the sea is less frightening than the stars.”
“You can drown in the sea,” she reminded him.
“And you could, I am guessing, drift forever between the stars, lost and disoriented, with no home port to go to. I would choose the ocean any day, I’m thinking.”
“I brought you dinner,” she said.
Now he turned to look at her, though she doubted he could make out anything of her face in this nonexistent lighting. “And did you cook my dinner as well?” he asked.
“I did. It’s not fancy, but it will nourish you well enough.”
“Then you have yet another skill I would not have guessed. First you wage war like a Jansai, then you cook like any ordinary woman. There is more to you angels than a man first suspects.”
It was disguised as irony, but she clearly read the anger. “I will not allow you to chastise me for doing what I could today,” she said, laying his plate before him so she could set her fists on her hips. “It was a simple enough thing, and I was in no danger.”
“It was wondrous brave, and you were in grave danger, and I will chastise you if I like,” he replied, his voice still under control but a little less so. “As I would reprimand any of my men who flung themselves in harm’s way, even to save their fellows. Every minute you were on deck, you were in danger from falling cannonballs.”