On the Storm, the battle was going badly. At least half the crew lay dead or dying. No canvas was visible, as the boarding party had made striking the sails a priority. The deck was awash in stocky, half-naked men who circled the forecastle with torches, dodging arrows as they struggled to breach the bulwark.
Poe pushed the tartane’s tiller over, pointing the bow away from the Storm. The wind caught the canvas and the little ship glided gently away. With the sails on the Emerald Storm struck, the ship was dead in the water, and it was easy for them to circle it. Equally small crews remained to operate the other Dacca boarding ships, but that hardly mattered, as all eyes were on the Storm. As far as Hadrian could tell, no one noticed them.
“I’m bringing her around,” Poe said. “Hadrian, stand by with that rope there, and everyone watch the water for Wyatt and Royce.”
“Royce?” Derning questioned with distaste. “Why are we picking up the murderer? I can handle the rigging just fine.”
“Because Wyatt said so,” Poe replied.
“What if we can’t find them? What if they die before they can get off the ship?” Davis asked.
“I’ll decide that when it happens,” Poe replied.
“You? You’re barmy, boy. I’ll be buggered if I’ll take orders from a little sod like you! Bloody Davis here’s got more years at sea than you and he’s a git if there ever was one. If we don’t find Deminthal after the first pass, you’ll be taking orders from me.”
“Like I said,” Poe repeated, “I’ll decide that when it happens.”
Derning grinned menacingly, but Hadrian did not think Poe, being at the stern, could have seen it in the darkness.
Royce wasted no time hitting the deck at the signal.
“We haven’t got long,” Wyatt told him. “The captain’s quarters will be a priority.”
He kicked the door open, shattering the frame.
Fully carpeted, the whole rear of the ship was one luxurious suite. Silk patterns in hues of gold and brown covered the walls, with matching upholstered furniture and a silk bed-cover. A painting hung on one wall, showing a man bathed in sunlight, his face filled with rapture as a single white feather floated into his upraised hands. Silver lanterns swayed above vast stern windows that banked the far wall. The bed stood to one side with a large desk across from it.
Wyatt scanned the room quickly, then moved to the desk. He rifled the drawers. “He’ll have put the orders in a safe place.”
“Like a safe?” Royce asked, pulling a window drape aside to reveal a porthole-size compartment with a lock. “They always put them behind the drapes.”
“Can you open it?”
Royce smirked. He pulled a tool from his belt and within seconds the little door swung open. Wyatt reached inside, grabbed the entire stack of parchments, and stuffed them into a bag.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, making for the door. “Jump off the starboard side. Poe will pick us up.”
They came out of the cabin into a world of chaos. Stocky men painted in red poured over the sides of the vessel. Each wielded short broad blades or axes that cut down everything before them. Only a handful of men stood on the waist deck. The rest had fallen back to the perceived safety of the forecastle. Those who tried to hold their ground died. Royce stepped out on the deck just in time to see Dime, his topsail captain, nearly cut in half by a cleaving blow from a Dacca axe.
Lieutenant Bishop and the other officers had been slow in reaching the castle, but now, as the Dacca flooded the deck, they were running full out to reach its walls. Stabbed in the back, Lieutenant Green collapsed. As he fell, he reached out, grabbing at anything. His hands found Midshipman Beryl running past and dragged him down as well. Beryl cursed and kicked Green off but got to his feet too late. The Dacca circled him.
“Help me!” he cried.
Royce watched as the crew ignored him and ran on—all but one. Midshipman Wesley ran back just in time to stab the nearest Dacca caught off guard by the sudden change in his fleeing prey. Wielding his sword with both hands, Wesley sliced horizontally across the chest of the next brute and kicked him aside.
“Beryl! This way, run!” he shouted.
Beryl lashed out at the Dacca, then ran to Wesley. They were quickly surrounded, and the Dacca drove them farther and farther away from the forecastle. An arrow from the walls saved Wesley from decapitation as the two struggled to defend themselves. Pushed by the overwhelming numbers, they retreated until their backs hit the rail.