Siren song

The Attack

The first sound was not thunder, though it might as well have been. It shook the ship from bow to stern, a deep, splintering roar that rattled the air and sent dust sifting from the beams above. Kyria froze where she stood in the cramped passenger hold, her hands still clutching the letters she’d tucked into her satchel.

Then came shouting, muffled, distant, chaotic. Boots pounding overhead. The ship heaved sharply to one side, throwing her against the wall. “Stay back!” Tate’s voice cut through the din as he burst through the door. His shirt was torn, streaked with blood that didn’t look like his own. “They’re boarding!”

The minister’s wife cried out, clutching her children to her chest. “God in Heaven—”

“Quiet!” Tate hissed, slamming the hatch behind him. “You have to stay down here, all of you.”

Kyria’s heart hammered in her ribs. “How close are they?”

“Too close,” he said, already moving to drag a heavy crate against the door. “The captain’s trying to hold the line, but they’ve got more men.”

The little boy whimpered, and his sister clutched him tighter. The merchant’s wife, pale, trembling, began to pray under her breath. Above them, the noise grew worse. The crack of gunfire. The crash of splintering wood. A scream, sharp, human, cut off by the roar of another cannon. The Fortune groaned as if in pain.

“Tate,” Kyria whispered, “we’ll be trapped if the fire spreads.”

“It’s safer down here than up there,” he said, though the tremor in his voice betrayed the lie. He turned to her then, his eyes wide and desperate in the flickering lantern light. “If anything happens, if they break through, you take the children and run for the galley door. There’s a lifeboat lashed below the port rail. You understand?”

“You’ll come with us?”

“I’ll try,” he said. “But if I don’t—”

The ship lurched violently. A plank split open along the far wall, spraying seawater across the floor. The lanterns swung wildly, light and shadow chasing each other across their faces. Someone was shouting from the deck above; the captain, maybe, but the words were lost in the uproar. Another explosion followed, closer this time. The smell of smoke and salt filled the air.

“They’ve taken the quarterdeck,” Tate muttered, half to himself. “We’re losing her.”

The merchant’s wife sobbed quietly, rocking her children as the timbers groaned around them. “Please,” she whispered, “someone help us…”

Kyria reached for her, steadying the woman’s shaking hands. “It’s all right,” she lied. “We’ll be all right.”

Tate moved toward the ladder leading up to the deck. “Stay here,” he said again, glancing back. “Bolt the door if you can. Don’t open it for anyone you don’t know.”

“Tate, wait!” But he was already climbing, his boots slipping on the wet rungs. The hatch slammed behind him, cutting off the light from above. The hold fell into half darkness. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their breathing. Fast, shallow, terrified. Then came another sound: heavy footsteps, closer now. The hatch above them rattled once.

Kyria pressed the children close, her breath catching.

“Mama?” the little girl whispered.

“Shh, darling,” her mother said. “It’s all right.”

The latch creaked. Then, shouting. A gunshot. Another. The hatch burst open, flooding the hold with harsh daylight and the smell of smoke. Silhouetted in the opening stood a man with a pistol and a wicked grin, teeth glinting gold.

“Found you,” he said.

The merchant’s wife screamed. The children shrieked. Kyria lunged forward, grabbing for the nearest piece of broken wood as the pirate dropped into the hold, and then, just as quickly, another figure followed him down, tackling him from behind.

Tate.

The struggle was brutal, short, and loud. The gun went off, deafening in the small space. The smell of powder filled the air. When it cleared, the pirate lay still, blood seeping into the planks beneath him.

Tate staggered to his feet, his breath ragged. “We have to move,” he said hoarsely. “They’ll send more.”

Kyria grabbed the merchant’s wife’s hand. “Come. Take the children.”

They stumbled toward the galley corridor, the lanterns swaying as the ship pitched harder. Above them, the sounds of battle raged on, shouts, clanging metal, the creak of timber under strain.

“Hurry!” Tate urged. “If we can reach the lifeboats…” But before he could finish, the ship lurched violently again, and a deafening crack split the air, the sound of wood giving way. The deck tilted beneath their feet, sending them crashing against the wall.

Kyria hit the floor hard, the world spinning. Tate shouted her name, reaching for her through the haze of smoke and chaos. And above it all came a voice, rough, triumphant; shouting a single word:

“Boarded!”

The Maiden’s Fortune had fallen.