Chapter 2: An Easy Victory
“Sound the cannon!” cried Cate. The attack was on.
Now The Diablo was alongside the target ship.
Cannonfire signalled the raid had begun and the sound
of grinding metal signalled that the grids the pirates
called the “three wishes” had swung down from above to
make bridges onto the container ship. Connor had not
yet cured his fear of heights and his heart did a familiar
somersault as he heard them descend, anticipating his
imminent run across the wishes, high above the water.
Mercifully, it all happened quickly, and today, there was
further compensation in the relative gentleness of the
ocean.
“Fours – go!”
The instant the wishes were near horizontal, the teams
of fours raced heavy-footed across them. These were the
teams of muscle – mostly grown men, including Bart –
who began the attack by swirling their broadswords and
inducing fear and apparent chaos on the other deck.
“First eights – in!”
Cate’s cry signalled the movement of three teams of
eight rapier and épée bearers across the metal grids. These
were the first flank of precision fighters. Though the
broadsworders appeared more fearsome, it was the first
eights who posed the deeper threat. As Cate had once told
Connor, using her épée was like “fighting with a needle”.
If that needle pierced a human target in the right spot, it
would puncture a vital organ and trigger a slow painful
death from the inside out. Jez was the last of the first
eights, ahead of Connor.
“See you on the other side!” he cried to Connor as he
jumped onto the wish.
The 4–8–8 formation in which the pirates of The Diablo
launched their attack on the container ship was one of
Cate’s favourite and most successful manoeuvres. It was her
preferred mode of attack on a medium-sized craft, such as
the current target, and involved sixty pirates, divided into
three teams, which then further sub-divided into 4–8–8.
Each pirate in the second team of eight was paired with one
in the first – the second acting as a back-up to the more
experienced and accomplished fighter. Today, Connor
would act as Jez’s back-up. They’d been working as a pair
during every attack for the past eight weeks and Connor
was learning a lot from his good friend and mentor.
“Second eights!”
The head of Connor’s team made the cry and now the
teams of second eights flew across the wishes to join the
battle. Connor was the last of his team. Again he thought
back to his first attack, when Cheng Li had nudged him
forward. Now, Cheng Li was gone and there was just his
own will to push him on. Taking a deep breath, Connor
leaped onto the wish and ran into the fray. Now it was all
about instinct and timing and precision. Now Connor
Tempest inhabited not just the clothes of a pirate but a
pirate’s skin and soul. As he let out a cry and drew his
rapier from its sheath, he felt the blood pumping through
his veins. He felt truly alive.
As Connor raced through the melee aboard the
container ship, he saw that Jez was running rings around
two of the opposing ship’s crew. They were dressed head to
toe in black and brandishing curved swords with sharp
outer edges, which Connor recognised as scimitars. To be
brandishing such weapons, he realised that the cargo of the
container ship must be precious indeed. The stakes of
today’s battle would be high.
“Welcome aboard!” Jez greeted Connor, with a laid-back
smile. “Come and meet my new friends!”
At the sight of Connor – charging forward, rapier in
hand – the two crew members promptly surrendered,
dropping their scimitars to the deck.
“An excellent decision, my friends,” Jez said,
beaming. “Connor, keep them under guard here. I’ll be
back in a flash.”
“No problem,” Connor said, standing in the ready
position with his rapier covering both men. This was not
the end of the battle. He’d been caught out before and he
knew that one slip mid-combat could result in a very
different result at the end of the fight.
He did, however, allow himself a quick glance across the
deck. The attack seemed to be going in their favour.
Although the defending crew were well-armed, they
seemed to be insufficiently skilled at fighting techniques,
and the pirates of The Diablo had them on the defensive
with Jez’s manoeuvre repeated all over the deck. The
container ship’s crew were brought to the centre of the
deck, their scimitars dropping like pine-needles onto the
boards. Connor felt flushed with pride. The Diablo, under
the instruction of its new deputy captain, Cate, was truly
an elite fighting machine.
Connor looked into the eyes of his captives. “Always
watch your opponent’s eyes,” Bart had once told him.
“The sword can lie, but the eyes don’t.” During past
attacks, he’d grown used to reading the fear in his prisoners’
eyes. This was the part of the operation he found the
hardest to deal with. Bart and Jez had told him that this
would change in time.
“There’s nothing wrong in it,” Jez had told him. “It’s
good to remember that your prisoner is just another guy –
just like me or you – another guy with mates and family
and dreams of glory. It only becomes a problem if you let
your guard slip for an instant and allow him back into the
ight.” Connor was already an experienced enough pirate
to know that that wasn’t going to happen here.
Careful not to let his captives out of his sight, he again
cast his eyes swiftly around the deck. It looked like the
battle was coming to a close. He could see Cate and
Captain Wrathe circling the core of prisoners, all clustered
around the mast at the ship’s centre. Further in the
distance, Connor saw Bart and his team of broadsworders,
guarding the periphery. Everything was under control.
Now, just one important manoeuvre remained – the
surrender of the defending captain. But where was the
captain? Who was he – or she? All the pirates were dressed
identically, with no distinguishing marks of rank. Why,
Connor himself might be holding the captain captive.
Connor watched his prisoners’ faces as he heard
Molucco Wrathe call out.
“Captain, come and show yourself. Your ship has been
boarded and I, Molucco Wrathe, of The Diablo, lay claim
to your cargo.”
There was no response. Captain Wrathe’s words hung in
the air like the residue of cannonfire.
Jez rejoined Connor. Connor turned to him, expecting
his comrade to be smiling, but Jez’s face was serious.
“I don’t like this,” he whispered. “I don’t like this at all.
It’s been too easy.”
“Easy is good, isn’t it?” said Connor.
Jez shook his head. “There’s easy, and there’s too easy.
Something’s wrong.”