Page 65 of Crossbones
“Takes one to know one,” I say over my shoulder.
JAMES
A sharp whistle sounds. “Sails off the aft quarter! Closing fast!”
The ship bursts into activity. I hand the helm over to Lan and turn to see Caspian already at the rail with a spyglass to his eye. He hands it to me, his face grim but without the fear from before. This is a man ready to do whatever he has to. I look through the glass as Harrison and Flynt bellow orders behind me.
“All hands to stations! Stand by the braces!”
“Run out the long guns!”
“Trim the main tops’l!” I call out. As Harrison relays the order, I turn to Lan. “Take us into the mist.”
TheTempestpicks up speed, heading towards the low-sitting, white bank of mist off our bow. The Isles of Draco Ignam. We’ve done this dance before but this time feels different. Maybe because of the man standing next to me—
The boom of a cannon sounds across the sea and a plume of water explodes a few yards off our stern. Too close for comfort. I move to the other side of the quarterdeck.
“Range!” I bark.
“Four hundred yards and closing, Captain!” Van shouts.
“Soon as we’re in the mist, bring ‘er hard to port,” I order Lan. “Archers!”
“Ready the port cannons!” Flynt calls.
“Harrison!” I turn, see his attention, and gesture to the sails. “Be ready to grab theback draft!”
The gun ports groan as they’re opened and the guns are rolled out. Sails snap as we use the last of the hard sea breeze to bring us into the southernmost section of the Isles. Tendrils of mist twist across the deck and wrap around us, throwing the ship into a gloomy haze.
Everything seems to pause—a collective holding of breath—as we drift into the fog.
“Now!” I shout.
Harrison barks orders for the sails to be trimmed while Lan hauls the wheel hard to port. We lurch left just as Malik’s ship comes into view. We cut across the front of her and come up broadside, effectively boxing her into the mist between us and the jagged isles.
“Fire!”
We rake her port side and the sound of wood splintering is muted in the mist. I hear the boom of Malik’s cannons and several cracks as one cannonball careens across the deck, shattering the mizzen; another rakes the bow. I hear a few cries ring up from below as more tear through the gun deck.
“Archers!” Harrison shouts. “Fire for the rigging!”
Blazes of fire trail through the mist and land on Malik’s sails, sending them up in a brilliant display of flames that glow despite the heavy fog. We sail back around and I hear the port cannons being reloaded. Orders are given to prepare to board—grapples are unfurled, men stand at the rail, ready and waiting—
“Fire as she bears!” I bark. “Prepare to board!” I stride down the steps of the quarterdeck, pistol drawn and ready. “No quarter!”
CASPIAN
Watching Blackwell settle into battle mode is a sight to behold. I have to remind myself to pay attention to everything else, and not just drool over the pirate captain commanding his ship like it’s as easy as breathing.
I pull out my pistols as we sail around and our port cannons fire again. Malik’s ship has slowed and stalled in the water—we must have hit her rudder. We pull up alongside the vessel. Gunfire and the sound of grapples thudding into wood carries over the space between the ships. Our crew surges over and the loud cacophony of fighting escalates.
Between the mist and the smoke from all the gunfire, visibility is low. I swing across to Malik’s ship, determined to put an end to this nightmare. I’m immediately rushed by two of his crew and I use up both my shots to drop them. I draw my cutlass and move fluidly through the melee, falling into the trance of close combat.
The fighting naturally pushes me towards the quarterdeck. Harrison is backed up against the steps engaged with two men—Van rushes to help. I turn to see Blackwell on the other side. My nerves lurch into my throat as I watch him fight. He’s brutal and ruthless—he has no formal training but it doesn’t make him any less efficient. I see a man raise his pistol on Blackwell’s blind side and without a second thought send a knife flying across the space. It hits the man in the throat and he falls, the gun going off harmlessly into the rigging.
Blackwell looks up and I only have a second to meet his gaze before I’m forced to dodge to avoid a swing of a blade. I cut the man down and step tothe side—not a moment too soon as I hear a whistle of air and feel the burn of a cut across my neck. A dagger—I look up at the quarterdeck and spot Malik, eyes on fire as he glares at me. He throws another and I bat it away with my sword, running towards the stairs.
“Malik.”
