The crack of the cannons washed over the decks of the Implacable, and Judith smiled, watching as the balls of the bow guns whistled forward and landed a few hundred feet from the Tribunal with a splash. In a few minutes, those balls would be falling terribly close to the Tribunal's rudder.

The enemy ship had been a minute blot on the horizon the night before, and now, as the sun approached its zenith, they were close enough to spot the Porcine sailors rushing about on the decks. Through her telescope, Judith had a view of the Tribunal's every detail: the rich, dark-green hue of its hull; the blood-red crosses of its ornamental flags; even the gold lettering stencilled into the woodwork above the quarter gallery windows – in the Old Tongue, it read For King, For Country, For Honour. She could not spot the enemy captain himself, but she doubted he'd remain unseen for long.

She collapsed her eyeglass as the fore-guns let loose another testing volley, and turned to Felix. "Not long now, and Bronhelm will have to commit: to sail on, and leave his rudder exposed; to turn, and ready to battle in line; or to make for the islands. It's beginning to seem as if the upper paw is solidly ours."

Felix stiffened, muttering, "If he does continue the course, we should try to keep some distance between us, in case they mean to kedge and regain some element of surprise." His voice was steely, but there was a note of nervousness to it. He was still unseated by the daring of their proposed course of action.

Nick, on the other hand, who had emerged on deck just as the bow cannons had opened fire, was a portrait of confidence. He peered through his own, weather-beaten telescope, whistling in appreciation at the gunners' accuracy.

"Those balls are falling mighty close, now," he chortled. "Soon they'll be installing skylights in the captain's dining room."

Judith, however, now had her eyes on the bleak, stony shores of the islands passing by. They were imposing, sandless bluffs topped with steaming, reeking jungle foliage. They were fast approaching the first gap between the Ribbons; soon, it would be decided if this was to be the backdrop for their first and final battle.

The minutes passed. The fore-gun crews kept up their threatening barrage, each shot landing well within the fleeing ship's wake. One skillful round touched down barely a foot from the hull. Judith's nose was twitching with anxious anticipation, her every nerve wound tight enough to burst.

And then she saw it; the Tribunal's rudder began to turn, biting into the water, and its jib sails bloomed as they faced fully into the wind. Slowly, the ship began to go about, exposing the details of its flanks. Through his spy-glass Nick could now see the layout of the ship, could see bare-chested hogs swinging through the rigging, could see the bores of the cannons facing menacingly their way. Amidst the commotion on the decks, he spotted a tall, elaborately-plumed helmet, perched on the head of a blustering, stocky figure with brutish, filed tusks. Bronhelm.

"Well, no one can say the Porcine nobility are lightweights," Nick muttered. "I don't think my sword is sharp enough to cut through all that ham. Honestly, we might need to roll a cannon right up his bustle and shoot from there…"

"Master! Hold our course steady!" Judy called, and the ram at the helm, Eli, nodded in assent. It was wise to follow them until the ship passed out of sight, ensuring that Bronhelm predicted a pursuit. She wanted to avoid giving event a faint indication of their plan; she imagined that Bronhelm was expecting them to sail past the island and meet them on the other side in open waters.

So, they held steady, and Judith watched as the Tribunal began to vanish down the Ribbon's passage. The sprawling jungle trees began to consume it, turning it into ever smaller glimpses, until it finally disappeared entirely.

"Master, to the port side! Full rudder!" Judith wailed, and a cry of triumph echoed down the ship as the Implacable tilted and began to sail for the unnamed island; for their secret weapon, the razor in their boot.

Brimming with confidence, Judith fixed Nick with a glowing smirk. "Looks like you've earned your keep again, Nick. The Royal Navy needs ten more like you."

"If there were ten of me, one of them would kill the other nine and take all their stuff," Nick laughed. But he returned the smile, and its warmth was genuine.

It faltered, however, when he caught sight of Felix, whose cold, emotionless stare put Nick in mind of an animate statue, a heartless golem. The towering panther strode near, and whispered to him icily, "Earn your keep, Redcoat. If you dare to slip, the instruments of justice will find you out."

Nick was as good as his word. In barely ten minutes they had reached the shore and spotted the channel he had spoken of. Its size had gone unembellished; it was only just broad enough to snugly fit the width of the Implacable's hull, and a few low-growing trees would be enough to cause trouble for the sails. But the trench was not sandy, so there was no threat of a shallow bar, and the wind rushing through the cliff-sides gave them the advantage of speed if not control.

As the Implacable committed itself to the passage, Nick was reminded why he wasn't surprised that this island had gone unchristened. It was an ugly volcanic lump, layer upon layer of coarse, jet basalt, protruding sharply at all angles like the blackened ribs of some dead, roasted behemoth. And even on that blasted terrain, an all manner of saplings, vines and shrubs had taken root. Nick didn't dare imagine the bethorned, venomous nightmares that lurked it the jungle's midst, any more than the deadly stone teeth that probably lurked just under the surface of the water.

Eli's face was wrinkled in concentration, his tattooed arms working the wheel with deft precision. He had sailors along both sides calling information out to him, and the picture was clear; stray too far to either side, and the ship was doomed. A lesser Sailing Master would have split under the pressure.

