The last of the marines were plunging over the forward port rail, down and out of sight – presumably onto the raider's deck. Or what's left of it. The clash of weapons rose muted beneath the wailing wind.
The assassin turned, but the captain was nowhere in sight. Nor was there anyone at the tiller. The wreckage of a snapped spar cluttered the sterncastle.
Kalam made his way aft.
The locked ships had no steerage. Waves were pummelling Ragstopper's starboard hull, flinging sheets of foaming water across the main deck. A body lay in that wash, face down and leaking blood that stretched weblike in the rolling water.
Reaching the man, Kalam turned him over. It was the First Mate, his forehead sharply caved in. The blood was coming from nose and throat; the water had washed clean the killing blow, and the assassin stared at the damage for half a dozen heartbeats before rising and stepping over the corpse.
Not so seasick after all.
He climbed to the sterncastle and began searching through the wreckage. The man at the tiller had lost most of his head, only a few twisted ropes of flesh and skin holding what was left of it to the body. He examined the slash across the neck. Two-handed, a step behind and to the left. The spar crushed what was already dead.
He found the captain and one of the treasurer's bodyguards beneath the sail. Splinters of wood jutted from the giant tribesman's chest and throat. He still gripped his two-handed tulwar. The captain's hands were shredded ribbons closed on the blade-end, blood pulsing from them to stain the swirling wash of seawater. A massive discolouring reached the span of the man's brow, but his breathing was steady.
Kalam pried the captain's fingers from the tulwar blade and dragged him free of the wreckage.
Ragstopper loosed its grip on the raider at the same time, dropping down into a trough, then pitching wildly as waves battered its hull. Figures appeared on the sterncastle, one taking the tiller, another crouching down beside the assassin.
Glancing up, Kalam found himself looking into Salk Elan's dripping face.
'He lives?'
'Aye.'
'We're not out of trouble yet,' Elan said.
'To Hood with that! We've got to get this man below.'
'We've sprung leaks up front – most of the marines are at the pumps.'
They lifted the captain between them. 'And the raider?'
'The one we hit? In pieces.'
'In other words,' the assassin said as they manhandled the captain down the slippery steps, 'not what the treasurer planned.'
Salk Elan stopped, his eyes sharpening. 'Seems we've slunk on the same path, you and I.'
'Where is the bastard?'
'He's taken command ... for now. Seems every officer's suffered an unlikely accident – anyway, we've got the other vessel closing on us, so, like I said, the fun's anything but over.'
'One thing at a time,' Kalam grunted.
They made their way down through the galley and into the passage. Water swirled ankle-deep, and the assassin could feel just how sluggish Ragstopper had become.
'You pulled rank on the marines, didn't you?' Elan asked as they reached the captain's door.
'I don't outrank the lieutenant.'
'Even so. Call it the power of notoriety, then – she's already had harsh words with the treasurer.'
'Why?'
'The bastard wants us to surrender, of course.'
They carried the captain to his cot. 'A transfer of cargo in this blow?'
'No, they'll wait it out.'
'Then we got time enough. Here, help me get him undressed.'
'His hands are bad.'
'Aye, we'll bandage them up next.'
Salk Elan stared down at the captain as the assassin pulled the blanket up around the man. 'Think he'll live?'
Kalam said nothing, pulling the captain's hands free to study the lacerations. 'He stopped a blow with these.'
'Now that's not an easy thing to do. Listen, Kalam, how are we in this?'
The assassin hesitated, then said, 'How did you put it? “Slunk the same path?” It seems neither one of us wants to end up in a shark's belly.'
'Meaning we'd better work together.'
'Aye, for now. Just don't expect me to kiss you good night, Elan.'
'Not even once?'
'You'd better get up top, find out what's going on. I can finish here.'
'Don't tarry, Kalam. Blood could spill fast.'
'Aye.'
Alone with the captain, the assassin found a sewing kit and began stitching flesh. He finished one hand and had started on the other when the captain groaned.
