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soldier calmly scrutinizing his approaching enemy, could have any doubt that the green eyes magnified by those spectacles were those of an experienced killer.

Rebecca didn't entirely like the change, but… She shrugged off the sentiment almost with irritation. Had the change not happened, after all, she would herself have been dead some time ago. And she couldn't deny that it amused her, a bit, to see the way Gretchen's hand idly stroked Jeff's broad back. Gretchen, of course, had never had any trouble accepting the transformation in her husband. Indeed, she was in good part responsible for it herself.

Jeff's superior officer came up to stand next to him at the stern. Gretchen, a bit reluctantly, moved aside. Her accommodation with military discipline, as always, was grudging.

'You're the expert,' said Heinrich. 'You want to handle it yourself, or with a volley?'

Jeff's heavy lips pursed. 'Just myself, I think.' Then, as if suddenly remembering that they were in a military situation: 'Sir. We don't have that many of the grenades, when you get down to it. Besides, having to use manual arming pins like we do…'

He and Heinrich both winced. The idea of an armed grenade let slip from someone's hand, rolling around on a ship's deck, was the stuff of nightmares. Part of the reason Jeff was steadier and more accurate than anyone else with the weapons was simply because he was large and solidly built. Fired from a shotgun, the heavy grenades made for a vicious recoil. A lighter man, on the somewhat unsteady footing provided by a ship at sea, might well be knocked off his feet.

Jeff was back to studying the pirate vessel. 'Do you know any more about ships than I do, sir?'

Heinrich smiled at the military formality. In the weeks since they'd left Grantville, Rebecca's escort had slid into a rather informal style of operation.

'I'm fairly certain that my aunt's old cow understands more about ships than you do, Sergeant.' He swelled out his chest. 'I, on the other hand-officer-grade material, even as a lad-could always stump the beast.'

He fell silent for a few seconds, looking at the pirate ship. 'I assume what you're wondering is if they'll have a bow chaser?'

Jeff nodded. Heinrich scratched his chest idly. 'To be honest, I don't know. But, I wouldn't worry about it, either, not given how accurate naval gunnery usually is, anyway.' He glanced at the sea around them. 'The seas aren't that heavy, yeah, but if they really want to hit us they'll have to turn for a broadside.'

'I don't think 'turn' is what you're supposed to call it. Sir.'

Heinrich curled his lip. 'Sailors and their damn jargon. And stop trying to pretend you're a-what's that American expression? 'Old salt,' isn't it, Jeff? Excuse me, Sergeant. You and me are foot soldiers.'

He pointed a finger at the pirate ship. 'So they'll have to turn, and if they do they'll lose too much ground. Water. Whatever you call it. Add to which, this pissant little tub carries exactly four swivels.' He pointed at the small, one-pounder guns mounted on the bulwarks. 'They're not going to be too worried about those, which means they'll keep following us until they can pull alongside and board us. Why waste time with guns when they can just swamp us with men? And if you can't hit them sooner than any gun they've got aboard can hit us-'

'I'll fire the first grenade at a hundred and fifty yards. Probably miss, but it'll give me a feel for it.' He looked down between his feet at the deck; then, at the sea surging up and down with the vessel's motion. 'Good thing I don't get seasick.'

'Contact or timed fuse?' asked Jimmy eagerly. 'Antipersonnel or incendiary?'

'Contact,' growled Jeff. 'You never know. I might get seasick, and if I do I'm damned if I wanna be fiddling around with a lit fuse. And let's save the incendiaries for close range if we need it. We've only got five of them.'

'Contact it is. Hand me your shotgun.'

***

The first grenade missed. One hundred and fifty yards, Jeff discovered, was too far to properly gauge the effect of the lugger's roll on the missile's trajectory. The grenade fell short. But its white waterspout showed he'd fired it in line, dead true.

'Just wait a bit,' he said casually. Rebecca wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

At a hundred yards, he fired again. The second grenade landed in the pirate's rigging. The explosion didn't break the mast, but it did do a fine job of shredding the vessel's foresail yard. The big oblong of weather-stained canvas spilled down like an ungainly, dying bird, draping itself over the foredeck in a huge, untidy heap. Unfortunately-bad luck, here-neither the sail nor the highly inflammable rigging caught fire, but the ship's speed fell off noticeably.

Judging from the sudden bustle of activity on its deck, the grenade had shredded a lot of the pirate crew's self-confidence, too. They crew got the foretopsail set quickly enough, regaining most of their lost speed, but it took them almost five minutes to clear the foredeck of its enshrouding canvas. Soon thereafter, however, a cloud of smoke covered the pirate's bow. They did have a bow chaser, after all.

And it was just as inaccurate as Heinrich had guessed. The cannonball splashed into the water fifteen yards astern and as many yards to starboard.

