“Unhand the captain!” The shout came from the opposite end of the gangway.
Sophie, one eye swollen shut and her lip bloodied, stood on the deck of The Serpent Rose. Her hands were bound in front of her. An Imperial gripped her by the shoulder on each side. An officer held his service flintlock to the side of her head, half-cocked with his finger hovering over the trigger.
Sophie’s face was blank. Either they’d rung her bell hard, or she was masking her thoughts and putting on a brave face for everyone.
Dug stepped forward to help Tisker get Hankirk up off the deck. He teetered a little as they got him to his feet, but tugged the hem of his coat to straighten it and stood proudly, chin lifted. No doubt certain he’d won the day already.
“Send ours over and you’ll get yours,” Talis called across.
The crew of The Serpent Rose had gotten the last of the flames doused, and some were already working to replace the worst of the damaged lines. There was an arm’s length of deck railing that had caught fire as well. Some poor crewmen would be refinishing and painting that tonight. Tomorrow you’d never know the ship had suffered the indignity of Sophie’s arson.
They just needed to get Sophie back and get themselves away before the crew figured out what else the freckled imp had been up to. No doubt the Rose’s crew would find a way to answer that insult. No doubt Hankirk knew how to file the paperwork to make it look like sinking them was the appropriate and just response.
Hankirk’s first mate called over, her alto voice carrying easily over the distance, “Send the Captain over and after, we’ll return your woman.”
“Bad idea,” Talis called back, noticing with annoyance that her own, rougher voice didn’t sound half as commanding. “He got a good knock just a moment ago. Might take a tumble off that plank into open air. Come get him, if you still want him.”
They weren’t expecting that. There was some hesitation among the officers, until finally one motioned to Sophie’s guards and they made for the gangplank, grabbing rifles on their way.
Sophie was pushed roughly across and stumbled once. Only the firm grip of her escorts kept her from falling off the narrow walkway herself, and they let her lean a little too long before pulling her upright again. Talis added another mark against them to her mental tally.
Tisker met Sophie at the railing, and put an arm around her, drawing her away from the other crew. She sagged against his side, slack with relief. Tisker walked her backward, his eyes never leaving the Imperial crew members on the deck. Sophie’s eye was going to need a close look, her jaw was bruised, and her lip was split. But she was in one piece. Her eyes flashed, and Talis didn’t miss the tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her bloodied mouth. It had been done proper, and no one yet the wiser.
Hankirk took a step forward, and his officers moved to sling their rifles over their shoulders in order to help him back to their ship, but he waved a stop to that motion, and rolled his shoulders to square them before stepping up onto the plank with his dignity intact. He eyed Talis as he passed her, but she had no interest in provoking them further. She’d gotten her crack in on Hankirk’s face. A trail of blood ran from his broken nose to his chin, and dripped onto the pale blue of his formerly pristine uniform jacket. She probably would live to regret that. Now she just wanted to get her crew out of range of The Rose’s rifles before Sophie’s work was discovered.
As Hankirk stepped down onto his own deck, he turned back to face her. She stood firm, expecting another insult against her and her ship. Expecting him to point out she hadn’t bested him without help.
She didn’t expect him to say, “Fire on their hull.”
Talis marched forward and kicked the board free of her railing as Hankirk’s crew were spurred into action. The carefully painted board with narrow sand-textured grip rails tilted, scuttling the pair of officers still stepping down on the other side. Then it dropped off the railing of The Serpent Rose and tumbled out of sight below their ships.
Tisker ran for the wheelhouse. Dug cut through the bindings on Sophie’s wrists and handed her his blade since she’d returned from The Rose with empty sheaths. Dug always wore more than one. He ran forward along the starboard railing, severing the lines that tethered them to the Imperial ship. Sophie slipped the blade beneath her belt and dug in the large pocket over her thigh as she approached her captain.
Talis tried not to think about how close they might have come to losing Sophie. Her shoulders knotted up and she felt the burn of anger in her cheeks. She wanted to lash out, as if a swing of her arms could bat The Serpent Rose out of the skies.
The deck moved under her feet. A small shift. She knew Tisker wanted to be out of there as fast as she did, but he made it look casual. Good man. Don’t let them see you sweat. She wiped her brow on the back of her jacket sleeve. Try not to, anyway.
She cuffed Sophie on her uninjured cheek.
“Took your time,” Talis said.
“Had to pace it for effect, you know,” Sophie said, and slipped two objects into Talis’s hand.
Talis lifted the prizes up and grinned wide enough to expose her gold-capped canine tooth. A heavy bolt, as big around as her wrist, and a cannon fuse. Souvenirs from The Serpent Rose. Then the little imp hurried aft to help Dug cast off the last of the lines tethering Wind Sabre to
