[i]Caulk?[/i] 

Wax for their ears? Even if Antonia knew of such a supply aboard the [i]Skate[/i], the ship was moving [i]far[/i] too swiftly into the ravenous siren swarm for her to reach every last crew member and - 

Antonia blinked, slack-jawed when she followed Nicolette's trail to... The helmsman... No. [i]Hell[/i] no. If anyone thought she'd follow the First Mate's lead with the entire crew? Well they'd damn well be devoured alive by sirens before [i]that[/i] ever happened! The rogue growled with frustration as she whirled about, to see if even one of the crew had managed to finish the task she'd tried to cuff them into, to ready the iron...

Words simply did not exist, to describe the relief that buoyed her heart to the star-studded heavens above when Thomas' fingers wrapped firmly around her wrist. He was bloodied, obviously in pain - [i]but at least he was himself again.[/i] And when he called her to the bow cannon, Antonia did not need a word of explanation as she followed his lead without hesitation, sprinting to the forecastle. 

[i]One shot.[/i] Thomas said they would have only one shot, a single desperate prayer that just might save them all. The rogue watched her captain intently as he loaded the cannon and then sighted it, Antonia taking up the touch rod. She held her breath for only seconds - no matter they seemed a small eternity - until she heard his command. Without a moment's hesitation she set the wick alight, stepping back with her hands over her ears as the cannon let loose with a deafening report.

Captain Lightfoot's aim was as true as it was fatal. The cannonball struck the dying, flaming ship at exactly the point where timber met the waterline. The first strike saw pale, slimy flesh closest to the corpse of the [i]Crimson Feather[/i] pulped and spattered over the waves like a fountain of chum, even as a blast of fiery wood and metal shrapnel sprayed over the waters in a deadly shower of annihilation. Shrill, nerve-jangling shrieks wafted to the deck of the [i]Skate[/i] as the knotted, writhing mass of sirens seemed undone, disentangling and sliding below the waves.

Almost immediately, the buzzing, miserable din that assaulted her bloodied ears ceased, and Antonia nearly staggered to her knees with the sudden release, falling into the [i]Skate's[/i] railing where she steadied herself with both hands. Antonia turned to look up to Thomas, those grey eyes hiding nothing at all of the bone deep, aching weariness as she wiped away the rivulet of blood coursing from her nose with the back of her sleeve. 

Behind them, the rogue heard the faintest stirrings, curses from the crew, incredulous whispers and soft exclamations of surprise. The rogue smiled at Thomas, a slow tired grin that barely upturned the corners of her lips before her gaze was pulled back over the waters, toward the [i]Crimson Feather...[/i]

Antonia gasped, her mouth fallen open in horror.

Wicked spiny fins broke the waters and broke back down beneath the fire-painted blackness once more; sinewy, serpentine bodies glistening in the moonlight as they glided through the waves at a breathtaking speed, directly at the [i]Skate[/i]'s prow.