Before the ball hit the water, Jeff had sent the third grenade on its way, and this one didn't waste any time on sails. It landed almost directly amidships, and from the sound of things, the pirates had been just a little careless with their own ammunition handling arrangements. The grenade obviously hadn't found the brig's magazine, but the initial explosion was followed by at least two more as ready charges for the broadside guns went up. The series of blasts threw up a thick cloud of dirty, gray-white smoke… and cut away the mainmast shrouds on the windward side. They may have damaged the mast itself, as well, or perhaps it was simply the loss of the shrouds' support. Neither Jeff nor Heinrich could tell, and the precise mechanics didn't really matter, anyway.

The brig's mainmast seemed to bend in the middle. Then the topmast and topgallant mast broke off and tumbled messily to leeward. The fore topgallant followed in a twanging forest of parting cordage, and the pirate ship staggered as its rigging was reduced to ruin. Judging from the faint sounds coming across the water, the grenade had also killed or injured several of the pirates themselves. And, within a few seconds, Jeff and Heinrich could see wisps of smoke. Apparently, the grenade had also started some fires aboard the enemy vessel.

'One more,' commanded Heinrich.

The pirate had fallen off, turning broadside-on to the lugger. Not from intent, but simply from the effect of suddenly losing two-thirds of its masts. The fourth shot almost over-ranged completely, but struck the far rail on the pirate's deck. There probably wasn't much damage done, or casualties inflicted, but the screams coming from its crew seemed much louder.

'That should do it,' said Heinrich. 'I think they've probably had enough. They'll be scrambling around for a while, anyway, trying to put the fires out. Besides,' he grinned nastily, 'they can't possibly catch us with most of their spars turned into toothpicks. May as well save the ammunition.'

***

So it proved. Within a few more minutes, the lugger had increased the distance between the two vessels by several hundred yards. And, from what they could tell, the pirate's crew was now simply trying to jury-rig a new sail and depart the scene. Luckily for them, whatever fires had been started by the grenade hadn't spread to what was left of the rigging.

By mid-afternoon, the pirate had fallen out of sight altogether.

'Good enough,' pronounced Heinrich. He gave the lugger's captain a friendly smile. 'See? Nothing to worry about.'

The captain's returning smile was not as sickly as it might have been. True, the man was probably still resentful of Heinrich's peremptory ways. On the other hand, he had been paid a rather munificent sum-and, clear enough, he wouldn't have much to worry about from pirates on this voyage. Moreover, Rebecca was quite certain that the man would turn another tidy profit by selling his account of this incident to one of Richelieu's agents. Or, possibly, the Spanish; or, most likely of all, the French and Spanish both.

***

The pirate vessel's captain, on the other hand, was purely livid. When his battered ship finally moored at the dock in the nearby small port from which it had sailed, he stormed ashore and into one of the town's many taverns.

The man he was expecting to see there was seated at a table in the rear of the grimy room. The pirate captain slid into a chair across from him, leaned heavy arms on the table, and hissed angrily:

'Servien, you bastard. You never said-'

The cardinal's intendant cut him off with a peremptory gesture. 'I told you they were dangerous. You laughed, as I recall, and only wanted to talk about the women.' Servien shrugged. 'Give me a full report, at least. I'll pay for that.'

After the pirate captain had finished, Servien pulled out a heavy purse. Then, spilled a few coins onto the table. The casualness of the gesture-the apparent lack of concern for the danger of any lurking footpads who might be watching-indicated more than anything else the cardinal's subtle power. Not even a pirate-harbor footpad was crazy enough to try to rob one of Richelieu's special agents.

Sourly, the pirate captain swept the coins off the table and into his own purse. 'Won't even cover the rigging, much less the spars.'

Servien gave him a cold, reptilian stare. 'You failed. Be glad I gave you that much.'

With no further words, Servien rose from the table and stalked out of the tavern. After he'd taken three steps onto the muddy street beyond, he was joined by two other men. Both of them were considerably larger than the intendant who walked between them, and obviously soldiers. Officers, in fact, from the casual arrogance of their stride and the fine workmanship of the swords they carried.

'You will recognize him?' asked Servien. 'And his ship?'

One of the officers grunted. The other murmured sarcastically, 'If you can call that thing a 'ship' to begin with.'

Servien nodded. 'By tomorrow morning, at the latest, I want the captain dead. He'll be drunk within two hours and you should manage it easily. You can keep the money he carries.' The intendant glanced toward the harbor. 'Then rejoin your vessel and tell Captain de Hautforte to maintain a watch on this harbor. The next time that ship leaves, see to it that it is destroyed. And all the crew executed.'

'Pirates,' grunted the first officer.

'Under sentence of death whenever captured,' added the other.