The Dragon Round (Dragon #1)(6)

Handsome piece, Solet thinks.

“It won’t attack immediately,” Jeryon says. “It’ll pass us first and maybe circle us.” He runs the tooth around the picture. “If it doesn’t find us interesting, it’ll fly away. If it stays”—he sets the tooth behind the stern deck—“we have to make it uninterested. We’ll strike first.”

“Punch it in the nose,” Tuse says. “Like a shark. I’ve used that strategy in bars.” He flexes his scarred fingers.

“Yes, but the shark punch is a myth. They’ll just eat your fist. Dragons, though—I’ve read more than a dozen reports on dragon attacks from the last decade. In the few cases in which ships have struck first, most of the time the dragons left them alone.”

“How many is ‘most’?” Solet says.

“Two out of three,” Jeryon says.

“That’s about my record in the bars,” Tuse says.

“As first mate,” Livion says, “I must remind you—”

Of course you must, Solet thinks.

“That in the event of a dragon attack at sea, company policy dictates that a galley run or otherwise avoid a fight. The insurers won’t pay out if we fight. The attack, in their eyes, would become a confrontation, not an act of nature.”

“Shall I remind you what’s happened to every ship that’s waited to fight?” Jeryon says. “Or would you care to present the report you wrote about your previous ship?”

Centered in the porthole, the dragon is as wide as Livion’s thumb. It’s diving to the wavetops to pick up speed then soaring up.

“No,” Livion says.

“How many survived?” Jeryon says.

“Eighteen, not counting me.”

“Right,” Jeryon says. “You know that I do things by the book. I trust the book. I trust the people who wrote the book. And I expect my crew to abide by the book. In this one case, though, the book is wrong. We will have to rewrite it.”

“The Trust will not be pleased,” Livion says.

“Their ship will be afloat,” Jeryon says. “Their cargo will be safe. Their city will survive. Here’s what we’ll do.” He holds the tooth a few feet over the table and flies it athwart the larboard side. “As the dragon passes, we will veer across its path.” Jeryon kicks a table leg so the table slides and the mates jump. “And startle it.”

Solet says, “Show it our side?”

“We’re not being rammed,” Jeryon says. “We want it to think we’re tough to catch. Just like a rabbit veers. Unlike a rabbit, though, when the dragon’s momentum carries it over us, we will bite its belly with a load of crossbow bolts.”

Solet smiles. “This is Ynessi.” It’s his highest compliment. Perhaps the captain can reach.

“What happens if it doesn’t lose interest?” Livion says.

“Then we turn and face it head on.”

Solet’s smile disappears. He’ll be on the foredeck, the galley’s face.

“We won’t get another shot at its belly,” Jeryon says. “The soft flesh of its face is its next most vulnerable region. The eyes. The mouth. The nostrils. Besides, there’s no room for it to land on the foredeck.”

On Livion’s last ship, a bireme called Wanderlust, a great yellow dragon lit on her stern deck and levered the prow out of the water. He remembers his captain hacking at its foot with an axe, screaming, “To me! To me!” and the creature biting him in two. His legs remained standing before the dragon licked them up, then tore the ship to pieces.

“Livion,” Jeryon says, “tell the sailors without crossbows that they’re on fire duty. They should have buckets of water and sand at the ready. Put some on each rail and some on the rowers’ deck. Then get on the oar again. Solet, you have the foredeck. Tuse, put us at regular time. We’ll conserve what energy the rowers have left. And keep the turns sharp. Quickly now.” He nods to dismiss them.

As they’re leaving, he grabs Solet’s arm. The door closes. Jeryon says, “Who fired that cannon?”

“Beale,” Solet says. “Poor gun maintenance.” He doesn’t say that he’s overheard Topp trying to get Beale to stand out so they’ll get promoted. A captain doesn’t play all his cards at once.

“And poor supervision,” Jeryon says. “A pity. I was going to report to the Trust that he could be a mate someday. And you could be a captain.” He pats Solet on the shoulder blade. “We may have to celebrate our survival with some floggings.” He nudges Solet to the door.

Jeryon checks the porthole and does some quick calculating. The dragon’s only a mile away.

Topp says, “They have the right idea.”

Scores of fins, an enormous school of hammerhead sharks, flow around the galley and past the bow.

“Wish I could swim that fast,” Beale says.

“Thanks to you, we might have to try,” Topp says.

“I didn’t do anything, Topp. Or nothing. And if I did, I don’t know how I did it.”

Topp shakes his head. His look softens. “You do know how to use that cannon, Beale,” he says. “Make it up to us. Make your shots count.”

The drumbeats drop by half and the ship slows to what feels like a dead stop. The dragon springs toward them.