“Three cheers for Thomas Randall!”
The cry went up, met with a chorus of approval, the men shouting out in glee for their hero, the most daring man on board for the last two hauls.
Thomas himself stood in the center of the pit, basking in his newfound glory, a smug smile of accomplishment laid across his features.
The two ships we’d taken since leaving port had been massive. As instructed, I’d waited until the last moment to go and hide, no one noticing my disappearances. When the fight was done, I’d make sure to rub dirt on my face and a little blood from the splattered deck before joining the crew like I’d been there the entire time. Unfortunately, someone else had been there the entire time, and he was using it to grow the crew’s favor.
Thomas Randall had been a beast to contend with on both raids, fighting harder and longer than any other man on board. He killed the most of the opposing crew, and he uncovered the largest of the haul, announcing it to everyone like he had climbed into the earth and discovered it himself.
The crew was devouring him. The captain was being painted as a drunk more often, some of the men even flat out refusing to follow his orders. Tristan was keeping it all together by a thread, threatening them all with painful punishments if they didn’t keep up on their parts. We could feel them slipping, though, turning to the bloodthirsty Englishman and his devious plots.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they mutinied tomorrow,” Tristan sighed, looking at me over the fire in the galley. “If he were to ask them to do it, they would.”
“Maybe they just need someone to show them a better path,” Alfonso suggested, shrugging. “You’ve led them well for years, Señor. Perhaps they forgot in their excitement.”
“It’s not hard to forget the people who’ve actually supported you when someone else is offering you something that sounds better,” I replied quietly. “He’s lying to them to gain their favor. Expose him!”
“I’ll have to catch him in a lie first, lass.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “I suppose I could challenge him to a duel in the pit, end it once and for all. But if the crew backs him as much as they appear to, it won’t matter if I win or lose. They’ll save him before anything can happen.”
“There is no order here anymore,” Alfonso agreed. “It must be fixed.”
“Sails!”
Feet hurried across the decks above, cries of excitement reaching us down below.
“Hunting time!” a man crowed, whooping in delighted glee.
“Another one?” Alfonso asked.
“We’ve not been sustaining damage from our other hunts, so we can do more without going to port.” Tristan shrugged, pulling the pistol out of his belt and checking to see if it was loaded. “You know what to do, Sam.”
Nodding, I took out my own gun, following him above and joining the mass of excited men readying for a fight.
“We’ll have her in ten minutes, Captain!” cried the man checking the ship’s speed.
“You heard him!” Captain Rodrigues roared, spitting on everyone in the vicinity. “Get ready for war, ye mangy dogs!”
“Victory or death!” Thomas shouted, enticing the crew much more than the captain had.
Slinking backwards, I began my usual route to safety in the hull, weaving through the men and looking as battle hard as I could.
“Stations!” Tristan yelled from above, taking his place on the top deck, waiting to toss the grappling hooks over when the time came.
The men were closing in, falling quiet as they readied for the haul. I was almost to the stairs, where I could slip away unnoticed and wait it out.
“Where do you think you’re going?” A hand grabbed and yanked me forward, shoving me into the midst of the group. “No fun down there, Mr. Smith,” Thomas smiled, releasing me. “The battle’s up here.”
I froze as he turned away, knowing there was no way for me to back out now, not without alerting everyone to the fact I was trying to skip out. He’d effectively condemned me to fighting this time.
Fear threatened to overturn me as I looked around, trying to catch Tristan’s eye. He was focused on what he was doing, crouched down and waiting for the signal to move.
Fumbling, my hand gripped the handle of my pistol and I pulled it out, loading it haphazardly. It seemed that everyone could hear the beating of my heart over the sound of the canons being moved into position and the hatches opening. We were just behind the other ship now, coming up alongside them. Shots were starting to fire from the other crew, one of which hit a man up top, causing him to hiss and drop his gun.
“Steady,” Tristan said softly. “Not yet.”
Oh no, I was going to hyperventilate. I could feel my breathing increasing, terror filling every part of me, my hand shaking as I held the loaded weapon.
“Victory or death, milady.” Freezing, Thomas’s whisper washed over me like a cold wave and I could feel the color run out of me. Turning, I saw him leaning away, a knowing smile on his face.
I’d stopped breathing entirely, everything moving in slow motion as I watched him, cocking back his gun and turning to face the front. The men around me suddenly seemed like one, an organism bent on destroying anything it came in contact with. And I was part of it. With a sucking sound, everything popped back into real time and I felt the moment arrive.
“Now!” Tristan yelled, standing up and throwing the grappling hook and net over the side. Cannons fired from our end and the men started scrambling out of the ship, war cries on their lips, bloodlust in their eyes. I was shoved forward, up the ladder, and into the gunfire.
The movement was one made by the masses, myself climbing over the railing of the ship and jumping onto the nets with the other men, struggling up, gun in hand, blood spraying me in the face as the man next to me was hit in the neck. He fell into the water as I reached the top, rolling over onto the new ship.
It was chaos. I could hardly see from the smoke of gunfire and blood flying about. Each man had someone on him, the pair fighting to the death. A cry pulled me from my hasty observations and I saw a man running toward me, blade in hand. Fumbling, I aimed the gun and fired, but nothing happened.
He continued to charge, his blood curdling scream terrifying, and I dove out of the way, scrambling to my feet before slipping on the wet planks of the deck. He fell as well, slashing at me, cutting clear up my arm. The wound stung, shocking me into the situation even further. Next to me, a dead body fell, catching the swing of his sword.
Kill or be killed.
My fear started to melt away, instincts taking over, and I stumbled to my feet, cocking the gun and firing once more. This time it went off, hitting my attacker in the chest and dropping him like a rock. Behind him was another, raising his own gun to me and I charged, reaching him in time to shove the barrel away. We struggled, wrestling and falling to the deck, his hand around my throat, the other trying to beat me over the head with the pistol. Kneeing him in the groin, I felt for the knife in my belt, yanking it out and stabbing him several times over.
My vision went fuzzy then, the blood dripping from my arm at an alarming rate, and I didn’t bother getting up, instead rolling off the body and collapsing on the deck.
The last thing I saw was a wash of red and an unfamiliar face falling to my level, looking at me in death.
Swept Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book One) Page 36
