“We’re almost there!” Ethan shouted, throwing a celebratory fist high into the air.
The words had scarcely left his mouth when Katryna gave a cry of warning. “Captain! Griffin and The Popinjay starboard side!”
Ethan spun, spyglass in hand. It took him only two breaths to find them both, each racing along the coast with full sails. “At least we’ve come out ahead,” Ethan said, tucking the telescope away. “Swing us to port and follow the coast, if you’d be so kind, Mister Potts.”
The helmsman spun the wheel, and the Victory turned, now running a near full two points from the wind. Their speed slowed, much to Ethan’s dismay, and after ten more minutes of racing down the coast, what tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders doubled when he noticed both the Griffin and The Popinjay had made considerable gains.
Ethan rose on his toes and brought his spyglass up. He made several sweeps of the waters ahead, trying to find where the buoys were that marked the safe harbor zone—the final stretch of water where the use of cannons was forbidden. If they could get there before being blasted apart, he liked the odds of them winning. He tried not to think what would happen if they couldn’t.
“Katryna, do you see the buoys for the safe harbor?” he called out after a couple more futile attempts to find them.
The newly minted vampire leaned over the crow’s nest and shook her head, but after a second, she held up a finger and scanned the open waters not ahead but those far from the coast. “There!” she said, pointing. “That’s them, I’m sure.”
“There?” Ethan repeated, baffled. “That can’t be right. They’re supposed to be along the coast, a mile from the finish.”
“That is them, Captain. I am certain,” she called back after checking again. “Either that first storm we weathered or the wind we made must have blown them adrift.”
Ethan shook his head and cursed. “Doesn’t that figure,” he muttered.
“They only mark the zone. They don’t form it,” Zoey said. “Everyone knows a mile from the finish, no fighting.”
“Yeah, maybe, but will they honor that?” Ethan huffed.
“We’ll see.”
“Maybe we should lighten the load,” Ethan said. “We could dump our carronades easily enough.”
“We could, but we’d also be inviting a point-blank broadside that we couldn’t answer.”
“Crap,” Ethan said, frowning.
“Captain! I can see the finish line on the horizon!”
Ethan’s eyes lit up at Katryna’s report, and he dashed forward, spyglass up once more, desperate to see what she was pointing at with his own eyes. Sure enough, a single lighthouse stood proud at the horizon, perched upon a large bluff. From that lighthouse, he knew, only a half mile of the race remained.
Ethan tried to run a few calculations in his head on whether or not they’d reach the finish before Azrael or Sedra overtook them. He hoped they would, but the wind direction clearly favored their ship design over his. With that in mind, he decided not to leave anything to chance.
“Stores overboard!” he yelled. “If it’s not crew, shot, powder, or gun, I want it off this ship!” He paused for a moment and then quickly made an addendum. “And the chasers! Send them over. There’s no point in racing as if we’re going to be in second place, ever. We win this right here. Right now.”
The crew sprang into action, racing below deck and back up again as others sent the two nine-pound cannons on the bow overboard. The guns had scarcely hit the water when a dozen barrels of salted meat went over, followed by several sacks of flour. The skeletons who hauled the food had little difficulty bringing them up and even less remorse tossing them to the sea. Though what had been thrown wasn’t nearly as much as what they’d started with, Ethan still guessed they’d dropped a few hundred pounds’ worth, barrels included. It wasn’t much, seeing how he only had to feed a minimal crew, but the amount of freshwater dumped overboard was considerable indeed.
The water stores came up in dozens of hogsheads and casks. Zoey, who’d been keeping tabs on the inventory since the beginning, answered the question he was about to ask. “A little over four hundred gallons,” she said. “Maybe four-fifty.”
“How heavy is that?”
“Four-fifty would be close to two tons,” she said after a moment’s thought. “Otherwise, a ton and a half.”
