Chapter 243: The Verdict Delivered

The grapples flew from the Rose, iron hooks striking Winchelsea’s splintered side with a crack while the swivel guns shot suppression fire.

The distance between the ships disappeared so quickly that the water below boiled white, suddenly given far less room to breathe. A moment later, the boarding planks came down across both gunwales, rough enough to shake the ships but good enough for the purpose.

The crew rushed over in a wave across the planks with cutlasses out and pistols ready. Some more brave bastards grabbed whatever rope came to hand and swung across.

Kwaku was first and hardest among them, his chain swinging in a wide circle while his boots found Winchelsea’s planks.

"Move, ye idle bilge-rats! Get yer arses aboard, or I’ll kick ye over meself!"

Cudjoe remained behind, sending the lads over with his boot when his voice failed to move them quickly enough.

"I’ll nae have ye gawpin’ at the bloody view while Englishmen be waitin’ tae have their guts opened!"

Anne, Jim, and Kit vanished into that crowd, three more bodies thrown into a fight that was already half done by the time they landed.

James stayed at the quarterdeck a heartbeat further while the others poured across.

One hand lay on [Verdict] at his hip, while the other against the four cold barrels of [Counterargument] tucked against his chest.

He gave [Discretion] one last pull where it crossed his shoulders, the threads catching the little light that made it through the smoke.

The captain didn’t dress this well merely to stand around looking respectable, and James had every intention to get some blood worked up out of the afternoon.

He caught a rope from the mizzen shrouds, checked it once, and jumped over.

The distance dropped away beneath him. The fight on Winchelsea’s main deck was spreading in every direction, steel ringing and sailors shouting through the smoke.

James passed above the worst of it and came down on the quarterdeck through a mess of drifting smoke and fallen rigging.

He landed squarely on a sailor who happened to be underneath him, the poor bastard shoulder taking his full weight with a sickening crack. He crumpled beneath him, and James drove [Verdict] down before the sailor could even roll onto his back.

The blade went in at once, slipping between the ribs with a hard, wet thrust and punching out the other side. The sailor’s breath came out wet and sudden, and blood welled around the wound before spilling across the boards already blackened by the fighting.

He was dressed in plain slops and had the look of an ordinary hand, which was unfortunate for him but hardly James’s fault. By then, James was already on his feet, jerking [Verdict] free and wiping the blood from the blade on his coat before the body had finished twitching.

He straightened and got his first look at the quarterdeck.

This wasn’t the nearly empty deck he had expected from a frigate that had already been beaten.

It was crowded with red coats, eight of His Majesty’s Marines in a neat formation. Their muskets seemed to have spent their charges already, and the sailors had drawn their hangers, short, heavy cutting swords made for the close work of a battle.

"Present! Hold the line, you damned fools! Hold it, I say!"

Every man in that unfortunate line was looking at James.

He looked back at them and grinned.

Apparently the King kept some of his best tailors busy making soldiers look particularly handsome on afternoons when some pirates were about to stab them.

The nearest marine came first, hanger raised for a drilled cut intended to open James from crown to jaw.

James caught the blade high on [Verdict], steel crashing against steel hard enough to jar his wrist. He turned his hand beneath the marine’s guard, rode the hanger aside, and let the his own forward rush carry him off balance.

The force of the bind ran up the marine’s arm and buckled his knee.

James put a boot into his chest and sent him staggering backward, boots skidding across the planks before he crashed into the men behind him.

He was out of the fight for the moment, though one more marine was already stepping forward to take his place.

"Mind that fine coat, lad! A red as pretty as that makes a dreadful mess when you splash it with blood!"

The marine broke from the formation with his hanger high.

[Counterargument] came up and fired once.

The pistol barked through the smoke and the shot struck the marine square in the chest, folding him backward with the force of it and dropping him hard onto the deck.

From there, two more came together, one bringing his hanger down from above while the other drove his musket and bayonet low.

James met both with one sweep. [Verdict] rang against the descending hanger and knocked it wide, while he twisted his shoulder aside as the bayonet drove past his ribs.

The point of the bayonet struck [Discretion], screeching across the fabric and throwing a shower of sparks before it skidded away. The two marines had just enough time to notice that their plan had gone wrong before James came back the other way.

He stepped into the swordsman before he could recover, [Verdict] flashing across his forearm and lacerating it to the bone. The hanger flew from his fingers while James’s momentum brought the same stroke onward, and the blade tore deep into the next marine’s side.

The first one clutched at the ruin of his arm as blood poured between his fingers. The second folded over his musket, choking on the wound.

James kicked both aside. "His Majesty’s reckonin’ says two of you ought beat one of me. I’d be havin’ a word with the fool that been teachin’ you your sums."

Both marines crashed down screaming, blood spreading quickly beneath them.

By then one more marine broke from the formation, his musket up and bayonet forward as he charged.

[Counterargument] answered him.

The shot caught him square in the chest and his body jerked backward, boots leaving the deck for an instant before he struck the planks hard and sprawled.

James left [Counterargument] at his belt after that, two charges still loaded, and turned back to the two marines who had gone down a few strides away.

The swordsman was dragging himself toward his fallen hanger with one hand, the other arm useless and bloodied to the elbow.

James let him a moment to make the attempt, then stepped in and drove [Verdict] across his throat in one clean stroke. The blade cut him from ear to ear, and blood poured down the front of his coat as he collapsed.

The next marine remained folded over his ruined side and barely raised his head before James brought [Verdict] down once more. The blade punched through his ribs, and the man jerked once before going limp over his musket.

Five men lay on the quarterdeck, and James had spent no more time doing it than a game of cards. He stood among them with blood slick beneath his boots and grinned at the wreckage around him.

It was a considerable amount of wreckage for so little work, but James had never been one to complain about getting his money’s worth.

Three marines still stood around, their muskets half raised, but none seemed especially eager to be the next one to close with him. One wore a bright gorget at his throat and enough braid at the shoulder to mark him as an officer.

Astern, beyond the smoke and the fighting that still rolled across the deck, Jim’s voice carried for half a breath in the middle of some boast nobody could quite make out.

Beneath it came the steady rattle of Kwaku’s chain, which had evidently found enough trouble to content itself with.

James heard both without turning. His eyes stayed on the three men before him.

The only question left was which of them had decided he was brave enough to go first.