Highlander Honor
By Daishi Prime
Chapter 04 – Nightwatch
Floating down the Trade River was, to say the least, boring. The coast slid away at a fair pace, but the Angelina's Gold was no racing yacht. Built for cargo tonnage and float, she was slow as an ox, handled like a pig, and wallowed worse when she came off the wind. The coast of Eisen was monotonous, the cost of Vodacce little better, though at least the Vodacce farms were still occupied and in use. All together, boring.
The first night out passed without violence, much to Maeve's relief, but was still a tense period. Of the four of them officially responsible for 'guarding' the ship, two of them were up at all times. The fact that no attack ever materialized simply made all of them more nervous. Manfred reported killing the Montaigne, but all of them were certain he had been a middle-man, an agent for another, more powerful, individual or group. So their watch continued, rotating every couple of hours, and even those of them not 'on watch' had trouble sleeping, Maeve worse than most.
That had the predictable side effect that, for the second day, when the ship's crew was active and keeping watch, most of them tried to sleep. Still, Maeve could not manage to rest with so many mysteries about, even when she moved her hammock to hang between rigging lines a few yards below the mainmast's yardarm, swinging gently in the breeze, her father's sword cradled across her chest. It was a good spot to keep watch from, and gave her some distance from the slew of strangers aboard, which she had hoped would let her relax, and surrounded her with the calming scents of water and sail.
If she was honest with herself, those strangers were bothering her more than the missing attack was. Traveling with strangers rarely bothered her, a fortuitous side effect of traveling with her father since childhood on his career as a representative for the Queen of Avalon. But something about this crew was causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. There were too many oddities, the method by which they had come together was too strange, and the Captain was nearly schizophrenic, the way he kept changing his mind about who could and could not come aboard. The majority of the working crew were fine, simple sailors making a living as best they could, but the rest...
Watching the deck as sunset approached, Maeve noted Manfred and the two Castillian women sitting on the quarterdeck. The priest was sitting in a chair, brought up for her from the Captain's cabin, while Manfred and the sailor-girl were sitting on the aft rail. The priest was easy enough to understand, since she seemed to have two books with her wherever she went. Maeve had met her type before, though Salorina, or Rina as she preferred, seemed to be the worst case of 'absentmindedness' Maeve had ever seen. The other woman was also simple enough to understand, at least on the surface. A sailor, she had nearly gotten herself thrown overboard by detailing exactly what was wrong with this tub, from the quarterdeck, to the Captain himself, while he was trying to pull away from the docks. Rosetta was a little too close-mouthed about herself, though, and Maeve got the distinct impression she was hiding something disastrous, not the least why she went to the trouble of getting that Montaigne's mail.
Of those three, the one who bothered her most was Manfred. The Eisen was thoroughly practical in outlook, completely average looking with square features, plain brown hair and eyes, solid build but not large, muscled but not obviously so, a few scars but nothing any town laborer would not have – in short, utterly normal. But the way he came aboard, the way he accepted his post on the quarterdeck without a word, the way he seemed to watch everything around him, and the way the Captain seemed ready to piss himself after the one time she had seen Manfred take him aside just before they sailed... all of it told her there was more to this Eisen than the knives he kept hidden up his sleeves.
Léon was simplicity itself to understand, in comparison. An agent of some sort for one of the Princes, he traveled under a false name while looking for someone who did not want to be found, a Vodacce noblewoman of some sort. He was remarkably careful not to reveal who exactly he was looking for, but his questions had made it quite clear that he was looking. Still, it was very rare for Vodacce politics to spill out into the rest of Théah, and he could bring trouble down on them like blood drew sirens, especially if he actually got close to his target.
She turned her attention forward, to see the Vesten standing in the bow, watching the River ahead and the shore to the north. Vilskap presented a 'simple' front of a warrior working his way home. He had the size, weaponry, and accent to match, which caused most of the crew to avoid him. Maeve had already noticed his accent slipping when he was tired, though, and his demeanor was not that of a 'simple warrior'. She had no doubt he could use the weapons he kept on him at all times, but he lacked the sort of easy familiarity with them that she had with her own sword. Even more than Manfred, there was an indefinable air of secrecy about him, a sense of other-worldly knowledge that she had only ever felt in the presence of her Lady, though not as strong a feeling as She caused.
