Chapter 52: [52] The Princess and the Belaying Pin
Twelve men total. Three on deck. Gideon’s the primary threat—six-foot-six, maybe two-fifty, armed with that cavalry saber. The nervous one to my left has a cutlass but keeps glancing at the longboat. Wants an escape route. The stocky one’s got a club and no imagination. Alyssa’s behind me. Deck space is maybe twenty feet by fifteen. Cramped quarters favor speed over strength.
"Rigging!" Pierre barked, shoving Alyssa backward toward the mainmast. "Get behind the rigging!"
The nervous pirate lunged forward, cutlass gleaming in the afternoon sun. Pierre didn’t meet the attack head-on—that would be suicide against a trained swordsman. Instead, he let his enhanced agility carry him sideways, the D-rank speed feeling like lightning in his veins compared to his old Earth reflexes.
The pirate’s momentum carried him past Pierre’s shoulder by inches. Pierre brought his rusty pipe down in a vicious arc, not toward the man’s head where instinct might block, but toward the back of his exposed knee.
The wet crack of metal meeting bone echoed across the harbor.
The pirate’s scream tore through the salt air as his leg buckled at an impossible angle. He crashed to the deck, cutlass clattering away as he clutched his ruined joint.
"You little bastard!" The stocky pirate charged toward where Alyssa had scrambled behind the web of ropes and rigging near the mainmast. His club raised high, murder in his small dark eyes.
A wooden belaying pin whistled through the air and struck him square on the temple with a sound like a hammer hitting a melon. The pirate stumbled sideways, his charge turning into an uncontrolled stagger as blood trickled down his face.
Alyssa emerged from behind the rigging, another belaying pin already in her hand. Her platinum hair had come loose from its careful arrangement, and her pale green eyes blazed with something Pierre had never seen before—not fear, but righteous fury.
"Stay away from my ship," she said, her voice carrying every ounce of aristocratic authority she’d ever possessed.
She can’t fight, but she can throw. And apparently, her aim is perfect.
Gideon ignored his fallen comrades, his dark eyes locked on Pierre like a predator sizing up prey. The giant’s hand moved to the massive saber at his side, the blade easily as long as Pierre’s arm.