When I’m just below the gunport, I carefully peer over the top of the opening. There’s very little light within the enemy’s ship, and the tunnel the ship is docked in certainly isn’t helping matters. I take that as a good sign, since I would hope that no one is bumbling around belowdecks without light to guide their way.
As I try to get a leg up, my foot slips, and I nearly plummet back into the ocean. I take a deep breath before trying again, finally pulling myself into the gunport and collapsing on the floor.
I do nothing but breathe for a full minute as I try to collect myself.
Then I stand.
I can still hear the water dripping from my clothes. That will never do. I can’t very well walk around the ship like this. I wring out my braids as best I can. Then I pull off my shirt and quietly squeeze all the water from it. My eyes dart around the dark area for any sign of movement, but there is none, so I continue with my pants and boots.
In that time, my eyes adjust to the darkness, and I can begin to make out shapes, like the barrel of gunpowder next to the cannons. I open it and help myself, putting dry grit into my pistol so it’ll actually be of some use should I need it. There’s even cloth for cleaning out the cannons. I use it to dry the soles of my boots as well as my weapons.
Then I start to explore.
The fore cannons are located in a small room of their own. I crack open the door at the end—soundlessly, thankfully—and peer through the other side. Water storage. And on the other side of that, the gun deck. Stars, but whoever built this vessel intended on it being put through a ton of sea battles. That’ll be fortunate for us once she’s in our possession.
When I have a choice to go above deck or below, I head down first. Above, I’ll lose my cover. I’ll be visible to all who pay attention. And anyone on the main deck is more likely to be alert.
No one expects an attack from within.
Besides, I need to make a scene, not get killed before I can sufficiently distract the crew.
I take the steps lightly. Only one manages to creak, but since ships creak and groan all on their own, either no one hears or no one makes anything of it.
When I reach the lower level, which houses the crew’s quarters, I find six individuals in the bunks. The majority are sleeping, likely before their shifts on watch tonight. But two converse quietly. I pick up only a couple of words. Something to do with fishing at high tide.
Six is more than enough to raise an alarm. I’ll thin their numbers a bit first, but I need to be quick.
The Drifta nearest me is fast asleep, and I creep through the shadows until I’m level with his hammock. My knife cuts across his throat silently, and his gasp is barely a breath of air, easily masked by the whispering at the end of the room.
The next sleeping body is on the top bunk: too high for me to reach without climbing up and waking him. So I swing myself onto the middle hammock, take aim, and thrust my knife point through where I judge his neck must be resting. Blood drips down my blade and onto my hands. The choking sound is less capable of being masked this time.
The whispering couple cut off and look toward my end of the ship. I stay where I am in the hammock, blood dripping on my clothing in a steady rhythm.
“Anderrin?” one of the two asks, standing from their bunk. She pads this way on sock-covered feet. I hold absolutely still, pretending to be another sleeping person.
The approaching woman pays me no mind as she strides right up to her crewman, climbs the ladder next to the bunk, and peers into his hammock. It begins to sway, so I assume she must be trying to rouse him.
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.