“Good for us either way,” Ethan said. The crew continued to toss the rest of the stores: lines, linens, tar, and even what few barrels of rum remained. As they worked, Ethan raised his spyglass once again. “They’re still gaining,” he said after a few moments. “But not as fast as before, I don’t think.”
“We don’t need a lot,” Zoey said. “Still, it might be a good idea to ready for battle.”
“I know,” he replied. He then cupped his hands around his mouth to give his next order. “Load the carronades! Double bar and chain both sides!”
Barely a minute had passed when the bow of Azrael’s ship, the Griffin, erupted in smoke and flame. A pair of cannonballs sailed through the air, one overshooting the Victory by at least fifty yards, while the other punched a hole through her sails.
“Keep her running straight and true, Mister Potts,” Ethan said. “All we need to do is cross that line.”
Minutes passed, and all the while Ethan nervously rubbed his fingers together, and his crew finished preparing the carronades. He had no intention of turning, not with the finish line fast approaching, but as Zoey had said, they’d need to defend themselves if they were caught.
The Griffin fired again, and then a third time, scoring two more hits from the pair of salvos. Another ball ripped through the mainsail while the other came crashing down on the deck, shattering the chest of a skeleton before plowing through the legs of two more.
“A little over one mile!” Katryna yelled, pointing an excited finger toward the shore ahead.
Ethan tore his eyes away from his pursuers. Sure enough, the harbor and the buoys marking the finish line lay not far off the bow, seemingly within spitting distance.
“God, this is going to be close,” Ethan said, biting down on a knuckle. He glanced behind him after a few more seconds. Azrael lagged by a little over a couple of hundred yards by his best guess.
Again Azrael’s chasers fired, and again, Death scored a pair of hits on the Victory.
“He’ll be going after our rigging next volley,” Zoey said. “Probably a broadside.”
“Been waiting for him to try, actually,” Ethan said with a grin.
“You’re not worried?” Zoey asked.
Ethan shook his head. “Not one bit. Luck of the Devil is ready. We’ll dodge his broadside and be home free.”
“Unless he doesn’t shoot his wad all at once,” Zoey said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, with as many guns as he’s fielding, he can afford to space out the shots into smaller volleys, each ten seconds apart,” she explained. “We’ll only be able to dodge one group.”
Ethan’s heart dropped six inches in his chest, and he felt his mouth hang open as well. He hadn’t thought such a simple tactic would essentially nullify the defense he’d been counting on.
“You think he’d do that?”
Zoey nodded. “I would.”
“Crap,” Ethan said. He tried to come up with something else he could do, but before he could, another cry filled the air.
“Captain! She’s presenting!”
Ethan felt his heart jump into his throat and spun. Azrael’s ship, lagging behind now by less than fifty yards, was turning starboard. Ethan only needed half of his spectacular eleven points of intelligence to see what was about to happen, and thankfully, he didn’t waste a moment to react.
“Mister Potts! One point starboard!” he yelled. “Carronades fire at will!”
The Victory cut to the side as the helmsman maneuvered her, and a moment later, the gun crews brought down their slow matches, igniting
the touchholes on each gun. Five of the carronades fired, sending a bar and chain ripping through Azrael’s sails and lines. Before the remaining three could fire, however, Azrael answered with a full broadside.
The sheer amount of flame and smoke that erupted from the Griffin completely obscured the warship as two dozen eighteen- and thirty-two-pound cannons ripped into Ethan’s ship. The heavy cannonballs punched through the Victory’s side, sending splinters and shrapnel through hull and crew alike, while chain devastated her sails and rigging.
A half second later, the deck midship exploded, heaving his ship to the side, snapping what little lines remained, and toppling a mast.
Ethan, dazed, bloodied, and thoroughly stuck with wood splinters, picked himself off the deck. Smoke obscured everything in sight, and the smell of flames and burnt powder filled the air. The sight of total carnage before him drew out his insatiable thirst for blood. Fangs sharpened, and his eyes turned black. All he wanted to do at this point was feed.
“Abandon ship!” someone called.