When she returned her attention to the main deck, she found her last 'interesting' crewmate climbing the rigging towards her perch. The woman was neatly arrayed, far more so than an Avalon shantywoman should be on ship-board, short black hair held back by a leather strap, and not a single weapon on her. The thing that bothered Maeve was that, appearances and name aside, it was obvious to Meave's eyes that 'Talia Sanders' was not an Avaloner, not even in the proper use of the term. No woman of Avalon, and certainly none of Innismore or the Highlands had that mix of coloring, the dusky skin, dark hair, and green eyes, and no woman from home would be so utterly ignorant of the Sidhe.
Talia reached the level of Maeve's hammock, and strung a leg and arm through the rigging to hang there as comfortably as possible. For a few minutes the two of them simply observed one another, trading icy considering looks. Whatever the reasons for Maeve's feelings towards Talia, it was obvious Talia returned those feelings in at least equal measure.
Finally growing tired of the staring match, Maeve asked coldly, "What do you want, foreigner?"
Talia cocked her head, and in a remarkably accurate imitation of Maeve's accent, replied, "Can't a lass have a quiet talk wi' someone from home?"
Maeve's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Name me the one and only way to defeat a pookha, and I'll believe you're from the Highlands."
Talia blinked, then sighed, muttering, "Bloody local legends." Her accent shifted, becoming a smooth Castillian take on the Eisen tongue, "Fine, I'm no Avaloner, but it's easier for a girl to pretend to be. Fewer people in these parts know how to deal with someone from such a distant and mysterious place."
"Just stop trying it with me," Maeve said.
Talia nodded, "Fine, I can work with that."
"And just so you know," Maeve continued, "I no more believe you're Castillian than I believe in that Vaticine claptrap."
Talia blinked, and shifted subject rather bluntly, "You do not believe in Théus, the Creator?"
"I believe in him, but I've also met my gods in person," Maeve answered, then grinned, "Done some interesting things with one of them, too. Turn you white as my Lady's hair if I told you."
"Maybe, maybe not," Talia said, "But I suppose the condition of your soul is your problem. That would be what the last War of the Cross was all about, wasn't it? But I'm not up here to discuss philosophy with you. I wanted to talk about the here and now, and the near future."
Maeve quirked an eyebrow, curious despite herself, and shifted to focus more closely. "Anything in particular, or just the weather?"
"Us."
Maeve twitched, then grinned almost viciously. When she replied, her voice was silky-smooth and seductive, "Why honey, I know I'm pretty, but don't you think you're moving a little quick? I mean, we just met and all, don't you think you should spend more time with someone before..." To her intense amusement, Talia blushed, a deep crimson color, and her eyes went wide with embarrassed horror. Maeve could not keep a straight face long enough to finish her joke, and broke out in gales of laughter.
"Th... that was not what I meant," Talia choked out after a few moments, embarrassment turning to anger as she ranted over Maeve's laughter, "Not at all, as you well know! I can't believe you'd insinuate something like that! I'm no harlot!"
Maeve had to struggle to get control of herself again, "Oh, Théus, that was hilarious! The look on your face was priceless!"
Talia was glaring at her now, and the Castillian accent slipped away, replaced by a weird mix of accents and pronunciations Maeve could not place, "You know very well I meant no such thing by my statement! I am trying to be diplomatic and polite, and you insult me!"
Still chuckling slightly, Maeve waved one hand calmingly, "Relax, singer-bird, it was just a little joke. And you set yourself up perfectly, the meaningful look, the solemn tone, then 'us', like that explains everything."
"I meant us as in this crew."
"But you weren't clear on that, now were you, lass?"
Talia dropped her head and stared at the deck for a minute, quivering visibly, then snarled something under her breath, and this time Maeve missed it. When she looked up again, she was once again in control of herself, "Are you prepared to be serious now?"
Maeve grinned and rolled around until she was sitting up properly in the hammock. "Sure, but I'd suggest you talk quick. Sunset's here, and that means serious watch begins now. And watching pretty much precludes talking."
"You don't trust me, and that's fine and normal. None of us have reason to trust each other yet," Talia said, "but several of us aboard are going to be traveling together for a while, I think, and it would be best to get to know one another. Well enough that we spend as much time watching our enemies as each other."
