Vice touched the grips of her sabre and dagger, then each of her three mismatched fae-worked pistols—all there, all solid, all prepared. Her body sparked with anticipation. Better for everyone if they surrendered, but she was ready if they didn’t.

As The Morrigan shifted to starboard, she scurried down the shrouds, one eye on their new course, adding a touch here and there to help them turn to the best angle as they prepared to unleash a full broadside.

On deck, the atmosphere buzzed—they’d raised the black, and the merchants hadn’t answered by striking their own flag or raising the white, either of which would give their surrender.

There would be cannon fire.

After the first round, they’d get another chance to give in—most took that offer, suddenly keen to avoid a further barrage.

Orders sounded from the deck as the gunning teams made final preparations.

Her heart pounded as she nodded to Saba, Lizzy, Wynn, Effie, and Aedan—her usual team. They gathered around her by the foremast, nostrils flaring, some grinning fiercely, others grim-faced.

“They’re damn fools for not giving in,” Saba muttered, handing Vice her rifle from the rack.

Vice shrugged, running her fingertips over the breechloader. Fae-worked, like her pistols, it could be stored ready to fire and resisted damp conditions better than the flintlocks. Naturally, they were hideously expensive. And of course, Vice hadn’t paid a penny for it.

Loaded, ready to fire, and the leather case at her waist carried more of the reusable cartridges, charged and prepared to swap in at speed.

She nodded and snorted. “Some think they can escape, others think we’re more bluster than blow. Maybe these think they can beat us. Whatever the reason, let’s show them they’re wrong.” She grinned at each member of her team before fixing her attention on the schooner—from here she could read its name painted in white, Veritas.

Its deck crawled with activity, though from here the people were just figures, their faces indistinguishable.

She turned The Morrigan’s course a degree to starboard, each adjustment a tiny drain on her energy. Still, they were now perfectly aligned, and the shout rippled across the gunnery teams.

With the down-pitch of the wave, she held her breath, then the up-pitch and—

Cannons boomed, the sound filling her, vibrating through the ship’s hull.

Chinking, chain-shot spun towards the Veritas’s masts.

Sails split and rigging tore apart, the ropes’ frayed ends whipping away in the wind. One mast threw out a burst of splinters as it took a glancing blow. Around Vice, her people cheered.

Thick white smoke rose between The Morrigan and the Veritas, the taste of it like charcoal and sulphur.

Vice squinted through, watching the flag.