*
After every cannon had been cleaned and every ramrod, swab, and handspike properly stowed, Arabella hauled herself wearily hand over hand along the guide rope toward her berth. All she could think of was the simple pleasure of her hammock. But as she entered the lower deck, she found her way blocked by Gowse, the captain of her gun crew. Still grimy, red-eyed, and bare-chested from the afternoon’s gunnery drill, he stood at the ladder’s base like some malevolent troll from a fairy tale.
“Ye’ve made me look bad, Ashby!” he shouted. After so many hours of the crash and thunder of guns, his voice grated hoarsely, but even so he had to shout to be heard over the ringing in Arabella’s and every other airman’s ears. “Ye’ve made us all look bad, and now ye’ll pay!”
“Please, sir, I did the best I could.” Arabella looked around for support, but every airman in the vicinity was another member of Gowse’s gun crew, and none of them seemed in the least sympathetic. “And I did get better with time.”
“It’s thanks to you we’ll be drilling again tomorrow!” Gowse’s hands twisted into fists, and the ropey muscles of his arms bulged. “Ye need to be taught a lesson!” With that he lunged toward Arabella, flinging himself up the ladder toward her with a great thrust of his massive legs.
Arabella’s hand still lay on the ladder’s guide rope. Without thinking she twitched herself out of Gowse’s path, just as though he were some obstacle she’d encountered while running bags of powder back and forth. Gowse hurtled past the point she’d recently occupied, growling as he collided with the coaming above the ladder.
Arabella turned in the air and pushed off the ladder’s lowest step, rocketing through the crowd of airmen that had surrounded Gowse. Other men scrambled out of her way as she flew, until she stopped herself with a hand on an overhead beam. “Do you think if I’m beaten black and blue I’ll be able to go faster?” she cried.
Gowse made no reply, save another growl as he pushed through the crowd.
Arabella turned and prepared to push off the beam. But all the other airmen had gathered in a ring around her and Gowse. No direction offered an easy escape.
Twisting in the air, panting, she stared in every direction, hoping that some member of her mess, or an officer, or any friendly person would appear to save her. But every man in the watching crowd, even airmen she’d thought friendly, merely waited, looking up at her with an attitude of grim expectation.
Gowse floated in the center of the ring of men, fingers flexing, a determined scowl on his face. “So, Ashby, are ye gonna fight?”
Arabella swallowed.
She could bend her knee to Gowse, acknowledge her failure, beg forgiveness. And he would beat her senseless, after which her sex would almost surely be revealed.
She could cry out for help. And every man present would know her to be a coward, one who could not be depended upon if the ship did happen to fall into battle with pirates or the French. She’d lose the respect of the captain, who’d emphasized that in his ship every man must take responsibility for his own actions and his own failures. And Gowse would probably still beat her senseless.
She could fight like a girl. She’d seen many a hair-pulling, scratching altercation in the fields and paths near Marlowe Hall, and even been drawn into a few. Girl fights produced much noise and little serious injury. If she fought like that, Gowse would overpower her, and beat her senseless.
Or she could fight to win.
And Gowse, though a huge, muscular man, showed no understanding of the unique challenges and opportunities of free descent. Every tactic he had displayed thus far would have been perfectly at home on the floor of some tavern on Earth.
With a sudden shriek, Arabella pushed off the beam with both feet, hurling herself downward into Gowse’s face. They met in midair with a stinging thud. Taking advantage of his momentary surprise, she tore into him with all she had, thrashing at his face with both fists.
Gowse recovered his wits quickly, grabbing Arabella’s wrists and squeezing until the bones ground together. She cried out at the pain, struggling in his grasp, but all her strength was not enough to pry herself loose. He grinned at her, an evil leering thing that promised far more pain to come. Desperate, fighting for her life, she twisted and writhed, lashing out with feet and knees and elbows, any thing at all—as hard as she could, but to little effect.
But then, by chance, one flailing foot caught the man between his legs. Gowse winced and his grip lessened. Immediately Arabella bent herself double, bringing up her legs between herself and Gowse, then kicked out with all her might.