The Swashbuckling Yarn of Milady Vixen (16 page)

“We’re under attack!” she said.

“Aye, and the scuttlebutt from my fellow soldiers did say the same Balzacian vessel be prowling these waters,” Tom commented.

There was a familiar whistling sound, and he pulled her to the dirty straw as another volley of cannon fire struck the wounded Effingham cargo ship. This time the metallic shriek of metal accompanied the deep booming of ruptured wood. Debris began settling around them, coating both in a fine dusting.

“Look!” Vixen shouted, “The cage has been sundered! We can get topside and make our escape!”

“Aye, let’s quit this fight, for it be not ours.” Her lover grinned in a foolish manner.

Kicking their way past the twisted bars, they staggered through the shattered doorway, pausing only to stop and gather up weapons and a set of keys from the dead Marines. Unlocking Tom’s manacles, she waited for him to free her. Armed with swords and muskets, the intrepid pair ascended to the top deck to scurry away like rats abandoning a doomed craft.

“Aye, look at ‘em scramble,” Tom muttered darkly, “not a man-jack among them with a set of swinging balls.”

“These aren’t experienced sailors—they rush around in terror like powder-monkeys who hadn’t seen battle” she answered. “The captain might be as green as they be.”

Rushing out onto the deck, Vixen spied to port to see the hated visage of the
UBS Dreadful
cutting through the waves in a tight turn. It was obvious to her, a veteran of a thousand sea battles, it was swinging around for another broadside.

“By Davy Jones’ locker, the officers are scattered—look, the captain of this barge be as dead as a doornail!” Tom laughed.

Something surfaced quickly in her mind. The concept came as swiftly as a rapier thrust, piercing Vixen’s mind with a pointed option she hadn’t considered. Snatching at the rail, she swung over it and onto the stairs leading to the poop, with Tom following suit.

“Vixen!” he screamed. “Have ye gone mad?”

“Oh I’m crazy, I am,” she screeched. “Crazy like a fox, that is.”

Dashing up onto the poop, she skidded in place. This was because the
Piccadilly’s
captain and first mate had been cut in twain by a cannonball. With her usual surefootedness, our heroine danced amid the blue coiled loops of guts and grabbed the wheel. Tom soon joined her.

“Look sharp, ye scalawags!” Vixen shouted. “Unfurl all canvas! Prepare the starboard side cannons—aye, let’s give ‘em what for, by God!”

Now you might think the sailors onboard, knowing who she was, might not take her orders or worse, shoot her down like a dog. But in the heat of battle, with their leaders cut down like kindling and craving direction, these men and women of Effingham hopped to her orders like she was the rightful captain. Barefooted seamen clambered up into the rigging and unleashed all the ship’s sails. The gun ports snapped up, and Vixen could hear the stalwart gunners and their assistants preparing for her command to fire.

“Vixen, this is madness!” Tom shrieked. “This bucket has but twelve guns! We’re out matched in cannon and crew. Scuttle this piece of floating kindling upon the shore before we find ourselves sailing into Hell!”

“Avast ye!” she shrieked. “I will give those Balzacian bastards what for! I owe them for the
Sea Fox
, for its crew, and by God, I’d rather die upon these bloody decks than dangle at the end of a rope!”

“I see your point. Jump to it, ye bastards! By Neptune’s seaweed-encrusted beard, we’ll sink that craft or fight them all the way to the bottom of the sea! Sharpshooters, take out their powder monkeys. Fire ye lubbers until your barrels grow too hot to hold!”

Spinning the wheel hard to starboard, Vixen cut the ship hard to port, while the
Dreadful
tried to swing around the other way. The huge warship was limited in the smooth water of the bay, being too heavy and with too deep a draft to turn landward. Knowing this tub rode higher in the sea, she deliberately cut across the rising and falling prow of the enemy craft.

“Fire!” she screamed.

