III | Pursuit
By the time Shekalane unfastened the spare oar (which was surprisingly heavy and more than twice her height) and began to paddle desperately, the rebels’ boats had closed to within a hundred feet and the glinting tips of their weapons could be clearly delineated, even in the dim light of the distant orbis lunae. Nor did her initial efforts, performed under such duress, achieve anything but to disrupt their course.
“No, Shekalane,” said Dravidian, seeming inhumanly calm given the circumstances, “you must row on the other side. Place it in the forcola—the rowlock. And mind your balance.”
She did as instructed, placing the oar’s shaft at random amidst the forcola’s grooves and starting to pull and draw on it furiously—but the pole kept slipping, forcing her to spend most her