That said, Nick thought Judith looked impossibly composed. She had trusted her success, and the lives of her crew, on the word of confessed and convicted scoundrel. If she had any misgivings about the current situation, they were well buried.

"Notice I haven't gone anywhere," Nick muttered to her. "That secret ship and hidden cache of wealth of mine mustn't have been down this channel."

Judith chuckled. "I've never accredited you with an overabundance of brains, Nick, but you know even I wouldn't suspect you of trying to flee until the fighting starts. And this ship of yours is faster than the Implacable at full sail?"

"No, you're right. Now wouldn't be the time. And I resent the implication that I'm scared of a drawn blade," said Nick.

"You'll have to prove to me that you're no coward, then," Judith replied, and then fixed him with a glare of not-entirely-unserious concern. "I mean it, Nick. The mere whiff of abandonment, and I'll have you stuffed in a flour sack for the journey home."

Nick was about the fire back that her purser was so tight-pawed that she'd probably have to barter for it when an excited call began to ring up the length of the ship. Felix caught the word.

"We're approaching the mouth of the channel. The Tribunal will be in sight and range shortly!"

Judith's look dissolved into wicked delight, and she rushed to the raised perch of the quarterdeck, telescope in hand, Felix and Nick in tow. She saw the black cliffs dropping away, and there the Tribunal was, sailing directly abreast them, riding high on the glittering waves, perfectly in range of their guns.

"All crews, take aim at their sails! Fire on my mark" cried Judy. The call was taken up by the midshipmammals who captained the gun crews. The gun ports snapped open. Culverins were wheeled forward.

And then there was a brief silence. Aching silence, heavy with mounting anticipation. The sound of a hundred held breaths.

"Fire!"

The concentrated blasts were incomparably loud, and filled the air with great, choking plumes of smoke. Nick didn't need to see anything, however; he could hear the sharp whistle of the bar shot they had fired; half-spheres, connected at length by an iron rod, like a set of weightlifter's dumbbells. They spun madly as they traced their deadly arcs through the sky, producing a high-pitched note.

Nick raised his spyglass again to watch them plunge into the masts of the Tribunal. He couldn't contain a tiny cheer as the shots snipped through the ropes like scythes, or punched splinter-rimmed holes in the timber. Cannily, the crews had landed their shots on the foremast and mizzenmast; clipping the ships mainsails would have been a difficult task, and they didn't need to bring the Tribunal to a dead halt, just to keep their edge over it in maneuverability. But their work was far from complete.

"Crews, reload. All hands, brace for return fire!" Judith's order rang over the deck. The sailors waited for the return salvo. Felix dropped low on his haunches, ready to take cover. Nick thumbed the lucky hole in his coat.

But the volley never came. Felix got back on his feet.

"This makes no sense," he murmured, his eyes darting up and down the enemy ship. "They have the same range. Why aren't they mounting a defence?"

Judith didn't let it slow her down. The second order to fire was given, and soon there was another chorus of angry blasts. They had closed the distance between them and the Tribunal, so this volley wrought utter destruction; within a few moments of the gun smoke clearing, Judith could see the Tribunal's two smaller masts begin to twist and crack, and finally break in two. They tipped over, swine tumbling from the descending height like circus acrobats, before raising torrential geysers as they plunged into the sea.

Even Felix let out a triumphant cry, the whole crew of the Implacable cheering at a first blow well struck. But Nick was suddenly tapping Judith on the shoulder, his face unusually concerned.

"Carrots, look at the cannons on their lower deck," he urged, peering through his spyglass. "See what they're loading? Have you ever seen anything like that?"

Through her telescope, Judith saw the enemy stuffing some strange, rod-like instruments into the bores of their guns. They looked like…like spears?

"Sweet cheese and crackers…" Judith gasped, scanning the length of the ship. There were at least ten of them–

Suddenly, the Tribunal made its reply. There was a series of muted pops, and the grapples the enemy had loaded went rocketing through the sky, trailing –- and as Judith saw this, her eyes widened is alarm –- great coils of rope in their wake.

The crew of the Implacable hurled themselves to safety as the projectiles came crashing down on them. One or two buried themselves in the weather deck with reverberating cracks; at least one became snarled in the mast's ropes; most of them plunged into the timber of the hull.

Immediate danger at bay, Judith rushed off the quarterdeck, heading amidships where one of the spears had come to rest. It had bored straight through the deck, its sharpened flukes now digging into the wood from the other side.

"Well," said Nick, coming up beside her, "that boarding action we were hoping to avoid? I think the decision was just taken out of our paws…" He reached out and wrapped his claws around the shaft of the grapple, giving it a tug. "Nope, that is stuck fast. We are, as we say in very technical pirate jargon, fucked."

Felix was staring at Nick as though he had sprouted horns, and may have been about to pick him up and lob him over the gunwale, when the horrible bass groan of wood under pressure filled the air, and the leads connecting the two ships drew taut. The Implacable began to lean to port, and was slowly, inevitably, drawn through the water towards the Tribunal.