“Just pick it up.”
She turned and carried Tinkerer towards midships, keeping to the walkway that fringed the lower starboard deck. She passed several Thumper and Growler batteries, the crews casting a flaming torrent of tracer into the sky at the Reds that now seemed to be everywhere. She had the satisfaction of seeing one drake torn apart by a concentrated blast from a Thumper before it could deposit the two Spoiled in its claws on the deck. Sadly, the Thumper crew’s cheers were short-lived as another much larger Red swooped down through the cloud of gore left by its fallen brother and doused the jubilant sailors in a thick stream of fire. Lizanne closed her ears to the screams and ran on.
On reaching the ladder that led to the starboard life-boat derricks they were confronted by the sight of a vicious hand-to-hand mêlée between sailors and Spoiled. At least twenty were assailing each other, rifle-butts and bayonets against war-clubs and hatchets. Lizanne was struck by the unnaturally coordinated movements of the Spoiled as they fought, one ducking a swinging rifle-butt whilst its comrade stepped forward to dispatch the sailor who had delivered it, whereupon they both stepped aside in unison to dodge a bayonet charge. It was like some form of dreadful murderous dance and proved dishearteningly effective. Within what seemed like seconds all the sailors lay dead or dying whilst the Spoiled had only lost three of their number.
Lizanne heard Makario let out a shocked gasp as the Spoiled all turned to regard the pair of them. There were a dozen, uniform in their silence if not their appearance, but betraying slight head movements that indicated inner thoughts. Not thoughts, Lizanne decided, seeing the Spoiled suddenly take on a more purposeful stance as if some unspoken decision had been reached. Communication.
“What do we do now?” Makario asked as the Spoiled started forward.
“Fight. What else?” Lizanne shrugged Tinkerer from her shoulder and pushed him into Makario’s arms. “Guard him.”
She had time to inject half a vial of Red and Black before the Spoiled closed, fanning out with pistols raised. Lizanne released most of her Black at once, blasting the Spoiled off their feet, then rushed forward to methodically shoot five of them in the head in quick succession as they lay on the deck. The remaining seven were up quickly and immediately began their deadly dance, circling her with frustrating speed and loosing off shots with their revolvers that forced her into a leap. She tumbled in mid air over the head of one of the Spoiled, unleashing Red as she did so. The Spoiled’s mismatched garb of Corvantine uniform and Island tribal gear caught light immediately, though his scaly hide proved more resistant to the flames. He swung his war-club at her as she landed, forcing her to back-pedal and use all her remaining Black to propel his flaming body over the side and into the sea.
Another Spoiled loomed out of the smoke left by his comrade’s departure, pistol levelled at her head, too close to dodge. Something boomed behind Lizanne and a hole appeared between the Spoiled’s eyes as a crimson plume exploded from the back of his skull. Lizanne darted forward to retrieve the fallen Spoiled’s revolver, then turned to see Makario hunched against the bulkhead, flaming pistol in hand. The musician held Tinkerer’s inert form to his chest in the manner of a human shield, meeting Lizanne’s gaze with a tremulous grin.
“I said I didn’t like them,” he told her. “Not that I couldn’t use them.”
Lizanne whirled away, feeling the whoosh of a war-club as it passed close to her head. Sending her assailant reeling with a blast of Red at his eyes, she followed up with a quick shot to his chest then leapt again. Bullets buzzed around her as she twisted in mid air, Green-enhanced reflexes given full rein as she targeted each of the remaining Spoiled, felling them all with single shots to the head before her feet met the deck.
She crouched, shuddering as the last of the Green faded from her veins, then looked up at the thump of several large bodies hitting the walkway. She let out a tired groan at the sight of what now confronted her. It appeared the Reds’ cargo didn’t just consist of Spoiled. The trio of Greens spent a brief moment sniffing the smokey air before fixing their gaze on her and immediately charging, jaws gaping wide as they summoned their flames. If there had been any Green left she might have been able to leap over the drakes at the last moment. But there was no Green so all she could do was inject her remaining Red and Black, hoping to match their flames with her own but knowing it wouldn’t be enough.
Flames began to blossom from the mouth of the leading Green as it closed to within a dozen feet, whereupon it was lifted off its claws and propelled into a near by iron support beam with enough force to break its spine. Flames engulfed the two remaining Greens as they whirled to the left to meet the new threat, Lizanne turning to see a slender, soot-covered figure emerge from a hatchway.
Sofiya Griffan seemed to have suddenly acquired a demonic aspect, her face like a mask of white and black and her unbound red hair flowing as she advanced on the Greens, the air around her shimmering with unleashed heat. Lizanne marvelled at the amount of Red she must have ingested, far more than was normally considered safe judging by the intensity of the fire she cast at the Greens. The heat was sufficient to blacken even their fire-resistant hides, causing both to scamper back, squealing in distress in a manner that was almost piteous. Mrs. Griffan, however, appeared to have lost all capacity for pity.
Having forced the pair of Greens to the edge of the walkway she unleashed her Black, tearing the limbs from their torsos, their screams multiplying as the unabated flames met exposed flesh. Even then she wasn’t done, advancing to stand over the writhing creatures as she tore ever more flesh from their bones until the screams finally fell silent and they were no more than blackened, twitching husks on the deck.
Sofiya collapsed as Lizanne rushed to her side. She was saying something, lips moving in a faint whisper as she sang a soft tune Lizanne recognised as an old Mandinorian nursery rhyme. “Eat, eat, eat it all up, or you’ll get no pudding today . . .”
“Mrs. Griffan,” Lizanne said, shaking the woman’s shoulder.
There was no response save the continual repetition of the same whispered words. “Eat, eat, eat it all up, or—”
“Sofiya!” Lizanne shook her again, hard enough to force the other woman to turn. Sofiya Griffan blinked at her blankly for several long seconds until recognition dawned.
“Miss Lethridge,” Sofiya said, her voice possessed of a calm that seemed completely out of keeping with their present circumstance. “They ate my husband. Ate him all up.”
Lizanne glanced back at the hatch from which Sofiya had emerged. It led to the engines, but from the thickness of the smoke billowing from below Lizanne had serious doubts anyone would still be alive down there. She rose, peering through the acrid, billowing fog at the sea beyond the walkway. She could see one of the enemy ships burning, a frigate drifting in a lazy circle as tall flames consumed her superstructure. From the speed at which the wreck passed by the Profitable’s starboard beam it was clear that whatever conflagration raged beneath the cruiser’s decks, her blood-burners were still operating at full power.
Lizanne went to the rail and leaned out, squinting at the sea beyond the bows. Through the haze she could see two more warships, bright flashes on the fore-decks and the whine of approaching shot indicating they were still very much in this fight. The fact that the Profitable was heading straight for the ships told her the cruiser was still answering the helm and Captain Verricks was resolved to see this through to the end.