The previous incidents of piracy that Jaclen had experienced had not been devoid of bloodshed, but the raiders tended to spare anyone who had surrendered and just pillage the hold. She knew the logic. A pirate crew did not want to have to fight to the death over every cargo, so they made sure that their prey knew the drilclass="underline" either fight and die, or cast down your weapons and live. No guarantees, of course, for there had been murders, rapes, mutilations. If the pirates had been experiencing a few bad days, or if they had been forced to chase for a little too long, then they might decide to take it out on the crew. It’s not as though there are any guarantees. It was the thought of those crewmates she had lost, especially in more recent attacks, that steeled her now to the thought of what was about to happen.
She had a good look at the Very Blade’s crew as the pirate ship came in closer, seeing that they were a mongrel bunch. Almost a dozen were Ant-kinden, bronze-skinned Kessen, either rogue or mercenaries. They wore light ring-mail vests and steel helms, and many of them held crossbows levelled at the Home’s decks; one even had a new-fangled snapbow, stolen from who knew where. The rest of the crew, a good three dozen men and women, were a ragbag of Spiders, Fly-kinden, halfbreeds and a couple of hulking Scorpions. There was little armour but much ornament, men and women carrying their wealth on their person. Each one was armed to his or her own taste: rapiers, knives, shortswords, hooked pikes and boarding axes.
Laszlo had ended up by the helm, where his own bow was tucked. To his experienced eye, their attackers looked like any other pack of masterless sea-thieves. So was Albinus right or wrong? If it was the Aldanraels, then whether Stenwold got his proof depended on how long a leash the Spiders kept their pets on. Laszlo knew pirates, though, and that breed did not work well for anyone. Given usual practice back off the Spiderlands coast, it seemed likely that some servant of the Aristoi would be on board the Blade to ensure that its crew remembered whose ships were to be counted fair game.
‘Now you all stay stood, and nobody get any fool’s ideas!’ the Ant with the snapbow bellowed in a parade-ground voice that reached them with breath to spare. A moment later the bows of the Blade ground teeth-jarringly along the Home’s side, making the best part of both crews stagger, and then the ropes came out. Whilst the Kessen crossbows did not waver, a dozen pirate sailors secured the vessels one to the other. You might come to regret all those knots in a moment, Laszlo considered. He kept his breathing easy, leaning on the rail and looking relaxed. The Beetle helmsman beside him kept clenching and unclenching his fists. He had a crossbow of his own hidden in a locker at their feet, and Laszlo just hoped he would let matters take their course before he tried to snatch it up.
‘I thank you for your cargo, kind Beetles,’ the Kessen boomed at them. ‘Give my regards to the College folks, now.’ His crew bunched at the rail and then began to jump aboard, heading for the aftmost of the Home’s two hatches. Stenwold had asked, when they were concocting this plan, why the pirates didn’t often take possession of the actual ships along with the freight. It had been for Tomasso to point out to him that the pirates would be sailors all, and not engineers. Odds were that none of them would fancy trying to tow or manhandle a big steam ship like the Home into some distant safe port, without either sinking her or running her aground.
A motley bunch of Spiders, Ants and half-breeds had strutted over to the hatch. Laszlo risked a look at the four crossbowmen left behind at the Blade’s rail, noting that they had lowered their weapons slightly, seeing nothing evident in the Home’s crew to give them concern. The three-foot iron barrels of the smallshotters were still mounted near the pirate’s bows, but the Beetle-kinden woman and the half-breed youth, who were apparently the Blade’s artillerists, were paying little attention to their charges.
The lead pirate levered the hatch up, and Laszlo was close enough to hear him say, ‘Now let’s see what-’
He saw what soon enough – saw it coming straight at him. Danaen’s vanguard came straight out of the hold into the pirates’ faces: a half-dozen Mantis-kinden in a flurry of wings and blades, Danaen herself at their fore. Laszlo saw one Mantis man take a crossbow bolt clean through the shoulder in that first instant, the shock of it knocking him sprawling on to the deck beyond. By that time four pirates were dead and the others at the hatch had turned to make an escape they would never complete. Everyone was shouting and reaching for their weapons.
Just like old times, Laszlo thought. He had his bow in hand, an arrow already nocked. In his mind he recalled the Tidenfree latched on to some Spider merchantman, where the crew had decided to make a fight of it. The Tidenfree Fly-kinden would be shooting down from the rigging, whilst whoever they had paid as marines would be swarming the decks: Scorpions or Ants or some band of Spider brigands. He was grinning like a madman as he loosed his first shaft.
The Beetle-kinden artillerist was dead, picked off by one of the Home’s better shots. The halfbreed youth swung his piece towards the swirling chaos of the Beetle ship’s decks. More and more Mantids were flying and climbing out from the hold, whilst Danaen and her firstcomers were already sprinting for the rail. Laszlo had an impression of the pirates trying to recover from the shock. Some were shouting one order, some another. The Kessen with the snapbow bellowed for all hands. Laszlo tried to sight on him but the man was too far away. He settled for putting an arrow into one of the enemy’s crossbowmen, lancing the man in the side. As the Beetle helmsman beside him finally got his own weapon loaded, Laszlo took off for the spars above, nocking another arrow as he flew.
The pirates’ great chance would have been to pen Danaen’s people aboard the Home. Mantids were no great fliers, and if the fight could have been held at the railing, then they might have won through by attrition. When the Mantis-kinden struck, though, leaping over the rails in a glitter of wings and howling for blood, the crew of the Blade gave way in terror. There were enough jokes about the Mantids to be heard in any sailor’s taverna: how they were backward, they were gullible, they were crippled by their oaths and honour. Even then, the laughter had a slightly nervous ring to it, and if a handful of Mantis reavers walked in, their jokes would freeze into silence.
Curse me, but they’re fast, Laszlo had to admit, but it was not all Danaen’s way. By the time she had her feet on the Blade’s deck, half a dozen of her followers were already dead or badly injured, but the Mantids just didn’t stop. The wounded were left to fend for themselves, and they took no prisoners, heard no cries for mercy. Laszlo just watched them for a moment: he saw Danaen herself duel briefly with a Spider-kinden, twin blades to twin blades, a spinning dance of steel on both sides that would have won prizes at the Collegium games, but here was played for higher stakes and prizes. She broke off from that to kill an Ant-kinden who had tried to stab her from behind, spinning to lance his throat over the rim of his round shield, and then turning back as the Spider lunged at her. She caught both his blades on one of hers and ran him through an eye. Another Mantis, a golden-haired youth, had left his spear rammed through the chest of a Kessen crossbowman: now he fought only with the spines of his forearms, but he was tearing open armour with them and parrying swords. A handful of Danaen’s people were now in the rigging with Laszlo, standing with shifting balance and no handholds, bending bows that were as tall as they themselves were to let their long arrows fall on the foe.