Ox pointed.
“Goodly distance,” Hook-Beak said dubiously.
“The oarsmen are getting fat anyway, Cap’n,” Ox replied. “A good run might sweat some of the lard off ’em, even if we don’t catch that ship.”
“You’ve got a point there, Ox,” Sorgan agreed. “All right, let’s take a run at that ship and see if we can catch her. She looks to be Trogite, so it’ll be worth the trouble.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Ox agreed. Then he raised his voice. “Oarsmen to your places!” he bellowed.
There was a bit of grumbling, but the burly oarsmen hauled in their fishing lines, put away their dice, and went to their stations below the deck.
“More sail!” Ox shouted to the top-men aloft. Then he squinted forward. “I make it to be about a league and a half, Cap’n,” he said, “and no Trogite vessel afloat can match the Seagull for speed when she’s under full sail and the oarsmen are earning their keep. We should close on ’em afore the sun goes down.”
“We’ll see, Ox. We’ll see.” Sorgan always enjoyed a good run anyway, and the wallowing Trogite vessel gave him an excuse to stretch the Seagull out a bit. If nothing else, an invigorating run might clear away the memories of that cursed summer squall and the irritation of that pesky fly on the ceiling of his cabin. Hook-Beak was not particularly superstitious, but the prickly feeling of being watched had made him very edgy.
The Trogite vessel put on more sail, a clear indication that her crew had seen the Seagull’s approach, but the broad-beamed merchant ship was no match for her long and slender pursuer, so by late afternoon the Seagull was closing fast. Then the crewmen not otherwise occupied began to bring weapons up onto the main deck, and they stood at the rail, swinging their weapons and practicing their war cries.
As usual, the Trogites abandoned ship at that point. It was so much “as usual” that it was almost like a ritual. The Seagull paused briefly to give the Trogite seamen time enough to bail over the side and swim out from between the two ships. Then the Maags tied up alongside and stole everything of value. Then they carried their loot back aboard the Seagull and pulled away so that the Trogites could climb back aboard their ship before anybody drowned. It was a civilized sort of arrangement. Nobody got hurt, no damage was done to either vessel, and they all parted almost friends. Hook-Beak smiled faintly. During the previous summer, he’d robbed one Trogite vessel so many times that he’d gotten to know her captain by his first name.
“Should we burn her, Cap’n?” Ox asked hopefully. Ox always wanted to burn the Trogite ships, for some reason.
“I don’t think so,” Hook-Beak replied. “Let them have their ship back. We’ve got what we wanted. Maybe if we don’t burn her, they’ll go back to Shaan and fill her back up. Then we can chase them down and rob them again.”
After the Maags had left the Trogite vessel far behind, the Seagull was quartering the wind and moving off to the southeast, and that was when coincidence stepped in to alter the “as usual” part of the whole affair. Every seaman alive knows that there are rivers in the sea, but unlike land rivers, the rivers of the sea are largely invisible. Water is water, after all, and the surface of the sea looks much the same, whether it’s just lying there or running fast just below the waves.
The Seagull was placidly moving southeast, and the crew was busily sorting through the loot, when there was a sudden surge, and the Seagull was abruptly swept sideways toward the northeast. First Mate Ox fought with the tiller, bending it almost to the breaking point. “We’re in trouble, Cap’n!” he shouted. “A current just grabbed us!”
“Oarsmen to your posts!” Hook-Beak shouted even as Ham-Hand started bellowing, “Slack sail!”
There was a great deal of scrambling about, but nothing seemed to have any effect. “It’s no good, Cap’n!” Ox cried. “It’s got us, and it won’t let go. The tiller’s gone slack!”
“Maybe it’ll slow down when the tide changes,” Ham-Hand suggested hopefully.
“I wouldn’t make no big wagers on it,” Ox replied, working the tiller back and forth to get the feel of the current. “This one’s moving faster than any current I’ve ever come up against. I don’t think the tide’s got much to do with it. The seasons might, but it’s a long time till autumn, and we could end up a thousand leagues from home afore winter gets here.”
“We’re making purty good time, though,” Ham-Hand noted.
“Are you trying to be funny?” Ox demanded angrily.
“I just thought I’d mention it,” Ham-Hand replied. “You want I should tell the oarsmen to stand down, Cap’n?”
“No. Have them swing her so that she’s going bow-first. If she keeps going sideways like this, a good ripple could swamp her. Then have the oarsmen ship their oars, but keep them in place. If we swirl in behind an island or a reef, I’ll want them to dig in and pull us clear.”
“Aye, Cap’n, if that’s the way you want it,” Ham-Hand replied, tugging his forelock in a salute of sorts.
It didn’t happen that way, though. The Seagull continued to rush in a northeasterly direction for the next several days, moving farther and farther into unknown waters. The crew was growing more apprehensive as the days slid past. They’d been out of sight of land for more than two weeks now, and some tired old stories involving sea monsters, the edge of the world, demons, and vast whirlpools began to surface. Ox and Ham-Hand tried to stifle those stories, but they weren’t very successful.
Then on one bright summer afternoon, the current slowed without any warning, and then it stopped, leaving the Seagull placidly sitting on a flat, empty sea.
“What’s our plan, Cap’n?” Ham-Hand asked.
“I’m working on it,” Sorgan replied. “Don’t rush me.” He looked at Ox. “How much water have we got left?” he demanded.
“Maybe a week’s worth—if we ration it.”
“How about food?”
“It’s a little skimpy, Cap’n,” Ox reported. “The Fat Man’s been complaining about that for a couple of days now. The Fat Man’s not the best cook in the world, but he does know how to pad up the beans and salt pork with seaweed if things get tight. I’d say that water’s our main problem.”