“Probably walking around when he should be resting in bed,” I muttered to myself.
“What was that?” Pangloss asked.
“Nothing. I trust there won’t be any mistakes in identity today, since I’m sailing one of your captain’s ships.”
“Aye, there won’t be,” he said quickly, his blue eyes guileless. “I’m hopin‘ ye’ll forgive me for the mistake yesterday. I’ll be happy to send a few of me swabbies to help with yer ship repairs.”
“Thank you, I’d appreciate that. There’s just my four guys, and I need them to help sail, so my ship is just sitting all crippled.”
Pangloss nodded and started to turn away. I grabbed the arm of his shirt to stop him. “There’s something I wanted to ask you, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, aye? What be that?”
I hesitated, trying to find a way to phrase the question that wouldn’t tip him off if he was really Paul. “You’ve been with Bart for how long?”
“Since I was a wee lad,” he answered promptly, turning to bellow out an order about a barrel of gunpowder.
“Ah. Odd; you two look to be about the same age.”
He didn’t even look at me as he watched his men roll the barrel on board a large ship. “Nay, I was apprenticed to Bart when I was a wee sprog. Use yer deadlights, ye lubbers! Ye damage the mizzenmast gettin‘ that powder in place, and it’ll be the cat for ye!”
“So, what did you do before you were apprenticed to Bart?”
Pangloss shot me a quick look. “What be ye talkin‘ about? Bloody hell—ye scurvy dogs! Be ye all three sheets in the wind?”
Before I could pump him for more information, Pangloss stormed off to his ship, yelling orders at his crew. I made a mental note to try to pin him down later, and toddled off to my own ship.
Five hours later I stretched and looked in the basket I had used to bring lunch for everyone. “Hey, who ate all the apples?”
Bas burped and looked away. Bran hacked up an apple seed.
“Oh, well, I guess we’ll get more when we go back to port. Which I hope is soon. I never imagined a blockade would be boring after yesterday, but this…
bah.”
The blockade ships stretched out in a ragged line across the opening of the harbor. Our ships were staggered inside the harbor, with us slightly to the left of and behind Pangloss. The air was still and silent, the wind almost nonexistent. The guns were quiet, cleaned and prepped, ready to be loaded and fired. Overhead sea birds wheeled and dove, the only movement visible to the eye. I gave the blockade line a desultory look. It hadn’t moved; their ships were as anchored as ours.
“ ‘Tis the way of a blockade,” Tar said, picking his teeth with the tip of a dagger.
“It wasn’t at all like this yesterday,” I pointed out. “Yesterday was all about blowing up innocent people’s ships, and blood, and drowning, and such.”
“Aye, the opening of a blockade can be that way. Then it settles down to this,”
he said, waving his knife at the ships. “Black Corbin’s ships is there makin‘ sure no one gets in or out.”
“I can see why they’ve dropped anchor—they’re in a good position, and they’ve achieved their goals. But why are we here?” I asked, bored to death. There were a thousand other things I’d rather be doing than spending my day getting sunburned sitting around on the deck of a borrowed sloop.
“We’re ensurin‘ that Black Corbin’s men don’t take the harbor,” Tar said slowly, as if he was explaining it to an idiot. Which, I had to admit, was pretty much me when it came to subjects like the proper etiquette at a blockade.
“How long are we expected to wait here? Do we get to go back when the sun goes down?”
Tar looked at me as if I’d started turning backflips. “If we go back, who’ll guard the harbor?”
“Well…” I hesitated. “I guess I never really thought about it. I just kind of assumed that everyone ceased the hostilities when it was dark.”
Tar muttered to himself and spat over the side of the ship.
I was silent for another half hour, then something struck me. “I didn’t bring enough food to last us days. We’re going to have to go back so I can get more.”
