Blaggard's Moon by George Bryan Polivka Page A

drink.”
    â€œLead on.”
    Sharkbit nodded, then glanced at his men, who lowered their weapons as well.
    â€œI’ll be tarred and feathered,” Lye said aloud, but mostly to himself. He was the only one now with pistol raised.
    But as soon as the dark captain turned his back, Damrick swung his pistol butt, a straight right that caught Sharkbit at the base of the skull and crumpled him to the ground. A fraction of a second later, two blinding cracks of fire dropped the two pirates closest to Damrick. Their heads snapped backward and their bodies thudded to the deck. Lye, recovering himself, took one step backward as he aimed and fired. He killed a third pirate before the rail caught the back of his thigh and he tumbled over it, somersaulting backward into the lagoon with a thudding splash.
    Damrick, alone now with his enemies, dropped his two empty pistols and dove for the unconscious body of the pirate captain. He heard hammers click back, saw two flashes from pirate pistols, heard two shots and the ring of a ricochet. He landed on Sharkbit’s back, blasting air from the man’s lungs as he did, and then he rolled him over so that the hooded pirate was on top of him, his closed eyes and blank face aimed upward at the moon. From that position, under the captain, Damrick reached down to his own belt and found a third pistol, pulled it, and aimed at the nearest pirate. As he did, Sharkbit’s limp arm jumped into the air, his palm open. It appeared to be a gesture of command, a signal to halt. It worked as precisely that, freezing the pirates where they stood.
    Wrapping an arm around Sharkbit’s chest, Damrick pinwheeled himself around, clicked the pistol hammer back, aimed the pistol at pirate after pirate, each of the half dozen who now had him surrounded. Seeing that they were for the moment unwilling to fire for fear of hitting their leader, Damrick pushed the pistol’s cold muzzle to the temple of their captain.
    â€œLower your weapons, boys, or I’ll empty his skull of all but lead.”
    â€œYou do that, yer dead right after,” one pointed out.
    â€œThen I’ll die happy.”
    They pondered this, glancing at one another.
    â€œYou don’t think I’d have come aboard like this if I cared one whit whether I lived or died, do you?”
    They pondered some more. It seemed a reasonable line of argument.
    â€œYou want your captain dead, you just keep standing there with your mouths agape and your pistols pointed.”
    One of them lowered his weapon. Then another. Then all of them did.
    â€œI want those pistols on the decks.”
    They dropped them to the floorboards.
    A dripping Lye Mogene grunted up over the rail again, pistol still in hand. “Good,” he said, panting. “You got ’em.”
    â€œPick up their pistols,” Damrick ordered.
    Now with both feet on the deck, Lye waved his gun menacingly. “Don’t try anything!” After he had collected nine pistols from the deck and stuffed them into Damrick’s duffel, Damrick rolled Sharkbit off of him. Lying face down on the deck, the dark captain took a hard breath, writhed a bit, then winced.
    â€œCheck him for weapons,” Damrick ordered, now standing, still pointing his own pistol at Sharkbit. When Lye had checked the captain and had come up empty, Damrick gestured toward the sailors. “Check them, too.”
    â€œAll right, lads, off with yer boots,” Lye ordered them, still waving his own pistol at them.
    The men sat, and those who were wearing shoes or boots removed them. A couple of derringers and three or four knives hit the planking.
    â€œNow your belts,” Damrick commanded, as Lye collected the weapons.
    As the men untied or unbuckled belts, several more pistols and knives fell to the flooring. Lye collected these as well. “Got ’em all,” he reported, holding up the bulging, heavy duffel.
    Now Damrick pulled the last pistol from