Dewey Lambdin - A Jester’s Fortune

"Run!" Lewrie cried, dropping the empty pistol and grasping Mrs. Connor by the hand in the short moment of grace that partial broadside had bought them. He made it to Kolodzcy and clubbed down one of the guards from behind, freeing the Austrian to pick up a sword and that man's pair of pistols. A moment more and they were with Spendlove, who was hewing about with a cutlass, keeping two at bay. A quick shot and one was down with a bullet in his kidneys, and their swords were clashing. Spendlove, freed, turned his attention to the other and began the cutlass drill… left foot stamp and down-left slash, right foot stamp and back-slash right, balance step and recover. He beat the Serbian's scimitar aside and round-housed a back-slash that laid the man open.

"The hut!" Lewrie shouted, stooping to retrieve a Turk-style sword.

"Out of the line of fire… go!"

BOOMM! BOOMM! BOOMM! This time, aimed lower, and men who had leaped back to their feet were swept away in a howling, shrieking horror. Not just pirates, unfortunately, but some of their victims as well, who'd been dashing about witless. Mlavic had dropped once more to his belly, barely ten paces behind. He was up in a flash, bellowing orders and trying to muster his chaotic, half-drunk men into a fighting force. They came from the woods or huts where they'd been sporting, down from the stockade, running for stands of muskets, then drew swords and began to form a rough protective line above the beach.

This kept Mlavic too busy to deal with Lewrie, for a moment. They dashed for the hut, Alan dragging the woman almost off her feet in his haste, now they had another shot-bought moment of grace. A pistol lit off and Lewrie turned to see another pirate spin about and drop, just by the hut's side. Kolodzcy growled something in German and cocked his other pistol. And there went the little fifteen-year-old girl Mlavic had his eye on at first, stark-naked and screaming up the hill for the prison.

Howse leaped to his feet, almost under Lewrie's, to run whining ahead of them, still weaponless. Spendlove had armed himself with two more pistols by then, and shoved one at Howse, who took it in passing, still intent on some dubious safety. "Can't find more pistols, sir," Spendlove confessed as Lewrie reached him.

"Three shots, then," Lewrie noted, looking to the beach for a sign of a landing-party. Could they hide somewhere? But where would be safe? And where the hell was Knolles? Surely…!

"Four… I reload dhese," Kolodzcy panted. "Ged our swords, I beg you, sir. Gif me your pistol. Herr Spentluff unt I, ve vill hold dhem off."

Lewrie ducked into the hut, tearing away the flimsy sailcloth door, and scrounged about for weapons, leaving Mrs. Connor and her boy shivering outside, the boy crying incessantly. He found his sword and Mr. Spendlove's prided dirk, the elegantly ornate small-sword Kolodzcy wore. But no more firearms.

"Down to the beach, ma'am," he urged as he came out. "Take the boy and go, now, while there's time. Our landing-party-"

"If the pirates are between here and there…?" she whinnied in a breathless pant, half out of her wits with terror, but fighting hard to master herself. "We all should go?"

"Might as well, we've ruined supper!" Lewrie cracked, happy to have his hanger once more in his hand. He looked at her, and was most surprised to see her smiling! She still shivered with fright, but she was smiling, tittering on the verge of semi-hysterical humour, like a doomed man who'd rather not weep, thankee.

And noticed for the first time, by the amber light of Mlavic s camp-fire, what a stunningly handsome woman she was! So exotically high-cheeked, with a squarish jaw that tapered to a pert chin and a wide, full-lipped mouth. Large amber eyes aslant like almonds, heavy-lashed and browed…! Her classically sculpted little nose…!

Damme! he goggled. Splendid poonts, tool 'Bout t'be knackered or no, and I'm gone calf-eyed over-

"Whatever shall we do now, sir?" Mr. Howse interrupted, coming from God knew where, which apparently he hadn't deemed completely safe. Lewrie had the thought he could hear that worthy's teeth knocking together. But the man had a pistoll

"Mr. Howse, make yourself useful. See Mrs. Connor and the lad down toward the beach. Take that harem pig-sticker yonder and gimme your pistol." Howse stooped for a massive chopper of a blade, handed the pistol to Lewrie-who winced as the fool offered it half-cocked and barrel-first, with a hellish-shaky finger still on the trigger!

, Thank God for small miracles, Alan thought wildly; my own side hasn't gut-shot me! Yet, he amended.

"We'll be close behind you, fending 'em off. Now go, sir!" He turned to face the pirate camp, which was sorting itself out at last, with Mlavic the loudest and fiercest, about thirty yards off. And felt a light tap on the back of his coat collar. He turned…

"Patrick always said…"-she shuddered, looking achingly lovely for someone who could still get chopped-"Have a 'touch for luck.' Touch a sailors collar. Thank you!" She smiled once more.

"Hope it works, Mistress Connor… for somebody." He grinned. Then she was gone, gathering up her half-stunned and wailing child, to join Mr. Howse by some low bushes further down the slope to the beach.

"Achtung, eine Angriff kommen!" Kolodzcy warned. "Mlavic!"

With most of his men sorted out, Mlavic had turned his attention to them again, him and a dozen others, coming at the trot.

"Captain, I kill you!" Mlavic howled. "Kill you slow!"

"Carefully… aimed fire," Lewrie ordered, leveling his first pistol at full-cock, waiting 'til they got within ten paces. Furious for blood or not, the pirates shied a bit, none of them wishing to be in the lead, with Mlavic howling and driving them on.

BANGG! The harsher, chuffing bark of a 2-pounder boat-gun down near the beach, spewing canister in an expanding cloud of lead pellets. BANGG! came a second, slashing at the centre of the pirates' camp and flinging men off their feet. The landing-party was within yards of the shore, Alan most gratefully realized, the small guns mounted in the bows of their boats! Those shots raised a wailing from the wounded, behind and to Mlavic's rear, and froze his men for a second to peer or check their progress, wondering what new deviltry was coming.

Lewrie took aim and fired, and one pirate dropped his weapons to grab at his shattered thigh, but Lewrie had been aiming at his chest! He tossed that one away, brought up his last. Spendlove fired but missed, then Kolodzcy lit off his first, taking one man in the throat and throwing his blood-spouting body back into another.

But then they were dashing forward again, and Lewrie fired that last pistol as Kolodzcy did his. One went whirling down, with a wound in his shoulder, Lewrie's target screamed rabbity as he was plumbed in his stomach; Lewrie had been aiming for his upper chest!

So much for Arabee pistols, Alan thought, tossing away his last pistol and drawing his hanger. The odds were better, though, he told himself grimly; four down-that's eight-to-three.

Lewrie took stance, hanger held low before his middle at Tierce, and it took an unthinking second to go from Third into a box-defence, then riposte, and sweep his keen Gill's across his first opponent, to rip his belly open! There was a shrill scream from his right, as one more pirate came lurching backwards, pedaling to stay upright, clutching his skewered stomach to plop and thrash. Then it was Mlavic before him, stepping over that mortally wounded man and snarling defiance!

At low Third again, the first engagement ringing, Mlavic beginning with a slash down from high-right, easily parried, turned over by a flying cut-over, then a lunge low, and Mlavic was backpedaling, too, suddenly wary. He came on as Lewrie stamped forward a foot or two, with a back-slash from his left, again easily parried. Mottled Damascus met British Gill's, sparks flying from edge-to-edge, and that curving blade singing as it carved the air!