Red Seas Under Red Skies: The Gentleman Bastard Sequence, Book Two (Gentleman Bastards 2)

‘Alchemy, black alchemy, expensive as hell. You have to be fucking crazy to bring one to sea, same reason most captains shy away from fire-oil. But worse. Whole thing goes white-hot. You can’t touch it; can’t get close. Leave it on deck and it burns right through, down into the innards, and it sets anything on fire. Hell, it can probably set water on fire. Sure doesn’t go out when you douse it.’

‘Utgar,’ said Drakasha, ‘you motherfucker, you traitor, how could—’

‘Traitor? No. I’m Rodanov’s man; am and have been since before I joined. His idea, hey? If I’ve done you good service, Drakasha, I’ve just been doing my job.’

‘Have him shot,’ said Jean.

‘That thing he’s holding is the twist-match fuse,’ said Ezri. ‘He moves his right hand, or we kill him and make that thing drop, it comes right out and ignites. This is what those damned things are for, get it? One man can hold a hundred prisoner if he just stands in the right spot.’

‘Utgar,’ Drakasha said, ‘Utgar, we’re winning this fight.’

‘You might’ve been. Why do you think I stepped in?’

‘Utgar, please. This ship is heaped with wounded. My children are down there!’

‘Yeah. I know. So you’d best lay down your arms, hey? Back up against the starboard rail. Archers down from the masts. Everybody calm - and I’m sure for everyone but you, Drakasha, there’s a happy arrangement waiting.’

‘Throats cut and over the side,’ shouted Treganne, who appeared at the top of the companionway with a crossbow in her hands. ‘That’s the happy arrangement, isn’t it, Utgar?’ She stumped to the quarterdeck rail and put the crossbow to her shoulder. ‘This ship is heaped with wounded, and they’re my responsibility, you bastard!’

‘Treganne, no!’ Drakasha screamed.

But the scholar’s deed was already done; Utgar jumped and shuddered as the bolt sank into the small of his back. The grey sphere tipped forward and fell from his left hand; his right hand pulled away, trailing a thin, white cord. He toppled to the deck, and his device vanished from sight into the hold below.

‘Oh, hell,’ said Jean.

‘No, no, no,’ Ezri whispered.

‘Children,’ Jean found himself saying, ‘I can get them—’

Ezri stared at the cargo hatch, aghast. She looked at him, then back to the hatch.

‘Not just them,’ she said. ‘Whole ship.’

‘I’ll go,’ said Jean.

She grabbed him, wrapped her arms around him so tightly he could barely breathe and whispered in his ear, ‘Gods damn you, Jean Tannen. You make this . . . you make it so hard.’

And then she hit him in the stomach, harder than even he had thought possible. He fell backward, doubled in agony, realizing her intentions as she released him. He screamed in wordless rage and denial, reaching for her. But she was already running across the deck toward the hatch.