Four more soldiers rushed up, having finished cutting down a group of pirates, making Beck’s tally of enemies up to eleven. She quickly gave up on the idea of using her pistols – she simply didn’t have enough shots. Her sigh of pain and exhaustion turned into a manic laugh.
With all the grace of a drunken dancer, Beck dragged her left foot around in the sand, drawing a pattern in the grains and feeling the last of her strength fail her. It took all she had to turn and stagger away from the eleven soldiers as they marched towards her in a defensive formation.
Her legs decided they could walk no further, and Beck collapsed onto her knees, just managing to turn her body to watch the oncoming men. They came towards her with shields up and steel bristling. The first soldier stepped over the formation she’d drawn in the sand without disturbing it, either by sheer luck or wise decision. Beck growled out her frustration and fumbled at one of the pistols in her jerkin, determined to take as many with her as she could. She raised the pistol just as one of the soldiers stepped onto the rune she’d drawn in the sand, breaking its lines.
Chapter 14 - The Phoenix
Smithe watched the battle on the beach unfold from the safety of the shadows. If anyone looked closely at the pier they’d see him, but he doubted anyone would. And if they did, he’d just deal with them the same way he’d dealt with the gangly soldier who was floating face down in the big drink. A smile lit Smithe’s face as he watched his target.
That fancy fuck, Stillwater, thought Smithe was simple, thought he was stupid. Smithe knew the truth though – he was smarter than all of them. He’d heard them talking behind their closed doors, and he knew the real reason the captain had yet to lead them to this treasure he’d promised them. A city full of gold and gems and wonders the likes of which would make them all rich and famous, that’s what Keelin Stillwater had promised the crew of The Phoenix. And by all accounts, the man wasn’t lying.
Smithe knew the city was located somewhere in the Forgotten Empire, a land south of the Dragon Empire and well known to be dangerous. Even the waters around the Forgotten Empire were legendary; all manner of ships had wrecked themselves upon the rocks and other hidden dangers. They needed charts of the waters and Stillwater knew just where to get them, but the gutless cur didn’t have the stones to take them. Well, Smithe sure as all the Hells had the stones, and the Five Kingdoms bastards had just provided him with the perfect opportunity.
The last of the soldiers from their ship ran off towards Drake’s little bitch. The woman was some kind of witch, Smithe reckoned, judging by the things she was doing. He’d never seen anyone throw fire before, but there she was. Smithe decided he wanted little and less to do with her or her captain. No matter how big her tits – and Smithe could tell they were on the large side – he hoped she died there on the beach.
Detaching himself from the safety of his shadowy hiding place, Smithe set off at a jog across the docks, staying just clear of the wooden pier to hide his footsteps. This wasn’t his first time sneaking around.
An explosion rocked the beach, the ground shaking with the force of it, and Smithe’s legs went out from under him. The sand hit him hard and forced the breath from his lungs. Gasping, he looked towards the noise and saw flames licking at the sand. Where before the big-titted member of Drake’s crew had fought with a bunch of soldiers, there was now nothing but fire and bodies, and none of them looked to be moving.
Boots thundering on wood warned Smithe of someone coming, and he turned to see a soldier running towards him, shield in one hand and bared steel in the other.
Smithe got his legs beneath him and launched to his feet. The soldier was small and looked terrified. Flames danced in the boy’s eyes, reflected from the fire behind Smithe. Still the lad came on.
Smithe stepped towards the soldier to meet his rush, blocking his sword with the metal knuckles on his knife and grabbing hold of the bottom edge of the round shield. It took no effort at all to turn the shield like a wheel, and the boy’s arm went with it with an audible crack. Smithe grinned wide and feral.
The lad didn’t scream, and Smithe almost respected him for that. With his sword hand still free, the boy tried to stab at Smithe, but he was doomed to failure – outclassed in every way, smaller, slighter, weaker, and far less experienced. Smithe grabbed hold of the boy’s sword arm and punched him in the face with his metal knuckles. The lad went down hard with a spray of blood and lost teeth.
Smithe knelt down next to the soldier and punched him in the face again and again until his fist came away dripping red. The boy’s arms flailed uselessly, his breath coming out of a broken face in gurgles and wheezes. Smithe reversed the grip on his knife and stabbed the blade down into the boy’s skull then pulled it free, wiped it on the lad’s uniform, and continued his walk to the Fortune.
Sounds of fighting reached him from the deck of the ship, and as Smithe got closer he saw a man thrown over the edge to land half on the pier and half in the water. His feet were nice and dry, but his back was bent painfully and his head was dangling in the bay. He was either unconscious or dead; Smithe didn’t care which. Pirate the man may be, but Smithe held no loyalty to anyone but himself, and especially not anyone from a different ship.
He walked quickly up the pier and mounted the gangplank, dipping into a crouch as he reached the deck of Drake Morrass’ ship. It was clear the Fortune was floating with a much reduced crew, most of them no doubt up in the town where they’d expected the fight to come from, or on the beach fighting with the soldiers there. There were a few men left, but they were outnumbered by soldiers. Smithe ignored them all as he made straight for the captain’s cabin.
A stocky soldier stumbled backwards into Smithe’s way, a sweaty grimace on his face as he regained his balance. Smithe kicked him in the back of the knee then slashed at his neck. The soldier clutched at the wound, but there was no way he would stop the flow of blood – the knife had cut far too deep. Smithe didn’t even break his stride. He reached the cabin and tried the handle. Curiously, the door was unlocked. If there was anyone inside he’d have to kill them to ensure their silence. He was more than willing to do it, and he might even find some coin on the corpse. He glanced back towards the deck. Pirates and soldiers were engaged in all manner of combat – one pirate was even fighting upside down from the rigging – but none were paying any attention to a lone figure stealing onto the ship. He pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it behind him.
It was mostly dark, lit only by the moonlight bouncing off the water and shining in through the large window at the back of the cabin. Smithe took a moment to let his eyes adjust, then carefully began his search. He’d heard plenty of stories about Drake’s pets, and some said he’d rid himself of the spider and now favoured a huge, armoured snake with lots of little legs. Smithe had never heard of such a thing before, but whether or not it existed, he had no wish to meet it.
One side of the cabin was filled with a lavish bed, a wardrobe, and a chest. Luxurious living quarters for a captain while his crew no doubt lived in bunks barely large enough to lie down in. Smithe hated the captains for the luxury they lived in. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t take The Phoenix out of Stillwater’s hands at the first opportunity. He’d never slept in a bed the size of the one he was looking at now, nor worn clothes as fancy as those no doubt kept in Drake’s wardrobe. They all thought they were better than him. Smithe would prove just how wrong they all were.