by Lisa Olech
“Good God, it’s a lion.”
* * * *
“Ship off the bow, sir!”
“What be she?” Called Captain Steele.
“Sloop. Moving at half speed. Rear sails only. Red sails, Captain. They’re flying black bones.”
James focused his scope on the horizon. “I’ll be damned…”
Ducky lifted his own glass. “Who is it?”
James lowered his glass and called out an order to the gunners. “Hold until I give the order. We’re going to send them a single shot over her bow. Let’s try to keep her in one piece.”
Lowering his glass, Ducky gave James a knowing smile. “Taking home a souvenir?”
“Father might want to see her one last time before she’s stripped for scrap.” James raised his glass again. “The Scarlet Night is a beauty, isn’t she? I don’t have the heart to scuttle her.”
“You’re being sentimental. You might not have a choice.”
“True. Captain Quinn might have other ideas.” James tried to assess the other ship’s condition. “Doesn’t look as if the smoke came from them. I see no fire damage, but they are limping a bit. The floating debris we found came from another ship. A skirmish gone bad? Still, it would be foolish to underestimate the fight in them.” He turned to Ducky. “Man your stations, but hold until I give the word.”
“Aye, aye.” Ducky took one last look through his glass before smirking in James direction and heading off to obey his order.
James watched the ship get larger in his sight. At this speed, they would be upon them in no time. Sentiment aside, he’d do whatever was necessary in bringing the crew of the Scarlet Night to justice. If it meant blowing them out of the water, then that was what he was prepared to do.
Chapter 9
As Sam left the galley with Tupper’s ale, she heard the alarm go up. The rush of heightened energy spreading through the crew.
“All hands!” The call passed from one man to the next.
Tupper positioned herself on the quarterdeck. Men jostled one another in the chaos. Behind them, the a huge ship raced toward the Scarlet Night. Sam pushed her way through the crowded deck to join Tupper.
“Run us due east. Catch all the speed we can.” Two men pulled on the heavy oak wheel. Tupper planted her hands on her hips. The muscle in her jaw flexed. “Won’t help, but it might buy us some time. We can’t out run them,” She confided to the large burly man in the filthy tartan.
“When have we ever run from a fight?” he countered.
Tupper shook her head. “Never. But we usually had some sliver of hope of surviving. No sliver this time. Not even a thread.” She grabbed at the tankard Sam held and took a deep swallow. Handing it back, she held Sam’s gaze. “Stay close.”
“Men gather round!” Tupper called out across the deck. The crew pressed in closer below her on the main deck.
She pointed behind them. “The ship heading toward us is the HMS Lion. Means to take this ship and the lot of us back to the fair shores of England and stretch our necks by an inch or two.
“Unless the good Lord sees fit to drop the beast into a sudden hole in the sea, we can neither out run nor out fight her. They’ll blow us out of the water with three broadsides before we can return a single round.”
Men cursed and railed, raising fists and weapons into the air. Several peered back at the approaching Lion.
Tupper swung her arms wide and yelled over the din. “Now I’m all for fighting ‘til I can’t fight no more. If it were just me, I’d rather die upon the decks of the Scarlet Night than stand before some moldy judge in a flea-ridden wig so I can die at the end of a rope. But it ain’t up to just me. We’ve always done things by the vote. I’m calling for it now. We can drop the bones and raise the white flag, drop our trousers and ask them English bastards over for a quick fuk. Or…we raise every inch of red we have, load every gun, sharpen every blade and fight like the bastards we are. Fight ‘til the last man…or woman…stands. Remind them who the crew of the Scarlet Night be. Keep our blades singing ‘til the decks run as red as our sails.”
A cry started with one small group of men and spread through the crowd, growing louder and stronger. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” The crew fired their pistols, waved their cutlasses, and rent the air with their battle screams.
Into the fray, Tupper Quinn yelled, “No quarter! We fight to the end! Fly the red and double the smoke! Load both port and starboard guns! Godspeed, men!”
A frenzied cheer rose from the crew as they scattered in every direction.
