It was now almost palpable, that expectation of attack.

Stepping onto the schooner’s deck, he paused to look back at the town. They hadn’t sighted a single cultist. That didn’t mean they hadn’t been there.

What troubled him more was that his instincts were pricking-not just a little, a lot.

The same instincts had kept him alive through a long career of often unpredictable fighting; he wasn’t about to discount them now. But according to Ayabad, their next stop would be Suez. Once they were away from here, they would have several days of yet more tension to prepare them for whatever welcome the Black Cobra had waiting for them there.

With an inward grimace, he turned and went to join the others in the stern.


Emily remained on deck with the others, watching Suakin Island slide away in their wake. The tide carried them swiftly down the channel linking the bay to the Red Sea proper. With the mouth of the channel in sight, and the wider waters of the Red Sea stretching beyond, she quit the railings and went below.

In the tiny cabin she had to herself, she sat on the edge of the bed built out from the curving outer wall, and pulled her leather-covered diary from her bag. Opening the clasp, she caught the small pencil before it could roll away. She spent a moment reading her last entry, then turned the page and smoothed it down. Pencil clutched in her fingers, she stared across the room, marshaling her thoughts, her impressions of the day.

With a sigh, she looked down and set pencil to paper.

“Hola!”

She looked up at the cry from somewhere on deck.

For one second all was still, then shouts and curses broke out-a rapidly escalating racket punctuated by the pounding of many feet.

Her diary went flying as she dashed to the door. As she hauled it open, the noise she dreaded hearing-the metallic clang and clashing slide of blades-joined the din.

Looking down the corridor, she saw Mullins disappearing up the stair, Watson behind him. Arnia and Dorcas stood at the bottom of the stairway, looking up. As Emily joined them, Arnia muttered something, then thrust a cooking knife into Dorcas’s hand. “Stupid to stay trapped down here when us being up there might tip the balance.”

With another, wicked-looking cook’s knife in her hand, Arnia climbed quickly up.

Dorcas glanced at Emily. “You’d better stay here.” With that, Dorcas went up the ladder.

An instant later, Emily stood looking up the steep stairway at blue sky-intermittently broken by a passing body.

She couldn’t tell anything from the shouts, grunts, and the thudding of feet. Couldn’t tell how many they were battling, or who was winning.

Dorcas was right-she had no weapon, so she couldn’t help. But…

She crept up the stairs. Standing one rung down, she peered out. All she could see was a shifting mass of bodies filling the stern. Taking the last step, clearing the companionway housing, she looked back along the schooner-everywhere she looked was the same.

Then she saw the ship that had slipped in close alongside. There were cultists on board. Every time the swell pushed the vessels close more jumped across onto the schooner’s deck.

Snapping her gaze back to the action around her, she realized Arnia was right-they would need every hand fighting to win this time.

Her assessment had taken less than a minute. Expecting to be noticed by some cultist at any second, she frantically looked around for something to use…and saw the trusty pail she’d wielded before. Avoiding a wrestling pair, she inched around, stretched out, and snagged the pail-just as a cultist focused on her.

Thin lips stretched in a vicious grin. Uttering a horrible yell, he flung himself through the melee at her.

She just had time to draw the pail back, then swing it forward-upward this time. It caught the cultist under the chin and lifted him off his feet, throwing him onto the backs of two other cultists. The three collapsed in a writhing heap. The sailors who’d been fighting the other two leapt on top.

Emily left them to it as she swung the other way-swung the pail again.

She knocked out another cultist, but…“Oh, no!”

Her fingers slid off the pail’s handle and it went flying into the melee.

She had to find something else. She’d rounded the stern housing. As she shrank back against the side, her heels stubbed against something. Looking down, she saw a long wooden pole.

Ducking down, she grabbed it and pulled it to her.

And discovered the pole was for dragging in sails-it had a wicked-looking brass hook on one end.

She rose with the pole held between her hands, as she’d seen her brothers do when they fought with staffs. The hook was heavy and weighed down that end. She juggled, found the balance-just as a cultist stepped away from a knot of shifting bodies and, grinning, came at her.

She stood her ground and flicked the hook end up. It caught the cultist in the throat and he halted, gurgling, then went down.