Deep booming reports thundered out, making the small ship reverberate and move slightly to the left—that’s port, in case you didn’t know. The white smoke, stinking of sulfur, washed over Vixen, who was grinning like a devil. Waving away the remaining wisps of it, she spied that only three of the twenty-four pounders had struck home, but those that did shattered wood usually riding beneath the waves. In short, the
Dreadful
rose out of the water, the
Piccadilly’s
shots ripped through her prow, and then the ship-of-the-line crashed down into the water once again.

“She’ll be taking on water and be heavy in the snout!” Tom cheered merrily.

Vixen didn’t answer, for she was spinning the wooden steering device the other way to avoid catching a broadside volley of thirty-eight cannons. Wallowing like a pregnant whale, the Balzacian ship tried to cut to starboard to bring to bear her portside guns, but the lighter fluet turned faster.

“Fire the portsiders!” Vixen roared.

A half-dozen cannons echoed over her shout, sending iron shot into the rigging, hull and forecastle of the huge dreadnought. Bodies flew like leaves amid a storm, ropes snapped, and wood tore away.

“Aye, the luck be with us!” she cheered. “All six have struck true!”

The
Dreadful
answered with three one and-a-half pounders mounted in her stern. The smaller cannons torn through the Effingham vessel’s sails, tearing great gaping holes and slowing the ship. Musket bullets began peppering the wall in front of her from the Marines on the other ship.

“Tom, get down below and find out how badly we be hurt!” she commanded.

“Aye, Cap’n!” he responded.

While her lover scampered off the poop, Vixen flung the wheel and straightened out her course. Once again the
Dreadful
’s
prow was in the gunners’ sights.

“Fire portside cannons!” she thundered.

The
Piccadilly
rocked to starboard. However, this time the dreadnought was at the bottom of its fall into the sea. The volley tore apart the top deck, and one of the six blows shattered the foremast, ricocheting into a pack of sailors before blasting away the door to the enemy captain’s cabin. Slipping past the Balzacian vessel’s lighter prow guns, she watched to see which way the man o’ war would turn.

“Ah ha! I have you now!” she shouted happily.

Spinning the wheel to starboard, she avoided another broadside and cut across the aft of the
Dreadful
. Another volley ripped into the bigger ship’s hull.

“We not be doing enough damage!” she swore. “Curse the light guns on this tub!”

Pointing the prow of the ship toward shore, Vixen started a race toward the dock, a race the
Piccadilly
had to win.

From atop the fluet’s poop deck, she saw the infantry rush toward the banks, forming up ranks, and the swashbuckling lass knew some smart bastard had figured out what she was up to. Grinning from ear to ear, Vixen cut along the shore with the
Dreadful
hot in her wake. A horrid shivering sound erupted from her foe, and she knew instantly the heavy ship, weighing even more from the water in her prow, had struck the sandy bottom of the bay.

“Starboard cannon—fire!” she shouted in a giddy voice.

Six booming coughs sent more men to their deaths, shattering wood and splashing splinters and blood across the dreadnought’s top deck. Howling in hysterical laughter, she spun the wheel to starboard and evened out her course. Looking over her right shoulder, she saw the infantry begin to pick off Balzacian Marines, sailors and officers with precise fire. Unable to move and thus bring her cannons to bear, the
Dreadful
had little choice but to run up a white flag, since Vixen kept her craft away from the arch of the bigger vessel’s massive weapons.

“Vixen!” Tom shouted merrily, climbing up to her side. “We did it, Cap’n! We’ve run her aground, and she be stuck in the mud as surely as I be standing here!”

“That’s for the
Sea Fox
and my lusty crew, you evil bastards!” she screamed, shaking a fist at her foe. There was a loud report when the Balzacian craft fired off its last volley. Although they were only light cannons on her prow, one of the shots slapped Vixen to the deck like a giant’s swiping hand. Groggily she looked up at Tom’s concerned face and realized her left arm had gone dead from the shoulder down. Her vision began to blur.

“T-Tom?” she stammered. “Be I shot?”

“A-aye!” he wailed. “One of those sea dogs felt surrender occurred too soon!”

“How bad be it?”

“Your left arm…”

“Yes?”

