We stood back-to-back, my hands still trapped in irons, his still bound, powerless to defend ourselves as the deck erupted into fighting. Pistol shots rang out. The air came alive with Inferni fire. “To me, hounds!” Bevia shouted, and plunged into the action, a saber in his hands.
Barking, yipping, snarling men were descending on the Gligts in rachtown from all sides—not just from the railing of the schooner but from the rigging of the whaler as well. Bevia’s men. Bevia was turning against the Orlean.
The privateer had clearly lost his mind. Yes, the Gligts in rachtown were outnumbered, but numbers didn’t matter in a fight with the Orlean.
“Look!” Marvel shouted.
Down in the water, the men in the remaining longboat had the struggling sea whip in tow. They had raised a sail, and a bris
