Battle Stations

They were rowed across the anchorage for a jubilant reunion aboard the Dawn Treader, where men clustered on deck or hung from the rigging to give three lusty cheers as their King and Captain came aboard. Celesta forgot her careful dignity to fly at her husband with anxious questions while the children shouted over each other in their eagerness to best describe the fabulous treasure hoard. Only Daniela stood aside, her brown head cocked, watching her husband as he addressed his grinning deputy.

"Well, Rhince?"

"Very well, Sir; we'm all set for pirate huntin', which is more'n I'd say for them damned lubbers," said the Mate, jabbing a stubby, tobacco-stained finger in the general direction of the Archenlandish fleet. "I've seen bumboats in better condition off Terebinthia, I 'ave!"

"Indeed, but their admiral is fully aware of their deficiencies. The carrying of Barwicke's schooner will be a Narnian affair. My Lady."

"Only you," Daniela chided gently, extending her hand to be kissed, "could go seeking ancient treasure and end finding a nest of pirates! I gather by the furore ashore His Archenlandish Majesty is in attendance?"

"Aye." It amused her, and Drinian knew it, to see him so ill at ease; she knew her presence aboard brought the two creatures that inhabited him, sailor and nobleman, into conflict. "Erlick! Signal our ships: captains to go ashore. Rhince, you'll attend this conference at the Admiral's residence, and when honour's been satisfied I'll give you orders to convey to our fellows. Aye, lower our own boat. If Your Majesties are ready, King Corin seems to be awaiting us on the quay."

"Bother Corin!" muttered Caspian uncharitably. "You'll see immediately, my dear, why his own subjects call him Corin Cracked-Pate! Very well, if we must go ashore, I suppose we must! Tell me, Drinian, how ever did you endure service with so ragged a fleet?"

"Everything I know about how not to handle a ship, Sire, I learned in the service of Archenland," Drinian answered easily, handing the ladies over the side into the waiting boat. "Boson! You have the ship until Rhince or I return."

The next morning saw the Narnians assembling again on the quay. The majority came north from the Queen's Cottage, while Drinian and Daniela arrived looking harassed in the company of Admiral Darin, their host overnight. The ladies, with King Corin and the children, were settled aboard the Lady Elizabetha (Lucy's last, plaintive plea to be allowed to join the Dawn Treader having been firmly squashed by Caspian and Drinian together) accompanied by a strong escort of swords- and bow- men. Buckling on their armour, the two men were rowed out to the Dawn Treader which, to the relief of both admirals Edmund suspected, was to lead and command the squadron.

Two hours of sailing saw the Lady Elizabetha moored behind the treasure island, her passengers squatting atop its larger hill with telescopes at the ready as they surveyed the deceptively tranquil scene. Barwicke's schooner bobbed in her wide, sheltered bay; figures strolled on deck, and occasional shouts could be heard carrying on the still air as pirates aboard joked with cohorts on land. "They're loading up," said Edmund seriously. "Barwicke must be intending to put out again tonight. We're only just in time!"

"Look!" Daniela's telescope - actually Drinian's second best - was trained on the horizon over which the squadron was making its majestic way, the Narnian flagship at the fore. Everyone turned in time to see the first Archenlander (not the Pire Pass, it surprised none of them to note) yaw out of line. If a Narnian vessel were to be so poorly handled, Edmund decided, the captain would find himself cast ashore in no time.

"I hope," he muttered out of one side of his mouth, "they fight better than they sail!"

"I doubt Drinian intends to let them close enough to prove their mettle," replied Celesta in the same way, tugging her thick woollen cloak closer around her slim shoulders. "There! That must be - what is the term you use? Blueguard?"

"Blackguard," Eustace corrected, smacking his lips over the word. "That big, black-haired man who just knocked the littler fellow down? Is that Barwicke?"

"Aye." Corin no longer sounded such an amicable fool. "The villain has the blood of dozens on his hands."

"Pick up your skirts, my lady Dawn Treader," whispered Lucy, turning her glass to stare at the poop deck of the leading warship where she knew her friends would be. There! A flash of gold, dazzling in the sunlight, identified the Royal armour; and beside the King, issuing orders to the Boson (who would stay aboard the galleon) was Drinian.

Slowly - too slowly to the observers on the hill - the squadron came on under all sail. The closer it came, the tighter knots became in every stomach.

"Any time now they must spot our mastheads!" whispered Edmund as the Dawn Treader came close enough, it seemed, to touch. From the main deck a gaggle of armed sailors waved.

On rounding the headland the two leading galleons peeled away, the Great Lion swinging out on a wide arc that would carry her to the farther side of the pirate craft. "Boarders, stand to your weapons!" yelled Drinian, brandishing his cutlass. Caspian swayed back.

"Will you be careful with that thing!" he exclaimed crossly. "It's Barwicke's head you're come for, not mine!"

"Sorry." The pirates were running about their deck in confusion, knocking each other over in their rush to weigh anchor and get themselves to sea. "Helm hard a'lee, Rynelf! Stay put, Your Majesty!"

