The Bright and Breaking Sea (A Captain Kit Brightling Novel Book 1)
The Bright and Breaking Sea: Chapter 29

They settled on the Diana. The Delphine was too large, and they doubted they’d be able to convince anyone that Kingsley had managed to nab a frigate and enough sailors to crew it. And the Forebearer was unfamiliar and not as fast as Kit’s own ship. If Kit wasn’t going to have guns, she wanted speed.

Members of the envoy might have seen the Forebearer near Fort de la Mer. But the ship hadn’t been there long, and while smaller than the Diana, it was similar enough in style that Kit thought they could make it work. Especially if the Diana’s jibs were switched out for the Forebearer’s red ones.

The Diana would sail forward, signal raised, no other identifying pennants, and no Crown Command uniforms visible. And then they’d unleash their secret weapon.

They switched the sails and raised the pennants, and Kit reclaimed her commander, leaving the Forebearer floating behind them as the Diana moved forward toward the southernmost ship. The wind blew toward starboard, so they tacked against it until they were within one hundred yards and could see the hard-bitten crew looking back through their own glass.

And still no signal.

Grant stood at the helm, Kit behind him; the crew of the Forebearer had been almost uniformly male, so the envoy would have expected to replace, at least, a man at the helm. Half the Diana’s crew was below, with only a skeleton assemblage on the deck to tend the sails, and those in their dirtiest slops.

The sea thundered beneath them as they moved, but the magic was still gone.

“Pennant’s going up,” Grant said, relief clear in his voice.

“Then let’s get ready,” Kit said.

“Reduce sail,” Grant called out. “Come alongside.”

“Beau Monde or not,” Jin said as the orders were relayed, “the man can act at captain.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Kit said, while Grant snorted in amusement. It was hard enough for her not to jump up and take charge.

The Diana slowed, and Kit ran a hand across the polished wood with affection. “I will make this up to you,” she promised quietly. And this time, slipped the coin from her pocket and placed it for luck between the planks of the deck. Planks that plainly needed better caulking, but that was for another time.

They drew closer to the outlier ship, could see the guns clearly now. A dozen, mostly smaller, but large enough to do plenty of damage.

“Ahoy!” called out a bruiser of a sailor at the gunwale on the frigate. He looked more pirate than sailor, and Kit suspected he’d called Finistère home.

“Ahoy,” Grant said.

“You’re late,” the bruiser said.

Grant gave the man an impressively imperious look. “I managed to steal a damn Crown ship and make my way here, didn’t I? Do you think that’s an easy task?”

“I think you’d best watch your tone, aye? There’s nothing about you that’s better than the rest of us.”

“You can walk right into the sea,” Grant said. “Are you ready or no?”

The bruiser looked at Grant, and the moment stretched taut as wind-filled canvas.

“Aye, I’m ready.” Then he shifted his gaze to the Diana’s hull and then her rigging. “Seems I’ve seen this ship before.”

Grant’s look was flat. “Did you miss the bit where I said I’d stolen it? I didn’t build it myself. Maybe you have seen it before.”

The bruiser didn’t look convinced. And when sailors began moving away from him across the deck, she knew they’d lost him. She didn’t know why—although she wouldn’t put a bit of lying past Kingsley—but they’d lost him. They’d be loading the cannons now, preparing to fire on the Diana, thinking it a usurper.

“Ready,” Kit whispered, pulling down the cap she’d borrowed a little more.

“Captain!” August called out, and right on time. “Do we need to link up with this boat here?”

Every sailor on the other boat turned to where August stood in the bow, grappling hook in his wizened hand, swinging it around like a flail.

“Now!” Kit said, and sailors sprang into action to set the sails again.

Kit tossed away her hat, moved to the starboard rail, and pulled the sparker from her pocket. She had to wait until they were moving and the Diana wouldn’t be damaged, but not so long that they allowed the frigate time to fire a broadside.

“Ready the damned cannons!” the bruiser yelled, and Kit imagined the activity below: Gunpowder cartridges pricked, and sparks prepared, waiting for the command to fire.

The wind caught the Diana and the sails filled, and she began to move, wind and canvas fighting friction, the pull of the sea.

The moment the frigate ran out her cannons, Kit tossed the sparker.

“Down!” she cried out as explosions rocked the sea.

The explosive hit the frigate’s deck and shot out fire in all directions, sending wood and men and rigging through the air at the same time two of the frigate’s cannons fired, sending balls straight at the Diana.

