There is nothing worse for a pirate than dying on dry land. Except, maybe, swinging two feet above it.
When their captain is imprisoned, facing the gallows, the men and women of the Lady Lesya's crew will try everything to break him out--even if it...
Kali's left hand trembled despite her firm clutch on the pistol's wooden grip. Her ears were ringing from the detonation and the gunpowder smell was making her sick. Firearms were unworthy, crude weapons. Maybe useful sometimes, but lacking the intimacy of a blade.
She put the unloaded pistol down and, back against the wall, forced herself to slow her breathing. She needed to regain control of her senses, to repel anger. She needed to stay calm, focused. She shouldn't have missed the ghostly clown's head, but she shot too fast, merely reacting instead of becoming one with death.
She cast a glance around the corner and toward the cells. She counted five of them. The four lying on the ground, thinking they were safe in the dust, were part of the crew. But she didn't recognize the trembling, pants-pissing young man still standing. The shag-bags' presence was a major inconvenience, and proof that the whole plan had failed. The captain had been the only man targeted, and he should have been alone here, at her mercy. Now, she would have to kill everyone. As always, death proved herself greedy.
But...
Kali took another quick look around the corridor. Even if the torches emanated only a dim, flickering light, there was no doubt. The cell was open, and empty.
She clenched her jaw, holding back a frustrated scream. She swallowed her rage and fed on it, until death filled her veins once more. She passed the second pistol from her right hand to her left, took a step past the corner, and fired.
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