Steel (17 page)

But the whisper of power remained a whisper, and the only message she got from it—Blane had to be defeated.

“Thank you,” she said to Tennant, who nodded.

The ships approached each other, becoming shrouded in the clouds of smoke now hanging over the water.

Jill lost track of the explosions; she could no longer differentiate between one blast of cannon fire and the next, and couldn’t tell if a given explosion was the
Diana
’s cannons or Blane’s ship’s. The ship was taking damage, splinters of wood flying, sails ripping, the shrouds playing free after being torn loose. The masts creaked and swayed. Jill kept waiting for the ship to fall apart around her. It didn’t.

The
Diana
couldn’t fire cannons from this position. Speed was their only weapon now—in moments, the
Heart’s Revenge
wouldn’t be able to fire, either, because their range would be off. They’d overshoot. Jill recognized the tactic from fencing: Get inside your opponent’s reach, making their offense useless, then strike. But Cooper’s ship had to move quickly, before their enemy could find the range again.

Abe took up the command. “All hands! All hands! Let the sheets out!”

Then Captain Cooper’s voice came through during a heartbeat of calm. “We’re comin’ up on them, lads! Ready arms!”

Amidst the smoke and splinters, then, the dozen or so crew above decks swarmed to the rigging. Jill took her place at the fore mainsail. She looked out, trying to see the
Heart’s Revenge
through the haze. The ship heeled as Abe turned her hard to starboard. Jill had become used to the rolling lurch of a ship making a turn like this, and balanced on loose knees, ready to haul line. Henry had the same position opposite her, on the port side, grinning, like always.

The schooner was now headed directly toward the
Heart’s Revenge
.

Cooper had picked the right moment in the two ships’ circling. Because the
Diana
had the wind behind her, she had the speed. Blane’s ship was sluggish to react.

At the captain’s command, most of the crew had gathered on the deck with an array of weapons: muskets, braces of pistols crossed over their chests, some combination of swords and daggers in both hands, and then spears and pikes—they’d probably started out as boat hooks.

Jill felt Blane’s sword sing. She turned it in her hand, testing a movement, a disengage and attack, and marveled at how well balanced it was. It didn’t seem to weigh anything, as if it really was an extension of her arm. Maybe she
could
fight Blane.

The crew didn’t shout, didn’t stand at the rail, carrying on in order to intimidate the other crew. There was no point to that. This time, they stood silent and ready.

Shouting carried from the deck of the other ship—maneuvering orders, commands to adjust the sails. Calls to arms, to battle.

The
Diana
was going to ram the other ship head on, out of reach of cannon fire. Jill couldn’t believe it, but what else could happen? The ship sailed forward, strong and sure, her bowsprit leading like a sword. The
Heart’s Revenge
seemed to bob, stationary, trying to turn but having no wind to move her.

“Hard to starboard! Hard over!” Cooper shouted at the last minute, and the ship lurched, turning in as sharp an arc as Jill had yet seen. When the
Diana
did collide with the
Heart’s Revenge
, instead of shattering into her hull, piercing her with her bowsprit and becoming hopelessly tangled, the two ships came together bow to bow, hulls pressing together. Wood groaned.

The
Diana
seemed tiny next to Blane’s three-masted monster of a ship. The other ship’s deck rose above the
Diana
’s to the height of a person. A mass of the other crew crowded to the edge, shouting in fury. Then they started jumping over.

The crew of the
Diana
backed away and let them come; they’d have been cut down if they’d tried to throw ropes up and climb aboard the
Heart’s Revenge
. So the enemy crew piled down to the deck of the
Diana
, where the
Diana
’s crew met them head-on.

The madness had a method to it: Those with muskets and pistols took up positions in the front and let loose a volley, cannon in miniature, that took out the first of those who’d boarded. That left the stragglers for the swords and daggers, while the next round of muskets and pistols came forward. Jill didn’t know if there was another round after that, and there wasn’t time to reload.

