Chapter 24
Chapter
McGann paces the quarterdeck. The sails are unfurled and McNeil is at the helm, but Rogers never returned from the boiler room. McGann needs to find his first mate but he can’t leave his position, not now with the engines stilled and a strange sail bearing down on them.
Nor can he afford to send anyone else to search. There just aren’t enough men on a merchant crew for battle, and he needs every set of hands he has where they are, including his own.
He watches the black schooner close in on The Elphame and begin to turn, no doubt to bring its guns to bear.
Bloody hell.
“Word from the lookout?” he calls to McNeil.
“Nay,” McNeil answers. “No flags or markings.”
“All hands to quarters,” McGann orders. “Run out the port guns!”
“Aye, Captain.”
McNeil is doing double duty as the helmsman and the first mate until McGann can retrieve Rogers.
What in goddamned hell happened to him?
“She’s clearing for action, Captain!” McNeil calls out, seeing the other ship’s gun ports open.
“Aye. I know it.”
Elphame help us, he thinks as the schooner comes abeam.
Their crew is made up of a few seasoned men but mostly of former farmers from Kent, handpicked by Crawford and trained to be sailors.
Sailors, not soldiers. They aren’t ready for this, and McGann knows it, but there’s naught to be done about it now.
McGann reviewed the most basic of protocols with them should they be attacked at sea—preliminary evasive maneuvering and firing tactics—but they aren’t a fighting unit. Naval soldiers spend years in training to learn how to act as a team on a ship.
These men have been together for only a few short weeks before the launch; McNeil and Rogers the only ones aboard with any kind of experience.
And Rogers is down or disappeared somewhere.
If it comes to an actual battle, which it seems it might from the schooner’s maneuvering, they’re in well over their heads.
Damn it.
And what’s worse is that every member of the crew knows it. McGann shakes his head, but he has no better choices to make. If needs must, he’ll fight.
He hears The Elphame’s two cannons run out and knows they’re as ready as they’re going to be for whatever happens next.
“Fire when ready!” he yells, just as the schooner lets loose her cannonballs.
The smoke and smell of gunpowder fill the air, obscuring his view.
McGann closes his eyes for just a moment as a mix of helplessness and hopefulness fills him.
One good hit from either side will sink a ship.
But one good hit takes luck and the right tilt of the vessel on a wave, such that the cannonball makes impact below the waterline.
He opens his eyes as soon as the air clears, only to watch the first of The Elphame’s cannonballs sink beneath the surface of the Atlantic before making contact. The second, released just a moment after, moves with greater speed and velocity. But so does the schooner’s.
“Steady!” he yells, as the schooner’s cannonball careens into The Elphame’s port side. He covers his head as debris flies and wood splinters.
When he lifts his head again, it’s to see the schooner roll up and then over a wave, just as their cannonball makes contact. It hits the starboard side right above the waterline. No real damage done. A few seconds earlier, and they would have had her.
Goddamnit.
“Reload and give her another!”
But the men on the schooner are faster, and a second salvo of cannonballs is already slamming into The Elphame. They hit and they hit hard, throwing him to the deck, the sound of disaster ringing in his ears.
“Fire when ready!” he yells, but it’s too late.
The bell indicating severe damage to The Elphame has already begun to clang.
Catherine watches James coming at her and feels her body prepare its reply.
Her weight shifts forward onto her toes so she’s light on her feet.
Her hands come up to protect her face. And her feet, secure on even this slippery, damp deck in her leather-patched slippers, move swiftly to the side.
She has to make a small leap over Rogers, who is still prone on the ground, but she manages it, landing in a crouch.
Lighter. Faster. Smarter.
Andrew’s mantra replays itself over and over again in her head.
Her nerves are knocking about her insides, making her stomach roil and her heart race faster than even the fastest steamship can go.
She tries to breathe in deeply, to control her mind and her body, but her senses are too heightened for that.
The steam is thick and hot, the boiler room small and claustrophobic. Every sound seems to ricochet. Every breath she takes is too loud.
“Now, now, lass,” James says, each word dripping with condescension. “Or should I call you Catherine? There’s no need to run, dove. Because I can catch you.”
The Elphame shakes and rumbles beneath her feet. She moves her weight again, from her heels to her toes, and prepares to dash for the door.
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” James says. “Smell that? That’s gunpowder, dove. You’ve nowhere to go that’s any safer than right here.”
She glances at the doorway and then back again. She’s still close to it. Maybe she can dash out and slam it shut behind her. Race topside where she’ll find Andrew. He’ll know what to do, gunfire or no.
But before she can move, The Elphame rocks hard to the side. She sways and falls to her knees from the impact, the deafening sound of chaos exploding all around her. Wood splintering and men screaming in the aftermath.
She gets to her feet just in time to see James launch himself toward her again. She remembers what McGann taught her: Don’t put yourself in a situation you can’t escape from. Don’t fight unless you must.
Well, I must. She’s out of other choices now.
She jumps backward as he hurtles forward, her feet scrambling for purchase.
She finds it, thank heavens. James isn’t so lucky.
He slips, and she uses that moment to prepare herself.
Legs in a shoulder-width stance, hands at the ready, the tender parts of a man branded into her mind: instep, inner thigh, eyes, groin, and neck.
James is back on his feet, barreling forward, and she takes her shot. She only has one, she knows. She’s never going to be stronger, but James will not in a million years expect her to throw a punch.
The steam clears the room a little. Just enough for Catherine to see his face, head down, coming at her. And the knife he holds in his hands.
Heavens!
She hadn’t realized he was armed. But she can’t stop now.
She opens her palm flat, the heel of her hand facing outward, swivels her hips, and uses the velocity of that action to power a single palm strike directly in the tender socket of his eye. His own speed hurts him, ramming his head straight into her hand.
James staggers backward from the force of her blow. And no doubt the surprise of it too. She can throw a punch. And she can also land a kick. Once he hits the ground, she aims her foot for one strong kick at his groin.
And then she runs.
Behind her, she hears the knife clatter to the deck and James yelp in pain. Good, she thinks and runs faster. Let him hurt.