Tress of the Emerald Sea (The Cosmere)(45)
In response, their prey fired a flare bright in the air. Surrender. The Dougs cheered again. Tress started to calm down. It…it was working.
Unfortunately, as the Crow’s Song drew close to the captive ship, the seethe stilled. The Crow’s Song lurched to a halt, and this instantly dampened everyone’s enthusiasm. Tress looked at the Dougs, worried. What was the problem? There were interruptions like this every day.
“Ann?” Tress said, sidling up to her. “What’s wrong?”
“The ship surrendered,” Ann said, her voice tense, “’cuz they knew they were beaten. With them held by vines, we could maneuver, an’ they could not. But now we’re both of us stuck. The sea just evened this match. An’ they gotta be asking if maybe they shouldn’t just…”
She trailed off as a blue puff of zephyr spores rose from the other ship’s aft. Followed by a crack.
Followed by a whistle and a crash as a cannonball hit the Crow’s Song right at the prow, where spores met wood.
THE SHARPSHOOTER
Dougs shouted and went scrambling. Ann cursed something incredibly vile relating to what comes out of the business end of a seagull.
“Damn fine shooting,” Laggart muttered. “Hit us first shot? They’ve got quite the cannonmaster.”
Crow shoved aside a few Dougs, then calmly raised her weapon. It looked…sleeker than the older muskets the Dougs carried, and had a different sight.
Though the Crow’s Song had shortened the distance to the other ship, Tress was still amazed as the captain trained her musket toward the enemy, closed one eye, and fired. A man on the distant ship—the one holding the water firing stick as his assistants reloaded the cannon—dropped in a spray of blood.
“Well,” Laggart said, “I guess they had a damn fine cannonmaster.”
“Carpenter and sprouter,” the captain said loudly as she lowered her musket and began to reload, dropping a small pouch of zephyr spores down the muzzle. “We’ve been hit. When the seethe comes again, we’ll scoop up half the sea—and everyone on this ship will find out what spores taste like. Perhaps you’d like to do your jobs and prevent that.”
“Right, Cap’n!” Ann said, raising her pistol. “Let me just get off one shot before—”
At least a half dozen Dougs grabbed her arm, wrestling for the pistol. The captain ignored them, sighting once again, then dropped the sailor who had been hefting a cannonball to load into the enemy’s cannon.
It was the best shooting Tress had ever seen. It was the only shooting, granted. Nevertheless, I’ll admit Crow was one of the best shots I’d ever seen. And considering that primitive muskets handle like a snake being electrocuted, that is saying something.
“To work, Ann,” the captain said, calm—yet somehow threatening, ice crusting her voice. “Or my next shot won’t have to travel to another ship.”
“Moonshadows,” Ann said, stumbling over to Tress. “Those Dougs really wanted a chance to use my pistol, eh? Well, let’s be on with the cap’n’s order. Stop delaying, Tress!” She scrambled belowdecks, Tress following.
“You have your tools?” Ann asked as they reached the middle deck.
“What tools?” Tress asked. “Ann, I only became ship’s sprouter this morning! I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Right, right,” Ann said, wiping her brow. Above, a cannon shot sounded from their ship. “We need rose spores. There should be a whole bunch of them in Weev’s room.”
Tress nodded. She led Ann to the room, though the carpenter hesitated at the threshold. Tress continued inside, then pried off the top of a small barrel full of rose spores.
“Get some of those,” Ann said, “and put them in one of the metal boxes. The kind you can transport spores in? Yeah, that. Um…I saw Weev use some other equipment too. I don’t really know a lot about this, kid.”
Tress finished filling the metal box with spores. Then she pulled open the closet, revealing an array of metal tools hanging from pegs on the inside of the door. She didn’t see anything like the box the sprouter had used on the other ship. Weev, it should be noted, was a purist. He preferred the classical tools of the trade, not the modern ones.
“Any of these look right?” Tress asked.
“Oh!” Ann said. “That one with the flat side, like a plate. And that trowel. Grab those.”
The second tool did indeed look like a small shovel, but the first one looked less like a plate to Tress and more like a shield. A little round shield—flat on the front, with a handle on the back to hold it.
The tools had clips on them for hanging from a belt, but there wasn’t time for that. Tress gathered them up, along with the spores and an eyedropper bottle of water, then stumbled out to meet Ann—who backed away, hands up.
“Righty-o,” Ann said. “Normally, I’d let the sprouter handle the initial patch while I gathered lumber, but I think maybe you could use a little help, eh?”
“Thanks,” Tress said, letting Ann lead the way down to the hold. Bright sunlight bathed the normally dim confines, shining in through a hole near the ceiling. The hold was taller than the other decks, putting the hole some nine feet up in the air.
“I’ll get a ladder,” Ann said. “So, what you need to do is grow some spores in that hole. It don’t have to be pretty—I’ll do the pretty part with wood over the next few days. We just need that hole filled. Roseite is good at resisting silver, and can last quite a while once in place. So it makes a great plug, assuming you…ya know…don’t kill yourself first.”