‘By the mark, seven!’
‘By the deep, six!’
Munnus Tonelero, captain of Sigmar’s Belly, eased her wheel gently to larboard, only half listening to the cries of the leadsmen in the bows. He had guided vessels through the treacherous shoals of the Orweed Delta since he was barely more than a boy, and they held little terror for him.
Until today.
‘On deck there!’
‘What now?’ snapped Munnus, eyes fixed on the narrow channel ahead.
‘A gargant, sir, just come into view past the headland.’
Munnus adjusted the wheel another strake. ‘Where away?’
‘Direct to leeward, a league or so distant,’
Munnus frowned. ‘Nonsense, Ciego. That’s the deep-water channel. Twelve fathoms at least.’
‘He’s chest deep, sir.’ Ciego replied. ‘No more.’
A glance to leeward told Munnus nothing. The great lateen sail, taut in the fresh breeze, obscured his view. He cursed under his breath.
‘Joven!’ he called. ‘Take the wheel. I’m going aloft.’
His bosun stepped hesitantly forward. Munnus threw him a sideways look.
‘Are you sure you can manage the reefs?’ he asked. ‘It’s not much further to the main channel.’
The young man craned his neck to see the water ahead. He nodded.
Munnus ran up the mainmast shrouds as if they were a flight of stairs. Ciego made room for him at the crosstrees and pointed silently beyond the billowing sails.
‘Hell’s teeth,’ muttered Munnus. He unslung his spyglass from over his shoulder and focused it on the gigantic figure. The gargant’s eyes, unnaturally small in the enormous face, peered myopically this way and that. Its nostrils flared as it sniffed the wind.
‘He doesn’t seem to be coming this way,’ said Ciego.
‘He will if he realises what we’re carrying,’ Munnus replied. ‘He’s got a taste for it.’
Ciego looked taken aback. ‘You know him?’
‘Aye,’ Munnus watched the gargant clamber over a distant reef. ‘I know him. Fimnog Sea-Drinker. Those damned Duardin hired him to break the siege of Karak Kuzitsak. Paid him in ale. He’s been devoted to it ever since.’
‘Can we outrun him?’ Ciego asked.
‘Not with the breeze sending us right down the channel towards him,’ Munnus replied, snapping his telescope closed. ‘We’ll lie to until he passes.’
‘Where do you think he is headed? It looks like…’
The rest of Ciego’s question was drowned by a rending crash, accompanied by a violent shudder that almost threw the two men from their perch.
Furious, Munnus hailed the quarterdeck. ‘Joven, you Khorne-cursed lubber! What in the hells have you done to my ship?’
‘She scraped the reef at the mouth of the passage, sir. But she’s past it now, into the main channel.’
‘I can see that, you pox-headed lunatic!’ Munnus shouted back, purple with fury. ‘What I want to know is, will she still swim?’
Joven, his tanned face unnaturally pale, consulted a sailor emerging from the hold. Munnus couldn’t make out what they were saying, but the sailor looked worried.
‘Two feet in the well, sir,’ Joven reported at last. ‘A leak under her quarter. But nothing we can’t fix.’
‘Then fix it! And send every man you can spare to the pumps,’ said Munnus, unfolding his telescope once more. The gargant had caught a fishing smack unawares, shaking it upside down and laughing as a river of silver scales splashed back into the sea. His guffaws rolled down the channel like the sound of a distant broadside. Of the boat’s occupants, there was no sign.
Munnus sniffed the air. A bitter scent was overcoming the salt spray, familiar, yet out of place. But before he could put a name to it, a hail from the deck interrupted his thoughts.
‘Sir,’ Joven shouted. ‘Regret to report that two of the casks were stove by the collision. Bilges are awash with the stuff. But we’ve pumped a good deal out already.’
‘No! Belay there!’ cried Mannus, but too late. The twin jets of the pumps were already gushing amber, and the resulting froth was whipped away by the wind, carrying the stink of ale down the channel.
Towards the gargant.
In horror, Munnus watched the beast toss aside the shattered remains of the fishing smack. The great nose twitched, and the monster’s head snapped round to face the breeze. With a cry of delight that echoed off the headlands either side, Fimnog turned and began wading up the channel towards Sigmar’s Belly.
Munnus was down on deck in an instant. ‘All hands about ship!’ he boomed, taking the wheel.
The sailors raced aloft, the yards swung and the ship turned into the wind, tracing a sweeping curve on the surface of the sea. The gargant followed.
The chase continued down a narrow channel between the coast and the islands of the delta. Sigmar’s Belly, deep laden though she was, could glide across the water far faster than the gargant could lumber through it. But the opposing wind forced her to beat back and forth across the channel, in short, diagonal turns.
Within the hour, the gargant had closed the gap to a mere few hundred yards. The hands, their faces hollow, stared silently aft, measuring the distance with their eyes. A few had contrived to get at the cargo. Sailors preferred to die drunk, if they could.
Munnus turned to Joven. ‘Rouse out two hogsheads of good ale and toss them over the side. Perhaps that will distract him enough for us to slip by.’
The large casks were hoisted out of the hold and slung outboard. The crew crowded onto the yards, ready for the order to put the ship before the wind and run for the open sea.
‘Let go,’ cried Munnus, and the casks splashed into the water, one after the other.
Every man aboard watched noiselessly as the casks drifted away into the wake. It was not long before the gargant reached the barrels. He grabbed the first, stove in the lid, and drank greedily. A hundred gallons of beer disappeared in a few swallows.
‘Thirsty beggar, ain’t he?’ a slurred voice called out from the waist of the ship.
‘Silence on deck! Joven, take that man’s name.’ Munnus watched the gargant sweep up the second cask from the waves. This time it punched a hole in the wall of the cask with a yellowed fingernail, and sniffed the stream that emerged. It made a face, then hurled the barrel in the direction of the ship.
The cask smashed on the sternpost, shattering the rail and sending a spray of ale across the quarterdeck.
Munnus dipped a finger into the spilled beer and tasted it. He frowned. ‘Joven,’ he called. ‘Did you sway up casks of the Flame Ale, like I told you?’
‘N..no sir,’ replied Joven, blenching. ‘Only Firebrand. I thought…’
‘I don’t pay you to think, Joven Amargo,’ interrupted Munnus. ‘Which is just as well, as it would make you a thief if I did. I don’t blame old Fimnog for hurling Firebrand back at us. I wouldn’t feed that swill to my dog. Rouse out the right good ale, this time, and be quick about it!’
Again, two hogsheads splashed down into the wake. This time, however, they were better received. The gargant had barely drained the first barrel, and was reaching greedily for the second, when Munnus gave the order:
‘Put before the wind and make all sail!’
Sigmar’s Belly picked up speed and shot between the gargant and the shore. Fimnog barely noticed as he shook the last drops of Flame Ale from his second barrel.
Munnus and Joven stood by the shattered taffrail, watching the gargant dwindle behind them. It had soon given up the chase, and instead was striding out of the surf onto the shore. The scattered huts of a fishing village lay beyond, the rooftops barely reaching Fimnog’s knee.
‘Sigmar protect those poor devils,’ muttered Joven, half to himself.
‘Aye lad,’ agreed Munnus. ‘Still, it could be worse.’
‘Sir?’ Joven looked puzzled.
‘For one thing,’ replied his captain, ‘it could be us.’