With that he was off, haring down the poop ladder and along the main deck. "Grappling hooks away!!" Caspian heard him holler as, with a crunching thud, the two ships crashed together.

Whooping, cheering, the Dawn Treaders piled over the side, dropping down to the schooner's deck with swords already swinging.

"Where's the Lion?" cried Lucy, wringing her hands. "Oh, my! There are hundreds of them!"

His sister, Edmund considered, did exaggerate; but not by much. There were more pirates than Narnians in the heaving, shouting mass on the schooner's tight deck, and so still was the air he could pick out individual voices: the raw boom of Rhince; the gruff bark of Purlian; the absurdly shrill (for so big a man) Archenlandish twang of Barwicke; and the crisp, clear north Narnian accent of Drinian himself. "Get a move on, Sarin!" he whispered to the commander of the Great Lion.

Caspian, leaning over the poop rail, was murmuring the same thing as he struggled to make sense of the chaotic battle before him. To the untrained or distant eye, such as those of the spectators on the hill, it would, he thought, have been difficult to recognise friend from foe.

The schooner shuddered, her hull grating against that of her neighbour. The Great Lion ground against the starboard side, half her crew leaping down to join the affray. Screaming, terrified pirates turned to meet the new threat. Some were slashed down from fore and aft; others, luckier or wiser, hurled themselves overboard into the icy waters of the bay.

"Cowards! Poltroons!" shouted King Corin, almost dancing with indignation on his hilltop. "Stand and fight like men!"

A flight of arrows sliced across their line of sight, falling around the cottage where dozens more pirates were gathered, screaming at the combatants on deck. "The brig!" shouted Edmund. "She's opened fire on Barwicke's cottage!"

Closer in to shore, the crew of the little sloop followed suit. "Why does my frigate do nothing?" demanded Corin petulantly.

As if in answer, the largest of the three ships lined before the beach spat out a ragged volley toward the helpless pirates on shore. "Um, Drinian's very keen on battle drill," said Eustace, acutely embarrassed for the Archenlander. "Even in the eastern sea he insisted the men practise their shooting at least once a week."

"I doubt our captains have ordered the firing of more than a single arrow in salute since the Pirate Wars," Corin admitted, determined that would quickly change. "Look how they flee! Cowards!"

None could accuse the pirate chief of liverishness, however feebly his shipmates might attempt to desert him. Sword flailing, Black Barwicke fought on wildly, backing his way aft toward the poop ladder. Drinian, parrying his blows with contemptuous ease, gave a quick nod to his deputy.

Rhince and Peridan stepped up behind the shrieking pirate. Fingers inflexible as wrought iron bit into his raised arms. And though he fought and kicked and cursed, Barwicke was helpless to free himself from his chortling captors.

On seeing their leader overcome the remaining handful of pirate crew threw down their weapons at the feet of the Narnians. Caspian bolted from his perch and dropped over the rail, determined not to miss another minute.

Barwicke stood at the heart of a Narnian knot, his broad, flat face mottled red and white with fury as he screeched the most vicious stream of blasphemy any King of Narnia ever heard. His captors, with heads cocked and expressions alert, gave every appearance of offering a courteous hearing. "Divide the prisoners between our ships," Drinian instructed, wiping the gory blade of his cutlass against the deck.

"Aye, Sir." Rhince affirmed. No need to ask which vessel would carry the leader to captivity! "What 'bout the ship, Cap'n?"

"A prize crew will come aboard from the Pire Pass. Leave her for them."

"Aye aye, Sir. She'll be a fair gain for their fleet, what with a new name an' a lick o' paint!"

"Or just a new name!" called another, from the safety of the crowd. People (even a King) sniggered.

"The squadron will sail for Barwell immediately. There'll be quite a gathering to greet you, Master Barwicke, and all laid on by His Archenlandish Majesty. Take him below; and see him properly guarded!"

"Aye, Cap'n. You'll be wantin' the boat, Sir, take 'is Majesty an' you over to the island?"

"Thank you, Rhince. Ah, Sarin! What are our casualties?"

The captain of the Great Lion was numbered amongst them; blood oozed slowly from a gash in his lower leg, bandaged with a strip of canary-coloured cloth from a pirate jerkin. "None dead, Sir; a dozen wounded, only one seriously - a fellow of my company slashed in the stomach, but he'll do well enough. Of the others - only the laziest will find excuse to avoid duty by nightfall."

"And the villains?"

"Twenty dead, twenty-eight prisoners and more - how many, I dare not guess - jumped overboard." Sarin grinned at his admiral. "We might hope the Pire Pass picks 'em up."

"Naught wrong in hoping," agreed Caspian doubtfully. Drinian's lips twitched.

"Well, if Your Majesty is willing, we'll get the squadron underway and retreat to the island," he said formally. Caspian inclined his head.

"At your pleasure, my Lord. Captain Sarin, our heartiest congratulations and thanks to your company. Ah! I see a boat coming from the Pire Pass; that will be the prize crew, will it not? I suggest we abandon the vessel to their care."