Maeve gave her a questioning look. The girl sure was assuming a lot, based on a bare two day's acquaintance. "Dunno what you're talking about, lass. I'm aboard till we reach the mouth of the River, then I'm on a ship for home. My family and my Lady miss me, and I miss them. Well, the former not the latter. Kinda hard to miss my Lady."
Talia shook her head, "believe what you will, Highlander, but the path you follow is different from the path you see." She got a far away look in her eyes, turning to stare east, back the way they had come. When she spoke, her voice was almost a whisper, "Staves and swords over black. Journeys are often longer than planned, and shorter than we would like, Daughter of the Sidhe." Talia shook her head harshly, then turned back to Maeve, face hardened into a mask, "I would pity you, save that I have every reason to believe my fate is now bound to yours. Keep careful watch tonight, there are too many swords in the air for it to be a peaceful one."
Before Maeve could muster a response to that odd speech, Talia loosed her hold on the rigging, and squirreled down the lines to the deck rail, landing with a dancer's grace next to the group around Manfred. She stepped from rail to deck, staggered slightly, then walked slowly and carefully forward and below, heading for the cabin the Captain had surrendered to the priest, and subsequently all three ladies.
Maeve contemplated going after her, but as the darkness of twilight descended, she caught a whiff of cinnamon. "Should I be jealous, my love? She lacks your beauty, but there is a certain... exotic air to her."
Maeve fell back to lying in the hammock, staring up at her Lady. The Sidhe woman was standing on one edge of the hammock, long arms crossed under her breasts, perfect mouth set in a frown, but laughter dancing in her eyes. Maeve just shook her head, "No, Lady, I've no interest in women, as I recall telling you on any number of occasions. And you should not be here. Anyone down there could see you, and there's at least one Vaticine priest on deck right now. It'd be a shame to have to kill my traveling companions for trying to burn you at the stake."
Her Lady flowed down to lay next to her in the hammock, cradling Maeve carefully, one long-fingered hand caressing the hilt of Maeve's claymore. "So you are not interested in your mysterious shantywoman? A pity, the naïve and innocent can be quite entertaining. Then I suppose I should warn you to be careful of her. She is not what she seems."
Maeve snorted, shifting around to make room, and to face her Lady, "I know that, it's as obvious as the sunrise. None of us are 'what we seem', when you get right down to it."
"Ah, but she is worse than all of the others," one long finger slid down Maeve's nose and tapped once, "and you will soon discover some of that, I think. But do not ever trust your understanding of her. She will shift and change like the Isles' weather, unpredictable, uncontrollable," the smile grew wider, excited even, and the arms around Maeve tightened, "dangerous. Now, rest, my love. You will need your strength in the coming days, and you have not slept in my arms in months, as you were so unkind as to reminded me, recently."
Maeve had learned long ago that struggling against a Sidhe's commands was almost impossible, and resisting this Sidhe's commands was about as likely to succeed as holding back the tide with words alone. Which meant she was fighting the somnolent effect of her Lady's song all the way into sleep.
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Rosetta was more listening than talking as Manfred and Rina carried on a friendly, rambling debate. The two were discussing Vaticine theology, which Rosetta found more than a little boring, but at least they were talking, and she was more comfortable with the quick-handed Eisen than any other members of the crew. Since determining which of the Montaigne's letters had been her prize, the time aboard had so far been ridiculously boring for Rosetta, as everyone worried over the incipient attack.
For her part, Rosetta was unconcerned. Wreckers and pirates were always something to be concerned with, of course, and no true captain ever wanted to have her ship attacked. But knowing one was highly probable did not concern her, not in this case. It was not her ship, so she felt little connection to it, and she was a good enough judge of people to know that those aboard this tub were more than capable of fending off whoever was stupid enough to try and storm it. So, all in all, she saw no reason to be concerned, so long as they took the precautions they were taking. Better to worry about the tide and weather, than the possibility of wreckers in the night.
