The cabin lay in chaos. Stagg’s body was wedged between the floor and the bulkhead, his once-broad bulk diminished and made insignificant by death. The axeman showed no signs of life. The stiletto had punctured his artery and the deck beneath him was slick with blood. Lawrence’s victim was sprawled in the corner of the cabin, his side-turned face a bloody ruin after repeated blows from the pistol butt gripped in Lawrence’s right hand. The fourth body was huddled at the foot of the companionway, having been flung there by the force of Hawkwood’s musket shot.

The air that had once reeked of tar and sweat was now heavy with the scent of black powder, blood and death.

Hawkwood turned to Lawrence. “You hurt?”

“Nothing a stiff drink wouldn’t fix.” Lawrence’s chest heaved as he regained his breath and stared about him. His clothing was dishevelled and there was a graze across his forehead. The pistol hung down by his side. “Christ, we were lucky. What a bloody mess.”

Luck might have had something to do with it, Hawkwood thought, but mostly their survival had been down to his and Lawrence’s military experience and their willingness to seize the initiative when it was presented to them. Stagg’s crew might have had the weapons and the muscle, but they lacked the brains to make full use of them when under threat.

Setting the musket to one side, Hawkwood resumed his search for Stagg’s pistol. He found it on the floor by the table leg. After checking the flint, spring and contents of the pan, he ratcheted the hammer back to half-cock. “There are two left.”

“Means we’ve levelled the odds,” Lawrence muttered. He looked towards the companionway. “I doubt either of them’ll be too eager to play the hero.”

“Maybe not, but the fact remains, they have the advantage. They’re up top and we’re trapped below. There’s only one way out and that’s through the hatch.”

“We can try bargaining. With Stagg and the rest of their crew down, they’re more likely to see reason.”

Hawkwood bent, withdrew the stiletto and wiped it unceremoniously on the dead man’s shirt. “Or we attack,” he said quietly. “Take the fight to them while their wits are still addled. If we wait, all they have to do is keep us pinned down here until we dock. We need to seize this vessel, and the sooner we do that the better.”

While Hawkwood returned the knife to his boot, Lawrence considered the notion. “With one loaded pistol between the two of us?” he asked dubiously.

“They don’t know that. We cut one of them down and that puts us in the majority.”

“Well, I can’t fault your logic, but there’s one other small snag; can you sail this boat?”

“Don’t have to sail her. There’s a rowboat.”