Chapter 16, Roberts

  We were always going to hit one. That’s the only thought I have before the impact slams through me, throwing me sideways. A deep, hollow crack rolls through every timber holding the ship together. Then, a lurch. A second, sickening shudder. The wind, useless when we needed it most, decides to come alive. It snaps the sails taut, dragging us deeper onto the reef. Water bursts over the rails, sloshing across the deck as the momentum still drags us forward.

  "Ease the foresheets—foretopsail and mainsail too! Spill the wind before we tear ourselves apart!" The order leaves my mouth before I’ve even finished regaining my footing, instinct driving me as my focus widens, taking in the full scope of the disaster.

  Below, the hull screams. The sound of wood splitting, taking on water. We didn’t just scrape the reef. We struck deep.

  "We’ve struck!" someone yells, as if we don’t already know.

  The crew is scrambling to ease the sails, fighting to keep the yards steady against the sudden gusts of wind.

  "Get us off this godsdamned shard!" Manee’s voice cuts through the chaos as they shove their way toward the hatch. "I need to see the lower hold, now!"

  "Shit—Manee, tell me we’re not dead in the water." Harken shouts over his shoulder, headed for the helm.

  Manee doesn’t answer. They’re already halfway down the staircase. "Captain! Get me hands below!"

  The ones who’ve been through this before don’t wait for orders, they just act. The ship lurches, groaning under its own weight, and they’re already hauling ropes, throwing barrels, calling for the pumps.

  And then there are the newer ones who’ve never felt the gut-drop of striking something solid beneath the hull. They hesitate just long enough to piss me off.

  "Move!" I grab the closest body by the collar and shove them toward the hatch, hard enough to send them stumbling. "To the bilge, now! If you’re standing still, you’re in my godsdamned way!"

  The deck is a maelstrom of movement. Ropes snapping tight, feet pounding against wet wood, the air thick with salt, sweat, and shouted orders. Sarah stands there frozen with the world spinning around her. I don’t have time for this. I shove past her, knocking her shoulder just hard enough to jolt her back into the moment, and she grabs the nearest rail.

  "Manee!" I race halfway down the staircase, yelling into the dark belly of the ship. "How much do we need to drop?"

  "Ballast first!" Their voice echoes from below, sharp with urgency. "Then barrels—except the tar, I’ll need all of it if we ever get off this shard. Might need to cut the boats loose."

  "No." I shout over the sound of water rushing into the ship. "We drop a couple cannons before we touch the boats."

  Harken appears beside me scowling. "You serious?"

  "If we sink, we need those boats. Get rid of two guns. Keep the rest for now," I say.

  Harken nods. "Strip two guns and get 'em overboard!" He barks, already at the top of the stairs.

  We either save Hellcat, or we sink with her. The hull screams beneath us, wood splitting, taking on water. The forward motion has slowed, but we’re still stuck listing against the reef as it claws into our belly. There isn’t much more of this we can take before we’re well and truly wrecked.

  "Aft sails—catch the wind and back her off," I shout.

  I'm racing between the deck and the lower holds, trying to keep ahead of the chaos. Every piece of this ship demands my attention at once, every decision I make is more vital than the last. The stern sails fill, the ship groaning as the weight shifts, but the reef fights to keep us in its jaws.

  Then, with a sickening scrape, Hellcat wrenches free. We’re far from safe, and I don’t mean to be cocky, but I’ll be damned if we don’t have this.

  Manee is orchestrating a system of stuffing tarred sailcloth into the holes and nailing planks over them to create a seal. That doesn’t stop the water. We’re up to our knees. Their scrappiness is reassuring, but the thought is short-lived as I take stock of the damage.

  The breach is more than an arm’s length in diameter, with another smaller puncture on the port side. We’ve been skewered and the pumps and bucket brigades are barely keeping up with the steady flow of seawater.

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  Overhead, the sun hangs low. We don’t have much daylight left. I tilt my head back, scanning the dimming sky. If we’re going to fother the hull, we need to do it now, before we’re working blind.

  "Sonya, find me the biggest tarred canvas we have," I shout as I hurry out of the hold, skipping steps.

  "Harken, get us out of here. Jake, Gery, I need you with me. If you want to learn how to fother a ship—now’s your chance," I yell.

  "You're out of your godsdamned mind, Captain," Harken warns. "You swim like a Marlin, but that doesn’t mean you won’t fucking drown!"

  It’s a risky move, but Harken hasn’t seen the gaping wounds in our hull.

  "I’ll be back before you even miss me—try not to cry." I say, giving him a smirk.