Unfortunately, neither the captain nor her shipmates agreed with her. The closest she could come to someone not clammed up tight staring at the shore looking for danger was Manfred and Rina, and even Manfred was watching the shore as much as his conversation partner. So Rosetta perched on the aft rail, familiarizing herself with her newest pistol and a musket from the ship's armory, and did her best not to go crazy waiting around. She hated not being in charge of a ship, and she could see any number of things that desperately needed to be set to rights.
She saw Talia heading up the rigging, saw where she was heading, and grinned in amusement. When Maeve woke on the first night, just before the ship sailed, she had taken most of the new passengers with relative equanimity. But something about the Avalon singer set her off instantly. The two of them had not screamed, clawed, drawn weapons, or done anything that could actually be called 'fighting'. Yet, they had left Rosetta with the distinct impression of two stray cats debating a territorial line, bristling and snarling but not, quite, ready to take a swipe at the other. Watching the singer going up the lines, Rosetta debated going up there herself, to get a better seat to watch the sparks from, then decided it was not worth the increased probability of being drawn into the resulting conflagration.
Turning her attention to the shore, Rosetta watched a small fishing village slide past on the Eisen side, and noted that most of the small fishing boats were tied up to the docks. An oddity for this late in the day, which she pondered for a few minutes. "Something up with them," she said, thinking aloud, "we'll be seeing some of them tonight, I wager."
"More likely they got word of trouble and are playing it safe," Manfred countered, surprising her. She blinked, turning to look at him with raised eyebrows. "Someone came through looking for boats to conduct a raid on a passing ship. However subtle they were, the local fishermen would know what they were after, and roughly when the raid was planned. Rather than risk being a target or an unfortunate bystander, they tie up instead of making their evening catches."
"How can you be sure they won't be among those coming after us?"
"Because they're Sieger fishermen," Manfred replied, looking the village over sadly. "Between the war and their fool of a lord, they don't have the time or resources to waste playing pirate. Whoever comes after us, if it's even us tonight's attack is aimed at, is going to have to get a ship from one of the trading ports, or steal one."
"Most probably he will steal one," Rina offered, "there are few trading ports along this stretch of the River."
Rosetta was about to reply, but Talia's hard landing a few yards to her left caught her attention. A flash of motion in the rigging, caused to her look up, but all she could see was Maeve, apparently trying to get back to sleep. She turned her attention back to Talia, who was making her way at a rather slower speed than she normally used towards the stairs to the main deck. "Ah, well, however they come, we should have a relatively easy time of it, with this crew. I'm going to have a little chat with our songbird."
She was at the stairs before the others could protest, taking the following drop in one long leap. Mostly, she wanted to find out what was going on between the Avaloner and the Highlander, but she was also interested in finding out anything about the songstress herself. Talia had been rather reticent since coming aboard, and the only people she had spent any time talking to were Manfred, Maeve and the captain, which made for an odd trio.
She reached the hatch to head below, and stopped when she heard voices. "... is a fickle thing, Captain. You fear me for what you think I bring aboard, yet had I not come aboard, your family would not have long survived this journey. I am sorry for if my presence, and my secrets, discomfit you, but if you reveal my presence, Captain, your fate will be far worse than what I see for you now, worse than what I saw for you when first we met. And which of us do you think your Prince, Falisci I believe you said, will believe, should I feel the need to complain to him of your attitude? Do you understand me?" Rosetta could not quite identify the voice until it stopped speaking. The tone of authority and absolute assurance was completely at odds with the mousy shantywoman.
There was a short pause, then she heard the captain growl, "Yes, Lady Sanders, I understand you perfectly."
"Do not worry, Captain. Your interest in this matter will be resolved soon. I am retiring for a time. See that I am not disturbed."
Standing against the hatch, Rosetta debated with herself. It was obvious that Talia had some sort of hold over the captain, but what could a peasant shantywoman have to control a river-boat's captain? Especially, what could an Avaloner have over a Vodacce? And how much trouble was that going to cause her? After a few moments, looking at her own gloved hands, contemplating the letter safely tucked inside her vest, Rosetta decided that, whatever secrets the singer had, Rosetta had little room to complain.
