Page 15

Flint

My world doesn’t sit on the same axis. A battle rages on the other boat while I sit on our sterncastle deck with a goofy grin stretching my gob--not that I was about to rush into the fray unarmed.

My practice time in the bilge taught me that I’m best with books, not swords.

I could be an asset in the strategy room and maybe take over some of Chub’s accounting duties to help his transition to retirement.

While the crew works daily to teach one another to read and write, I am the most educated crew member to best handle the new contracts and the inventory when we dock at port.

Of course, all this is a ruse to be closer to my lady love, my soulmate, my other half, Captain Betts.

I felt it in her kiss. No woman has ever kissed me with a mixture of innocence and repressed fire like Betts just did.

Usually, a woman’s kiss is full of need and naughty promises, like she’s communicating her demands.

Betts—Bettina—didn’t ask for anything. She shared a moment without expectations or requests for my performance.

Combined with the fact that she has never once thrown herself at me, no wonder I’m smitten.

Is it the thrill of the chase or something special about her?

I peer over the railing and find her red hair in the melee on the other boat.

She’s stabbing and slashing men three times her size.

Eze fights back-to-back with her, while Hash’s dreadlocks whirl over her head.

It demonstrates the truth in my words. Her crew would be lost without her.

I didn’t understand why I stepped into her place when I spied the guns pointed at her from the enemies’ sails, but now I do.

The world would be a dim place without her light.

Dammit, the merchant captain climbs their Jacob’s Ladder to return to the fight.

Why didn’t he drown? Why didn’t Teeth or Sabs finish him?

If he saw who flung him overboard, he’ll be gunning for Betts.

I can’t let him ambush her. Eze or Hash may protect her flanks, but they have no idea this guy is back on board.

If I want to be by her side, I must prove to her I’m more than a dairy chaser.

I peer around the sterncastle mast and sigh.

They’re still fighting. What would my heroes—Teeth, Branko, and Magda—do?

Magda would have flown between the two boats like Betts.

Teeth would be one of the sharpshooters in rigging, watching anyone who aims at his hearties.

What about Branko? He’d be with the cannon crew, so he’d have the most dangerous trip into the fray.

He’d climb up and over the railing, praying nobody shoots him as he raises his torso from the cannon galley.

No matter which hero I would emulate, they would all lend their swords to the conflict on the other boat.

They all learned to fight somewhere, right?

How hard can it be? Just point and attack until your opponent bleeds. Easy as pie…when you’re armed.

On my elbows and my belly, I slither across the sterncastle deck and down the stairs to what’s left of the main deck. There are no pointy implements or forgotten pistols in the cannon galley. It was a long shot, but I had to look.

“Flint!” Gunter yells above me. I crane my neck to the upper boom on the forecastle mast where his station is supposed to be. Who knows if he went over the rail or stayed to shoot merchants from afar?

“Gunter?” An arrow strikes the bottom sterncastle step, next to my left hoof.

If this arrow came from the other boat, it would have feathers to anchor the base, not leftover herbs from Catalina's kitchen.

I recognize the symbols carved just below the arrowhead as the tribal symbols of the islanders who make the arrows—while the rest of us are stuck sewing. “Thanks, Gunter!”

Pulling the arrow from its target in the step, I’m elated to be armed.

It’s not a sword, dagger, or whip, but at least it has a sharp end.

I slither to the beam along the center of the boat and glide around the cannon galley to the railing.

The fighting is divided into pairs or trios, so there’s nobody to shoot at me.

They’re busy. If I tell the stories of what happened on deck, will they believe I was there?

I am there…here…not engaged in combat…but there are the sharpshooters… they would know…ugh.

Here I go. My first pirooting over the rail.

My legs shake as my hooves clatter on the gangplank connecting the boats.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Oh, toss it, that’s a long drop to the churning sea below.

Was that a wobble? My arms shoot outward as I crouch down.

This plank is too wobbly for a safe crossing.

Is Teeth down there in case someone falls? Would he save me? I bet Sabrina would—

A bullet flies between my horns. It’s motivation enough to haul my arse onto the enemy's boat. I instantly love their floorboards. They’re stable, secure, and without roaring waves beneath them.

Yes, these planks are worth the battle. I will never take them for granted…

if I ever cross that terrible divide back to our boat.

“Well, sir! Or should I say, avast ye? Had us fooled for a heartbeat,” sneers a merchant with a beard that reaches below his beltline. I can’t take my eyes off the bugs crawling in it. Doesn’t that itch? “So you owe us a heartbeat—yours!”

As he rushes toward me, some of the bugs take flight.

Musty moths, blinking fireflies, long-legged mosquitoes, and tropical creatures I can't identify form a swarm more fierce than the curved blade the man holds over his head. I swat in feverish arcs, whirling and dodging the buzzing insects. My arrow tip cuts through ropes that lead to God knows what as I fight an invisible enemy. The bearded hive gives a choke as the ship’s mizzen boom slaps him in the stomach and sweeps him off his feet.

My opponent and his swarm are carried into the air and across the boat as the sail swings a half-circle.

That takes care of him…unless our crew must delice after this battle.

I meant to cut the rope holding the sails. I’m brilliant.

Eze and Betts are across the boat on the forecastle deck, so they missed my first taste of combat.

They battle two giant sailors who have the merchant captain stuffed into a corner behind them.

I think they have the skirmish well in hand.

Where is Chub? Maybe he needs assistance.

I’m riding the high of defeating an enemy—shedding blood—triumph!