  "Gods be with you, Captain. Save our ship." He salutes me.

  I bare my teeth in a grin. I’ll get us out of this mess if it’s the last thing I do. Sarah comes dragging the canvas I asked Sonya for.

  "Alright, listen up," I get to work tying a line to the corner. "We’re fixing this the Hellcat way."

  I instruct them both on how to rig and place the canvas topside, so that it's ready for me to secure it from below.

  "Gery, get halfway down the port side. When I surface, throw me a line. You get one shot—don’t fuck it up."

  Gery grins, “do I ever?”

  I strip fast. Boots hit the deck. Doublet, belts and weapons come off. Sarah tenses as I shove my belongings into her hands.

  "Bring these to my cabin and stay there."

  She hesitates. I don’t have time to care. I coil the rope around my wrist, tight enough to bite.

  I grip the rail, taking it all in. The wind, the current, the ship’s lean. I’ll have to dive over starboard, swim deep, fight against the hull’s drag, tie off, and surface before the ship straightens out too much. Total madness. Exactly my kind of thing. I swing over the rail, perching like a predator.

  "NOW!"

  I dive. Whitecaps swallow me whole. 5, 4, 3, 2— I count the seconds I need to keep diving before turning to swim underneath. I can’t afford a miscalculation. If I crack my head against the hull or a godsdamned shard, I’m a corpse sinking faster than a cannonball. Bring it on.

  The line goes taught as I swim for the bottom of the hull and flip belly-up when I reach the keel, kicking off it to push me the rest of the way across.

  I surface on the other side and lunge for the mooring loop. The ship straightens out and I slam sideways into the hull, shoulder first. Painful, but not enough to slow me down. I knot the rope and look up through the spray.

  Gery’s already on the move. A coil of rope whips down, smacks the water next to me. I snatch it, yank it around my waist, and thrust one fist in the air.

  "UP!"

  Gery and Jake haul me up fast, my bare feet walking up the hull. I swing over the rail, hit the deck hard, and cough up seawater. I ignore a few encouraging cheers from the crew. We’re not done yet.

  "Again," I sprint to the starboard side. Ask me whether I’m determined or completely unhinged. The answer is both.

  "Harken! Give me a port side lean!"

  He cranks the wheel. I launch overboard. 5, 4, 3, 2— I dive deeper, then swim for the keel again, flip over, kick off and aim for the surface but I'm winded and I gasp too soon. Brine fills my lungs.

  I choke as I tie off the line. Gery’s rope slaps me in the face, gods I love her accuracy.

  "UP!"

  They haul me up again, faster this time. I roll over the rail, catch myself on hands and knees, spewing up half the ocean. I stagger upright and charge below.

  Manee is still hammering planks into place. “Whatever you did, it worked,” they say, water sloshing at their knees. “But, don’t stop bailing. We’re still bleeding.”

  “You heard Manee, bail like your life depends on it.” I say to the sailors that have formed a bucket brigade from here to the deck.

  Jake is pushing the swabbies hard on the bilge pumps, so I go and find Harken at the helm.

  “Sanctum’s our best bet, if we can make it there.” He says.

  I nod, “How’s she handling it?”

  “Rudder isn’t biting and the hull’s riding high, but we’ll manage.”

  “And we’re dragging with those patches, too. Shit.” I hiss, thinking about the number of days this is going to add to the voyage.

  “I haven’t seen the hold, how bad is it?” Harken asks.

  “The storage racks look like they've been hit with a battering ram.”

  “And the dry goods?”

  “Wet, now. The rice is spilled, the flour is all mush.”

  “Damnit.”

  “There’s some hardtack, potatoes. I’ll take the wheel, go take stock of rations.”

  Harken nods, stepping aside.

  I rest one palm on the wheel and instantly notice the lack of control. “Fuck.” I groan.

  “Two fingers ain’t gonna get the job done,” he says, eyeing my loose grip. “More like two hands.”

  I roll my eyes and grip the wheel tighter. “I could use two hands on my shoulders right about now.”

  Harken laughs, breaking the tension of our deadpan stares. Then he steps behind me, digging his thumbs into the tight muscles on either side of my neck.

  I sigh. “This is why I keep you around.”

  “I know,” he says, patting me on the back and leaving me to my thoughts.

  It’s going to be a week at least before we reach Thieves Sanctum. Thelos is much closer, but there’s no way we could sneak through the sandbars with the ship in tatters.

  We’re going to starve, but there’s no sense dwelling on worst-case scenarios. I already know the answer to them. We survive, or we don’t. And I’ve never been one for losing.