Chapter 4: Mind the Welcome
Boots hit the French deck, and James immediately felt the difference.
The Rose’s planks always gave a little under a man’s weight, softened by years of salt, rain, and hard use. This deck barely moved at all. It was broader, heavier, built for a ship whose guns needed firm footing.
Rain hammered against the wood without pause.
By his side, the rail filled with pirates as the Rose’s crew poured aboard. Ropes creaked under their weight. Men dropped onto the planks in a rush, bringing with them the noise of a merry band that had collectively decided to become a problem.
A scarred sailor threw back his head and howled.
Another laughed through a mouth missing more teeth than it kept.
It was the kind of laugh made after deciding the night could not possibly get worse.
"Surprise, ye French bastards!"
"Oi, anybody home?!"
A French sailor near the mainmast spun toward the noise.
"Putain, ils remontent!"
Another voice answered from beside the hatch, faster and more frantic, words running together.
James could almost see the confusion working through them. They had boarded a crippled brig expecting an easy prize, only to find her crew swarming across their own deck moments later.
That left them with a choice.
Defend. Retreat. Or freeze while they tried to understand what had happened.
James grinned.
The ship carried forty guns and three hundred men, yet apparently nobody had thought to check whether the brig they had failed to capture might have plans of its own.
The thought barely finished before he moved.
A French sailor turned toward him through the rain. The man’s pistol remained stubbornly holstered while he fought a brief and losing battle with the concept of drawing it.
"Och, evenin’."
James shot him in the chest.
The shot slammed him back into the rail. He collapsed and slid down it, leaving a dark smear behind.
James was already moving.
A second sailor had reacted to the assault more quickly and was trying to solve it with steel.
The man had almost drawn his sword. Another second and he might even have managed the rest of it. James’s cutlass crossed his throat before the weapon left the leather.
The sailor dropped both hands to his neck. Blood spilled through his fingers in hot, steady streams while a thin whistling sound escaped the cut. He was dead before he hit the planks.
Amazing how often hesitation turned into a funeral.
James kept moving.
The deck had fractured into a dozen separate fights. His crew spread across it like spilled ink, creating new problems wherever they went.
Two of his men had a French sailor trapped against a hatch and were finishing the job with crazy enthusiasm.
"Hold still, ye slippery bastard!"
"I’m tryin’ tae stab him, not court him!"
Someone disappeared over the secondary rail with a yell that ended abruptly.
"There he goes."
"Think he’ll bounce back ?"
The boy from before was somewhere in the chaos, moving constantly, making noise, and somehow still doing exactly what he had been doing all night.
"Captain! I stabbed another one!"
"Stop countin’!"
"I’m at six!"
More shouting rose from below decks, louder this time.
Either reinforcements were coming, or men below were finally gathering the courage to become reinforcements.
The window remained open.
James knew that would not last.
He turned to sweep the rest of the deck, looking for the next threat.
His instincts caught the danger a second too late.
He twisted.
The blow crashed into his shoulder and drove him down. His knees struck the planks hard enough to rattle his teeth. His cutlass skidded away across the wet deck.
James looked up.
A French sailor stood over him with a boarding axe raised high. The man’s expression made his intentions perfectly clear.
"Can’t say I blame ye."
James stayed on his knees.
"Already died once the night. Might as well make it a pair."
The axe never fell.
Off to James’s left, where there had been fighting through a knot of French sailors moments earlier, a shadow moved through the deck.
Fast.
Cudjoe emerged from the darkness already moving.
His blade struck from shoulder to ribs in a single descending cut.
Blood burst across the rain-slick planks.
The Frenchman’s body folded around the wound and collapsed before the axe left his hands.
It hit the deck a moment later and disappeared beneath the confusion of boots and bodies.
James looked up from the deck.
"You know, for a man who didn’t want to come, ye’ve got terrible timing."
"Aye, well."
Cudjoe grabbed his arm and hauled him upright.
"Somebody’s got to keep ye breathin’ long enough to regret this."
James recovered his cutlass.
There was nothing more to discuss.
They both knew what came next.
A French sailor rushed them from the right with his blade raised.
James intercepted the strike and shoved it wide.
That created the opening.
Cudjoe stepped through and drove the pommel of his sword into the man’s face.
Bone cracked.
Blood sprayed from the sailor’s nose and mouth as his head snapped back.
He collapsed before he could find his footing.
Another came in low with a pistol already aimed.
Cudjoe caught the man’s wrist and twisted.
The shot exploded into the deck between them, showering splinters across their boots.
James closed the distance and drove his cutlass through the sailor’s chest.
The blade burst from his back.
The Frenchman stared at it for a fraction of a second before his knees gave way.
Three more charged together.
"Formez les rangs!"
James answered with his second pistol.
The shot struck the speaker square in the chest.
The impact spun him sideways and dropped him hard onto the planks.
The remaining two split apart.
One came for James.
The other chose Cudjoe.
Neither man needed instructions.
James cut across his opponent’s ribs.
Steel opened coat, flesh, and muscle together.
Blood spilled down the sailor’s side as he folded around the wound.
James ripped the blade free and let him fall.
To his left, Cudjoe’s sword drove up beneath another man’s ribs.
The blade disappeared deep into his body.
The Frenchman doubled over the blade and made a wet choking noise James had no interest in hearing twice.
Cudjoe wrenched the sword free.
The man collapsed immediately.
That left James with empty pistols.
Cutlass for the rest of the night.
He had fought beside many men over the years.
Cudjoe was different.
Watching him work felt less like watching a fight and more like watching a craftsman at work. Every movement came quickly, efficiently, and with irritation.
More shouting rolled up from below decks.
Louder now.
And there was more of it.
Cudjoe straightened, breathing hard, and looked toward the hatch.
"We’re past it, Captain. There’s a lot more of them than there’s of us."
"Aye."
James wiped his blade on his sleeve.
The tide was against them. Soon the numbers would be enough to overwhelm his crew.
"Take some men. Find the powder. Burn what you can."
"And you?"
"Goin’ to find whoever’s in charge of this mess."
He nodded toward the stern.
Lit windows glowed beneath the quarterdeck. It was the only part of the ship that still looked untouched by the night’s disaster.
If there was a captain commanding this ship, that was the most likely place to start.
Rain streamed down Cudjoe’s face as he watched him for a long moment.
"Ye’re gonna get yerself killed."
"Maybe. But it’ll make a better story than drownin’."
James was already moving.
Cudjoe shouted orders toward the nearest knot of crewmen.
"You lot, wi’ me!"
He pointed toward the hatch.
"Find the powder. Set a trail. Make sure we’ve got time to regret it before it goes up."
Several broke away and headed for the hatch.
The rain and noise swallowed them almost immediately.
James continued toward the stern.
The fighting closed around him again.
He didn’t look back.