The cry snapped Ethan back in control, at least for the moment. When he took to his feet, cringing from pain, he had enough wits to realize he had to take charge of the situation immediately before all was lost.
Wind swept across the deck, clearing the smoke enough for Ethan to see what was going on. Victory burned in a half dozen places, and her side had a hole the size of an elephant near the waterline. Seawater poured in, causing the ship to list, and no doubt she’d founder in less than a minute. Probably half that.
Griffin turned sharply, swinging her bow around to head for the finish line. Even with Victory destroyed, Azrael couldn’t waste any time. The Popinjay, lighter and sleeker, cut through the water at full sail only a couple of hundred yards behind. And since Ethan had torn into Griffin’s sails moments ago, The Popinjay was making considerable gains with each passing second.
Ethan stared at the third-place ship for a half second before realizing he had to do something to stay in the race.
“Belay that order!” he shouted.
“Ethan! We can’t stay here!” Zoey shouted back, dragging herself out of a gaping hole in the deck. She, like many other of the crew, bled profusely, staining tattered clothes.
“We’re not!” he shouted back. “All hands, boarding party! Grab our colors! That ship is ours!”
The men froze, but it only took them a second to understand. In an effort to shave off as much distance to the finish line as possible, the Griffin had cut back so hard that she sailed dangerously close to the Victory. If they could take control of the Griffin and hoist their flag, by the rules, the ship was theirs. And if it was theirs when she crossed the finish line, that changed everything.
The first grapple went out almost immediately, quickly followed by three more, then six after that. A few missed their mark, and a couple of others were promptly cut loose by Azrael’s crew. But enough tangled with the Griffin’s lines and caught hold of her rails that the two ships became intertwined.
“Everyone across!” Ethan yelled, charging forward with pistol and cutlass in hand. His feet pounded across the deck while his heart pounded in his chest.
The two ships pulled closer together, but the Griffin kept her rudder hard, making sure that they never fully came side by side.
Skeletons threw themselves over the railing, easily clearing the three feet that separated the two ships, while the men followed behind. Ethan, as he raced across the deck, even caught sight of Katryna, one hand tightly gripping the Victory’s colors, make a flying leap from her crow’s nest, catching herself on the Griffin’s ratlines and making her way to the Griffin’s fighting tops.
The moment his foot hit the top of the railing, he used every bit of strength he had to launch himself across. Air rushed by his face as he sailed between the ships. He landed with a thud a little forward of the quarterdeck. Immediately, he took aim at the nearest crewmember with his pistol, and the shot landed true. The man clutched his chest and fell to the deck, blood pooling all around him.
Critical hit!
Sailor killed!
Another sailor came rushing at him, cutlass held back for an overhead shop. Three of his companions followed suit, only a few steps behind. The one in the lead fell, catching a pistol shot in the gut, but not from Ethan.
“Charge!” Zoey yelled, racing by with her sword at the ready, trailing a wake of undead crew behind her.
Ethan surged with her and the others, and his group clashed with the Griffin’s crew with violent results. Skeletal minion and man fell in equal number to blade and shot. While Ethan was glad the undead he fielded could hold their own, it was clear they didn’t have the numbers to take the ship. Worse, the Griffin still sailed straight for the finish.
“Zoey!” Ethan said after ducking a chop and setting her up for the perfect counterattack. “We need that helm!”
“I don’t think they’re too keen on giving it to us,” she said.
Ethan clenched his teeth as he was forced to retreat and acknowledge her point. Though the two of them continued to fight in perfect concert, they’d been effectively hemmed into one small portion of the deck.
A pair of explosions from within Azrael’s ranks sent men stumbling. Marcus and Maii came crashing down onto the deck a few yards away, further adding to the chaos. The minotaur kept with the forward momentum and gored the nearest sailor with his horns, driving the poor soul into the others. The moment the man fell from Marcus’s horns, the minotaur pointed his staff and unleashed jets of sickly green-and-yellow flame.
