Read Online Blackjack Wayward (The Blackjack Series) by Ben Bequer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ben Bequer
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closer, helping me get my feet under me and flashing a playful grin, and for a moment there was something so familiar about her. Beneath all the orcish features, heavy armor, and the weightlifter’s bravado, there was a face that I knew, but couldn’t identify. She shoved me back with surprising strength once I had steadied myself.
“Perhaps,” she said coyly, returning to her gun and barking orders at her men to finish reloading, and turning her back to me.
I shot a glance at Skeetrix, who knelt next to me. He laughed, finishing his adjustments to the gun and standing beside me and threw a brawny, furred arm around my shoulder, his laughter growing, “You may be able to defeat a thousand adversaries, unarmed, but that, my friend,” he motioned to Darmelia, who was just out of earshot, “is something I doubt you can handle.”
Soon we were swathed in a cloud of gun smoke, the stench of sulfur and saltpeter that made your eyes tear and left a salty taste that no amount of water could wash away. The Captain kept our ship to the rear of the Vershani vessel and fired broadside after broadside into her stern.
The situation aboard the enemy ship deteriorated in just a few minutes as each shattering shell wracked her. Top decks became a hellfire of flaming fallen masts and sails, spattered with blood and remains of the dead. What few live crewmen were visible fought the storm of fire that had spread across her rear.
“See?” Darmelia motioned to the enemy ship. “Not too hard for you now?”
It looked like our task would be far easier than any of us could imagine, for little could live now on that ship. The pounding of our guns had beaten the fight out of the enemy ship, and I doubted there would be any resistance among the survivors.
The guns rumbled below as another broadside slammed into the stricken Vershani ship. The Lady’s Nightmare lurched in the opposite direction and I shot a glance back to the aft castle, where Captain Nicatrix was peering through her spyglass at our target while listening to a conversation between the quartermaster Mr. Picklett, the pilot Dal’naeth, and Zann. She nodded once and snapped her spyglass shut, and Mr. Picklett came down the main deck, shouting below, “Stow the guns, batten the portholes, and come top side. Secure the bowsprit and ready for a rear boarding action, boys!”
The crew cheered, like a Stones crowd at Wembley Stadium, and then doubled their efforts. I could hear the rolling of the guns as the crews brought them back inside the ship and hammered their wheels in place. Outside, the portholes banged closed, and above, the rigging men came forward to remove the two triangular sails that jutted forward along the bowsprit, a mast that spurred ahead of the ship. Two of the men that scrambled along the rigging were massive creatures, and one I recognized as a pigrilla creature, though smaller than the ones I had faced against when I fought the Mist Army. The other was ape-like, white-furred, and huge, wearing heavy armor that did little to hamper his lithe movement along the ropes.
“Get a move on, Morloki,” Skeetrix roared at the bigger of the two; without stopping his agile ambling across the rigging, Morloki growled, “Go fuck yourself, furball.”
The half-dozen crewmen made short work of the sails, but the gun captain beside me continued to harass them every step of the way.
“Gonna drop a fucking yard arm on one of your balls,” yelled the big white simian, waving a twenty foot sail spar with intimidating ease.
“Quit screwing around and do your job, white monkey,” Skeetrix replied, drawing laughter from his crew.
“You all laugh?” the ape yelled, now hanging upside down absentmindedly, removing a tie to the last yard arm. “I’ll come down there and eat your soft insides! You too, Darmelia. I’ll fuck you by your entrails!”
But despite his threatening tone and thunderous voice, Skeetrix and his crew were wracked with laughter, helped in
“Perhaps,” she said coyly, returning to her gun and barking orders at her men to finish reloading, and turning her back to me.
I shot a glance at Skeetrix, who knelt next to me. He laughed, finishing his adjustments to the gun and standing beside me and threw a brawny, furred arm around my shoulder, his laughter growing, “You may be able to defeat a thousand adversaries, unarmed, but that, my friend,” he motioned to Darmelia, who was just out of earshot, “is something I doubt you can handle.”
Soon we were swathed in a cloud of gun smoke, the stench of sulfur and saltpeter that made your eyes tear and left a salty taste that no amount of water could wash away. The Captain kept our ship to the rear of the Vershani vessel and fired broadside after broadside into her stern.
The situation aboard the enemy ship deteriorated in just a few minutes as each shattering shell wracked her. Top decks became a hellfire of flaming fallen masts and sails, spattered with blood and remains of the dead. What few live crewmen were visible fought the storm of fire that had spread across her rear.
“See?” Darmelia motioned to the enemy ship. “Not too hard for you now?”
It looked like our task would be far easier than any of us could imagine, for little could live now on that ship. The pounding of our guns had beaten the fight out of the enemy ship, and I doubted there would be any resistance among the survivors.
The guns rumbled below as another broadside slammed into the stricken Vershani ship. The Lady’s Nightmare lurched in the opposite direction and I shot a glance back to the aft castle, where Captain Nicatrix was peering through her spyglass at our target while listening to a conversation between the quartermaster Mr. Picklett, the pilot Dal’naeth, and Zann. She nodded once and snapped her spyglass shut, and Mr. Picklett came down the main deck, shouting below, “Stow the guns, batten the portholes, and come top side. Secure the bowsprit and ready for a rear boarding action, boys!”
The crew cheered, like a Stones crowd at Wembley Stadium, and then doubled their efforts. I could hear the rolling of the guns as the crews brought them back inside the ship and hammered their wheels in place. Outside, the portholes banged closed, and above, the rigging men came forward to remove the two triangular sails that jutted forward along the bowsprit, a mast that spurred ahead of the ship. Two of the men that scrambled along the rigging were massive creatures, and one I recognized as a pigrilla creature, though smaller than the ones I had faced against when I fought the Mist Army. The other was ape-like, white-furred, and huge, wearing heavy armor that did little to hamper his lithe movement along the ropes.
“Get a move on, Morloki,” Skeetrix roared at the bigger of the two; without stopping his agile ambling across the rigging, Morloki growled, “Go fuck yourself, furball.”
The half-dozen crewmen made short work of the sails, but the gun captain beside me continued to harass them every step of the way.
“Gonna drop a fucking yard arm on one of your balls,” yelled the big white simian, waving a twenty foot sail spar with intimidating ease.
“Quit screwing around and do your job, white monkey,” Skeetrix replied, drawing laughter from his crew.
“You all laugh?” the ape yelled, now hanging upside down absentmindedly, removing a tie to the last yard arm. “I’ll come down there and eat your soft insides! You too, Darmelia. I’ll fuck you by your entrails!”
But despite his threatening tone and thunderous voice, Skeetrix and his crew were wracked with laughter, helped in
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