One of the great battles of the Age of Sail was the second battle between the pirate ship the Pegasus and the privateer the Black Remora. The battle took place in the North Tarakkis in the winter of 1242. It was a foggy day—something that was to have profound consequences for the lives of every sailor aboard the two ships.
Our story begins on the Pegasus at precisely midday, at the changing of the watch.
A discordant long horn sounded mournfully within the fog. There was the sound of rattling bones, and then war drums began to beat, slow and deep. Ba-bah bap bap ba-dum. Ba-bah bap bap ba-dum. The drums began to beat faster, and the crew began rhythmically stamping and chanting a war song. More long horns sounded, the clash of gongs, and then flying out of the fog: the Black Remora, on course for intercept.
The boarding party, led by Bludger, lined the gunwales of the ship, painted fearsomely and armed to the teeth, musketeers in the nests, rows of closed gun ports below. On the afterdeck, Captain Hyde stalked back and forth dressed in crisp whites and a traditional blue sweater, a bundle of rage and sheer will. The chimpanzee shouted orders through a loud hailer, gesturing with his cutlass.
On the fo’c’sle, the crew of the Pegasus could make out eight drummers, two on the large war drums, four on the smaller drums, and two stoats with large sticks who fought each other fearlessly in time with the beat, adding to the terrific din. With yips and guttural cries the drummers leapt and drummed in tremendous unison, steam rising from their half-naked bodies. Fireworks sparked and smoked, whistles blasted. Someone began screaming.
“What a bunch of posers,” Duke said.
They all stared at the approaching ship. Gunners began shouting orders.
Flip lifted his buckler. “I hate dogs,” the mouse said. “I really do.”
No one said anything.
“I like Frank though.”
Someone farted.
Rip and Stoush were identical twins, stoats abandoned as infants outside an orphanage in Fleigh and eventually adopted by someone who arranged for them to be raised by an eirubon in a remote village in the Fingal mountains. The brothers grew up learning eirubo and when their Auntie died they left the village. What exactly they were seeking they weren’t sure, but they explored countless cities, experimented with drugs, and made a meagre but steady income from their art, supplemented by odd jobs. Eventually, they ended up on the Black Remora, and quickly became an integral part of the vivasa, or warmup.
I bounced the ball against the wall.
I don’t like routines as a general rule. They’re boring, to be honest. But I realised I was going to need some kind of schedule to stay healthy while I was inside. Pushups, meditation. Maybe a hobby. Something to shape the long days and nights that were to come. The more I thought about it, the more I began to realise: this could be the making of me. Discipline. Determination. Tenacity.
All of a sudden the cell door unlocked and swung open—Tortoise!
“What are you doing?” I exclaimed, scrambling to my feet.
“The ship’s under attack,” Tortoise said breathlessly. “We have to weatherdeck and warn the others.”
I looked at him, puzzled. “Warn the others? What do you mean?”
Witnesses differ on what happened next, but it’s clear that shortly after the Pegasus’s foremast fell, the fire spread to the Black Remora. Great leaders must adapt to circumstance, and once again the leadership of both crews rose to the occasion. Captain Polly and First Mate Molly had already gone below, and the Chief Marine was undergoing emergency surgery in the infirmary—but Sergeant Griffin seized the opportunity presented by the fire and pressed the advantage, pushing the enemy back onto the Black Remora’s foc’s’le and giving the Pegasus’s forward fire teams crucial room to cut and control.
Meanwhile, First Mate Bludger and his team were breaking through to the quarterdeck.
“Has anyone seen my socks?” Tortoise asked.
Gecko played a card and smugly rearranged his spread.
Ibrahim groaned. “Come on.”
Song picked up. “Maybe what we need…” they said, playing the card, “is the Balloon.”
“Nice.” Ibrahim and Song paw-slapped.
Penny and Dee silently conferred.
“Anyone?” Tortoise repeated.
Miguel stirred in his hammock. “The blue ones? I think maybe Mole washed them.”
“Sorry, I thought they were mine.” Mole peered down from the top bunk. “They’re drying next to the kitchen.”
“Alright, thanks.”
“They might be done. I can fetch them if you like?”
“No, don’t worry. I feel like a walk.”
“I’ll come too,” Penguin said, hopping up. “This game’s going forever.”
“I’m not sure what this does,” Penny said innocently, “but I’d like to introduce you all to… the Pistol.”
Eirubo, literally “music stick dance”, involves wielding large sticks in mock fighting displays that create rhythmic music due to the varying tones produced by different sticks and by different points on a stick. Routines will often incorporate playing surfaces around the performance space. At high levels performances are totally improvised, and strikes against your partner(s) are considered shameful. Young players looking to impress a potential wife will sometimes challenge each other to eirubo duels, but these are extremely difficult to win, for obvious reasons. The greatest eirubon are usually friends or lovers. I’m not gonna lie: I was stuck inside the wall.
On this point, the historical record is silent. We know that someone aboard the Pegasus must have signalled the Black Remora, but how and why they did so remains a mystery.
“The closest air vent is in the library. If we can get there we can access the crawlspace. Or Gecko can.”
“Who said—?”
“There’s a library??”
“It’s very small. I thought everyone knew about it.”
“Can’t we just use the voice-pipe?”
“It might be compromised. How else is this happening?”
“Traitors.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Comrades, maybe we can discuss this later?”
“Shh, someone’s coming.”
The Black Remora’s boarding bridges fell, and the battle was fully joined.
Bludger, face painted blue like a demon, bounded onto the deck of the Pegasus, brushing aside Duke’s fabled sword with his cudgel, biting down on Duke’s pretty throat like a dog killing a chicken. His momentum carried them to the ground, Duke slamming into the wood.
Bludger rose at once, blood streaming from his jaws, and clobbered Duke’s head a couple of times, painting the deck red. Duke twitched this way and that, as if having a bad dream. Bludger was already moving on, cudgelling Scrimshaw Jack, sweeping Anika aside.
Flip darted past and grimly engaged the civet.
Smoke filling the dim passageway. The heat of the fire. The dull shudder of another broadside.
The two of them steadied themselves against each other. Flames licked through the doorway. Heat like a furnace—it was hard to breathe. They had to turn back, but—
“We need that key,” the Captain said evenly.
Molly looked up at Polly as if for the first time.
“I am your sword,” she said. And she leapt into the fire.
Next episode: The Boat