Page 49 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)
The momentary distraction provided a brief respite in the fighting, allowing Sidney to survey the condition of his crew and vessel.
The toll was evident — several of the Seraphim’s men lay wounded or motionless on the deck, while others fought on despite injuries that would have felled less determined defenders.
The ship itself had suffered damage to rails and rigging, though nothing that appeared to threaten her seaworthiness.
But the attackers, though fewer in number than the Seraphim’s crew, were clearly experienced fighters, professional rather than opportunistic in their approach to naval combat. They had regrouped quickly after the cannon’s impact, resuming their advance across the deck with disciplined purpose.
“We can’t hold them indefinitely,” Sidney acknowledged, the tactical assessment made without emotion despite the dire implications. “They’re too well-trained, too focused on their objective.”
“What can we do?” Docila asked, staying close to his side as they backed toward the quarterdeck where Turner and several others had established a secondary defensive position.
Sidney’s eyes met hers, a fleeting but intense connection in the midst of chaos.
There was something in his gaze beyond the immediate concerns of battle — a recognition, perhaps, of all that might be lost if they failed here, not just the treasure but the future it represented, the possibility of a life beyond the constant chase and struggle that had defined his recent years.
And something more personal, more profound, that sent a shiver of recognition through Docila’s core.
Whatever had begun to grow between them — the complex tangle of respect, attraction, and understanding that had developed through shared danger and gradual trust — faced extinction if they could not survive the next crucial minutes.
“We need to separate them from their ship,” Sidney said, the tactical decision made even as that unspoken communication passed between them. “Cut the grappling lines, push them off before reinforcements can join them from below.”
It was a sound strategy — the attackers already aboard were dangerous but limited in number. If they could be isolated, the Seraphim’s crew might yet prevail through superior numbers, despite the professional skill of their opponents.
Sidney gave rapid orders, directing Fletcher and several others to target the grappling hooks securing the vessels together, while Turner prepared the cannon for another shot, this one aimed at the enemy ship’s deck rather than her hull — not to sink her, but to clear her of men who might otherwise join the boarding party.
The brutal efficiency with which these orders were executed spoke to the crew’s training and loyalty.
Despite the confusion of battle, they moved with coordinated purpose, each man understanding his role in the desperate gambit.
Docila found herself ushering wounded sailors toward the relative safety of the companion way, providing what first aid she could with torn strips of cloth and murmured encouragement.
But the enemy had anticipated this tactic, or perhaps simply recognized the same strategic necessity that Sidney had identified.
They pressed forward with renewed determination, concentrating their efforts on preventing the Seraphim’s crew from reaching the grappling lines that bound the vessels together.
The fighting intensified, becoming more desperate on both sides as the narrow advantage the Seraphim had briefly claimed began to waver.
Two of the grappling hooks had been cut free, causing the ships to separate slightly, but three remained, and the enemy was focusing all their efforts on protecting those remaining connections.
Sidney fought at the forefront, his cutlass moving with lethal precision as he created space for his men to work at the grappling lines.
But the toll of continuous combat was becoming evident even in his movements — a slight hesitation here, a narrowly avoided blow there, signs of fatigue that an experienced opponent would soon exploit.
Docila remained near him, having recovered a dropped cutlass that she wielded with more determination than skill.
Her father had insisted she learn the basics of swordplay as well as marksmanship, but theoretical knowledge was poor preparation for the chaotic reality of actual combat.
Still, she managed to deflect several attacks directed at Sidney’s blind side, her presence providing just enough additional protection to allow him to focus on the primary threats before him.
“The map,” he said during a brief lull as they found themselves pressed back against the quarterdeck steps. “If we can’t hold them off — if the ship is taken — the map must not fall into their hands.”
“We’ll hold them,” Docila insisted, unwilling to consider the alternative.
Sidney shook his head slightly, the movement barely perceptible amid the constant vigilance required by their situation.
“If,” he emphasized, the single word carrying the weight of a captain’s responsibility to prepare for all contingencies, however unwelcome. “If we cannot, you must take the strongbox and go.”
