I NORMALLY KEEP NIGHT hours as it is, but I can tell some of the crew have a hard time adjusting. Dimella occasionally has to wake up sailors who slump against the companionway or other hard surfaces of the ship. Too many are less alert, their internal monitors relaxing in the bitter evening air. Night is for sleeping. It’s hard to convince the body otherwise.
I can sympathize, but if I’m to keep everyone alive, I need the crew to try harder.
The reason I kept my theories about the beastie between myself and Kearan is because I thought that would keep everyone calm and levelheaded for the fight ahead, but it would seem they need a little more fear in them to stay alert.
That means I need to … make a speech.
As I survey the sluggish night crew from atop the aftercastle, I swallow back my distaste and push through my discomfort. “Listen up, you lot!” My sudden shout startles many, and Enwen nearly falls over from where he’s leaning against the railing. “There is some sort of sea creature following us. It’s already fed on one of our own. Look alive or you might be next.”
That does the trick.
Philoria, Bayla, and Visylla keep the cannons loaded at all times in the evenings. They’re cleaned and unloaded by the scanty day crew, then readied again at night. I have a sailor stationed at the ballista at all times, scouring the water in front of us.
Many hold their pistols in their hands for comfort. Some even get into the muskets from belowdecks. Visylla brings up her collection of hand bombs, and I welcome it. Better to be overprepared than under.
I have a brave crew full of good people. Only the best would volunteer for this mission in the first place. They prove their mettle in their commitment to stay course. Only Enwen’s superstitions get the better of him from time to time.
And then it happens finally.
A change.
The water stops churning, despite the fact there are no obstacles around.
“Lerick’s gone!” Rorun shouts, and my eyes find him across the ship. “He was standing right behind me a second ago.”
“There’s something in the water!” This from little Roslyn up top. “I can’t make it out.”
When the water begins churning again, I realize what it must mean. It’s feeding. It releases air while eating, and the churning water is from its efforts to keep apace with us. But we can’t let this go on. Not when it just snatched another of the crew without a soul noticing.
“Weapons out!” I shout. “Gunwomen to your posts. Backs to the deck, everyone. Eyes on the water. Stay vigilant.”
Dimella takes up the call, repeating it belowdecks and waking the rest of the crew. I run to the ballista at the other end of the ship. It’s already loaded, harpoon slung in place. My muscles strain as I turn the weapon, angling it straight down into the water. The trajectory isn’t perfect, but if this beastie’s as big as I think it is, the harpoon will hit.
“Ready yourselves!” I shout.
I fire.
A larger rush of bubbles flies to the water’s surface. Something like a clicking sound erupts from the midnight depths below.
“Reload,” I order.
Visylla uses two hands to put another harpoon in place. She helps me at the crank to pull back the spring. I change angles, this time aiming for the other side of the bowsprit. I shoot.
This time the noise is unmistakable: a keening moan akin to a whale yet sharper. The sea is frothing madly beneath us, and something finally makes an appearance above the surface of the water.
It’s a tentacle of some sort, but not like that of an octopus. It’s smooth, not puckered with suction cups. It looks like a thick whip, except at the very end, which doesn’t come to a point. No, it’s large and rounded. And when the tentacle finishes rising out of the water, my eyes widen.
An unblinking eyeball stares at us all.
Enwen shrieks, but I’ve already got my pistol out. I take aim, sighting that bulbous eye at the end, and pull the trigger.
Blood and flesh rip apart. Another moan sounds below the ship, and I hear the splashing of water as the wounded tentacle retreats.
Not for long.
More of those whiplike appendages breach the surface. They surround the ship, each with a large, grapefruit-sized eye on the end. One of them still holds Lerick’s body, the tentacle wrapped around his neck. It releases him onto the deck of the ship with a horrible crunch. We stare at our fallen crewman, who is missing the lower half of his body.
There’s a moment of silence where I wait for Alosa’s orders; then I remember Alosa’s not here. This is my ship. And the crew looks to me.
“Open fire!” I yell, and gunshots erupt into the night. More eyes explode, bits raining down into the sea. But a lot of the shots miss, skimming the arms of the beastie or flying wide.
The boat shakes, the creature moving us from beneath the waves. I don’t hear the cracking of wood, so I hope that means we’re all right. I see Radita take off belowdecks to check. Then those whiplike arms lurch forward.
“Swords!” I shout, but it’s too late to be a warning.
Tentacles wrap around the crew, trying to drag them into the sea. One catches Visylla around the neck, and I hack downward with my rapier. Rapiers are usually for stabbing, but I keep the edges of mine nice and sharp. The beastie must not have bones in its limbs, because my sword goes straight through, severing the tentacle. Visylla shrieks as she unwraps the eyeball-tipped limb from her person.
Looking toward the stern, I see sailors being pulled toward the edges of the ship, nails scraping along the deck, trying to find purchase. Kearan drops the helm and lets his cutlass slide free, rushing for the nearest caught sailor. I’m doing the same from this end.
I manage swings with my sword as I run, freeing sailors left and right. I stomp on tentacles, stunning them for a time, allowing other members of the crew to step in. Soon the deck is covered with sticky black blood. Explosions sound from behind me, and I know it means Visylla has begun making use of her bombs.
When I reach the mainmast, Kearan is already there, covered in black streaks of beastie blood, a path of destruction behind him. We’ve met in the middle, each of us panting and filthy. There’s a moment of quiet where we both survey each other. And then, without even communicating, we turn back-to-back, preparing for the next wave.
It is utterly bizarre how attuned to him I feel in this moment, but I don’t question it. A fight is happening, and instinct drives us both.
Someone screams as they’re pulled into the sea, and I don’t see who it is in time. The deck is a mess, pirates running for cover, reloading weapons, tripping over severed limbs.