Woman Overboard

Chapter 6 : Ash (3)

Afiba

August 26th, 1820

(12:57 PM)

The battle, at this point, had tilted itself in an obvious slant, Afiba's crew charging downhill as Adrian's pushed against gravity.

She nearly cackled with twisted giddiness as the surviving crewmen began retreating. They clung to their ropes like scared children to their mothers, each left with a permanent reminder of today's fight: a scar or a missing tooth or a bloodstain on their boots. Afiba herself now wore a scratch along her jaw, sloping from her right ear to her chin. She hadn't seen it yet, but could feel it stinging whenever her swallowed.

Beside her, Alessandra sported a new gash through the fabric of her shirt, a gaping mangle of flesh where her neck met her shoulder. It dried the color of red velvet, sickeningly rich and dark.

As more and more men retreated, however, Captain Broderick grew angrier. "Face me!" she cried out, grabbing at the collars of fleeing men. "Don't you run! Get what you deserve!" A few minutes ago, she had begun yelling for Captain Williams himself: "Fight me, you coward!"

Afiba and Adrian Williams had met several times, now. They had run into each other near North Carolina ports more than once, leading to a couple small skirmishes in which both crews left mostly unscathed. She had always known the captain as a practical man, likely to fight for resources or territory, not for spite or revenge. Afiba wondered what preexisting history Williams had with The Elizabeth that led him to sink her.

Now, she supposed, it didn't matter. Aless waved her sword, her voice swelling in livid arcs as she screamed for vengeance. Afiba didn't expect him to appear -- had she been Adrian, she would have escaped as quickly as possible.

But he proved her wrong. Out of the stream of retreating sailors stepped Captain Williams, his clothing tattered to bits and his skin torn to ribbons. If not for the startling blue eyes and dramatically sloped nose, Afiba might not have recognized him. Adrian had always been a handsome man and, from what Afiba understood, a competent captain, if not a callous one. He didn't look like a captain anymore, though; just a ragged, washed up sailor with nothing left but a shred of honor to preserve.

Afiba figured honor was his reasoning. If he retreated now, his crew would see him as a coward. He would be in danger of a mutiny, in which he might be demoted to a swab or worse, left on a deserted island off the coast with a loaf of bread and his pistol to seal his own fate.

The deck quieted, the wounded dragging themselves below deck or to the sidelines. The others approached, watching the captain drop to his knees in front of Alessandra Broderick.

Aless stood over the man, her smile dripping with malice. Afiba stood back, watching the crew form a ring around predator and prey, their reactions ranging from shouts of "Get 'im, captain!" to small grunts and sighs. Afiba just shook her head, watching the woman brandish her knife in front of Captain Williams' face. In Aless's position, she would have spared the man. He was simply too pitiful to hurt at this point. But then again, she didn't know what it felt like to have her world burned down from under her.

"Mercy," whispered Adrian. He seemed so small now, so shriveled and unworthy of the terrors he had caused. His eyes begged, growing watery and wide with conviction. "Please, Alessandra--"

"No!" Aless punctuated the shout with a sharp kick to the man's jaw. He groaned in pain, holding his cheek. Her voice climbed, heightening its volume until it became a raspy scream like the shouts of a tortured old woman. "No, no mercy for you. No quick death, either, I daresay. I will . . . I will cut you to shreds, and you will live to be stuffed in a potato sack and set on fire! And you will still survive, if only to feel the agony of knowing you are on the edge of the plank with me, me, and that I will push you off. But you will survive, and you will not know when I will push you and your torture will be eternal as mine is, do you hear me? No mercy!"