Quick as a snake, I lash out, slicing into her gut, which is now on level with me. She cries out, before falling to the ground. I manage to keep hold of my knife as she lands.
That wakes the other two who were sleeping and alerts the one who had been conversing with the woman I just killed. I fling my dagger in the direction of the nearest one, who tries to get out of his hammock. He’s not at the right angle for me to cause serious damage, so I aim for the rope holding up his bunk instead. He starts to tumble downward and tangle in the sheets, which buys me time with the two still trying to get their bearings.
When my feet hit the ground, the first newly awakened woman already has her sword raised and pistol cocked. I throw another knife at the hand with the pistol, and it sinks into her flesh, resulting in the firearm dropping to the floor. She screams.
There we go.
I pounce before she has a chance to recover. My rapier sneaks past her guard, piercing her heart. Before I can pull the blade out, another sword swings for me, and I flatten myself to the floor to miss it. I pull out a second dagger as I roll and come up on my feet so I can hold one in each hand.
I have two opponents now: the man who finally freed himself from the sheets, and the woman who just took a swipe at me. They charge together.
I duck under the first swing, catch the second between crossed daggers, and kick out at the man. My blow lands right between his legs, and he goes down with a groan.
The woman holds her blade in two hands and starts swinging left and right, trying to hit me from all angles. I’m no more than a blur as I leap and dodge and deflect. She’s relentless with her attacks, and she even flings insults at me that require too much of my attention to translate.
After ducking her latest swing, I shove a dagger through the thickest part of her foot, effectively pinning her in place. She shrieks and slashes downward. I shuffle out of the way and place my remaining dagger through her other foot.
I race for my rapier. I sight the corpse and get my hands on my sword, when something painful connects with my back. I turn to find the upright woman’s sword on the ground next to me. It hit hilt first, effectively bruising me, but nothing more. I can’t believe she would try to throw it.
The man is still trying to work through the pain between his legs, and he’s rolling back and forth on the floor. Meanwhile, I rush at the woman I’ve left with my daggers.
Seeing me approaching, she grits her teeth and reaches for both daggers simultaneously. With another scream, she frees herself and tries to fend me off. But her wounded feet make her slow. I get under her guard in no time and send my sword point through her midsection.
I retrieve my daggers and approach the final man. He’s finally gotten his feet underneath him again, though he walks with a sort of limp. He flings a word at me. One I do translate, but it doesn’t merit repeating.
A bell clangs above deck. Finally. I was starting to think the rest of the Drifta couldn’t hear all the screaming coming from down here.
The remaining man sneers at me, looking rather proud at the sound of that bell.
“What makes you think they’ll arrive in time to save you?” I ask him in his language.
His face falls as I charge.
Chapter 22
NOT A SECOND AFTER I kill him, the room fills with more Drifta. There are ten or so of them, each looking angrier than the last. I don’t recognize any of them. It’s impossible to tell if they know who I am, though I have a hard time imagining that they’d want to kill me any more than they already do either way.
There is the briefest moment of stillness, where I size up the newcomers. They look me over before turning to survey the six dead surrounding me. Hard to look innocent when blood covers my hands and clothes and blade.
I don’t give them the chance to move first. I pull out my pistol and fire, taking out the closest Drifta to me. Since I’ve no time to reload, I throw the weapon at another man. It clonks him square in the nose, halting his advance.
Then I run.
I bolt through the doors at the far end of the room and slam them closed. I slide one of my longer daggers through the handles of both doors to buy me some time.
Shots fire through the door, and I have to leap aside to avoid wayward bullets. I’m in the galley, and I land between two benches bolted to the floor. As I rise and race the length of the room, I hear bodies being thrown against the door.
They’re trying to break in.
I reach the kitchens, which is the last room on this level of the ship. There’s a cooking stove at the far end, washing basins surrounding it. Between it and me, there’s a kitchen island, a chopping center for the cooks to use. I manage to launch myself to the other side of it as the galley doors finally snap under the barrage of Drifta breaking through.
The island is what saves me. It forces them to come at me two at a time, one on each side of the island with me in the middle. I’ve got my rapier in one hand and a knife in the other, as I prepare to fight them two at a time.
The first man who runs at me on the left skewers himself on my knife. The man behind him practically shoved him onto the sword in his haste to reach the fighting. I let go of the knife and drop down to grab his cutlass instead so I can have a longer reach with my left hand.
I angle myself back a foot to keep everyone within my sights. I dodge and thrust simultaneously, stabbing one man through the gut while fending off the other’s blow. Flicking my wrist, I send the enemy’s cutlass flying across the island and slice the empty-handed pirate to ribbons.
The men waiting their turns push harder and harder, desperate to join the fight. One leaps atop the island, thinking to overpower me from above. I dodge a strike from the right, and that pirate’s sword goes charging between the legs of the man on the island, who then stumbles and land flat on his back. I stab at the first man’s now-exposed back.
They keep coming, each man thinking he’ll be the one to finally beat me. It’s truly astonishing the number of fights I’ve won because of male arrogance.
After another thrust into meaty flesh, I’ve no time to withdraw the sword before veering to the side to avoid an ax swinging downward. Above my head, pots and pans hang down from the ceiling. I grab a large cast-iron skillet, yank it off the hook, and swing. It clonks the ax wielder in the head, sending him sprawling atop the pile of bodies.
And then I hear a sound.
The clicking of a pistol.
The man atop the island regains his feet. I reach up for his shirt and pull him downward. He screams when the iron ball makes contact with his back instead of me, and I drop him with the rest of the corpses growing around me.