“Burn, the lot of you!” Marcus said, his voice booming. “Burn and serve me in undeath for the rest of time!”
Maii cackled in delight as the necromancer worked, fires consuming dozens of crew. As the chaos spread across the deck, the ahuizotl charged into the middle of it all. The sailors at first scattered but quickly swarmed the ahuizotl, stabbing him multiple times with cutlass and dirk. The lucky quickly realized the monster was never there at all, while those who were not so much screamed one last time before his jaws crushed their necks from behind.
Loud whistling noises filled the air, and then suddenly, a half dozen cannonballs from The Popinjay came crashing down, shattering skeleton and man alike and carving long trenches in the sea of combatants.
At that moment, Ethan pointed his sword to the helm. “Now’s our chance! Let’s go!”
Together with Zoey, he drove forward, using both pistol and cutlass to reach his goal. As he went, more skeletons and crew poured onto the ship to join the fight. He’d almost reached the stairs to the helm when a fiery pain erupted across the back of his shoulders, and he staggered sideways.
The sailor hits you!
You have been moderately wounded!
Ethan gritted his teeth and twisted to the side just in time to deflect the follow-up attack by one of Azrael’s men. The two men’s blades locked against each other, and as much as Ethan tried to free himself without getting stuck, stabbed, or sliced open in the process, he couldn’t. His muscles strained against his opponents, but before he could work himself into a panic, Zoey took the man’s hands at the wrists before issuing a lethal cut across his throat.
“Thanks,” Ethan said with a brief sigh of relief.
“Bill is in the mail,” she replied with a wink.
Their mini-celebration ended then and there. More of Azrael’s crew began to swarm their position, and they beat a hasty path to and up the stairs. At the top, Ethan found another sailor waiting for them. The two exchanged a couple of quick attacks, which ended when Ethan slashed the man across the belly. When the sailor tried to hold his guts in, Ethan slipped behind him and sank his fangs into the poor soul’s neck.
He hadn’t intended to take a snack, but in that moment, his stomach growled, and The Hunger took over. Sweet, precious blood flowed into Ethan’s mouth. His eyes rolled back into his head, savoring every drop and relishing the feel of wounds healing. Thankfully Zoey
stayed close, fending off attacks with such fury, not a soul drew near.
“Ah, Captain Ethan and his lovely first mate,” Azrael said, his voice piercing the chaos of the battle. “I must award you both full marks for effort. Truly, a valiant run if I ever saw one. Futile, but valiant nevertheless.”
Ethan shoved his meal to the side as he turned to face his foe. Azrael stood at the top of the stairs leading to the poop deck, pipe firmly stuck in his mouth, cutlass and pistol both still stuffed in his belt, and not a care in the world shining in his eyes.
A split second later, Ethan felt Zoey press up against his back. Though they shared not a word between them, he knew that at least for the moment, none of Azrael’s crew were trying to attack.
“This is your last chance to surrender,” Ethan said, steeling himself for the duel of a lifetime. “We’re taking your ship.”
Azrael threw back his head and laughed. “Who is this we you speak of, Ethan?” he asked, gesturing at the ship as a whole.
Ethan glanced over his shoulder and ended up swallowing hard to rid himself of the lump in his throat. The Victory lagged, burning and listing and off the port side, and the lines she’d run to the Griffin cut. Worse, of the crew that had managed to cross, most of the skeletons had been cut down, and only a handful of men remained as well—counting Marcus with Maii near the bow, and Katryna, who’d fought her way up to a fighting top.
“That’s, what, eleven of yours against my hundred and fifty?” Azrael said. “I must say, if you insist on sailing such treacherous waters, I shall find myself sorely disappointed in you. After all, what sort of captain condemns his own crew to such a grisly, inevitable fate over a mere dog?”
“She’s not a mere dog. She’s my dog,” Ethan said with a growl. “And as long as we’re talking disappointments, what sort of captain hides behind his crew for control of his ship?”
The Crew (Captains & Cannons Book 2) Page 31