Tupper slapped MacTavish on the shoulder. “Ye didn’t want to hang up yer kilt and grow old by some flaming peat now, did ya?”
“Fuk, no.”
“Pull everything we’ve got. Might as well go out in a blaze o’ glory.” She slapped his shoulder again and sent him hurrying toward the ship’s magazine.
Sam’s heart slammed behind her ribs. The ship bearing down on them was bigger than any she’d ever seen. After such a show of bravado before, she could scarcely jump screaming into the waves. “I-I believe I’ll need my pistol back.”
“Nay, ye don’t. Ye just became a prisoner.” When Sam started to question, Tupper grabbed the front of her shirt. “Don’t argue. Listen to me, and you might just live to see another day. No cause for you to pay for our lifetime of crimes. Go below. Stay there. When it is all over, and they find you, tell them who you are. Tell them I kidnapped you. Forced you aboard.”
“What about you? I can’t let you die. Not after you saved me. There has to be some way—”
“My fate was sealed long ago. Hell, surprised it took this long. I’m sure to be damned te hell, but I won’t go alone.”
Tupper’s gaze shifted to something over Sam’s right shoulder. Sam turned to see Bump, his expression hard as stone. “And you.” Tupper pointed to him and made a few quick hand gestures. “Stay behind me. I’m not looking back. Not this time. I’ll not watch you die.”
The thunderous crescendo of activity crested around them. “Remember what I told you,” Tupper reminded Sam before she released her grip on her shirt and jerked her chin, asking Bump to bring her below.
* * * *
Back into the hold, Sam’s body shook with panic. This couldn’t be. It couldn’t end like this. Not for Tupper. Not Bump. Not when they had taken such a risk to help her. There had to be something she could do. She owed it to them to try. If only she could calm herself to think. She held her forehead and began to pace.
Bump stayed to one side. She stopped as she passed him a second time. “I’m afraid for you.” He watched her mouth. “Tell me what to do.”
The sound of cannon fire signaled the beginning of the end. Sam raised frightened eyes to Bump. Damn it, there were things she wished she could say to him. At a loss as to what more she could do, Sam wrapped her arms around Bump’s waist and held him. The solid wall of his rigid chest cradled her cheek. For a breath he simply stood there, allowing her to hold him. His heartbeat sounded strong and hurried to her ear. Then something shifted. Softened. As if Bump gave into the moment and wrapped Sam in the brief protection of his strong arms.
They stood locked together until the report of another cannon made Sam’s heart skid in her chest, making her break their connection. “They’re coming. I’ll never see you again.” She took a small step back and used her hands to say the one thing she remembered from Tupper’s book. Putting her fingertips to her chin, she moved her hand forward. ‘Thank you.’
Bump’s fathomless gaze held hers. Hands shaking, she made the sign again. And again until he caught her hand, silencing her. Sam’s tears pinched the backs of her eyes. She wanted to weep. For him. For Tupper. For them all.
Lifting her fingers to his mouth, Bump kissed the back of her hand before the roar of the Scarlet Night’s cannons caused the ship to shudder around them. He held her gaze a moment longer, lingering over her face as if trying to commit her features to memory. Bump laid
a gentle hand on her cheek before leaving her and rushing out to join in the fight for his life.
Sam looked helplessly around the hold. She couldn’t stay here doing nothing. She couldn’t leave these people to be captured and die. She had to fight.
Hurrying back to the captain’s cabin, Sam found her pistol where Tupper had left it earlier. It took both hands to pull the hammer back all the way. She had one shot. It wasn’t much, but she didn’t feel quite as helpless with the gun in her hand.
Above, more cannon fire came from both directions. Sam debated her sanity. She should be finding somewhere to hide and following Tupper’s orders. Not going topside and stepping into a certain hell.
It was then she noticed Leviticus. For the first time, he didn’t glare at her with his black shoe-button eyes. He wasn’t ruffling his feathers in agitation. The bird lay close to Tupper’s logbooks. Still. Quiet.
“Oh no…” she sighed.
The quick pace of boot heels echoed down the galley way had Samantha scrambling behind a stack of trunks.
