Page 43

When an idea comes to me, I have the absurd thought to tell it to Alosa, only to once again remember that I call the shots now.

“Philoria!” I shout.

“Captain?” she says from somewhere within the bedlam.

I finally catch sight of her and race across the deck, slicing at more limbs as I go. She’s stationed against the outside wall to my quarters as she reloads her pistol. I cover her while she takes the time to add powder to her weapon.

“I need the cannons pointed into the sea. Can it be done?” I ask.

“Without shooting through our own ship?” She thinks for a moment. “Well … sort of.”

“Do it.”

“Aye-aye. I need five people to pull it off.”

“Take them. The rest of the crew will cover you.”

She pushes off from the wall, shouting as she approaches the first cannon on the main deck. “Bayla, Visylla, Kearan, Enwen, Taydyn—to me!”

I find Dimella from where she’s slicing through beastie appendages right and left. “We need to give the gunners cover!”

“Aye-aye. To the cannons everyone! Backs to the gunners. Protect them with your lives.”

Philoria disappears belowdecks and returns with ropes slung over her shoulders. She uses them to tie the first cannon to the mainmast with a few feet of slack.

She calls out to her helpers, “Shove the cannon over the water!”

“The railing’s in the way,” Taydyn calls back.

“Then you’d best push really hard! On my count.”

On three, the men shove with all their weight, smashing the cannon right through the railing until it hovers over the water, the ropes attached to the mast keeping it from tipping into the sea. The girls angle the first cannon straight down, before moving to the next one to repeat the process. Philoria tosses separate lines to Bayla and Visylla so they can tie off more cannons to the masts.

Another scream and another crewman disappears over the deck. This time I catch sight of Rorun before he goes into the water, arms flailing.

Dammit.

“Dimella, lower the anchor!” I shout. “We need to buy us some time.”

She widens her eyes, and I can see her desire to question the order, but she hasn’t failed me yet. She nods once, then races for the capstan.

“Brace yourselves!” I shout to the crew.

The ship jolts when the anchor is lowered, the weight slowing us down considerably. Because there’s no one at the helm, we start to spin. But a satisfying wail erupts from below. We hit it. Pierced it likely. Those eyeball limbs disappear back into the water, probably to attempt to dislodge the anchor from wherever it struck the beastie.

“Philoria, quick!” I shout.

Only four of the cannons are ready. Half. We’re going to need them all if this is going to work.

“Reload!” I say to the rest of the crew, most of whom are already preparing their pistols for the next round.

“The water’s churning again, Sorinda!” This little shout comes from way up in the crow’s nest.

Roslyn. Still doing her job, despite everything. Stars, but how could I forget about her?

“Roslyn, go shut yourself in my quarters! Now!”

I anticipate an argument, but none comes. Instead, I hear the slap of feet landing on the deck. Roslyn starts for my quarters, but a wayward tentacle comes out of nowhere. It grabs her by her left arm, pulls her straight up in the air, and I watch in horror as it drags her toward the edge of the ship. I’m running for her, but I know I can’t get there in time. My pistol isn’t loaded yet.