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Sunset passed swiftly, plunging the vessel into darkness. The ship's deck-lanterns were lit, and most of the crew settled in to rest. The Captain had, the first night, pulled the ship into a small cove on the Vodacce side of the River and dropped the anchor. However this night, with the Castillian border so close, and no attack materializing the night before despite his passengers' worries, the captain chose to press on through the night. This required a quarter of the crew at stations, making sure the unresponsive craft did not run aground, but still left the ship feeling oddly empty and abandoned. Twilight, and the early portions of the evening and night passed uneventfully, the only sounds the rustle of sails and rope, and the soft swish of water gliding by beneath the hull.
Maeve woke abruptly, far more suddenly and completely than she usually managed. There was none of the usual disorientation, no struggle against the inevitable, simply dreaming of her Lady one moment, awake the next. The long cool presence of her Lady was gone, leaving only a hint of cinnamon and a whisper from her dream, "time to wake, selkie child, and show me why I love you."
Shifting in the hammock, Maeve scanned the deck quickly, noting the deck-lamps, the seven crewmen standing about, Léon standing at the foot of the bowsprit, and Manfred leaning against the ship's wheel's mount. Everything appeared to be in order on the ship, from the crew to the position of the sails to the sound of wind and water.
It was sound that first drew her attention outward, a creak of rope on wood that could not have come from the Angelina's Gold. The deck-lamps ruined her night-vision, but after a few minutes she managed to distinguish the shore moving against the sky, and then the triangular shape of a sail. It took her a little longer to resolve that into the entire boat, because it was running without lights. Could be a smuggler, she thought, but if it is, I'm a Vaticine Cardinal.
She hauled herself out of the hammock and swung around onto the rigging, using the momentum to slip her sword's baldric over her shoulder and head. She was on the deck moments later, dropping the last few feet straight down. She headed aft first, both to get Manfred, and to keep her eye on the mystery ship tailing them. She found it again, a little closer, as she came even with the Eisen. "Company," she told him softly, "port side, aft quarter, running without lights. I can't tell distance, but..."
"If they're smugglers I'm the queen of Avalon," Manfred replied, nodding agreement. "I'll be ready. Warn Léon, then wake the others. We'll wait to sound the alarm until everyone's up, avoid confusion."
"Yeah, sound's good. You be real quiet like, now," she agreed, grinning in anticipation. "I don't want to scare them off just yet."
"I would rather avoid a battle if at all possible, Highlander."
"But where's the fun in that?" She smiled wider then slid down the rail to the deck, moving forward quickly. She stopped on the way to shake Vilskap and a pair of sailors awake, cautioning each to remain quiet.
Léon saw her coming, and walked to meet her, whispering, "Company?"
She nodded, half-way up the fore-deck stairs, "yeah, port quarter aft. Keep an eye out for another ship, though, I only saw one sail, so it's smaller than this tub. If I was them, I'd bring friends."
"Yeah, understood. You'll wake everyone else?"
"Way ahead of you, pretty-boy."
Rousing the rest of the crew was a simple matter of sending the sailors she woke first below to wake the rest, while Vilskap got himself sorted out. She told the sailors to stay below, and keep the crew down there until the alarm sounded, to avoid warning the other ship with a sudden mass of activity. From there, she proceeded beneath the quarterdeck to the cabins, Captain now on the port, first and second mate doubled up on the starboard, the three remaining 'lady passengers' in the captain's cabin directly aft. The captain and mates were easy enough, pushing the doors open and reaching into the cramped spaces just far enough to shake whoever was present.
The Captain's cabin proved more difficult, however, as it was the only door on the ship with a lock. She debated forcing it, since it did not look like much of a lock, but the probable result – high pitched screams – made that a bad choice. Plus, it probably would have made the Captain even less pleased with her than he already was. After a short debate, Maeve sighed, shook her head, and decided on politeness, tapping the door sharply with on knuckle. Loud and sharp enough to be heard, not enough to be heard through the hull and across the water.
She was surprised when the lock released and the door cracked open a few seconds later, having expected all of them to be asleep. She could not tell who she was looking at, since there were no lamps in either passageway or cabin, but... "Up and at 'em, ladies, we're about to be attacked. Stay below, keep out of trouble, and it'll be over pretty quickly, but you'll have to look out for yourselves if someone comes in through the windows back here."
"I'll be on deck shortly," Rosetta whispered back, "Rina and Talia'll stay here. They can take care of themselves fairly well, but I've got guns. Be more use up there."