Tupper slammed into her quarters. Donned a second baldric over the one she already wore. Pulled pistols from their holsters and loaded each with quick practiced precision. She yanked open a desk drawer and pulled out a black leather shot case before coming up short.
Sam knew the exact moment she saw Leviticus. Tupper made a sound as if she’d been punched. The box of shot dropped from her fingertips to the floor. “No, no, no… Not today, ye b-bloody old bird.” She braced her arms against the side of her desk, hung her head, and curled into herself. Sam couldn’t see if she cried. She fought the urge to go to her and offer her comfort. With commotion raining down from above and a battle beginning to wage, Tupper stood stone still for a long moment.
Finally, with a slowness born of what appeared to be a great weariness, Tupper retrieved something from another set of drawers built into the side of the ship. Sam couldn’t tell what it was. A bit of cloth, or perhaps an article of clothing? Tupper lifted it to her nose and breathed in its scent before gathering an odd collection of items: A man’s straight razor, a book, a stack of old, yellowed letters. Stroking the bird’s feathers, she shook her head and sighed. “Best you died before falling into the hands of the bloody British. They’d have likely baked ye into a damn p-pie.” Her voice broke. “Ye were a wretched old beast. Ye’d be tough as shoe leather.”
Tupper lifted the bird’s body and laid it in the middle of what Sam could now see was a man’s linen shirt. “It’s time, ye know, to say the goodbyes. Long overdue.” She gently added each item before wrapping them in the shirt along with the bird’s body. “If it be true, and yer waiting for me…doubt ye’ll be waiting long.” Tupper secured it all and lifted the bundle, holding it close to her chest before crossing to the windows.
Sam’s view was blocked by Tupper’s back, but she heard the dull scrape of the window latch. Sounds of the fight and the force of the sea filled the cabin. Tupper said something Sam couldn’t hear, before dropping the parcel into the ship’s wake.
The latch scrapped again, muffling the sound. Tupper returned to gathering weapons. Face set. Methodical. She tested the edge of an extra blade before slipping it into her boot. Making sure her pistols were snug in their holsters, she added another pouch of powder to her belt. Tupper seemed satisfied and pulled in a great breath. She scanned the room. Did she believe she was seeing it for the last time? She stopped as if something caught her eye. Reaching over, Tupper picked up something from her desk.
A single tail feather. Long, sleek, and shining black. Holding it by its shaft, Tupper twirled it slowly between her fingertips before retrieving an old, faded hat from the hook by the door and adding the feather to the banding. Tupper pushed the hat firmly upon her head, gave another look around her quarters, and left.
Chapter 10
The Lion pounced. Returning to the deck, the sight of the huge war ship bearing down on them sent ice down Tupper’s spine. Five masts reached into the clouds. Brilliant white sails contrasted against the overcast sky. Miles of pristine rigging webbed the beast. The warship sported three decks. Each contained ten guns, both port and starboard. With its three ten-pound forward cannons, the Lion was a killing machine with a long reach and sharp claws.
Tupper grabbed an ax from a pile of spare swords, daggers, and the like dragged from the magazine by MacTavish. Testing its weight, she shifted it to her left hand. Tupper dripped weapons like a fine lady dripped jewels. If they were to lose today, she was sure as hell taking as many of the Lion’s men with her as she could.
Bump came to stand next to her. She held his gaze. There was so much she wanted to say to him. As if reading her mind, Bump nodded. He knew. Or she prayed he did. Either way, it didn’t matter anymore, there was no time.
Tupper jerked her chin and Bump moved off to his battle position at the rear of the ship, where he could protect his back against the bulkhead during the fighting. She steeled herself. No matter what happened, she would not turn around. As hardened as she’d become, after all these years of watching men die not only at her own hand, but all around her. Battles more than she could count. Burying men. Mourning Gavin. Even losing an ancient, moth-eaten old crow. Through it all, she’d become immune to more than a fleeting sadness where death was concerned.
