“Ya wanna talk to anybody we find, skipper?” the tattooed man asked, testing the edge of a long curved knife on a callused thumb.
The captain scowled. “Feed them to the fish.”
“We already checked below,” Ryan said, scratching at his bloody ear. Then he forced himself to stop before the scab came off and it started to bleed again. “Ship is clear.”
“Did ya? Good,” Jones grunted. “Then check the mainsail, Baltier. We’re not going anywhere without that.”
“Aye, sir,” the man said, and began to examine the chest-high folds of canvas.
“I’ll help,” Dean offered, and rushed to assist.
“Good lad!” Jones shouted, then added softly. “Blind Christ, I’m reduced to using brats. Hope that healer is good, Ryan, ’cause we’re powerfully short on crew and will need every man alive to get off this stinking rock.”
“Pray tell, sir, what about the girls?” Doc asked, glancing at shore. The women were moving among the dead, using knives on the dead men to settle accounts. The ragged bits of flesh they hacked off were tossed into the crackling fire and raised a wretched cloud of dank smoke.
“Eh?” Jones frowned, confused for a moment by the change of topics. “They were to be a gift to the baron. He’s looking for a new wife. Ain’t no good now. Kinnison likes them young and fresh. But you want one, go ahead, she’s yours.”
“Indeed I do not!” Doc rumbled, offended. He angrily thumped his stick on the deck. “Do I seem a pedophile? You misconstrued my meaning entirely!”
“Did I now,” Jones said, unsure if he was being insulted or not.
“Make crew,” Jak explained, tucking thumbs into his belt.
The captain stared at the teenager and the old man. “Women?”
“You need hands,” J.B. stated, pointing a finger at the man, then jerking a thumb at the ville. “They each have two.”
“Aye, and a lot more,” Jones said, scratching at the throbbing scar on his shoulder. The numbness of the branding was wearing off, and it was starting to itch bad. “Hey silverhair, Doc is it? You were the one that stayed on shore. Go take the outrigger and offer them the deal. Any women who signs the ship articles will be crew, and treated as such. My word.”
“Done, sir,” Doc stated, and headed for the breach in the gunwale where the canoe was moored.
“Good news, skipper! The main looks fine,” Baltier reported, while hoisting a stiff layer. “Nothing much wrong here, just some bullet holes and… Shit-fire!”
In a soft rumble, the canvas slipped from his grip and slid into the gaping hole in the deck, the ropes trailing behind lashing about madly. It piled in the hold, almost reaching the deck.
“Rad me, that’s thirty feet wide!” Jones erupted, walking around the yawning pit, his stubby legs moving briskly. “Thirty! What the hell did you bastards fire on my darling ship, a nuke?”
“Close enough,” J.B. said, tilting back his fedora. “But it chilled most of the slavers.”
“I’ll say. Gren?”
“Plas.”
“Know anything about cannons?”
“Some,” the Armorer admitted hesitantly. “Want me to help work with the blaster crew?”
“You are the blaster crew,” Jones said gruffly. “The rest got aced.”
“All of them?”
“Every man.”
“Fireblast! This is why you wanted us on board so much,” Ryan growled, advancing on the smaller man. “You’ve got no trained gunners. This ship would have been defenseless at sea!”
The captain shrugged. “Said I wanted those rapidfire blasters on my side, and that was no lie. Besides, I knew you only needed to cut a deal ’cause none of you could sail a ship.”
“That obvious, eh?” J.B. asked, clearly annoyed.
“Shit, yes.” Jones stabbed a finger at Ryan. “So remember that without us you’re marooned.”
“And you’d be chilled,” Ryan reminded bluntly.
“Mebbe,” Captain Jones grunted at the veiled threat. “But I want to ride the ass of the evening tide out of here, so ya better get busy at your work. There’s lot to do and little time.” Then, turning his back on the armed companions, he walked away shouting orders to the sailors.
Chapter Seven
Skipping over the ocean waves, the PT boat angled around the conning tower of a sunken aircraft carrier and headed for the narrow passage into the calm bay.