"Shirley Meier & S. M. Stirling - Fifth Millenium 02 - Saber and Shadow" - читать интересную книгу автора (Meier Shirley)

She had to do something. Just then the hull-note changed and someone yelled
wordlessly from forward, a different sound from people fighting with each
other, more panicked than angry. Something went crack above their heads as
canvas gave way. That was the last sail. Seconds later the ship lurched and
groaned, the bow not meeting the waves quite head-on.

She pulled her legs up as much as she could, pulling Jaipahl's up, too. I'll
explain later. If the ship goes down well never get out in the mess. I don't
want to die. She snapped the link of the chain, caught Jaipahl's hand and made
him feel the broken edge because in the noise she couldn't explain. Even as
the ship lurched she could feel him tense, though he didn't move immediately.
The severed chain slithered through ankle-rings, leaving the coffle free.

Megan was short enough to sit up without hitting her head on the deck over her
head but couldn't brace herself. The forward hatch was ripped open then,
letting in a blast of wind and water foaming up over the hatch-combing, with a
little light. Fear came with it, but clean air as well. Three of the
Flycatcher's crew held onto the hatch, yelling down that they needed everyone
to bail or work the pumps. An ominous rending groan came from forward, and
they swung down and started unlocking chains as Megan stood up, crouched,
feeling the deck against her back.

The Flycatcher lurched, falling, and Megan lost her balance and fell three
tiers onto the people tying below. For a moment she lay, gasping, as hands
reached, touching in the dark. I'm going mad. Her chest was tight, the ship
was screaming as Megan wanted to. Out-she had to get out.

She bit down on the edge of her hand, spat out scum that crusted on her teeth,
forcing calm. Her teeth hurt and felt a little loose; not enough greens, she
thought irrelevantly. She scrambled up to her knees, realized why the person
she'd landed most heavily on wasn't protesting, and bellowed as best she
could, using the command-voice she had developed as a riverboat captain on the
Brezhan.

"DONT FIGHT, they need us to bail!"

She had to yell to be heard, in all the languages she knew, hoping that
someone had the sense to pass on the word. It was hard to tell, but clutching
hands let go.

She clambered up to the forward hatch. Another wave washed over the deck,
pouring in the open hatch with a cold impact that wrenched at her wrists as
she clung to the ladder, stinging in all the wounds and grazes.

"Hang on, Jaipahl!" Megan shouted in his ear, as they cleared the ladder,
falling flat on the pitching deck and grabbing for rope ends. It was day-black
cloud, black water washing over the stern. Sailors were handing down buckets,
calling the first out of the hold to the fixed pumps to relieve exhausted
crew. The ceramic gears whined as slaves and crewfolk heaved at the crank