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us.”

      â€œBut—”

      â€œIf you think Mildred would do as good a job taking care of the Diesels as you would, by all means swap places with her. But somebody needs to be down with those engines, and not just Maggie. She’s ace, but doesn’t have a third of your chops.”

      Myron bobbed his balding head. “Aye-aye, uh, Captain.” He turned and hurried back below, shaking his head at the sad mess that was all that remained of Edna.

      Ryan and J.B. had settled Krysty on the floor, as clear as they could of the still slightly smoking Edna, the captain, and—most important, in Ryan’s view—the helmswoman’s feet. He had folded his long black coat and propped her head up against it. Her hair lay limply across it, as if eager to give up the fight.

      â€œThank you, lover,” she said as he kissed her cheek and straightened. “I’ll be back on my feet before you know it.”

      â€œNot before I tell you you’re ready,” Mildred said sternly, not even looking around from examining the captain’s dressing.

      â€œLet’s go, J.B.” Ryan jerked his chin to the door. Though the Queen sported powered pumps, at times like this they used hand pumps to allow the engines to devote full power to driving the vessel and her burden. From the way the deck shuddered beneath his feet, he knew that Myron had followed his wife’s initial order to redline them and keep them there, regardless.

      Ryan approved. His own team worked that way: if he told them to do something that pushed the envelope, or even seemed flat crazy—and their own judgment told them it might actually be worth a try—they did it. And they usually pulled it off.

      â€œRyan.” Trace’s voice rasped as if she’d been gargling lye. “Stay. If you will.”

      That latter part was one of the shipboard niceties the captain liked to maintain, and Ryan knew it. He turned back. Aboard the Queen, she was his boss. And in this case what she was calling him back from was adding the strength of his back and arms to saving her ship.

      â€œI need you…to advise me,” she said. “We’ve had more than one run-in with people who want this cargo, and I’ve seen that you know something about tactics.”

      â€œYou’re the authority on ship-handling,” he said. “I can’t pretend to know nuke about it.”

      â€œWe put our…heads together, then,” she said, managing a wan smile.

      She was triple tough, there was no question. When her ship and crew were on the line, she would do her job and die doing it. For their part, the crew knew it, and responded accordingly.

      Even Ryan and his people knew that. Good, honest bosses were hard to come by.

      â€œI’m fresh out of ideas, now,” he admitted, as another volley came rushing in with a hurricane sound.

      He felt a tremor beneath his feet, accompanied by a thunderous bang from astern. Immediately voices began screaming, “Fire! Fire on the barge!”

      A moment later, Suzan Kenn appeared in the door, her gray-shot brown hair in more than the usual disarray.

      â€œA shell hit the barge right where the lumber meets the cloth bales, Captain!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “She started burning like Billy Jesus right off the mark. The only hope we’ve got of dousing the blaze is turning on the power to the pumps.”

      â€œWe can’t do that,” Trace rapped. “Cut her loose.”

      Suzan blinked. “Captain?”

      â€œAre you sure, Trace?” Arliss asked.

      He was the Mississippi Queen’s master rigger, which meant he kept the steering linkages in top shape, among other duties. A little guy, somewhere between J.B. and Jak in size, he had a short frizz of graying hair and a beard, prominent ears, and a missing right front incisor. He was the second-best financial mind on board, after the now-deceased Edna, and usually advised the Conoyers in negotiations, a job Edna had been too shy to do well. Like everybody aboard the Queen, he was ace at his job, and Ryan knew that part of his job was to keep his captain’s eye on the bottom line.

      â€œThe price—”

      â€œProbably won’t buy us a new ship, Arliss, and definitely won’t buy a new us. We can’t die for the load.”

      â€œBut Baron Teddy—”

      â€œWill have to—” she winced at a twinge of pain as Mildred adjusted the bandage “—deal with his disappointment. We can send him a nice note from upstream. He knew the risks when he ordered the goods. Cut her loose, Suzan.”

      â€œWait,” Ryan said.

      Everybody looked at him. “You sound like a man with a plan,” Trace told him.

      â€œI don’t know if I’d dignify it by calling it that,” he said. “Yet. Give me a minute to look outside.”

      Suzan started to pull back away from the door as he headed for it. Then she ducked hastily inside at the thud and shudder of another impact.

      Ryan’s nut-sack tightened in anticipation of the following explosion, which didn’t come. He poked his head outside.

      The middle-aged deckhand had not been lying. Great clouds of white smoke were pouring out of the barge. He could see flames leaping to a height he judged to be higher than his head. He doubted their ability to put out the fire, even with power to drive water at good pressure through hoses stretched far astern. That wasn’t anything he knew much about, but his gut told him he was right. He trusted it.

      The wind was still blowing out of the east and freshening slightly as the sun headed for the horizon behind the tall weeds of the western shore. There was already a respectable wall of smoke extending across the wide river in that direction.

      The Queen was almost turned clean south. Ryan glanced upriver. As he feared, the half-dozen or so smaller craft giving chase were closer now, and at least three of them were big enough to be what he took for the so-called frigates, and armored.

      They had one bit of luck: when he stepped briefly out to the rail to look astern, he could only see the easternmost of the bigger Poteetville ships now lying broadside to their fleeing prey. The rest were completely blanketed by a brown-gray haze of their own gun smoke. That was the thing about black powder weapons: unless you had a wind blowing up double brisk, you only had a few good shots before you were nigh-on blinded by a smoke screen of your own creation. The only bonus to that was that if your enemy was similarly armed, they had the same problem.

      Good to know, but not particularly significant, Ryan thought. They were getting close to the point at which there was no sense wasting the powder and ball in hopes of scoring some lucky hits. In fact, he couldn’t see any muzzle-flashes from the stationary capital ships and frigates, even the one that was mostly clear because the breeze blew its gun smoke away. But the pursuing vessels all had bow cannon, even the patrol boats, and they were all banging lustily away as soon as their crews could reload them, which wasn’t fast, fortunately.

      But now Ryan had his plan. He smiled and stepped back inside.

      â€œIt’s about time to straighten the rudder to run downstream, Captain,” Nataly said as he reentered the bridge. She had gotten her strength back and stood tall.

      Trace had her eyes shut and her head back against the bulkhead, but she was awake and alert.

      â€œYou still have the helm,” she said, wearily but firmly.

      â€œKeep us turning counterclockwise,” Ryan said. “Uh, to port.”

      Nataly

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