The noise was remarkable, and the Diana shook, shuddered, as a ball hit somewhere below, the sound of cracking wood loud as the felling of a tree. The second flew inches from the mainmast, ripping through the shroud and rigging. But the mast stayed standing.

“Get below and check for damage and injuries!” Kit shouted to Watson, then gripped Jin’s arm. “Keep us moving!” she ordered, then ran back to the stern, aimed, and threw another sparker at the now-receding enemy. It landed near the wheel and roared, and shrapnel flew. There was another explosion below, three sequential pops, and flames emerged from the gun deck.

“The powder,” Grant said quietly.

“Yes,” Kit said, and made a silent Dastes for the lost, or those who’d be lost soon enough as the fire grew, consumed the ship.

Watson emerged from the companionway, a smudge of soot on her face. “Your windows are gone, Captain, and a good plug of the stern near the port side. But no fire, and the damage is well above the waterline.”

“Two more ships giving chase!” someone called out, before Kit could respond. They looked back, found two of the line now raising sails and turning toward the Diana, two hundred yards back.

And on the other end of the line, the Delphine, now rushing toward the melee, Isles flag flying.

“Welcome to the ball,” Kit said, and turned back to the helm. “Turn around.”

Jin’s head snapped toward her. “Turn around?”

“Turn around,” she said again, more slowly. “They’ll be faster than we are. We cannot outrun them, and we’ve no islands to run through, nor any magic to guide us.”

Jin’s gaze narrowed as he studied her. “You want to face them head-on?”

“No, but I want them to think we’re going to,” she said, and plucked the wax pencil Simon offered. He knew his captain well.

Kit sketched two slender boats in a blank spot on the cabinet map, the Diana some hundred yards away, her position roughly between theirs. “We make them believe we plan to sail through them, which would be ridiculous.”

“Double broadsides,” Grant said.

“I’m really very pleased with his nautical education,” Simon said.

It was Kit’s turn to snort. “When we get close, we veer starboard. They’ll be planning to shoot us in the middle. They won’t have cannons ready on the outside.”

“And we use the explosives again,” Jin finished.

“And we do.” She put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed. “This is going to be close. But we can do it. We will do it.”

Gods, let them do it, she prayed. Let her crew survive it.

Instructions proceeded down the length of the Diana as she streamed toward the ships, the crews near their bows screaming with raised sabres.

“Are they trying to intimidate us?” Grant asked.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Kit said, and put a hand on the steering cabinet, and waited until she could feel the quiet of the slickest, fastest water.

“Starboard on my mark,” she said quietly. “Three. Two. One. Mark.”

The crew was ready, and the booms were shifted, the wheel turned hard, the shouts from the starboard ship turning to shouts of alarm and warning as they decided the Diana wasn’t going to sail between them—she was going to sail into them.

Kit watched the starboard ship grow closer until it seemed the Diana would simply sail on top of it. And then their bowsprits passed like jousters’ lances, and the Diana streamed by the ship.

But they’d been more clever than she’d thought. A cannon on the starboard ship’s port side boomed only ten feet away from the Diana’s hull, and her responding heave sent a line of cold sweat down Kit’s back.

She couldn’t think about that. She could only think about her role. Her part.

Time seemed to slow around her, and she pulled out the last sparker, threw it over the gunwale of the enemy ship, and shouted out her warning.

“Down!”

She didn’t know if anyone heard, but she instinctively covered her head, felt the concussion and the sprinkle of debris over her arms. She made herself breathe, then rose again and looked back.

She’d hit the ship in the middle of the deck; the mast was cracking, toppling, and pulling the rigging down with it.

Two ships down, she thought, and looked around. The Diana was still upright, the masts still standing. And no horrific injuries that she could see, although there were bruises and gashes and sooty faces aplenty.

“Kit.”

The roaring in her ears slowed, quieted, and she looked down, found a hand on her arm. She looked up, found Grant staring at her.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m . . .” She shook her head to clear it. “I’m fine. It was the explosion. I think it rattled my brain a bit. The shot?”

Watson emerged through the smoke. “Into the hold,” she said. “Foot of water already in the boat, but Oglejack’s got sailors working the hand pumps, and he’s sealing it over. No one was injured.”

She looked toward port, found the Delphine engaged with another ship, and one of the others already on fire.

“Sails ho!”

