"Walter Jon Williams - Consequences" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williams Walter John)

Another pair of bangs, followed by a buzzing and a smack: the smaller
galleass's ball had pitched right through _Birdwing_'s main topsail. Derec saw
blond and redheaded countrymen looking up in surprise, heard nervous laughter.
This was the first time most of them had been under fire. Derec realized he
should probably say something now, offer an inspiring comment to drive any
thoughts of fear out of his sailors' heads. He could think of nothing.
"Run out the starboard chaser!" he finally called. "We'll answer that!"
There were some scattered cheers, but Derec could see puzzled
expressions. The enemy were within range of the broadside guns: why not open
fire with the whole battery? Derec kept his counsel. He was saving the first
broadside for close range.
The bronze starboard demiculverin rumbled as it thrust its muzzle from
the port. Derec could see the gun captain bent low over the chaser's barrel,
timing the ship's motion, linstock in his hand. There was a gush of fire from
the priming, then a roar; the gun flung itself back like a monstrous bronze
beast. Derec turned to leeward and saw the nine-pound ball skip on the waves
like a dancer twenty yards ahead of the enemy's prow. A groan of
disappointment went up from _Birdwing_'s crew.
"Chaser crew, fire at will!" Derec called.
The chasers banged at each other for another three or four rounds
apiece. The Liavekans showed no sign of changing course: were they really
going to let Derec lay alongside and fight exactly the kind of battle he
wanted? Ignoring the artillery duel, Derec studied the enemy, the changing
relationship between the ships. Tried to get into his enemy's head, wondered
what the enemy admiral was thinking.
The sound of kettledrums and cymbals was very loud now, carrying
clearly upwind. The enemy sweeps moved in beautiful synchrony, the blue water
boiling at their touch. The distance between _Birdwing_ and the lead enemy
narrowed, and Derec was considering running out his starboard battery when
flame blossomed from the enemy's sides and the air was full of shrieking.
Derec's heart turned over at the sound of a slamming noise from below -- a
shot lodged home -- followed by another smack as a ball tore through the fore
topsail. The enemy had fired its full broadside, maybe ten guns in all.
His nerves wailing in surprise, Derec bit his lip and frowned at the
enemy. Something had changed, but he couldn't say what. Something in the
pattern of drumbeats and cymbals. Another level of his awareness sensed the
enemy's magician attempting a spell. With a start he realized what the enemy
intended.
"Hard a-starboard!" he roared, and ran to the break in the poop. Just
below him, sheltered by the poop overhang, Sandor the timoneer controlled the
ship's whipstaff. "Hard a-starboard!" Derec shrieked again, and he felt the
change in the ship's motion that meant the timoneer had flung his weight
against the whipstaff and the galleon was beginning to respond to its big
rudder. Derec suddenly felt the nature of the enemy spell -- it was an attempt
to paralyze them for a few seconds, but Levett had parried it, again without
the need for Derec's assistance. Derec glanced at the surprised faces of his
crew.
"Both broadsides, load and run out! Starboard guns, load with
double-shot! Larboard guns, load with roundshot!" He glanced at the enemy to
confirm what he suspected, and found it true -- the bright silhouettes were