off the silver surface, the platter empty.
'I am not sure if I understand this, Your Grace. I have an empty dish, I see?' Toombs spoke nervously. The other guests looked at the empty charger and began to lower their wine glasses slowly to the table.
'Oh?' Mendes feigned concern. 'Did I not explain, Captain? That is my manners again, you must forgive me!'
He raised the lid of his own dish, placing it down to reveal two dragoon pistols lying side by side on folded green silk that had silenced their trip to the table.
There was a click as Leandro cocked his pistol, pushing its cold barrel against Toombs's temple before he could move.
'Ah,' was all Toombs said. Quietly.
'That dish, Captain,' Mendes spat, 'is where I will place your pirate head!' His arms snapped forward for the pistols as the pirates scraped back their chairs.
The albino bird, panicked by the sudden lurch, sprang from his shoulder, screeching straight into the candelabra, which rattled to the floor, shivering the table into darkness.
----
Chapter Five
Those who survived would struggle to recall what transpired after the raven sent the candelabra to the floor. It would be remembered only through a series of flashbacks, a cold recollection of frizzen sparks and muzzle flash.
There was still faint light in the room as the serene moon flowed in through the balcony window.
The instant the candles vanished and snapped the table into darkness the first pistol shot and a catlike wail came from Toombs's side. In the same moment, Devlin sent his chair flying backwards and reached across his body to his pistol. He turned instinctively to Alvaro, mirroring the same action, as smoke snaked in the moonlight between them.
And there was the difference.
Alvaro's pistol was a beautiful Spanish work of art with an ornate bulb grip, its dog-head and pan on the right-hand side of the gun.
To avoid the lock digging into his side all day, and catching his clothes as he drew, he placed the pistol in his velvet belt with the lock facing out, and hence also upside down to the left hand now reaching for it. The right hand was naturally for the sword. For most activities during the shooter's day this mattered little; however, at this precise moment a pirate faced him across the room, pulling his left-locked pistol. Surely it was only one more movement? Alvaro simply had to turn his wrist to grip the pistol and then again to cock it as it rose. He had done it dozens of times; it took the speed of thought to execute. But Devlin did not have to do it at all.
Before Devlin's barrel had cleared his frayed leather belt, the flint was locked. Alvaro cocked his weapon at about the same time that a small ball of lead thudded into his chest. He felt ribs crack like twigs within him. He fell back, forever, firing uselessly into the ceiling.
Three flashes so far. Three snaps of light that framed the action for a moment. The acrid smell of powder filled the dark. Devlin became aware of a struggle around the table. Now he held his pistol reversed like a club, and reached for the smaller one tucked behind his back.
Another flash and crack of air. He saw Valentim's snarling face lit for that instant. Someone cried out - a child's voice - then another shot followed from the right of the room.
Devlin crouched and fired low at the air where he had seen Valentim's head, then turned to the growl of Leandro bearing down on him like a bull, wielding a hatchet above his head, howling as he crashed into him.
The pair tumbled backwards to the balcony doors like playful lovers, sending the telescope crashing down. Devlin's dagger flew from his belt, scuffing along the floor. They rolled. The scalloped guard of Devlin's sword jabbed against his ribs.
Burdened by the axe, Leandro let it drop, preferring the power of his hands clasped round Devlin's coughing throat as he snarled through bared glowing teeth.
Devlin let go of the small gun
'I am not sure if I understand this, Your Grace. I have an empty dish, I see?' Toombs spoke nervously. The other guests looked at the empty charger and began to lower their wine glasses slowly to the table.
'Oh?' Mendes feigned concern. 'Did I not explain, Captain? That is my manners again, you must forgive me!'
He raised the lid of his own dish, placing it down to reveal two dragoon pistols lying side by side on folded green silk that had silenced their trip to the table.
There was a click as Leandro cocked his pistol, pushing its cold barrel against Toombs's temple before he could move.
'Ah,' was all Toombs said. Quietly.
'That dish, Captain,' Mendes spat, 'is where I will place your pirate head!' His arms snapped forward for the pistols as the pirates scraped back their chairs.
The albino bird, panicked by the sudden lurch, sprang from his shoulder, screeching straight into the candelabra, which rattled to the floor, shivering the table into darkness.
----
Chapter Five
Those who survived would struggle to recall what transpired after the raven sent the candelabra to the floor. It would be remembered only through a series of flashbacks, a cold recollection of frizzen sparks and muzzle flash.
There was still faint light in the room as the serene moon flowed in through the balcony window.
The instant the candles vanished and snapped the table into darkness the first pistol shot and a catlike wail came from Toombs's side. In the same moment, Devlin sent his chair flying backwards and reached across his body to his pistol. He turned instinctively to Alvaro, mirroring the same action, as smoke snaked in the moonlight between them.
And there was the difference.
Alvaro's pistol was a beautiful Spanish work of art with an ornate bulb grip, its dog-head and pan on the right-hand side of the gun.
To avoid the lock digging into his side all day, and catching his clothes as he drew, he placed the pistol in his velvet belt with the lock facing out, and hence also upside down to the left hand now reaching for it. The right hand was naturally for the sword. For most activities during the shooter's day this mattered little; however, at this precise moment a pirate faced him across the room, pulling his left-locked pistol. Surely it was only one more movement? Alvaro simply had to turn his wrist to grip the pistol and then again to cock it as it rose. He had done it dozens of times; it took the speed of thought to execute. But Devlin did not have to do it at all.
Before Devlin's barrel had cleared his frayed leather belt, the flint was locked. Alvaro cocked his weapon at about the same time that a small ball of lead thudded into his chest. He felt ribs crack like twigs within him. He fell back, forever, firing uselessly into the ceiling.
Three flashes so far. Three snaps of light that framed the action for a moment. The acrid smell of powder filled the dark. Devlin became aware of a struggle around the table. Now he held his pistol reversed like a club, and reached for the smaller one tucked behind his back.
Another flash and crack of air. He saw Valentim's snarling face lit for that instant. Someone cried out - a child's voice - then another shot followed from the right of the room.
Devlin crouched and fired low at the air where he had seen Valentim's head, then turned to the growl of Leandro bearing down on him like a bull, wielding a hatchet above his head, howling as he crashed into him.
The pair tumbled backwards to the balcony doors like playful lovers, sending the telescope crashing down. Devlin's dagger flew from his belt, scuffing along the floor. They rolled. The scalloped guard of Devlin's sword jabbed against his ribs.
Burdened by the axe, Leandro let it drop, preferring the power of his hands clasped round Devlin's coughing throat as he snarled through bared glowing teeth.
Devlin let go of the small gun
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