Red Seas Under Red Skies (Gentleman Bastard, #2)

by Scott Lynch

Jean was paging through a tattered copy of Indrovo Lencallis’ Wise Mariner’s Practical Lexicon, with Numerous Enlightening Examples from Honest History. “Come on, you’re the captain of the ship. I’m just your skull-cracker.” “I know. Give me another.” Locke’s own copy of the book was currently resting underneath his knives and his glass of brandy. “Hmmm.” Jean flipped pages. “Caldris says to put us on a beam reach. What the hell’s he talking about?” “Wind coming in perpendicular to the keel,” muttered Locke. “Hitting us straight on the side.” “And now he wants a broad reach.” “Right.” Locke paused to sip his brandy. “Wind neither blowing right up our ass nor straight on the side. Coming from one of the rear quarters, at forty-five degrees or so to the keel.” “Good enough.” Jean flipped pages again. “Box the compass. What’s the sixth point?” “Hard east. Gods, this is just like dinner with Chains back home.” “Right on both counts. South a point.” “Um, east by south.” “Right. South another point.” “Southeast east?” “And another point.” “Ah, gods.” Locke grabbed his glass and downed the rest of his brandy in one gulp. “Southeast by go-fuck-yourself. That’s enough for tonight.” “But—” “I am the captain of the bloody ship,” said Locke, rolling over onto his stomach. “My orders are to drink your brandy and go to bed.” He reached out, pulled a pillow completely over his head, and was fast asleep in moments. Even in his dreams he was tying knots, bracing sails, and finding latitudes.