Master of My Dreams by Danelle Harmon Page B

heard
fierce whispers that he did his best to ignore and vowed not to
forget.
    “This’ll really make him look
bad!”
    “Aye, ’twill bring his bloody Lordship down a
tuppence or two!”
    His order was repeated through speaking
trumpets. Men ran to the braces while others scrambled up the
ratlines and out along the yards. Sail spilled down, rolling in the
wind with a noise like thunder. The wind was blowing strong, and he
knew he would have only a few short moments to get the sails
properly set before the frigate was swept dangerously close to
shore and the other anchored vessels. He would have to move fast,
for once the cable was cut—
    His heart began to hammer in his throat. From
shore, another telescope glinted in the sunlight. Another, from an
admiral’s flagship . . .
    He saw Rico, waiting for his next order; he
felt the frigate trembling deep in her bones. He took a deep,
steadying breath, stared nervously at the land, and snapped,
“Prepare to lose the anchor.”
    The cable was cut. Like a bird trying out its
wings for the first time, the frigate reeled drunkenly, her canvas
flapping, her yards jumping, the men aloft yelling with alarm, and
some with fear, as their precarious footholds jerked and bucked
beneath them.
    “Look alive on those braces!”
    On deck, swearing, shouting men were laid
nearly on their backs as they heaved and hauled at the braces. From
above came a yell of alarm as a topman slipped on a foot-rope and
nearly fell.
    Christian stared at the land drawing closer
and closer. “Get those bloody tops’ls set!” he roared.
    The shore was now so close that he could see
the people lining the docks and watching the magnificent sight of a
king’s ship getting under way; it was so close that he could hear
the jeering hoots of ridicule from a moored sloop of war whose crew
knew that the sight wasn’t the least bit magnificent; it was so
close that he could see the windows of an inn, and the glint of sun
off another telescope. Another . . .
    “Loose fore and main courses!”
    Ian had been picking at a callus on his
knuckle. “Huh?”
    "Loose fore and main courses!”
    “Oh. Aye. Uh, aye, sir .”
    But just then the men, leaning on their heels
and nearly horizontal to the deck as they hauled on the braces,
sent up a great cry of distress and tumbled onto their backs.
    A line had parted.
    Another.
    And then more cries of dismay as a brace gave
way with a sound like a pistol shot.
    Great God above!
    Above, canvas flapped in out-of-control fury.
Lines snapped to and fro like the tails of a whip, yards jerked and
quivered—and HMS Bold Marauder, out of control, headed
directly for shore.
    “Assume the deck, Mr. MacDuff!” Christian
yelled, already running down the quarterdeck stairs and racing
forward to take control of the confusion.
    But it was too late. Ian, standing dumbly
beside the wheel, suddenly realized the magnitude of responsibility
his commanding officer had just shoved on him. “Christ, laddies, do something! Where’s Skunk? Skunk! Jesus, don’t just
stand there—”
    Skunk stood just below the quarterdeck
railing, grinning and idly picking at a tooth. “Piss off, Ian. Just
because ye’ve been given a bit o’ power, ye don’t have to take it
out on the rest of us!”
    “Yeah, leave us out of it!” Teach yelled.
    "Move!” Ian roared, seeing the
shoreline coming closer and closer. “Saints alive— Christ, Wenham, there’s a moored boat coming up off the larboard bows—”
    “What boat?”
    Ian grabbed the wheel and spun it hard, but
with the sails flapping helplessly, it was no use. And the
wheel—
    “The steering’s gone!” he cried, curling his
hands into claws and raking at his hair. “The bluidy steering’s
gone!”
    The little boat cringed beneath the shadow of
the oncoming frigate, and Ian clapped his hands to his ears as it
was helplessly smashed beneath the great bows.
    “You tampered with the rudder!” Ian yelled,
going for Wenham’s throat, and the