said Borric. ‘I’ll tell you what to look for if we have to flee.’
He glanced at the distant western horizon, where he could barely see a single white dot on the surface of blue-green. ‘Anything in close to shore will have just as shallow a draft as we have and probably be faster.’ Checking the luff of the sail to make sure he was at the proper angle to the wind for maximum speed, Borric said, ‘Just keep watching that white speck on the western horizon, Suli, and tell me if it starts to get bigger.’
With concentration that bordered on the single-minded, the boy hung over the windward side of the boat, using the angle of the craft as a means to sit at the highest perch possible, short of climbing the mast again. For the better part of an hour the white spot appeared to neither shrink nor grow, then suddenly it was heading straight at them. ‘Master!’ the boy yelled. ‘They are coming!’
Borric turned the craft, attempting to get the maximum angle to the wind for speed, but the sail slowly grew. It was a faster craft. ‘Damn,’ he swore. ‘They’ll overtake us if we keep running.’
Suli shouted, ‘Master, another!’
As if summoned by the first ship to intercept the pinnace, a second sail appeared upon the northern horizon. ‘We’re cut off,’ yelled Borric. He swung the tiller hard about, cursing himself for a fool. Of course the guards at the harbour mouth had been lax. They were instructed to intercept only those who looked like the runaway, and could clearly see that the two sailors were neither red-headed. But the ships on picket would only know a sail was on the horizon. They would intercept, and Borric wanted nothing to do with close inspection. In Durbin, he might have tried to bluff his way out with a contrived story, but out here, with freedom so close, he wasn’t going to chance another capture. To be caught was to be killed, he reminded himself.
Borric looked about and said, ‘Come here!’
The boy hurried to Borric’s side and the Prince gave him the tiller and boom line. ‘Hold on this course.’
Borric moved quickly to the front of the boat and took the second sail from the locker. He quickly pulled it open and discovered it was a spinnaker. He attached it to the front of the mast, but didn’t raise it. ‘Hurry, master!’ cried the boy.
‘Not now. It would only slow us down. We’re at the wrong angle.’ Borric returned to the tiller.
The two other boats were turning to give chase and now Borric could make them out. The northern interceptor was a large two-masted galleon, fast running before the wind, but slow to manoeuvre and with a deep draft. He knew that captain wouldn’t follow him into the reefs. But the first boat they had seen was a fore-and-aft-rigged, sleek-looking sloop. Newly found upon the Bitter Sea over the last twenty years, they were favoured by pirates working the shoals of the southern coast. Faster than the pinnace in a light wind, they were manoeuvrable and had almost as shallow a draft. Borric’s only hope was to get past the sloop, put on more canvas, and get into the shallowest water possible. Only in a very heavy wind in a broad reach could his pinnace possibly outrun that boat.
The larger boat moved to cut off Borric’s smaller craft and he eased off the tiller, turning more and more upwind. Then he jibbed his boat and left the galleon wallowing close-hauled into the wind, its speed evaporating like water on a hot stone.
The sloop turned to cut him off as he sailed back toward the reef, and Borric spilled wind from his sail, letting the captain of the larger boat think he had cut off the fugitives. Borric concentrated, as it was going to be a very close thing, and any miscalculation would leave him either too much room between the sloop and pinnace, so the larger boat could turn again and intercept him, or bring them too close, so they could be grappled and boarded. Borric pulled hard over on the tiller, as if attempting to turn back away once more. Sailing just shy of the eye of the wind was the only way, he was faster than the sloop in this light breeze, but not by much. And if he attempted to stay that course he would end up sailing directly back to the galleon.
He remembered the first time he had brought a sailboat – a small twelve-foot dingy with a sail – directly in the wind when he first learned to sail, and found the boat sailing backwards! His tutor had tried to hide his mirth, but Erland had been openly mocking about it until a week later he fell to the same fate. Keeping close to a headwind and keeping forward motion was something a trained crew could manage, but here he had only himself and one inexperienced boy.
Borric let the pursuing craft get near enough to make out the crew, nearly thirty unsavoury-looking thugs, all armed with sword and pike. If there are archers on the boat, he thought to himself, we’ll never make it alive.
Then he surprised the crew of the sloop and Suli both, by jibbing his boat directly toward the larger craft. Suli cried out and threw his arms before his face, expecting a collision, but rather than the crack of splitting timbers, the only sound above the sounds of the sea were the loud oaths from the sailors on the sloop, taken by surprise. The sloop’s helmsman reacted as Borric hoped he would, turning his wheel hard over. The sloop’s captain’s curses filled the air. The helmsman was now steering away from the boat they wanted to come alongside and grapple, and he started to turn the wheel back. But the damage had been done.
Borric’s pinnace stood still, head directly into the wind, and Borric shouted, ‘Raise that centreboard!’ Suli did as he was instructed, and the boat was left trembling in the teeth of the wind, then started moving slightly backwards. Unlike the dingy of his youth, this boat would not move sternward obediently, but would want to spin. The trick was to control the turn. Like a dancer spinning on her heels, then sliding across the dance floor, the boat stopped for an instant, started to move backwards, then moved sideways until full into the wind, where it heeled over a moment, then swung away from the sloop, coming quickly around. The sound of the canvas snapping taut echoed across the waters as the pinnace seemed to jump away, running before the wind. ‘Drop the board!’ Borric shouted to Suli and he obeyed. Astonished-looking sailors stood at the rail of the sloop with their mouths open. Then one made so bold as to attempt to leap across the narrow gap between. He fell only a few feet short of the stern of Borric’s craft.
Borric yelled, ‘Suli! Come here!’
The boy scampered to take the tiller from Borric, while the Prince raced to the mast. The instant he was sure they were on a running broad reach again, he hauled the spinnaker aloft. He hoped it would give the pinnace just enough extra speed to stay away from the sloop.
The captain of the sloop, swearing mightily, ordered his men to come about. Quickly, the nimble boat turned and gave chase. Borric divided his attention fore and aft, watching to see if the larger boat was overtaking them, and then looking to see they stayed clear of dangerous shoals.
Suli sat with eyes wide with terror, listening as Borric shouted, ‘A little more to starboard!’
The boy yelled, ‘What, master?’ He stared at the Prince in confusion, not understanding the nautical term.
Borric yelled back, ‘More to the right!’ Borric turned his attention back to the dangers ahead. He shouted to Suli, directing him first to come a little right, then left, then right again, as they steered a maddening course through the shoals.
Borric glanced back and saw the larger boat had closed some distance, and he cursed. Even with the spinnaker, they were not moving fast enough. He yelled, ‘Turn toward shore!’
The boy reacted instantly, turning so hard Borric almost lost his footing. Borric looked for rocks, rocks just below the surface of the water that they could avoid but that would bring their pursuer to a nasty halt.
As they moved closer to shore, the boat’s up and downward movement became more pronounced, as the ground swells moved toward the breaker line. The sound of surf could now be heard clearly. Borric pointed with one hand. ‘There! Steer there!’
Praying to the Goddess of Luck, Borric said, ‘Let us hit that on the crest!’
As if the Laughing Lady had heard him, Borric felt the boat on the rise as they passed over the spot he had marked. Even so, as they started to feel the boat come down, a groaning, tearing sound of the bottom