The King

trigger. There was a respectable bang as the piece discharged, a whoosh of burned powder in his face from the pan.

But he had struck his man! At nearly two hundred yards. There were only two weapons in the world that could fire that far: the American Kentucky rifle, and the Ferguson. And the Ferguson was a proper military piece. He cranked the lever under the stock one turn, dropping the screw-breech out of the way, pulled the dog's-jaws back to half-cock and bit the end off a cartouche, priming the pan with some of the powder inside. Rammed the rest into the rear of the rifle's breech, screwed the breech shut with one turn of the lever, full-cocked the weapon once more and aimed.

Another shot, and another pirate down with a ball through his back! And then another, and another, and the pirates began to shrink away from their guns. No one could kill at that range that quickly!

The swivel-gun went off. Spears had aimed just as carefully, and put a solid two-pound shot into the pirates' forecastle, where it shattered and crazed the air with savage shards of itself, flinging pirates right and left. That was one vessel that had lost interest in trying to rake Culverin up the stem.

'Make it hot for 'em, Spears,' Lewrie ordered, getting to his feet.

'Bow, sir!' Hogue was shouting and waving for Lewrie to join him. And off Lewrie went, racing forward up the narrow path between the guns on the main deck, to the fo'c'sle to face another hazard. Here, he found a prao almost under their jib-boom, with a horde of raving pirates ready to board.

'Grenadoes here! Swivel-gun with canister!' Lewrie snapped, taking a deep breath to steady his aim. He loosed a shot from his Ferguson, splattering the leader's brains on his minions, then dropped the rifle and pulled his pistols. A shot from the right weapon, then a shot from the left, while Cony lit fuses atop wine bottles and got them ready to hurl.

'For God's sake, Cony, get rid of those damned things!'

'Don't wan' these buggers a'throwin' 'em back, sir!' his man replied, tossing one to soar end-over-end, quickly followed by a second. Two explosions and the whining of broken glass, bent nails and musket balls, quickly followed by wails of alarm. Then Cony was up and throwing the flammable variety, which he had purposely lit and set aside so they would be going nicely when he needed them. These burst with softer whoomps as they shattered and the whale oil splashed on the boat and its fell crew and took light, turning the wails into impassioned screams.

The swivel-gun lit off, scattering death almost within touching distance, and pirates melted away from their own forecastle to shrink back amidships. Muskets banged, and the swivel-gun man by Lewrie's side screamed as he was flung backward as if hammered with a heavy sledge.

Lewrie bent to pick up the dropped canister bag. He tilted the long barrel straight up, dropped it down without taking time to ram it firmly home and stuck the sharp end of a linstock into the vent to puncture the powder charge in its flannel sleeve. He had to bend to the deck once more to retrieve the fallen sailor's goose-quills and slow- match. More shots sounded, and musket balls flailed the air over his head, thudding into the fore part of Culverin' bows like hammer blows.

Cony was still heaving away with grenadoes, ducking and weaving through a sleet-storm of lead. More sailors were coming forward to return fire with their Brown Bess muskets.

Lewrie blew on the slow-match, stood up behind the swivel-gun and aimed at the thickest part of the throng. He touched off the quill and the world was blotted out for a second or two by the dense blast of powder smoke. When it cleared, there were no more pirates on their feet anywhere aboard the prao except a few stunned survivors in the sternposts, who were cut down with musket fire even as they stood there stupefied.

'Cony, do you take charge of the fo'c'sle and keep 'em off us!' Lewrie shouted in his ear before gathering up his rifle, dropped pistols, and moving back amidships to reload where it wasn't so dangerous.

Carronades to either beam were firing every few seconds. The swivels along either bulwark were blasting away, as were the ones aft. Lady Charlotte, he could see, had cleared the waters around her with her high-velocity guns, and Lewrie could spot the half-sunken wrecks of at least three praos. No prao would venture within range of his own carronades, for once hit, they were shattered like tea cups by the heavy shot. Cul-verin's guns had done for three more of them already.

Lewrie regained the quarterdeck, puffing and blowing to get his wind back, and to get a sense of the battle from the higher vantage point.

The battery on the point was blasting away steadily, one gun at a time of the three, firing on pirate boats that were making their way for the harbor entrance. The ambush had been badly sprung before every victim was in the killing zone. At least ten boats were off on their way to escape.

Those three that had landed on the peninsula were still there, their crews just falling back in disorder from a charge against the troops on the crest. He could see red-coated soldiery rising from the rocks and beginning to advance in two lines with their bayonets winking in the sun. And all the while, their light guns were spraying canister and grape-shot into the pirate band.

Ashore by the main encampment, it was impossible to tell what was going on for all the smoke, but he thought he could espy at least four praos grounded on the beach, one of them well alight and pouring out greasy black smoke. There were three more boats that had sailed for the far eastern headland, and were mucking about in a quandary of doubt: flee for the harbor entrance against those guns on the point, rejoin the fight ashore or tackle the ships again?

A glowing ember dashed from the rising pillar of smoke ashore, soared in a sinking arc and struck one of the praos, making her shake like a kicked kitten. Within half a minute, the boat was aflame and her crew abandoning her! If it accomplished nothing else this day, his father's heated-shot battery had proved its worth!

'There, sir!' Hogue shouted as some praos came reeling out of the smoke from the shore, bent on escape.

'Larboard battery, load and stand by!' Lewrie shouted through his brass speaking-trumpet. 'We clear aft, Spears?'

'Aye, sir, fer now!' the man shouted back as he reloaded the now-hot swivel-gun for another shot.

'Clear forward, Cony?' he asked.

'Fairly well, sir!' Cony said with a fierce smile.

'Bloody hell, what does that mean?' Lewrie fumed.

Whatever it had meant, it would have to do, for there were now six praos headed their way, rowing madly to get out of the gun-arcs of Lady Charlotte's twelve-pounders. Between Culverin's anchorage and shore there was a half-mile of water. With careful aim and gun-laying, Lewrie could expect his carronades to scour only half that distance, for a carronade was a very low-velocity gun for all its hitting power. The 'Smashers' were close-in weapons.

'Here they come!' Hogue yelled. 'Stand ready, gun-captains! Aim for the two lead boats! One and two, take the one on the right! Three, four and five, take the one on the left!'

Good for Hogue, Lewrie thought! A sensible young man who could see that the lead boat to their right was poorly manned and not much of a threat, while the one to the left had so far missed out on what horrors they were dealing out this day. Lewrie traded his Ferguson rifle for his telescope and saw that the boat on the left had what looked to be eight- or nine-pounders on its foredeck, and the pirates were swarming over those guns, readying them for firing.

'Fer what we're about t' receive, may the good Lord make us joyful,' Murray sighed as the prao got her guns into action. A ball hit Culverin low on her larboard side, making her shudder heavily, while the second struck the bulwarks between number 4 and number 5 larboard guns and turned the wood into a burst of flickering teak splinters, cutting down the gun crews and raising a great howling among his crew.

'Fire!' Hogue shouted once the praos were within their limited range. Culverin lurched sideways as the guns lit off. The first boat on the right almost leaped out of the water as she was struck, mast and large, leaf-bladed paddles flying in all directions, along with some of her hull. Arabian building techniques with rope and butt-joined board could not take such punishment, and she dropped back into the sea with a great splash as she came apart like an artichoke, spilling her crew into the water.