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 arrowwasall 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 perfectsouvenir 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.