"Don't come on deck 'till the alarm sounds," Maeve said, "Manfred's hoping to surprise them into leaving peacefully."
"What about you?"
Maeve smiled, "My Lady wants to see me in action again, I see no reason to disappoint her. I also don't want to loose, though, so the more of us are ready, the better."
Maeve returned to the deck, to find the Captain up there as well, standing at the aft rail with Manfred, facing forward. She strolled over to the main hatch, and a quick look below showed her the crew milling about, mostly ready. Nodding to one of the first she woke, she gestured for him to remain, then strolled aft. When she was in comfortable range, she told Manfred, "All set, everyone's up and ready to dance."
Manfred nodded, "Good. There's a second ship, same position right side."
"Starboard quarter," Maeve and the Captain corrected immediately.
In the face of his complete unconcern with their terminology, Maeve continued, "Think they'll pincer us?"
"No," the Captain answered, "one to shoot, the other to board. The one to starboard is further aft. The port ship will swing wide, fire a broadside, and while our attention is focused on them, the one to starboard will move up to board. I've seen this tactic before, from both sides."
"Alarm?"
"Now would be good," Manfred said.
The Captain glared at both of them, then shook himself and pushed between them, heading for the bell mounted on the forward quarterdeck rail. While he went to warn their attackers, Maeve gave Manfred a nod, settled her hat more firmly on her head, and squirreled up a backstay to the mainmast, following a few enterprising souls with muskets. Her claymore probably would be more use in general on the deck, with room to swing, but she did not plan to be up the mast for long. She kept her eyes up, getting them used to the darkness.
The bell was ringing before she reached her target perch at the main-yard, flat and off-key, but very loud and distinct in the otherwise quiet night. Moments later, she heard the yelling voices and pounding steps of the crew rushing to the deck. She turned on reaching the main-yard to look aft, and could just barely make out the two shapes following them in the night. Sure enough, as the Captain had predicted, the starboard ship was swinging away, though it was too dark for her to see if the gun ports were open. The ship to port was closing faster, risking being caught in the broadside to minimize time between shot and boarding.
The broadside came quickly enough, a ragged series of flashes down the side of the starboard ship, followed almost immediately by the thunder of the cannons and the deeper, more worrisome thunder of balls hitting the Angelina's Gold. She could tell the gunners were poor, since the shots were neither in unison, nor in order, and while three of them managed to hit their target, only one managed to inflict more than superficial damage. Two struck the hull low on the starboard side, but the third hit the rail just beside one of the Gold's few deck-guns, a little ten-pounder. The shot itself screamed across the deck and over the port side, taking several crewmen with it, but the blast of splinters was far worse, scything across the deck right next to the main hatch.
Bad as that was, though, the Captain was still screaming orders, and the crew responded with a trained will Maeve could only admire. Merchant sailors or not, these men were moving with commendable speed and discipline. Getting the angle for its broadside had caused the starboard ship to loose way, and it was falling aft even as it swung back onto an intercept course, out of the fight for several minutes, at least. The port ship, however, was closing in right behind the first. It was soon almost alongside, close enough for Maeve to make out the motion of the boarders, and the first grappling hooks beginning to spin.
The Captain had been sailing the River for years, however, and had a few tricks up his sleeve. While the port ship closed, the deck guns from the starboard side were loosed and rolled to port, but left a yard or so shy of the rail. The two five-pounders at the aft corners of the quarter deck were swung about, and as the port ship rolled up, both vessels fired off their guns, all of them packed with grape.
The damage to the Angelina's Gold was minimal. The port ship was smaller, with a lower main deck, trying to fire past the Gold's much higher quarterdeck. Most of the blasts went up over the sides, instead of through. Conversely, the Gold's guns were shooting down, directly onto the deck. They were also denied a flat shot, but still blasted back the first wave of boarders, and gave Maeve her first good look at the attackers.
Pathetic, was her initial impression. The boarders were in total disarray from the single blast, those still standing falling about on the suddenly slippery deck. But further study showed that, confusion or not, there were a ridiculous number of men on that deck, even after the cannons. "Must've packed 'em in to the deackheads," she muttered.
"Jus' fer this job, aye, miss," one of the sailors on the yard with her agreed, settling the musket he was carrying, "gon' be a righ' mess on th' deck in a bit."
