enough,” he said, and two other cannon boomed from other ships. One missed, but the second smashed through the
Petrel
’s rigging, and lines snapped, falls clattering down to the deck.
“Bad,” Todolia said. “Hear that whirring? They’re using chain shot, shooting at the rigging. They’re trying to dismast us, so they can take the ship intact for the cargo.”
“And us for slaves,” Edirne said.
“Damme, but I wish the flittering owners would’ve bought one piece, one frigging falconet, a crappy little moyen even,” Todolia growled. “Damn them for the budget-minded butchers they are.”
“One popgun wouldn’t do much good against those culverin,” Edirne said.
“No, but I’d feel like I was doing
something.
”
Todolia shouted an obscenity at the galley, waved her fist. Peirol saw a small puff of smoke, heard the captain snort, like an angered bull. She turned, and Peirol gasped. The woman had no face, but a ruin of blood from the musket ball. She put her hand up, then it fell limply, and she sagged as if all the bones in her body had vanished.
“You men,” Edirne bellowed at the sailors. “Shoot back at ‘em! They’ve killed our captain!”
But he needed make no warning. Two sailors below were down in blood, writhing. A sailor hurled his javelin out through the netting. It splashed far short of the galley he was aiming at, and the two bowmen loosed shafts.
The galley cannons all fired, a ragged volley, and the
Petrel
’s mainmast snapped, sagged in its stays, and slowly dropped overside. The caravel listed.
“Cut away the rigging and the mast,” Edirne ordered. “Get axes! We’ll have to sail around ‘em!”
He dropped his bow, went to a gear locker, took out a heavy ax. A javelin arched through the air and took him just below the ribs, the bloody spearhead jutting out through his back. Edirne screamed shrilly, clawed at the shaft of the spear, stumbled, and fell.
“Get the godsdamned white flag up,” the sailor who’d speared him shouted. “Before they kill us all!”
Peirol went to Edirne, saw a spark of life flicker, vanish from his eyes as blood poured from his mouth.
“Are you another fool for fightin’?” a voice demanded, and Peirol saw a sailor with cutlass ready. Not trusting what he might say, feeling anger pound at his temples, Peirol dropped his sword, got up, and backed away.
“There’s things worse’n bein’ an oarsman,” the sailor said. “Not that you’ll ever pull one, havin’ real talents with jewels. Somebody’ll snap you out of the slave market on first showin’.”
Two galleys were alongside, and grappling hooks dug into the
Petrel
’s bulkheads. Men in armor swarmed up the sides and cut through the netting. They herded the sailors and Peirol to one side, and broke into the great cabin. Peirol heard wood smash, and a scream.
A grinning man stuck his head out. “C’mon, boys, there’s meat to share! Get your asses in line!”
There were shouts of glee, and two men dragged a struggling Zaimis out. Another rolled out the small cask of wine that stood in the cabin, smashed in its head with a dagger butt, and dipped himself a palmful. He wore, tied around his neck, the green silk scarf Kima had given Peirol.
A man took hold of Zaimis’s dress at the bodice and ripped it away while the woman shrieked. The men watching roared amusement.
Then a pistol thudded, and the first would-be rapist contorted as blood gouted from below his armored waistcoat. He convulsed like a landed fish and lay still.
The others were very still as a large young man with cold eyes and blond hair and beard paced forward. He wore finely worked armor and an ostrich-plumed hat. He had a pistol in each hand, one smoking, two others in his waistband. He stuck the fired piece in his belt, drew, cocked another, blew its slow fuse to life.
“I believe my orders were to take the woman alive and unharmed, were they not? No man disobeys me, and remains healthy. I could’ve
Petrel
’s rigging, and lines snapped, falls clattering down to the deck.
“Bad,” Todolia said. “Hear that whirring? They’re using chain shot, shooting at the rigging. They’re trying to dismast us, so they can take the ship intact for the cargo.”
“And us for slaves,” Edirne said.
“Damme, but I wish the flittering owners would’ve bought one piece, one frigging falconet, a crappy little moyen even,” Todolia growled. “Damn them for the budget-minded butchers they are.”
“One popgun wouldn’t do much good against those culverin,” Edirne said.
“No, but I’d feel like I was doing
something.
”
Todolia shouted an obscenity at the galley, waved her fist. Peirol saw a small puff of smoke, heard the captain snort, like an angered bull. She turned, and Peirol gasped. The woman had no face, but a ruin of blood from the musket ball. She put her hand up, then it fell limply, and she sagged as if all the bones in her body had vanished.
“You men,” Edirne bellowed at the sailors. “Shoot back at ‘em! They’ve killed our captain!”
But he needed make no warning. Two sailors below were down in blood, writhing. A sailor hurled his javelin out through the netting. It splashed far short of the galley he was aiming at, and the two bowmen loosed shafts.
The galley cannons all fired, a ragged volley, and the
Petrel
’s mainmast snapped, sagged in its stays, and slowly dropped overside. The caravel listed.
“Cut away the rigging and the mast,” Edirne ordered. “Get axes! We’ll have to sail around ‘em!”
He dropped his bow, went to a gear locker, took out a heavy ax. A javelin arched through the air and took him just below the ribs, the bloody spearhead jutting out through his back. Edirne screamed shrilly, clawed at the shaft of the spear, stumbled, and fell.
“Get the godsdamned white flag up,” the sailor who’d speared him shouted. “Before they kill us all!”
Peirol went to Edirne, saw a spark of life flicker, vanish from his eyes as blood poured from his mouth.
“Are you another fool for fightin’?” a voice demanded, and Peirol saw a sailor with cutlass ready. Not trusting what he might say, feeling anger pound at his temples, Peirol dropped his sword, got up, and backed away.
“There’s things worse’n bein’ an oarsman,” the sailor said. “Not that you’ll ever pull one, havin’ real talents with jewels. Somebody’ll snap you out of the slave market on first showin’.”
Two galleys were alongside, and grappling hooks dug into the
Petrel
’s bulkheads. Men in armor swarmed up the sides and cut through the netting. They herded the sailors and Peirol to one side, and broke into the great cabin. Peirol heard wood smash, and a scream.
A grinning man stuck his head out. “C’mon, boys, there’s meat to share! Get your asses in line!”
There were shouts of glee, and two men dragged a struggling Zaimis out. Another rolled out the small cask of wine that stood in the cabin, smashed in its head with a dagger butt, and dipped himself a palmful. He wore, tied around his neck, the green silk scarf Kima had given Peirol.
A man took hold of Zaimis’s dress at the bodice and ripped it away while the woman shrieked. The men watching roared amusement.
Then a pistol thudded, and the first would-be rapist contorted as blood gouted from below his armored waistcoat. He convulsed like a landed fish and lay still.
The others were very still as a large young man with cold eyes and blond hair and beard paced forward. He wore finely worked armor and an ostrich-plumed hat. He had a pistol in each hand, one smoking, two others in his waistband. He stuck the fired piece in his belt, drew, cocked another, blew its slow fuse to life.
“I believe my orders were to take the woman alive and unharmed, were they not? No man disobeys me, and remains healthy. I could’ve
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