The Damsel came about sharply with a crack of her canvas sail. The Myrkur vessel turned with the wind, compensating for her damaged rudder. Without waiting for orders, Donal spun the wheel, angling the Spitfire so that the two ships headed towards each other, bow-on.

“Going to take a bit of a jolt, Captain!” he announced.

“Better that then a broadside of cannon,” Caleb replied, before shouting down to Whelan’s gun crew. “Never mind reloading! Send a runner forward, tell the boarding party to brace for impact!”

A Yezzir, and the runner was sent. Whelan and those remaining on the gun crew secured the cannon they’d been working on. Then they drew their cutlasses and waited for the moment of impact.

It wasn’t long in coming. The heaving seas plunged the two ships down into the trough between a pair of especially large waves. Bow slipped by bow so that the squeaking, rustling skree-ack! of timber rubbing against timber raised goose pimples on Caleb’s arms.

A second, more percussive CRACK! and the two ship’s steerboard sides locked against each other. Caleb looked up to the afterdeck, then to the low clouds overhead. The sound of the impact echoed into the skies.

That was the cue for Plan B to begin.

Around thirty crewmen aboard the Damsel had crowded onto the main deck. Half wore the dark blue of the Sea Vipers, and were armed with cutlasses. The other half were black-clad Guardsmen, who carried pistols in addition to swords. They’d gathered in front of a massive wooden grid set forward of the mast into the deck itself.

A group of six more Guardsmen with rifles held their position on the enemy sloop’s afterdeck. They spotted Caleb, his helmsman, and Whelan’s gun crew aboard the Spitfire. An order was shouted, and they brought their weapons to their shoulders, ready to fire.

Suddenly, the shriek of an eagle came from above.

Shaw emerged from the low cloud cover as a golden-white blur. A rumble of thunder accompanied him as he folded his wings back and blazed past the Damsel’s mainmast. With an outstretched forepaw, his talons tore out a triple set of long canvas ribbons from the sail. The ribbons fell onto the cursing Myrkur crew below.

The rifle squad came about, tracking the griffin as he shot past them. Shaw dove for the water, disappearing with a massive ker-SPLOOSH! below the waves just as the riflemen squeezed their triggers. Bullets splashed into the water harmlessly behind the drake.

Sienna and her four riflemen stood up on the Spitfire’s afterdeck. The Arrenmar sighted in on their opponents before they had time to reload. Caleb shouted a single command, but Sienna and her companions scarcely needed encouragement.

“Let them have it!” Caleb called, just as the rippling bang! of the rifle’s volley fire sounded from above.

Four of the six Myrkur dropped, while the remaining two ducked for cover. Sienna’s men didn’t stop to examine their work. Instead, they set aside the spent rifles and picked up their second set of pre-loaded weapons.

“Rory!” Sienna shouted. “You and me, we take out the other men on the afterdeck! The rest of you, pick off any pistoleers among the enemy crew!”

A high-pitched equine squeal and a chorus of ferocious yells came from the forward hatchway. Tavia and the rest of the boarding party emerged, cutlasses in hand and horn aglow with magical energy. They charged across the deck as the rain began to pelt down with renewed intensity.

Tavia ripped a bead from her mane. Then she tossed it with a flick of her head. The bead exploded in a crackle of blue sparks, followed by the fzzzzzt! of arcing electricity. The closest trio of Guardsmen fell convulsing on the deck.

The Damsel’s remaining two riflemen stood back up, reloaded rifles in hand. Sienna and Rory picked them off before they could do more than aim. Tavia leaped over the locked steerboard rails, parried a strike from a cutlass with her horn. A lunge, and the mare skewered the Guardsman just as the rest of her boarding party swarmed onto the enemy vessel.

Another set of bangs! announced the remaining Murray brothers unloading their weapons as well. A pair of pistol-brandishing Guardsmen fell screaming to the deck. Ferris Pender swore as his rifle refused to fire.

“Damned powder got wet!” he cursed.

“Then we get into the fight another way,” Caleb declared, as he joined them on the afterdeck. “Up close and personal!”

A swing of his cutlass, and he grabbed the dangling line. Ferris stared at him, as did Sienna and the others. Caleb put one foot on the taffrail and beckoned to them.

“Come on! You want to live forever?”

“Not forever, Captain,” Regan laughed nervously, “but long enough to get into combat! For me, that’s going to be on foot!”