She fought. No time for precision here, no time for planning or elegance. Nobody was watching to admire her stance or judge her skill. She’d only win if she came through this alive. It was much more focused incentive than a medal or championship qualification.

Letting her vision go soft, she could take in action on the whole deck, at least in abstract. People moved all around; the enemy was in front, and her friends were around her. But the enemy was trying to cut through the line. She cut back. Once the muskets and pistols had all fired, the battle became a tangle of blades.

Fencing is easy
, the joke went.
You just put the pointy end in the other person.

Jill tried. She blocked with the dagger Henry had given her and slashed with her rapier, half knowing that the slashing was distracting her enemy at best. Then the line ahead of her broke and a target presented itself.

A scroungy man with an angry snarl, broken teeth, and a chipped sword in each hand. He might even have been one of the ones who would have thrown her over the cliff back on New Providence. He was slashing at one of her crewmates, shouting, beating him down—the man only had a pair of daggers. A spent musket lay at his feet. The attacker didn’t see Jill at all, right beside him.

This was how it went, then.

She thrust, stabbing him under the ribs, twisting her sword, then lunging back and out of the way. It was easier than she thought it would be—took barely any effort at all. Flesh was fragile. The blood came far too easily. She didn’t have time to think of it.

Screeching, he arched his back, flailing at nothing. Blood poured out, turning his unwashed tunic red. She slashed at his arm; he dropped the sword. The
Diana
crewman lunged next, dagger straight out, and put it in the man’s gut. He, too, made a wrenching move and turned away, keeping hold of the weapon—you didn’t want to lose your weapon here. The attacker doubled over, groaning wretchedly. He wasn’t dead, but he was done.

The man she’d helped—Matthews—nodded at her and plunged back in the fight.

A sheen of blood marred the upper third of Blane’s rapier, fresh and glaring.

A mass battle changed more quickly, was more frenetic, than a duel. Jill decided she liked dueling better. Here, people fought in groups, three and four of them, watching each other’s backs. A crowd of them would bunch together, then suddenly the area where they’d been would clear as the groups split and reformed somewhere else, and so the fighting ranged all over the ship. Jill lunged and slashed at anyone who approached. She did it more to keep the space around her clear than she did to hurt or kill anyone. If she could just keep a clear space around herself, she’d be safe.

Then, for a brief moment, no one else came for her. The battle hadn’t stopped; crashing weapons and shouted curses still dominated, drowning even the splash of waves against hulls and the rippling of sails. Jill came to rest against the foremast, leaning against the stout pole to catch her breath.

Across the ship, she caught sight of Captain Cooper. The captain was staring toward the deck of the
Heart’s Revenge
with murder in the set of her jaw. The woman sheathed her sword.

Captain Cooper hauled herself up the shroud, as skilled and nimble as any of her crew, and hacked at a line, one of the ropes hanging off the yard of the mainsail. Then she climbed it, pushed off the mast, and swung to the deck of the
Heart’s Revenge
. She actually swung—just like in the movies, after all.

When the captain reached the enemy’s deck, she drew her sword and looked around, urgent. She was on the hunt and out for blood.

Jill put her sword in its hanger and dagger in her belt and followed.

She climbed the shrouds to reach the level of the other deck and hesitated. It must have been ten feet from here to there—a long space, with a fall on hard wood when she missed. Captain Cooper had made it look easy, had known exactly which rope to slice to carry her over the space. Jill looked around, stricken, unable to figure out the trick of it. She could see it now: She’d try to swing over and end up hanging there like a caught fish, swinging crazily and wondering how to get down.

Jill didn’t want to mess with it. She jumped.

Arms out, she grabbed for the side of Blane’s ship, hooked her elbows over, which left her feet dangling. But she didn’t fall. Hoping no one decided to attack her while she flailed, she pulled herself up, swinging and hooking her leg over and finally rolling onto the deck of the
Heart’s Revenge
.

She glanced below, to the deck of the
Diana
. The battle there was a mob, a tangle of bodies, weapons, shouting, and blood. She’d never get the blood off the deck.