But Bump was different. From the first moment, when he was a babe of four, those all-seeing eyes looked into hers, and he forever held a part of her heart no other human being had touched. He was her child, as surely as if he’d come from her body. No, she would not look back. She couldn’t bear the thought of watching him die. Tupper lifted her gaze to the sky. “God, if you’re listening, I’ve only one thing to ask…let me fall before him.”
The Lion made a wide sweep to port. Cannon doors open, their three decks of cannon lining the starboard side were set in position. The upper level fired a crippling blast. Ten fiery cannons exploded at once. The cry went up around Tupper as her crew braced themselves for the attack, but the Lion’s guns overshot. Each ball landing in the sea. Perhaps they were choosing to ignore the Scarlet’s warning flags flying overhead? Maybe they were sending their own warning? Giving the Scarlet Night a chance to surrender?
Fools. There would be no surrender. The crew was ready. Powder monkeys ran armloads of black powder sacks. Quick matches were lit and poised over touch holes waiting for the order. Battle cries rose to fevered pitch. The fight was on. The Scarlet Night gave the Lion her reply.
“Fire the port side!” Tupper ordered over the din.
Red smoke billowed from the blast and swirled at their feet. The cannon had been loaded with chain shot with hopes of taking out rigging and sail. The Lion was too large a vessel, even bringing down one mast wouldn’t slow them much, but if they could aim for the center mast, bringing it down might cause another to topple.
Their shot sliced through the Lion’s rigging. Sail rippled behind the impact. Chain snapped a great yardarm, sending the weight of wood and canvas plummeting to the decks.
In response, a mighty blast from the Lion blew through the gunwales of the Scarlet Night and turned gun barrels and the capstan into splinters. Three men were blown from the deck. The brass cap of the capstan became a flying claw from the attacking beast and slashed through another man. His screams, inhuman. Two port cannon had been blown across deck. Crushing anything and anyone that got in their way.
The rugged crew was quick to pull clear the wounded and dead. The gunners used all their strength to get the guns reloaded and struggle them back into place. Huge ropes made slings where needed to replace the damaged gun locks.
Tupper wasted no time. “Fire!”
But the Lion was upon them. Had them in her grasp. At this range, the Night’s shot took out one of the English guns and blew a tidy hole in its rails, but it did little else other than to anger the beast.
Seamen by the score began swinging out from the warship on long ropes to drop upon the Night’s deck in a hail of pistol
fire, killing a good number of Tupper’s crew instantly. Smoke and chaos erupted. More soldiers crossed the span on rope and wide boarding ladders. The deck of the Scarlet Night became choked with men and arms. The bitter bite of sulfer and the tange of blood choked the air. A vicious battle raged.
Tupper fired three of her pistols. Three fewer British seamen would be making the journey home. The deck beneath her feet became slick with blood. Men swarmed in her direction. She battled hard to keep them at bay. One man would carry a nasty scar for the rest of his days as a reminder of her. Another became home for her ax.
Pulling a fresh pistol from the crossed baldric at her chest, Tupper raised the barrel. From behind, a strong pair of hands grabbed her, viciously twisting her arm behind her back. Her weapon clattered to the deck as another pair of hands kept her from reaching for the knife in her boot. The heavy-handed grip nearly crushed the bones in her wrist. Two were joined by a third.
Kicking and screaming, Tupper thrashed about, trying to wrestle away from them. A quick turn and a well-placed knee, and the three were two once more. If she could get a free hand, she could even the field, but in her struggle she lost her footing on the slick deck.
Soon they had her face down on her own deck. “Hold her arms,” snarled one. Her weapons were seized, and while the two held her down, the third, nursing a bruised…ego, cursed. “Bloody bastard!” He lashed her hands behind her back. As payback for her knee, he bound her ankles as well.
Hauled unceremoniously to the far rail, they threw her alongside several of her men already captured. MacTavish soon joined her. Cursing a blue streak. “Get yer fukin’ hands off me!” His face florid. His kilt torn from his shoulder.
Six uniformed soldiers stood over them with cocked pistols. “Shoot any of these bastards that even dares to move,” ordered one young corporal.