Kit’s heart sank. They’d been clever, but the Diana was taking damage, and they couldn’t play this game forever. “More frigates?”

But it wasn’t.

Kit turned around, and grinned at the answer. Captain Perez had gotten her note, and decided their following the Diana was the right course.

“About damned time,” she murmured, grinning as four enormous frigates bore down on the enemy like sea dragons, whitewater streaming in their wake.

She could hear the shouts from Gerard’s ships as they saw their new opponents, and then the melancholy quiet fell as they realized this would not be a simple return trip to Frisia. They’d have to face down the Isles’ navy, or die trying.

Kit felt the tingle in the air even as Tamlin called out from the top. “Warship maneuvering!”

They all looked back toward Gerard’s ship, the sailors that turned cranks to open the massive cabinet. The sides drew open like unfolding wings, revealing a dark labyrinth of metal gears and arms. Other members of the crew doused the sails.

“Bloody hell,” Jin said. “What is that?”

“A kind of gristmill,” Kit murmured, and glanced at Grant.

“What do you feel?” he asked, moving to her side.

Kit didn’t need to reach out to the sea to feel it. “Irritation. And if you’re about to ask me to explain, I couldn’t possibly.”

In seconds, the mechanics inside the cabinet rose into the air, the platform holding them lifted by metal chains and pulleys.

“How can they try it again?” Jin asked, staring at the chimera of ship and machine. “At least four dead on the island, and probably more we didn’t replace.”

Her head began to ache again, but she pushed through the pain. “Because sailors, to them, are fungible.”

Hers, however, were not. She looked around, surveyed her battlefield. There simply wasn’t time to change position and run from whatever force that infernal machine was about to unleash. So she had to protect her people.

“All hands brace for impact!” Kit called out, and the warning echoed down the line.

The platform stuttered to a stop. The gears began to spin, what little current remained in the sea seemed all devoted to that buzzing irritation. Or maybe that was simply her perception of the electrical nips that seemed to bite at her skin.

And then the nips stopped, and the gears stopped. And the warship was dead in the water.

Kit grinned. And then she began to laugh.

“What?” Simon asked. “What’s funny?”

“There’s not enough magic,” Kit said. “They burned through the current at Forstadt, probably in the explosion. But you can’t run a magic warship without magic, and that magic warship apparently requires a lot of it to operate.”

“They have a very serious design flaw,” Jin said, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“They absolutely do,” Kit said.

“That’s why they have envoys,” Grant said. “If they’d sailed south, they’d have come upon stronger current, could have used that.”

Kit shook her head. “They’d be too far from Frisia. That’s where the money is, and that’s where the decisions are made. The Guild doesn’t want anyone else playing with their toys, at least until the issues are resolved.”

She was disappointed she’d not see the warship in action. But she’d be very happy to keep the Guild from having its new toy.

Things moved quickly after that, as the conspirators’ loyalty to Gerard didn’t extend to death in deep and cold water. They surrendered almost as neatly as Kingsley had, but for the single ship that decided it could outrun Perez’s present ship, the Imperial.

It was mistaken. Rather egregiously.

The remaining frigates were emptied of enemy combatants who’d been divided among the squadron for the return trip to New London.

Kit and Smith met Captain Perez and the others on the deck of the Imperial.

“Kit,” Perez said with a smile, her tricorn hat cocked over short brown hair, her brown eyes canny beneath. “A pleasure to see you again.” She extended a tan hand, and they shook.

“Captain,” Kit said. “Thank you for the squadron. Your ships were very welcome.”

“We do what we can.” She cast her gaze to the warship, her smile falling away. “Do we take the monstrosity home, or scuttle it here?”

The queen would want the ship, the technology, both to keep the exemplar from Gerard and to study it. To learn from it. And, very possibly, to use it.

Kit was obliged, was she not, to send the ship to the Isles? To give the queen that opportunity? Perhaps. But that didn’t eliminate the small knot of tension in her belly, her concern the world’s relationship to magic would change.

She thought of the gristmill in Queenscliffe, of the magic she touched every time she tried to speed the Diana. She walked that line very carefully. Maybe the Isles could, too.

“We tow it home,” Kit decided.

Decision made, Perez’s smile went thin. “And as to the others? Do we prefer fire or powder?”

The question was probably rhetorical, but Kit made her answer.

“Burn them. Burn them, and let the ashes fall where they will. Don’t give him a chance to raise them from the deep.”