Hash, one of our crew members from the same island as Greenhorn and Eze, fights with a portly merchant in an apron.

The cook fights with a butcher knife in one hand and a spatula in the other.

I don’t feel bad for picking a little arrow as my weapon now.

Although Hash looks slightly stunned every time he’s smacked over the head with the flat surface of the spatula.

Their battle is an even exchange of blows until one of Hash’s dreadlocks is sliced by the butcher knife.

The gentle islander, who loves to sing as he works, drops his short swords and grabs the cook’s head.

The man squeals as Hash’s thumbs push his eyeballs to the back of his skull.

Yeah, Hash is fine on his own…

Hey, where did Betts go?

“Stop, or I’ll cleave you into brisket!” Shouts a high voice from behind me.

“I wasn’t moving,” I reply, raising my arrow above my head in surrender.

“Oh, a smart mouth,” squeaks the voice.

“Oh, you’re a…you’re a…I’m sorry. How old are you?” I drop my arms to my hips as I stare down at the cabin boy. Does he carry a dagger or a sword? I could never tell the large dagger from the short swords. Where is the cut-off on those terms? Greenhorn or Eze would know.

“I’m old enough to spill your innards!”

“I’m sorry, could you say that again?” I’m holding my belly with laughter. The tiny chipmunk voice combined with the adult threats is too much. I hope this lad surrenders, because I can’t wait for Chub to get a load of this kid. “Your voice is too funny.”

“What’s that about his voice?” A sailor three times the lad’s size turns from where he fought back-to-back with the cabin boy.

“Well, it’s high-pitched because his throat—”

“The only throat you should be worried about is your own,” the giant sailor replies, making a slashing motion under his chin.

“Not likely,” I yell, and toss my arrow at him like a dart. He catches it and snaps it in two like a twig.

“That all you got?” He sneers. The cabin boy raises his sorry-excuse-for-a-sword higher but doesn’t say a word.

In fact, that arrow was all I had. I look to the railing on my left—there’s no way I’m jumping.

I look behind me, and I don’t have a big, burly hearty fighting back-to-back with me.

Ah ha! They’ve got eight cannon balls stacked in a brass ring next to a dormant cannon.

I reach down and heft one of the cannon balls in my grip.

Spinning around twice for flare—Chub did say to add theater to all moves to look more imposing—I loft the cannonball at the pair.

The large man ducks, but not enough.

The cannonball connects with his temple, crushing his eye socket and spraying blood through his nose.

It isn’t enough to stop him, so I quickly grab another cannonball.

When I stand back up, Chub has bent the large man backward by the hair.

My quartermaster reminds me never to cross him as the man’s throat opens.

Chub’s sinister grin as his face is washed with blood will haunt my nightmares.

“Hey! That’s my friend!” The kid whirls around to stab Chub.

I’m not sure which one is worse: my quartermaster losing his life to a cabin boy after a long career of hunting monsters, or facing my quartermaster knowing he killed a kid.

I must stop this scenario before it plays out.

My fastest recourse is to roll the cannonball like Italian lawn bowling.

Direct hit—back of the legs. The kid slips in the blood as his knees buckle from impact.

His weapon skips across the floor, and I race after it.

This is a dagger. Confirmed—this is my dagger. Ooh, cute little ducks carved into the green handle. What a perfect souvenir in case nobody believes my tale of the bird boat! I will treasure this always.

Chub has moved on to his next victim—a grey-bearded sailor who looks as terrified of Chub’s bloodlust as the rest of us. They can sort that out. I back up a few steps to find Betts when a scream stops everyone mid-brawl.

“Freeze, or the bird gets it,” Captain Betts yells.

Dangling from her tiny fist is a bird like none other I’ve ever seen.

Feet the size of my head kick at the bottom of the sterncastle deck stairs, while his head is the same height as Betts’s at the top.

The ten-foot-tall bastard must be an Elephant bird from Madagascar.

Father brought home feathers from one of these terror birds on his last hunting expedition.

I never thought I would see one in the flesh… in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

“You wouldn’t. You can’t. They are nearly extinct. This one is to breed with my dear Begonia,” the captain whimpers as he crawls out of his hiding place. “Let him go. We surrender. Sailors, lay down your swords for a better world.”

“Won’t be much better a world if I ain’t alive to see it,” snaps a sailor. His mates nod and yell, “Hear, hear.”

“I bet he’s delicious roasted,” Chub calls as he growls with his tongue out at the sailors around him.

They inch away as blood splatters on their uniforms. “Hell, we’ve got enough human innards to make blood sausage for the rest of the season.

How many of those birds are down below, and how many of you must we skin alive? ”

Swords clank, axes thump, and bullets ping as all the weapons fall to the deck.

Huh, a little bit of theater.

“I won’t let you hurt him! You monster,” The Captain yells as he draws his pistol.

He points it at Betts and unlocks the hammer.

His trigger finger slips, so he adds more demeaning taunts as he rights his fingers.

“Drop the bird, little girl. He will snap your bones if he gets ahold of you. This is no place for a little bit of fluff like you. Now, let the men settle this—”

A dagger protrudes from his mouth. The green handle mocks us with its happy little duck carvings as the captain’s eyes roll back into his head.

He drops to the ground with enough force to lift his feet in a farewell kick.

Everyone follows the trajectory to my outstretched hand.

I killed a man with a hundred witnesses because he threatened Betts.

How far have I fallen for her? Feet apart, hand raised, there’s only one thing left to do.

I follow through and take a bow to me hearties’ thunderous applause.