Cast Off (18 page)

Clockert and I had our shirtsleeves rolled and instruments ready when the first of the wounded arrived. A soldier had fallen on a freshly fired cannon and seared his back.

“It's the
Lusca
,” the solider cried, though I couldn't say whether his tears were from his burn or from fear of the pirates.

“Jochims,” Clockert said grimly, sending the simple case to me so that he could remain free to treat more serious injuries.

He didn't have to wait long. O'Brian arrived on the shoulders of his mates, screaming for his mother. Clockert assessed his arm.

“It'll have to come off,” he said.

I looked up from my patient's blistered skin, which I was coating with honey and soap. “I'll be with you right away, sir.”

From that point on, the wounded arrived in a steady flow. Burns, lacerations, broken bones. Shrieks, groans, pleas. One soldier tripped over his own feet and bit through his tongue. My heart clenched with each new body for fear it would be Bram's or Louis's, but beyond that I hadn't even a moment to take in the horror, which was a small mercy. We sewed and cut and wrapped, and when the wounds were too grievous, we did the best we could to make the men comfortable. Krause was there to carry the wounded in and the dead out, his face wet with tears and snot.

There was a crack and a crash, followed by a torrent of running footsteps. I looked up from a sailor's open belly. “There goes our topgallant mast!” Barometer Piet announced in his loudest hailing voice. A deafening roar of gunfire from the
Lusca
. “She's getting closer! Mark my words, she's making to board us—but not if we board her first!”

De Ridder sent me to take stock of the damage below decks. After checking with the shipwright in the hold, I went up to the quarterdeck to make my report.

“There's seven feet of water in the well but with the pumps fully manned, she's holding. Guns two and nine in the main gun deck is breeched, and eight and eleven in the upper. Five men dead and above a dozen wounded, sir.” I ground my teeth together to keep from chattering.

The rain had stopped, and De Ridder looked over the
Lion
through smoke and mist. Sails flapped like beggars' rags and the deck shined crimson with blood. Van Assendorp shouted orders at the soldiers. A more desperate bunch had never seen battle—they held their muskets like farm hoes.

The two ships was almost hull to hull now. Maybe fifty Luscas was staring us down, and there'd be more below. With their wide trousers and scruffy beards, they looked much as we did. Only hungrier.

They'd board us any minute, and when they did, that'd be the end of us. Happy Jan shoved a sword in my hand.

“What do I do with it, Happy Jan?”

“Whatever you can.”

The
Lusca
's captain stood on his quarterdeck with a belt full of guns slung across his chest. Black hair grew down his forehead and a black beard grew up his cheeks to meet it. Through the space in the middle he
eyed De R
idder, who eyed him right back. Each man asking himself about the other,
What will he do next?
The pirates was willing to die for their prize. You got to want something awful bad to take a chance like that. We Lions had no choice—'twas either fight or get slaughtered. With odds like that, you take any chance you got.

Louis Cheval sat on a table in front of me, chatting amiably while I sewed a shallow splinter wound in his shoulder.

“Ooh! Zat does smart, Al. Maybe just a little more brandy for the pain?”

“Any more brandy and you'll have a whole different sort of pain. Now hold still, Louis, I just want to do two more stitches.”

Louis contemplated his fingernails while I finished my work. A violent explosion rocked the ship and I grabbed the table to steady myself. Clockert just missed stabbing a soldier through the heart instead of cutting off his arm. Our eyes met for a moment, and he let out a long, shaky breath.

“Primum non nocere,”
he whispered. “The physician's oath. First do no harm.
”

“That's it!” shouted Barometer Piet. “Come on, mates, give 'em back as good as we got!”

As if in answer to Piet's request, a gigantic blast burst from our starboard side. “That's the way, boys!” Piet cheered.

Pa'd given over command of his gun to big Kosnik so's we could work with Jaya to patch the hull. The guns glowed red-hot. Most of the crew had stripped off their shirts and was covered in sweat and grime. Majoor had shouted himself hoarse and men was firing as fast as they could at any target they could reach. Giant sea swells sent a lot of the shots wild, some of 'em even missing the
Lusca
altogether.

Lobo and his team got off two shots to the other crew's one: swab, powder, wad, powder,
FIRE! Again!
Lobo's hair had come loose and black snakes whipped round his head. A fresh red burn scored his ribs, and both his hands was wrapped in canvas, but he drove his crew by pushing himself faster and harder than any of 'em.

Pa and me was swapping out a cracked beam when a recoiling gun took out a cove and three of his mates. I was staring at the mess of bodies—tangled arms and legs, crooked necks, blood and more blood—when a twenty-four-pounder smashed through our hull. Splinters sprayed the cabin. Then screams.

Lobo roared. He snatched the swab from his man's hand, reamed out his burning weapon, loaded, and aimed for the pirate gun that had taken down his brothers. Hit his target square on. Chunks of flaming iron spewed out of the
Lusca
's belly. A bitter smell of burning flesh filled the air.

I froze with my hand out, still holding the hammer I'd been about to pass to Pa, trying to make sense of the pile in front of me. The screams faded away. Alls I could hear was my own heavy breathing.

How will Petra tidy
'
em all up?

Another thought tried to come after that one, but I was stuck on the mess and the thought couldn't get through. How could such a thing happen? How would it ever get straight again? I tried to move closer, but the crowd was too much. I got pushed away. I pushed back—I had to get to Pa—but I was pinned to the wall. Through an empty porthole I could see smoke and fire chewing up the
Lusca
and spitting out her crew. When she cracked, bodies, trunks, hammocks, and ditty bags spilled out her broken halves. Lions lowered planks to the Luscas, but not one hand clapped on. The
Lusca
and all her crew was lost forever.