Instinctively, sailors around them held on to something and muttered up a hasty prayer to Hass and Njall. The sails billowed, hair was whipped forward, and the brig-sloop bolted forwards like a thoroughbred horse out its gate, the masts groaning but holding well. The next pair of shots landed far behind them now. Sailors jeered and shouted curses at their foe, only half-heartedly chided by Maxten.

The sudden panic on Hiksem was evident in their furtive movements of crew on deck as their trapped prey became a viable threat. Pulling anchor and putting on sail, the merchantman turned about to show their flank, revealing where once had been a patchwork hull the unmistakable voids of a half-dozen gunports.

‘Brace!’ Maxten snapped, instantly understanding.

A ripple of crashing shots enveloped the approaching ship in sound and smoke, forcing sailors to hit the deck where they could. A split second later there was a succession of crumps as five heavy iron balls disintegrated against the barriers, but the sixth passed through as the larboard-quadrant shield collapsed in a rainbow-burst of aggravated magics, snapping the forecastle rail and hitting the carronade furthest forward on that side with an almighty clang of metal on metal.

The gun bent and warped, the quarter gunner and loader were killed instantly in a burst of blood and viscera, and the gun-captain was left screaming on the deck with a missing arm. The ball, a damaging 24lber, ricocheted into the sea. Scops, noticing the breach, adjusted position and spread her barrier across to compensate.

Sparrow looked up and saw with mounting horror the body lay sprawled to forward.

No!

Fighting the urge to run to Peacock’s aid, she gripped her carbine and fixated on the Hiksem. Today would not be the first time she killed someone, but she never usually took pleasure in it.

‘Three-hundred yards and wheel to larboard!’ Ulstea commanded. ‘Fire as presented!’

The ship lurched, presenting her undamaged flank to the enemy when range was achieved. First one, then another, and another of the carronades roared in righteous fury, spitting heavy metal across the distance – point blank by the standards of naval combat – to cross the distance at the speed of sound. The gunners had aimed for body shots, turning the gunports on the enemy ship into a ragged maw like the sparse-toothed mouth of an ageing beggar, the powerful guns wreaking devastation to that deck and creating painful exit wounds on the other flank. There would be no second broadside from Hiksem.

‘Bring us about, prepare to board!’ Ulstea barked. ‘Drop barriers!’

Sailors roared their war cries as the shimmering to fore dissipated, the magi still standing returning to their positions. Seacrow played her part beautifully, swinging round under the influence of the divine winds, turning circle neat and tight, bearing down upon prey that was even now trying and failing to escape.

‘Capture the officers, Lunn have the rest!’ the Commander spat.

Blood pumped hotly in Sparrow’s veins as she roared herself hoarse with the rest of the ship’s company. She crouched, body tense like a coiled spring, as swivel guns cracked out, handguns snapped, and grapnels swung out to pull the two ships together in a deadly embrace. A jarring thump of contact and the two were joined.

‘Board!’ Maxten yelled.

Sparrow screamed a wordless war cry, hot on the heels of Goose, Grouse at her side, and Puffin lost in the press behind her. Without a conscious thought she had one boot on the rail, across the foot of space between the two, and up onto the enemy ship, gripping the opposite rail in one tense moment before hefting herself over. Her leader’s pistols cracked out one-two, Grouse snapped off a shot then ran a man through with her bayonet, bellowing a string of vehement curses as she did so, tearing free to spill thick ropes of intestine.

A target appeared to Sparrow’s left, wild-eyed and swinging a cutlass at Goose. In one fluid motion she raised her carbine and fired, the weapon bucking once, spouting a tongue of smoke, and putting the man down, fitfully scrabbling at the hot bullet in his chest. Slinging the weapon, she drew her hatchet and swung at another sailor who leaped back only to be stabbed under the arm by another Seacrow.

The chaos of melee swirled around her, thickening gunsmoke lending a dreamlike quality, and Sparrow barely registered the report of a pistol above the crash and screams until the shot seared across her arm in a welter of pain and spray of blood. Crying out in agony, she spotted her assailant, a gaunt woman with a tattooed face, rushing to draw a sword.

Sparrow dashed forwards and set on her with a wordless screech, hacking and hacking with her hatchet.

Cloth and skin split in bursts of blood. The woman wailed, falling back and over under the onslaught, but Sparrow – Aina – continued to hack and hack, splitting bones, cracking ribs, and shattering her skull. Red splattered and flowed, the woman fell silent and still, a scene of butchery until Aina was forcibly pulled away. She swung round, weapon raised, to see Grouse kneeling on the deck beside her. Green eyes looked out of a pale face with its own sanguinary marks, deep into hers as the other woman held her head in both hands.

‘It’s Sera,’ she said softly, ‘It’s over, hey?’

With a sob, Aina slumped to the deck, uncaring of the ichor surrounding her, as Sera carefully supported her. Another figure folded down beside them, Jenta staring at the pistol in her hands with wild, unblinking eyes.

‘Hey,’ Aina croaked, getting the girl’s attention. ‘You done good, little bird.’

Jenta nodded and wordlessly, calmly, stood and moved to the rail to vomit loudly and heartily.

Aina shuddered as the adrenaline surge subsided, and Sera tenderly kissed her on the side of the head.

Ye gods, my arm hurts, was all she could bring herself to think.