Sienna’s eyes fairly glowed as she looked up at Caleb. But she nodded agreement with the largest of the Murray brothers.

“Aye, my role’s to take this bunch into battle!” she said. “You lead us the way you always do, Captain! By the most daring example!”

“I’ll see you there, then!” Caleb said, though he felt a nervous flutter through his stomach as he spoke.

Steady on, he chided himself. I’ve done this before. I know it can be done!

The group let out a cheer. They set aside their guns, pulled cutlasses, and dashed down towards the main deck to get into the fight. Caleb turned his attention back to the opposing ship. A pair of Guardsmen appeared on the Damsel’s forecastle, pistols in hand.

Good. Those two are my first targets.

Caleb stuck the cutlass between his teeth, taking care to face the blade’s edge away from his tongue. He got up on the taffrail, heart pounding in his ears. The rail was slick underfoot. His mind immediately flitted back to one of the key components of his Corsair class.

Piratical Flair: This ability gives you an automatic bonus to complete any action taken during combat or in service of a Quest, so long as it is done with a certain level of flair.

This is insane, his inner voice said, among other things. How will you know that you’ve even gotten that bonus back? Until after you’ve tried this risky stunt? How is this even going to work?

In answer, a new screen appeared in his Quest Window.

New Adventurer’s-Level Quest: Board a Myrkur vessel in a way that both inspires your crew and takes out the immediate opposition. Completion of this quest shall not only award experience points, it shall partially restore Corsair-related abilities for a short time. STATUS: IN PROGRESS.

He put it out of mind. No time for it now. Caleb took a breath and pulled a pistol out. Grasping the line firmly in his other hand, he leaped from the rail over the side of his sloop.

The rope bit into his hand as he swung across the gap of angry water and over Damsel’s needle-like bowsprit. Ahead and below, Tavia’s boarding party remained locked in combat with an equal number of Myrkur and Sea Vipers.

Suddenly, a massive shape erupted from the water on the far side of the Damsel. Shaw splayed out his talons and clambered up the side of the hull like a shaggy, dripping grizzly bear. He reached the deck and plunged into the fray, batting men aside with massive swipes.

Breathlessly, Caleb felt his speed accelerate as he descended towards the enemy ship’s deck. He snapped off his one pistol shot at the closest opponent.

His aim was true. The black-clad cultist threw up his arms as he collapsed.

Caleb lashed out with his legs, connecting the heel of his boots to the remaining man’s midsection. The Guardsman let out an uff! as the breath whistled out of his lungs. The force of the blow spun him over the far rail and into the heaving sea.

A stab of pain lanced up Caleb’s still-healing leg as he let go over the rope and landed on the enemy forecastle. He tucked the pistol away and removed his cutlass from where he’d grasped it in his teeth.

For a split second, he saw the screen at the edge of his vision blink as it updated.

Adventurer’s-Level Quest: Opposition neutralized. Unclear whether boarding has been done in a way that inspires crew. STATUS: PARTIALLY COMPLETE.

He had time to wonder: Unclear whether I’ve boarded in such a way that inspires…what the hell does that mean?

Then his leg collapsed under him. He landed on his butt and side with such force that his leather belt snapped. His empty scabbard and three pistols went spinning away.

“Son of a–” he gasped.

Caleb slid across the rain-slicked deck as if it had been greased. Arms and legs thrashing, he sailed off the edge of the forecastle and over the steps leading down to the quarterdeck. He caught a glimpse of the startled Myrkur helmsman before bouncing off the larboard rail.

From there, Caleb tumbled head over heels over the next set of stairs. Finally, he rolled to a stop and got up on all fours. His head spun, and his wrists and feet stung with the jolt of impact. He’d managed to hold on to his cutlass, even though his hand ached.

The sounds of battle came from all around him. All at once, he saw that the Myrkur soldiers and seamen were all facing away from him. Even as they desperately fought to keep Tavia, the boarding party, and Shaw at bay.

Caleb looked down. A latticework of crisscrossed wooden strips covered an open hatch set into the deck. The stench of sweat and gone-off food emanated from the dark openings in the lattice.

He realized that he’d landed atop of the fragile grid of wood that he’d spotted lying forward of the Myrkur sloop’s mast. A creak, followed by a series of pops! sounded on the heels of his revelation.

Caleb had time for one last thought. Oh, hell! This is what Sienna and Donal would call a real kip-and-a-half kind of situation!

The latticework gave way, plunging him into the depths of the Damsel’s hold.