The first rounds flew from port and after guns almost simultaneously. Alchemical tracers glowed angry red as they shrank to pinpoints with distance. Sunset had time for only a single snapshot image of the deck. Frantic crew running to action stations with their distinctive gorilla-like gait. Stacks of supplies—and a last array of bombs awaiting an upcoming fire mission. A . . . tapestry, dangling from rigging and whipping in the slipstream, rust-brown stains smothering the rich embroidery of its tattered lower reaches.