"The more chaos the better," Maeve told him as the grappling lines flew across the intervening water.
Moments later the two ships crashed together, the thunderous impact causing the mast to sway sickeningly. Maeve rod the impact, holding onto a backstay and leaning over the empty space below, laughing with the sheer exhilaration of it. The boarders swarmed up the side, compensating for the lack of height with sheer numbers. A single exchange of ragged musket volleys sent lead whizzing through the air, to be followed by the roaring crash of the Gold's second line of guns. The shock threw back the first wave or boarders, but the second came almost immediately, and then the struggle of bodies reached the deck of the Angelina's Gold. The sailors with her on the yardarm began firing, two shooting, two reloading.
There was a second or so when Maeve thought the rush would carry the fight immediately. The Gold's crew were not warriors, tough though all sailors are by nature, and were pressed back to the foot of the mast. But then Vilskap and Léon joined the fray, the later practically dancing amongst the attackers with twin cavalry sabers flashing, the former more arriving in more brutal fashion, crushing his way through the press. She could not see Manfred, but was unconcerned, given the reputation all Eisen enjoyed these days. After a few seconds, as things began to stabilize on the deck, Maeve grinned. Nodding farewell to the gunners in the rigging with her, she drew her claymore, then leapt into the open air.
Halfway to the deck, she found the forestay she was aiming for, and snagged it with her free hand. The jerk was sharp and hard, and did not stop her decent, merely slowed her from a rapid plummet to a controlled fall. She landed on the rail a second later, massive sword howling down before her into the backs of surprised attackers. Instead of dropping to the deck and pressing her attack, however, she kept to the rail. One slice among the many that gave her room cut the forestay she was holding free, and she looped it around her free arm several times. Then she dropped outboard, hanging over the water and the enemy ship, and began hacking at the grappling lines, working her way aft as quickly as possible. She lacked the strength to lift the hooks free, but the attackers' grappling lines were bare-bones things, without the wire coils that would have protected them from her actions.
Dodging the few people remaining on the attacker's ship was relatively simple, given her small size and the height difference. Avoiding the ones already aboard the Gold was more difficult, but still not enough to distract her from her chosen task. The MacDonald school favored unpredictability, and the mass of her claymore gave her swings devastating power. It was simple for her to use one line-cutting swing to generate enough momentum to sweep away an attacker, either above or below her. Added to that was her continuous motion along the ship, swinging like a pendulum as she sought out the lines still tying the ship's together.
Before she could reach the last lines, Vilskap, Léon and Manfred reached the rail themselves, pushing the last of the attackers of it ahead of them. Maeve found herself suddenly dodging bodies, both the fallen and the fleeing, as she went for the last two lines. Before the attackers could reorganize, she hacked through enough lines that those remaining could not hold, and with gunshot cracks of breaking rope and wood, the ships fell away from one another.
Maeve watched the attacker fall away, trying to discern from the activity on the deck what its next action would be. From the confusion, the growing angle on the bow and the men running up the rigging, she figured that ship was done for the night, though the second ship was still closing. Before she could be sure, however, the line wrapped around her arm was jerked hard, and with an unmusical squawk, she found herself briefly airborne, flying free over open water. It was the surprise, more than the water, but still...
She got her bearings in time to land on her feet on the deck, but still stumbled hard into a rather large obstacle. Staggering back and glaring up, she found herself confronted with Vilskap, teeth just visible through his beard, grinning at her. "You're a crazy one, girl," he rumbled, amusement obvious in his tone, "jumpin' off a mast into melee."
Maeve grinned and shoved him, ineffectually, "You're one to talk, bringing a fist to a sword-fight."
"I hate to break up this little celebration," Manfred said, leaning over the quarter-deck rail, "but we have a new problem." He jerked his head, summoning them to the quarterdeck, and everyone followed.
There was almost immediately a pile-up as crewmen stopped, and Maeve had to push her way through to find out why. When she reached the front of the group, she sighed and would have cursed if her mind was not busy evaluating the concurrence of problems she was now faced with. With the second ship soon to board, they were now in dire straights.
Slumped over the ship's wheel, a bright read stain spreading down his back, was the captain.