“Go where?” Docila demanded, incredulous even as she parried a clumsy thrust from an attacker who immediately retreated beyond her reach. “We’re surrounded by ocean, with another ship alongside preventing any escape by boat.”
“Not by boat,” Sidney replied, his gaze shifting briefly toward the coastline visible in the distance. “We’re close enough to shore that a strong swimmer might reach it, especially with the tide in their favour as it is now.”
The implication was clear, and Docila felt a surge of both fear and denial.
“I won’t leave you,” she said fiercely. “Any of you. We face this together, as we have every challenge since I came aboard.”
Sidney’s expression softened momentarily, something like admiration flickering in his eyes despite the desperate circumstances.
“Your courage is beyond question,” he acknowledged.
“But this isn’t about bravery, Docila. It’s about ensuring that what we’ve discovered — what you helped uncover with your memory of the medallion — doesn’t fall into Blackwell’s hands.
If he obtains the charts, the coordinates, the knowledge we’ve pieced together. ..”
He didn’t need to finish the thought. If Blackwell gained possession of the complete information they now held, he would reach the treasure first, claiming the culmination of years of research and sacrifice.
All that Sidney had worked for, all that he and his friends had risked and endured, would be for nothing.
Before Docila could respond, a new shout from the rail announced what they had been dreading — reinforcements from the enemy vessel, a fresh wave of attackers swarming aboard to tip the balance decisively against the already outnumbered defenders of the Seraphim.
Sidney assessed the situation with the rapid calculation of an experienced commander, weighing possibilities and consequences in the span of heartbeats. His decision, when it came, held the weight of irrevocable choice.
“Go,” he said to Docila, his voice low but carrying absolute authority. “Take the strongbox and make for shore. I’ll create a diversion, draw their attention while you slip away.”
His hand closed briefly, fiercely, around hers. “This isn’t a request, Docila. It’s the only chance we have of keeping the treasure from Blackwell’s grasp.”
The raw necessity in his voice, the strategic logic of his command, cut through Docila’s emotional resistance.
She understood, even as every instinct rebelled against leaving him to face such overwhelming odds alone.
The charts, the knowledge they contained, represented not just material wealth but the culmination of years of dedicated pursuit, the future security that Sidney and his friends had worked toward with such single-minded purpose.
And perhaps, though neither of them could speak it aloud in this moment of crisis, they represented something more — the possibility of a shared future beyond the immediate dangers they faced, a life built on the foundation that El Dorado’s treasure would provide.
“I’ll come back for you,” she promised, the words both vow and plea. “With help. I won’t abandon you to whatever fate Blackwell intends.”
Sidney’s smile was brief but genuine, a flash of warmth amid the grim reality of their situation.
“I know,” he said simply, faith in her determination evident despite the circumstances. “Now go. Quickly, before they regroup.”
With a final, anguished look that conveyed all the complex emotions neither had time to express, Docila turned and raced down the companionway toward Sidney’s cabin and the strongbox that contained their precious charts.
Behind her, she heard him shouting orders, rallying the remaining defenders of the Seraphim for what might be their final stand against overwhelming odds.
The sounds of renewed fighting, of Sidney’s voice raised in defiance against whatever fate awaited him and his loyal crew, followed her as she moved through the narrow passages of the ship that had become more home to her than any place since her father’s death.
Each step away from the conflict above felt like a betrayal, yet she understood the necessity that drove Sidney’s command — the imperative to protect not just material treasure but the future it represented for all who had contributed to its discovery.
As she reached Sidney’s cabin and secured the strongbox with its precious contents, Docila made another vow, this one silent but no less binding than her spoken promise to return.
Whatever happened in the hours and days to come, whether they found El Dorado’s treasure or faced Blackwell’s vengeance, she would not allow Sidney Peters to face the final challenge alone.
They had come too far together, had forged a connection too profound to be severed by separation or danger.
And if fate offered any path back to his side, Docila Archer would find it — with the same determination that had carried her from her uncle’s oppressive household onto the deck of the Seraphim and into the heart of the storm-tossed adventure that had transformed her life.