Captain Quadde took her place at the port side of her ship. Ryan noticed that she had buckled on the Spanish Astra short-muzzle .44 and wondered whether she was anticipating trouble.
The ships would pass port side to port side. The crew of the Bartlebywas also lined up along the rail, staring in silence at the Salvationand her crew. A short, skinny man in a bottle-green tailcoat stood alone near the stem. He had a mane of white hair that made him look like pictures of Old Testament prophets that Ryan had seen in some of the many Bibles that still survived in the Deathlands. It was an odd fact that around half of the books he'd ever seen in his life had been Bibles from before the long winters. Yet he'd never read anything to confirm that the old United States had been such a profoundly religious country.
"Captain Quadde!" the man hailed, using a battered tin megaphone.
"Good day to thee, Captain Delano. What bringest thee to my waters?"
"The waters are not thine, Captain Quadde, and it be blasphemous to claim them."
"When the Almighty comes sailing and whaling across these banks with a brace of big fish hauled tight to his flanks, then I shall allow him to share of mywaters, Captain."
"Thou art...!" The man controlled himself with what was an obvious effort of will. The ships were still nearly a hundred paces apart, their courses meaning they'd pass within about ten feet of each other on their parallel ways.
"Make thy speech quickly, Preaching Biddy!" Quadde shouted, beaming at the ripple of laughter from her own crew.
"If I did not..." Delano began. "I will not quarrel with thee or damn thee, Pyra Quadde. The savior sees all, and he will judge at the ending of thy life. I seek thine aid."
The request sounded as though it had been torn from the man's soul with white-hot pincers.
"What aid, man? Wouldst thou know where the great whales sport? I slew one within the day, and he be the first of a bounteous harvest in rich lays for my lads here."
"I have hunted well. Too well," Delano replied. Now the ships were closer, the figureheads barely thirty yards apart.
"Then what?.."
"Both my brothers are lost, Captain Quadde. Dearest to my heart."
"Lost? Both?"
"Aye." The man was on the verge of tears, and Ryan could see the whiteness of his knuckles gripping the carved rail.
"To lose one brother is unfortunate, Captain Delano. To lose both seems like foolishness."
"Thou flint-heart! One was tillerman and one the harpooneer in the lead whaleboat. They had struck a massive right whale, bonnet calked thick with barnacles. We had lost a sail from a broken halliard jammed in a block. A sudden fog came down, as it often does upon these waters..."
Now the ships were fully alongside, the crews staring curiously at one another. Ryan found it odd that all these seamen came from the same ville, yet not a word was exchanged. Captain Delano was leaning out over the rail, hands reaching imploringly toward the impassive figure of Captain Quadde.
"And thou hast seen nothing since?"
"Nothing. But the whale was bearing this way. When the fogs..."
"I have seen nothing."
The words were cold and flat. Dismissive.
"The two of us, together... We could quarter the sea and find my brothers."
"We could, but we will not. I am here to hunt the whales. Not to scour the waves for dimwit orphans who know not their trade. Good day to thee, Captain Delano."
Now the sterns of the two vessels were level, the two skippers scant feet apart, gazing into each other's eyes.
"Turn and let us talk longer, Captain Quadde. I beg thee, in the name of thy savior."
"These are my waters, but he is not my savior, Preaching Biddy. Get to thy search."
"One day? But give up one day's hunt. I'll pay thee for thy time."
"Fare thee well!" Pyra Quadde shouted across the widening gap. She turned to her crew. "I can find work for any idle hand I see skylarking out here. Mr. Ogg! Set them to it."
"Aye, ma'am."
Ryan joined the others, scurrying away belowdecks to lend a hand at the noisome task of boiling down the chunks of blubber.
He heard the last, fading words of Captain Delano of the Bartleby, torn away by the wind.
"May thy stone soul sink thee to hell, Pyra Quadde. And may any man who sails with thee join thee in everlasting torment!"
The next time Ryan Cawdor came out on deck, the other ship was a tiny black speck, hull down, on the horizon.
For the next two days they pressed on, sailing deeper into the whaling grounds, but without a single sighting of their prey. And with each hour that passed, Pyra Quadde became more and more ill-tempered, with a curse and blow for any man who came within her reach.
"She's getting hungry again," Johnny Flynn whispered, mumbling through his toothless gums, as he and Ryan worked together on splicing a length of rope.
"Hungry for what?"
Jehu was also busy nearby and he heard the muttered conversation.
"Hungry for meat, shipmates. The meat that grows from the loins of a man. The meat that grows and shrinks and rises and falls. That's the fine red meat for our captain's tastes."
The Bartlebywas homeward bound, her voyage ended prematurely by the loss of Captain Delano's two brothers. Her search across the vastness had been a fruitless one, and she was headed back to Claggartville to mourn her dead. She passed by the Phoenix, close-hauled on a starboard reach, and the captains were able to pass on their hurried news.
Krysty and Jak stood by Captain Deacon, to make sure he resisted the temptation to reveal his plight. But he kept silent about his unwelcome quintet of passengers.
The men of the Bartlebygazed with naked curiosity at the white-haired boy and the fire-haired young woman. But there was no time for questions. Just the one vital question, answered by the wild-eyed Delano, shaking a fist toward the heavens.
"Less than a hundred leagues ahead. On the southern edge of the whaling banks. If ye seek her for some vengeance, go with my blessing. If to aid her, then may ye sink with my curse."
Then the whaler plunged astern of them, vanishing swiftly. Deacon turned to Krysty, tapping at his teeth with a forefinger. "Closing. The Salvationis not the swiftest vessel from the ville. With a good wind we can claw a couple of knots from her. More if Pyra Quadde is quartering the Lantic for the whales. Delano has seen few in a week or more. We could come within sight of her in another couple of days or less. Maybe less."
"Be good," J.B. said, joining them.
Deacon looked at the Armorer, unsmiling. "Yeah mister. It'd be good. Good to see the backs of ye outland chillers, and get on with our job."
"When we get our friends safe, you won't see us for dust. Or for spray," Krysty replied.
Deacon, hands locked in the small of his back, walked away from them to the other side of the deck.
Another day on the Salvationwithout the sighting of a whale. Toward evening Captain Quadde beckoned Ryan to where she stood on the main deck.
"Figured I'd tell thee that I'm set on having thee, Outlander Cawdor. Soon. Settle the score 'twixt us. Well set-up man like thee." Her long tongue peeked out between the filed ivory teeth and licked her chapped lips. In an attractive woman it would have been a stimulating and coquettish gesture. In Pyra Quadde it was simply frightening. And disgusting.
That night, while the rest of the crew slept around them in the forecastle, Ryan told Donfil about the threat from Pyra Quadde.
Coiled uncomfortably in his too short bunk, the shaman asked him what he intended to do.
"Got no choice. I'll do a lot to stay alive. Trader used to say a man who died of pride was a fool. A corpse can't get any revenge. But her idea of fucking ends in death. We know that."