It was funny how you never regretted having a sword even when you didn’t need it. The thought floated lazily through a detached part of Inez mind as she watched the sailor level the crossbow. Things seemed to move very slowly. The door banged against its stop and began to swing back to. Alrik’s eyes widened with shock. The crewman’s face blanched with panic at finding two targets instead of one. The sound of a gull cawed through the gallery window. The twitch of muscle preparatory to the trigger pull. The slow decent of Alrik’s glass, dropped in shock, the last few drops of liquor sloshing inside. Sunlight glinted off the razor sharp barb of the quarrel. People though to Inez as brave, but she felt her bowels tighten with fear. She was always afraid in battle, the trick, her father had taught her when she tearfully confessed to feeling afraid, was to channel it into action. Adrenaline surged through her veins like fire. Inez had once been called The Hellcat, and she lived up to that sobriquet now. Without any conscious thought her booted foot lashed out, kicking Alrik’s legs from under him. The tradefarer gave an undignified squawk and crashed to the deck, the bolt passing close enough to pluck a puff of stuffing from his coat. Inez’s heart was pounding now, the familiar clarity settling over her like a comfortable pair of boots. The assassin should have shot her and taken his chances at finishing Alrik off with the heavy knife that hung at his belt. Well he wouldn’t get a second chance if she had anything to say about it. All this had passed in a frozen half instant, the illusion broken as the bolt thudded into the bulkhead on the far side of the room, splitting the timber with a crack. Time seemed to leap back to full speed and Inez was ready for it, hurtling across the room at the would be assassin. The sailor, his face a mask of chagrin, took a staggering step back and overbalanced. He grabbed for the door and succeeded only in throwing it half closed into Inez’ path. She struck the door awkwardly, pain flaring in her side, distant and academic, to be worried about later once her blood had cooled. Ricocheting back, she caught herself against the desk and sprang forward again, catching the door and throwing it open. The sailor was on his feet now, mostly so at any rate, lurching down the hallway in a staggering shamble. Inez was through the door, her foot kicking out at the discarded crossbow, sending it spinning after its owner like a missile. It hit him below the knees, knocking him sprawling onto the companionway that led up to the main deck. Inez lunged after him, springing onto his back, fingernails digging at his neck for want of any other weapon. She didn’t even have a knife for the Black Lady’s sake! The sailor screamed and bucked, trying to throw Inez off. She scratched at his face and bit down hard on his ear, tasting the oils from his hair and the products of his poor hygiene. The sailor roared in agony and spun hard, driving her powerfully into the bulkhead with teeth rattling force. Howling in pain he thrust her away and she lost her grip. He turned to run, making it up two stairs before Inez’ lunge caught his ankles and tangled them. He tumbled forward into the door hitting it with a crash and flinging it open to the bright sunlight. Inez was after him, on her hands and knees for a step and then on her feet. She burst out onto the deck, taking in the shocked faces of a dozen sailors, frozen in their duties like an oil painting as their fellow, bleeding from the ear and screaming, staggered onto the deck, pursued by a wild eyed woman they had seen only moments ago with their master. One particularly full witted boy was in the middle of tarring a line, gaped open mouthed, oblivious to the hot tar he was dripping onto his bare foot.

“Help me for the God’s sake!” the sailors screamed, but his fellows were too shocked and confused to do any such thing. He ran across the deck, sure footed, leaping over a low hanging line, weaving between the nest of ropes and cables with the ease of long practice. Home ground advantage or not there was no way he was going to outrun her. The same thought evidently occurred to him because, with a desperate yell, he finally pulled the knife from his belt and whirled to face her, eight inches of steel gleaming in his fist, eyes so wide that the white went all the way around.

 

“Never a bloody sword when I need one,” she groused to herself, noticing for the first time the taste of blood on her lips. “Never a bloody…” He came at her with an awkward lunge, his entire weight on his front foot. Doubtless he had been in a few tavern brawls, but he was no knife fighter. There were bravas in the south who made it an art, Carmen Sanchez wouldn’t have been caught dead making a lunge like that, not in a thousand Black Days. Inez twisted sideways and caught the sailors wrist twisting hard. He clubbed at her with his other hand, but he was overbalanced and the blow merely bounced off her shoulder. She drove her elbow back into the pit of his stomach, turning her body into it as she had been taught. Breath exploded from his lungs and he staggered backwards, mewling like a beast. Inez turned and opened her mouth to call for him to surrender. Before the words could come, a foot of bloody steel burst from the would be assassin's chest. He stared down at it in obvious shock for a moment, blood welling up around the blade and pouring down his shirt to spatter the immaculate deck below. He lifted a hand as though to touch the blade, stiffened, and slumped sideways, head lolling, a gout of blood erupting from his lips. Inez stared in shock as the captain she had met earlier shoved the body forward, sliding it off his crusader hilted blade like offal.

 

“Are you hurt milady?” he asked, stooping to wipe the blade clean on the dead man’s shirt.