Chapter 48 Staring Down the Barrel #2
“Hey, young woman!” the skipper yelled. “What are you doing up there?”
Without a reply, she stood atop the spreader, clinging to the mast tip, and searched ahead. Was that just whitecaps—or metal glinting?
“Hey, Luke!” she called down. “I need your binoculars.”
“What is it?” He hollered up at her.
“Don’t know. I’ve just got a bad feeling.”
“Come down before you hurt yourself,” he ordered. “I’ll take the binos up, have a look.”
With an impatient huff, Lark obeyed her captain. He swapped places with her, climbed the mast. By then, Azaleen and Diego had returned from the bow and crammed into the aft space. Skipper Pike scowled, puffed his pipe, and held true to the wheel.
“You people are like monkeys, climbing everywhere,” he grumbled. “I’ll tell you when we reach New Charleston.”
A vibration shivered through the hull, followed by a low, distant rumble. “There might be something ahead,” Luke shouted down. “I can’t see clearly what it is, though. Can we go any faster?”
“Negative,” Pike declared. “We’re already at full sail.”
“Captain Moreau,” Azaleen called. “What is it?”
Wes popped through the companionway, followed by Skye.
“What’s going on?” Tension stifled Secretary Navarro’s voice.
“Just getting prepared,” Lark told her. “In case we run into trouble. Remember the pirates that attacked Jose and his daughter, whom we fished from the wreckage?”
She nodded, her eyes widening.
“They’re still out here somewhere, not to mention a slew of other hazards. The team wants to be ready for anything. You might want to take cover in the cabin just in case.”
“Queen Frost,” called the ambassador. “Come below with me.”
“I have to see what it is first.” Her reply was sharp, commanding, without a speck of fear. Lark squeezed around the skipper to stand beside her, regarding her with admiration.
“I’m going back to the bow,” Lark said. Azaleen slid her hand into hers.
“I’m coming with you.”
They negotiated the narrow walkway around the cabin, gripping the rail as the Halcyon cut through the surf, speeding ever closer to whatever had aroused Lark’s suspicion.
Another report, louder this time, followed by a third and fourth.
Tiny smoke clouds drifted from the surface skyward.
An object on the water slowly came into view.
Luke slid down the mast, whispered something to the skipper, then dashed to the bow, his normally tanned face cotton white.
Shock registered in his sharp, coffee-brown eyes.
“What’s happening?” The question came from Lark and Azaleen at once.
Luke swallowed. “It appears the port is under attack. Not close enough to spot flags or the lack of them. A couple are big, though—freighters or corvettes, most likely. If they’re pirates, they’ve gotten their hands on some ships, all right.”
“You think it’s the Iron Navy,” Azaleen speculated, boring into him with a grave expression. Her early reports mentioned nothing of corvettes. Weren’t they like little battleships?
“We won’t know until we’re closer,” he supplied. “However, I don’t think they’ve spotted us. I suggest a change in course. We could make for that cove we just passed, put in where you’ll be safe. Then I could take the team on a scouting mission to find out.”
“That will waste time,” replied the queen.
“We need to know if Irons’ navy is on our shores and if any of our ships have been sunk.
They’re at a disadvantage in port, even though several are always on patrol.
Our best intelligence will be gained by pushing forward until we can properly assess the danger.
We can always turn around then. This cutter will outrun a rusty, old freighter, and the AlgonCree contingent isn’t far behind. Tell Pike to stay the course.”
“But, my queen,” Lark protested, fear for Azaleen’s safety squeezing the air from her battered lungs. “Protecting you is our primary directive.”
Azaleen laid a hand on Lark’s shoulder, looking her square in the eyes. “Keeping Verdancia safe trumps all. Let’s see what we’re up against.”
Lark lowered her gaze, and Luke nodded. “I’ll tell the skipper.”
With Luke gone, the two women returned to scanning ahead.
Lark slid her grip on the railing until she bumped hands with Azaleen.
The queen moved her grasp to cover Lark’s hand, the contact steadying and secure.
“We should turn back,” Lark argued. “I understand your need to know, but your life is of the utmost importance. How many times do you expect me to save it?”
Perhaps in an attempt to lighten the mood, Azaleen fluttered her lashes, a teasing grin on her lips. “As many as it takes.” In a flash, the moment was gone, sombre concentration reclaiming her aspect.
As they neared, the scene sharpened before their eyes.
The red and black anvil banner flapped in the wind over rusty, clunky, reclaimed sea vessels, firing shells at the naval base.
Cannons and catapults blasted the Verdancian reply.
Lark counted two converted cargo ships, a twenty-first-century coastal corvette, ten zippy patrol boats, and seven landing barges—an eighth half sunk.
Fires blazed on land and on one attacking freighter.
“New Charleston can handle this,” Lark barked. “Let’s turn around and get you to safety. Please,” she added desperately.
Azaleen stared at the devastating scene before them.
“If their navy’s here, the army must be at our northwestern border.
Did they already take our other coastal bases?
Fort Hammond, Fort Jasper? Did they land troops there?
What kind of foothold have they gained? I wasn’t here.
I wasn’t in the capital to make crucial decisions, to calm the people, bolster their courage. I wasn’t here!”
“You’re here now, Azaleen. The trip to Aurora was a success. The AlgonCree ships and marines are on their way to support us. This is not your fault.”
A shriek. A splash. Then the world cracked open in a thunderous boom. When Lark glanced ahead again, she was staring down the barrel of the corvette’s cannons. They’d been fired on. Cupping her hands to her mouth, she yelled behind her, “Turn around! Do it now!”
Azaleen gripped the railing tighter, her horrified gaze locked on the battle.
Rockets arced over fortress walls and the flotilla, missing, striking in equal measure.
A new pillar of fire and smoke exploded within the citadel walls.
An enemy patrol boat took a hit, flipping in the air and crashing to the surface in an angry crush.
A second rocket soared over the Halcyon, missing with room to spare.
The battle raged hundreds of meters ahead, but the corvette’s guns had the range—if not yet the aim.
Lark didn’t move, nor did she shuffle the queen below as the sailboat lurched, Pike pulling them in a tight about-face.
This was the safest spot for them. Should a shell or rocket hit the vessel, Lark would know seconds beforehand and could cast both Azaleen and herself into the water.
If trapped in the cabin, they wouldn’t stand a chance.
With nothing else left, Lark slid behind Azaleen and locked her arms around her, clutching the most precious cargo, as if sheer will could shield her. Pressing her cheek to Azaleen’s, she murmured, “I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Another explosion off starboard. Cannons boomed. Bells rang. The sting of burning powder assailed Lark’s nose, making the salt air bitter. The wind caught the sails, driving them north at a steady clip.
Without a tremor or a tear, Azaleen repeated, “I should have been here.”
Lark pulled her tighter, heart hammering. She didn’t dare say aloud what pressed in her chest: What if being here now costs you everything?