But she was on enemy territory now. Pressing her back to the side, she took in the deck of the
Heart’s Revenge
.

There in the center, swords drawn, Marjory Cooper and Edmund Blane circled each other. A few of Blane’s crew remained on the ship, but they held back, watching with a mix of anticipation and fear—jaws clenched, hands on hilts, but swords left in hangers. Like they wanted to help Blane, but they didn’t dare. They didn’t dare cross Cooper.

Jill drew her sword. Blane’s sword; hers now that it was whole. Sunlight gleamed along its length and turned it to silver.

Blane’s men saw it, recognized it, and began to whisper among themselves. She moved forward, and Blane’s crew backed away—calmly enough, but with trepidation in their gazes. Jill didn’t think she was all that scary—but if they saw her as the apprentice of Captain Marjory Cooper, the fearsome pirate queen? And if they feared Blane’s sword? Maybe she was scarier than she thought. That made her straighten and put a wicked curl in her lips.

Then, his attention drawn by the commotion, Blane saw her. He glanced at Cooper and chuckled.

“What have you done, Marjory? Mended the rapier?”

“Never you mind, you bastard. Fight me, will you!”

But Blane circled around Cooper, creeping past her in order to get closer to Jill. “No,” he murmured. “I’m going to take back what’s mine. Perhaps a second sacrifice would make me even more powerful.”

Jill squeezed her hand around the hilt, rearranging her grip. She could fight him. This was what she’d come here to do.

“Keep away from her,” Cooper said, and put herself between Blane and Jill. “She’s just a child. Be a man and fight
me
!”

No
, Jill wanted to shout. They’d agreed on it. This was her fight—she would face Blane. But that wasn’t what Cooper had in mind. The captain of the
Diana
launched an attack, sword raised, lunging at Blane as she roared in anger. Blane smoothly raised his sword to parry and knocked the attack out of the way.

Cooper didn’t stop. She swung the blade around for another attack, hunting for the next opening, pressing as she did so that Blane had to scurry backward to maintain distance between them. She had him on the defensive, delivering blow after blow. Jill had to focus to work out all the movements. But none of the attacks got through. Blane repelled them all. In her fury, Cooper was less careful of her own defense.

Blane sidestepped, removing himself from her line of attack and countering with his own thrust at her face. She retreated a wide step, nearly falling into a couple of watching crewmen who scrambled out of the way. This broke her rhythm. Now Blane had the advantage. Now he was the one who pressed.

Captain Cooper swung out of the corner that Blane was trying to trap her in and ranged back to the center of the deck. Blades struck in earnest now, steel smacking and scraping against steel. Cooper met each of Blane’s attacks with a strong parry and each time delivered a counterattack. But Blane never let an opening stay open for long. They were both good, really good. Jill could have just watched them, in awe of their skill and effort. It was because they fought for blood. They fought with everything they had. That made the fight different. Made it terrifying.

Sweat soaked Cooper’s long hair, making it stick to her cheeks and back; her shirt grew damp with it. Blane’s expression was grim, his face flushed. He still wore his coat and must have been roasting in it; at one point he rubbed the sleeve across his face and the velvet came away dark with sweat. But their movements never slowed, their intensity never faded. By her snarl, Cooper clearly wanted to kill him. By his grimness, Blane clearly wasn’t about to let her.

Noises thumped on the side of the
Heart’s Revenge
—hooks coming over the side and people climbing up the ropes attached to them. Jill leaned over, uncertain, fearful—were they Blane’s crew, returning after a slaughter, or Cooper’s crew, victorious? If the
Heart’s Revenge
crew had slaughtered the crew of the
Diana
, they might as well let Blane win the duel—they were all dead then anyway.

It was Henry who appeared over the side of the
Heart’s Revenge
first. He had blood smeared across one cheek.

He saw Jill and grinned. “What’s going—” But he saw, and his mouth opened in shock.