“It be gone! Torn from ye elbow as if yanked off by some terrible beast!”

She began to feel dizzy and shut her eyes momentarily before opening them again. Reaching up with her remaining hand, she caressed his cheek. He was furiously trying to quell the spurting scarlet fluid pumping out of the wound. He shouted for aid.

“This is my penance for getting so many innocents killed,” she rasped out. “Don’t give me that look—I be happy to atone for my sins. So much blood be on my hands. I just wish…”

“Yes? What do ye wish?”

“I only regret not having one last night with ye.”

Vixen slipped away, a smile upon her beautiful face, while Tom shrieked in hatred toward Fate’s unkind visitation.

The End of Milady Vixen’s Tail, or Tale

I pause here in my story to let you catch your breath, my dear audience. I see the stunned expression you wear. To give your life to save others is the noblest sacrifice anyone can make. Even if it’s for forgiveness, this is still the case. Vixen’s life ended that fair fall day, and yet none were unhappier for it. I know how cruel this sounds, but you really must bear with me so I can redeem myself in your eyes as I fully describe the end of Milady Vixen’s tale. I promise you I will make it all worth your while. All right?

There was a great celebration two years after the
UBS Dreadful
was defeated and rechristened
HMS Deliverance
in honor of the lass who brought it to heel at such a cost to herself. Ginger Tom, now only called Tom Herring, was given a commission in His Majesty’s Navy and wore the insignia of ship’s captain with more pride than you might think. Royal pardons had fluttered off King Richard Heartstring III’s desk like a flight of seagulls taking off in fear of a prowling cat. The Effingham monarch was quite liberal in his actions, and many benefited from it. The
Deliverance
was quite instrumental in ending the conflict with the king’s foes, since she preyed almost pirate-like upon the fat supply vessels and naval forces of the Free Nation of Balzac. Anchored off the capital city, the huge dreadnought received a well-deserved overhaul and cleaning.

Walking into the foyer, Captain Herring surveyed the swirling bodies moving to the merry music from the string quartet. With a tug at his stiff collar, he tried to tame the lacy kerchief and wished he could rip it off and run from this blue-blooded event. The only thing making him feel comfortable was the slender sword swinging off his belt.
“Aye, this be quite unnerving,” he muttered, waiting to be announced by the red-jacketed guards.

“May I inquire as to how you wish us to introduce you?” a young man asked.

“Full titles and honors.”

“As you wish.”

Stepping aside, the youthful lieutenant cleared his throat and sucked in a mighty breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he roared. “I have the pleasure of introducing to you Captain Thomas David Herring of His Majesty’s Royal Navy, commander of the
HMS Deliverance
and winner of the King’s Cross!”

The roar of applause did little to make Tom feel comfortable. He cleared his throat at the beefeater.

“In addition, I am proud to announce—Her Grace, Admiral Violet Cornwell-Herring, Hero of Porkbelly Bay, winner of the King’s Cross and Duchess of Purdy-on-the-Sea!”

The applause was somewhat more muted for her.

Surprise! I thought you’d brighten up after that. For you see, I did not lie to you, my dear audience. Vixen did indeed die that day, but rose once again as Violet Cornwell, who was quickly rewarded with the title she was due, command of a ship. Additionally, she took charge of a small caramel-skinned daughter named Mary, whom she had been pregnant with at the time of their battle at Porkbelly Bay. Doctor Cutter easily repaired her wound, and Major Minor effortlessly decreed that Vixen—I mean Violet—had won a major victory for Effingham. While she recuperated, our heroine visited the capital to have an audience with His Majesty Richard Heartstring III himself. After listening to her salty tale, he quickly understood the foul ruling against both Violet and her mother. Being a just man and a good king, he quickly restored her to the title she deserved and pardoned all her crimes against his subjects. Did you think I would leave this yarn without a happy ending? I’m shocked—truly I am!

Taking Violet’s right arm in his, Tom strode forth into high society with all the enthusiasm of a man being nagged by his mother-in-law.