She felled two more, but of course they didn’t stay down, but then Bister popped up out of the melee and used his short sword to ensure they did.

Emily seized the moment to take in what was happening around them. The sailors were holding the rest of the ship, while their party were fighting mostly in the stern. Bodies-all cultists as far as she saw-were piling up. The throng was thinning, but four cultists still had Gareth and Mooktu backed against the stern railing. Jaw setting, she hefted her pole.

“No-wait!” Bister frantically signaled her to give him one end. “Like this.”

He crouched, held the pole low, waved with his other hand.

Emily saw what he meant. Holding her end, she crouched, too, and she and Bister swept in behind the four cultists.

The pole took them across the backs of their knees. With yells and flailing arms, they tumbled back-and Gareth and Mooktu sprang forward and finished them.

Emily was now behind Gareth, pressed up against the rails, with Bister in a similar position on the other side. Mooktu had seized the moment to leap forward and, sword slashing, win through to Arnia and Dorcas, who’d been fighting with Watson, Mullins, and Jimmy off to the side.

And still the cultists came on, hurling themselves forward, but the ranks behind were lessening. Further down the schooner, Emily glimpsed Captain Ayabad, sword swinging, a feral grin on his face, his massive Nubian first mate wielding a scimitar beside him.

The clang of swords at close quarters snapped her attention back to Gareth and Bister, who were furiously defending against another three cultists. Hauling her pole back up, she angled behind Gareth, picked her moment-and jabbed the nearest cultist in the throat.

He recoiled, and Gareth stepped forward to deal with him, allowing Emily to slip past behind him and engage one of the two cultists Bister now faced.

Her intervention allowed Bister to gain the upper hand, then Gareth joined in…and suddenly they were free.

But there were still writhing knots of men covering most of the deck.

Emily drew in a huge breath, looked to the side-then grabbed Gareth’s sleeve. “Look!”

She pointed to the cultists’ ship. It had drifted sufficiently so the gap between the vessels was just too great for men to leap across. On the other ship’s deck, a few dozen cultists yelled and shook their swords in their impatience to get aboard the schooner and fight, their attention locked on a number of their fellows, who were attempting to fling grappling hooks over the schooner’s rails.

Gareth swore, jammed his sword into his waistband, and grabbed Emily’s pole. “Come on.”

He leapt over bodies to the side railings. Leaving Bister, who had followed, to cut the ropes to the grapples that had successfully lodged over the schooner’s rails, Gareth half straddled the rails, set the end of the pole below the deck line of the cultists’ smaller vessel, and pushed.

Using all his weight, he managed to keep the smaller ship from getting any closer, but…“Mooktu! To me!”

A minute later, Mooktu appeared, looked, saw, then vanished.

A minute after that, he reappeared with a similar long pole, and set it to the other boat closer to the bow. And pushed, too.

Bister went to help Mooktu.

Emily grabbed Gareth as he nearly overbalanced. Sinking her hands in his robes, leaning back, she anchored him in place.

The cultists were all screaming, trying to find poles to knock theirs aside and pull the ships closer.

Gareth snapped a look over his shoulder. “Mullins! Jimmy!”

The pair had just fought free of their assailants.

“Get more sail on-quickly!”

Jimmy leapt up onto the stern housing. Mullins clambered up behind him. Together they managed to unfurl a small midship sail, then they hauled and tugged-and the topsail unfurled.

For one instant, the sails billowed, then they filled, grew taut.

The schooner leaned, then leapt forward.

The cultists on the smaller ship screamed in fury, then raced to let their own sails down. But the schooner was bigger and carried much more sail. As the smaller ship fell behind, Gareth turned his attention to the cultists left on board.

But seeing they were now on their own and couldn’t win, this time the cultists remaining dived overboard. Within minutes, all the fighting was over.

Captain Ayabad gave orders for more sail to be set. They’d come out of the narrow channel from Suakin on only the jib, which was how the other craft had been able to slide so close so easily.

Eventually Ayabad made his way to the stern, where Gareth and the others were all slumped, catching their breaths after disposing of all the bodies overboard.

Ayabad nodded to Gareth, bowed to Emily. “My apologies. I should have been more aware, but I did not think these vermin would attempt to board like that.”