“Baron Langford is gonna shit when he hears about the Constellation,” a sailor said, the muscles in his bare back coiling as he stroked the oars.
“Screw him,” Jones replied. “If he hadn’t been in such a rush for us to come back, we would have waited out the storm that damaged the Connie.”
“Gonna tell him that?”
“Hell, no!”
In the companions’ skiff, the rowing became slow and the boat eased behind the others rushing for the shore.
“Don’t like this,” J.B. said, pausing in the work.
Ryan grunted. “The dock is clear,” he agreed. “Almost as if they were preparing for a fight.”
Mildred glanced ahead at Jones, beaming with delight and waving at the ville. “Something’s wrong,” she agreed, and slipped an arm through the strap of her med kit to keep it close.
Suddenly there was a puff of gray smoke from the brick wall, and a moment later a geyser shot into the air near the front lifeboat. Then the boom of a cannon rolled over the surface of the harbor.
“Ambush!” Jak cursed, drawing his Colt Python.
“Wait,” Ryan commanded, slipping the oars out of the water. “Mebbe it’s just a warning shot. They’re traveling with outlanders.”
“Yeah, us.” The teen frowned, but slid the blaster away. Made sense.
Furious, Jones stood and shook a fist. “What in hell are you doing?” he bellowed. “I’m Jones of the Constellation!”
A crackle of longblasters sounded from the wall.
“Wh-why are they shooting?” a girl demanded, sounding more angry than frightened. “Don’t they know it’s us?”
“The sec men know,” Krysty said softly, stopping rowing completely. Briefly she checked her weapon. Loaded and oiled. The salt air was tough on steel, and J.B. made sure everybody used extra lub on their weapons.
Now a line of blasters from the ville shot cannonballs, impacting into the water on every side of the three skiffs.
“Getting our range,” Ryan warned, grabbing his backpack. He glanced at the breakers, a good ten minutes of rowing distance and well within the range of those huge cannons. Fireblast!
“Captain?” Abagail asked anxiously.
“Fuck this,” Jones said reluctantly, then sat down and started pushing the oars to slow the progress of the skiff. “Head back to the sea!”
Quickly, people reversed their seating and started stroking for their lives when the lead lifeboat exploded into pieces, wood and bodies flying everywhere. On the shore came a faint cheering.
“Jones!” Abagail screamed, covering her face.
More smoke puffed from the ville, and a cannonball hit only feet away from the bow of the companions’ boat, the water spout going ten feet high, completely hiding them.
“Everybody overboard!” Ryan shouted, dropping his backpack and diving straight over the side.
He hit the water in a clean dive and cool silence engulfed the man as he kicked for the depths. The water was clear and barely stung his eye. He guessed that was from the freshwater of the big fall mixing with the ocean, diluting the salt. The sunlight streamed down to the bottom, and he could actually see the sandy floor of the harbor some thirty or so feet away. There were a lot of wrecked ships scattered about, schools of brightly colored fish darting about in the nautical graveyard. Ryan leveled off at about ten feet above the derelict ships, and checked for the others.
His friends were close behind, Mildred swimming awkwardly hauling her med kit, Krysty swimming in spurts, her waterlogged coat lagging behind like a boneless corpse. Doc was fumbling in the water with both hands at something, then watched as his sword-stick disappeared into the amassed wreck below.
Feeling his heart beat in his chest, Ryan pointed a finger, then jerked a thumb. Dean and Jak swam by as the women dropped their excess weight and also headed directly for shore. Nobody needed to be told the only safe location from the cannons was at the base of the ville wall where the black-powder blasters couldn’t aim. Once on shore, the matter would be more in favor of the companions.
Hissing a trail of bubbles, a cannonball shot through the group, and they faintly heard a muffled crackling of wood. Dean glanced back to see the wood and dark objects descend from the surface, blood spreading out from the limbs and torsos of the dead. The loss of the girls hit him harder than the death of Jones for some reason, but then the strain in his lungs urged him onward and he continued kicking to reach land.