“Fire!” one ofthem shouted, “The ship’s on fire!”
“You!”
General Schlaue bargedinto the room.
“You should be dead!”
The one-earedbatalha kicked the remains of the barricade aside. Then he shoved the quiveringklops from his path. Infants’ blood poured from a loose keg rolling across the deckboards.
“I’ll keelhaul youfor this!” the batalha roared.
Cyrus retreated towards the broken, sternwindows. The ceiling was on fire. He heaved the blazing table on its side, blockingthe general’s path. General Schlaue batted the blockade aside and charged forward.The flames were spreading. Cyrus had to get off that doomed ship!
He leaped for the sea.Schlaue caught his ankle and tripped him up. NO! Cyrus fell to the deck. He rolled to his back and cocked his gun.
Bang!
The bullet ricochetedoff of Schlaue’s breastplate. The general dove at Cyrus, knocking his weapon tothe floor. Cyrus gasped under the weight of the klops’ heavy burden. The generalrose up and clubbed a thick fist at Cyrus’ head. Cyrus shifted and grasped thebig klops’ leg. Schlaue twisted and sprawled. Together, they wrestled to theirfeet, locked in a bear hug. Both struggled to gain the advantage.
Acrid smoke filledthe room. The two smaller klops stood terrified, unwilling to join the fray.Cyrus and Schlaue coughed and sputtered as they rammed like bulls off the quiveringwalls. The fire now engulfed a third of the room.
“Fire in theCaptain’s Quarters!” a klops voice shouted from the quarterdeck.
“Get us out of here!”Edward cried, from Cyrus’ shoulder.
Schlaue tripped upCyrus’ right foot, throwing him towards the flames. Cyrus clung to the generaland maintained his footing. He shoved hard against the batalha. The klops droppedto his right hip and pulled Cyrus over the top of him. Cyrus pitched towardsthe stern windows. His back struck the bloody, wet floor. No! Stinging pain shot up his side. The straw bed was on fire. Theflames were nearing the barrel. He hadto get off that ship. Again, the general dove on top of him.
“I’m going to ripyou in two!” the klops roared.
Two more batalhaentered the fiery room armed with blades and buckets of water. They had to choose,their captain or their ship. They began to battle the blaze. If they got the flamesin hand, Cyrus and Edward were doomed! Yet if they did not…
Cyrus spotted onthe floor the loaded pistol he had earlier kicked from the dead klops’ hand.More villains pressed into the chamber, forming a bucket brigade. Two wielded handguns.
“Move, General,”one shouted, “we have the shot.”
“He’s mine,” Schlaueraged.
“Edward, take cover!”Cyrus cried.
The general crashedon top of Cyrus, pressing the wind from his lungs. Cyrus’ back spasmed. He ate oneof Schlaue’s thundering punches. Then he counter-attacked, stabbing his thick fingersknuckle-deep into the brute’s bulbous eyes.
“Gaaahhh!”
Schlaue grasped hisface.
“I can’t see!” heroared.
Cyrus snatched thegun off of the deck. Then he gripped Schlaue’s collar and kicked out his leftknee. The batalha lost his balance. Cyrus pulled the brute into him like a bigshield. Then he aimed his pistol over the klops’ shoulder at the keg of firepowder.
“He has a gun!” a high-pitchedvoice screamed.
“Hold on!” Cyrus shouted,cocking the hammer.
Then he took adeep breath and unleashed hell.
KA-BOOOOOM!
Chapter9
THE BRINGER OF DOOM
CYRUS’ BULLET ripped through a klops leg before hitting its target. The kegerupted.
KA-BOOOOOM!
Schlaue’s bodystruck Cyrus like a charging troll.
Wooosh!
Heat and light envelopedhis senses. His world became engulfed in silence as the blast hurled him reelingthrough the air. He felt glass tickle at his ears. Time slowed. Seconds becameminutes. He tried to gather his scattered wits. Where had the sea come from?
Like a stone, Cyrusstruck the stinging ocean and plunged deep into its frigid depths. Anatmosphere of stabbing ice assaulted his flesh. His mind grew painfully clear. Thesilence in his ears became a low drone. He opened his eyes and peered about themurk. Fiery debris scattered the surface above and a burning glow bloomed beyond.Cyrus’ lungs began to flag. He kicked towards the fresh air and broke through thewaves. He looked about. Smoldering wreckage strewed the choppy sea. How was hestill alive? He rubbed the brine from his irritated eyes. His ears and faceburned. The air smelled of cannon fire, charred wood, and tar, and desperate screamsfilled the growing dusk. Cyrus looked ahead. Schlaue’s ship was ablaze. The heatfrom the fire seared his face.
“Edward!”
He searched hiscollar. A tiny white snowball clung within the collar of his furs. He grasped thefurry blodbad and placed him on his head.
“Are you okay?” Cyrusasked.
The small spider coughedand sputtered.
“It’s Schlaue,” hefinally replied.
Cyrus searched hissurroundings.
“Angels,” he gasped.
A large, blackened,one-eared batalha bobbed, face-down, dead in the sea. The general’s armor andleather had been blown clean off of his back, along with much of his grey skin.
“Young Master,quick,” Fibian’s warbled voice cried.
Cyrus turned inthe sea. Their rescue ship was approaching. He swam past shattered timbers,sinking chests and bits of floating klops. He grasped the netting hanging fromthe boat’s rail. His hands were numb and his wounded back ached. He struggledto pull himself out of the frigid sea. Fibian climbed down and helped him upthe rope ladder. Once aboard, the froskman sat him against the mainmast and cloakedhim in furs.
“Master Edward!”
Fibian took thevelvety blodbad and bundled him up in a warm quilt.
“You survived.”
“Barely,” the whitespider said, shivering.
“The ship?” Cyrusasked, trembling uncontrollably.
“Minor damage,” thefroskman said, curtly, “We were fortunate, this time.”
They passed theenemy craft on the ship’s port side, giving the vessel a wide birth. Cyrus staredat the doomed wreck. The boat was a torrent of fire. The quarterdeck was nonexistent.The surviving crew battled in vain against the
