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"Let the record show, Mr. Nourse," said the captain, "that on Tuesday the twenty-sixth of June, 1718, we pulled from the sea the pirate captain Philip Davies, who had fallen overboard from the hijacked ship Vociferous Carmichael as a result of having been shot in the back by one of his confederates."
"Just the shoulder," Davies remarked to Shandy. "I think it was that fat boy, Friend."
"Why would Friend shoot you?" asked Shandy in surprise.
"The Jenny," said Davies, some strain beginning to rasp his voice, "was escorting the Carmichael only to ... draw fire ... occupy any hostiles so that the Carmichael would be able to carry on unimpeded. Hodge knew that. But I thought that if the Carmichael came around again and belted these Navy bastards one more time, we could all get away. Friend was mad as hell even when I cut in the first time to give the Jenny a few extra moments to run, and I guess he disagreed ... strongly ... with the idea of going back again. It's true I'd have been disobeying orders ... and so just when I started to speak the command, I was shot right off the port ratlines." He started to laugh, but winced and had to make do with a jerky grin. "And I had Mate Care-For holding my hand! I expect ... the ball would have split my spine, else." Sweat slicked his pain-lined face.
Shandy shook his head unhappily.
"Such is honor among thieves," said the captain. "Philip Davies, you will be conveyed to Kingston to stand trial for a considerable number of offenses, perhaps the most recent of which is the murder of Arthur Chaworth, the rightful captain of the Vociferous Carmichael." The captain cleared his throat. "Do you wish to make any statement?"
Davies was hunched forward, and he looked up at the captain with a skull-like grin. "Wilson, isn't it?" he said hoarsely. "Sam Wilson, right? I recognize you. What, now? A statement? Like for in court?" He squinted speculatively at the captain. "No, thank you, Sam. But tell me ... " He seemed to brace himself, then spoke quickly, "Is it by any chance true what Panda Beecher once told me about you?"
Captain Wilson's mouth pinched whitely shut, he glanced rapidly at the other officers in the room, and then in almost a single motion he got to his feet, drew his pistol, cocked it and raised it. Shandy had leaped to his feet in the same instant and lunged across the table to knock the gun out of line just as the captain pulled the trigger.
The loud bang set Shandy's abused ears ringing, but he heard the captain shout, "God damn you, Chandagnac, I could have you arrested for that! Nourse, give me your pistol!"
Shandy darted a glance at Davies, who seemed tense but not uncheerful, then at Nourse. The young midshipman was shaking his head in horror.
"It's murder if you just shoot him, Captain," Nourse protested shrilly. "He has to stand trial! If we - "
Captain Wilson swore furiously and, as Nourse and Shandy both shouted at him to stop, he leaned across the table, snatched the pistol from the belt of one of Davies' guards, then stepped back out of everyone's reach and raised the pistol -
- Davies was smiling derisively at him -
- And, dizzy with fear even as he did it, Shandy reached down, drew Nourse's pistol and fired it at the captain.
The two explosions were almost simultaneous, but while Captain Wilson's shot missed Davies and tore a hole in the arm of the officer at Davies' right, Shandy's shot punched straight through Captain Wilson's throat and sent the man's spouting body rebounding from the far bulkhead to tumble noisily to the deck.
The ringing in Shandy's ears seemed to be outside him, the sound of a second stretched out twanging taut. He turned his head, with difficulty in the tension-thickened air, and saw raw astonishment on the faces of the other four men in the room. By far the most astonished was Davies.
"Leaping Jesus, boy," he cried, consternation having replaced his cheer, "do you know what you've done?"
"Saved your life - I guess," gasped Shandy. He didn't seem to be able to take a deep breath. "How do we get out of here?"
The arm-shot officer had pushed his chair back and was trying to reach his pistol with his good hand. Shandy stepped forward and almost absent-mindedly struck him just above the ear with the gun he'd used to kill the captain; and as the man slumped sideways, half off of his chair, Shandy dropped his own spent pistol and quickly took the unfired one from the man's belt, and then with his other hand drew his sword, too. Straightening as the man rolled off the chair and thudded and clopped to the deck, Shandy crossed to the door and with two free fingers of his sword-gripping hand he slid the bolt into the locked position.
"You two," Shandy said to Nourse and the officer whose pistol Captain Wilson had taken, "lay your swords on the table and stand by the stern bulkhead. Davies, get up and turn around."
Davies did, though the effort narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth. Keeping the pistol aimed at the two officers, Shandy worked the saber's point in under one loop of Davies' bindings, and thrust. Davies staggered, but the sawing edge cut the rope, and Davies shook free of it just as someone began pounding on the door.
"Is all well, Captain?" someone outside shouted. "Who's been shot?"
Shandy looked at Nourse over the pistol's muzzle. "Tell 'em ... tell 'em Davies knocked the captain unconscious, and then was slain by your officers," he said softly. "Tell him to fetch the ship's surgeon."
Nourse repeated the message loudly, the quaver in his voice lending a nice touch of sincerity.
Davies held up a hand. "And the captured pirates," he whispered, "should be moved away - forward, up by the forecastle."
Nourse relayed this order too, and the man outside acknowledged it and hurried away.
"Now," Shandy repeated desperately, "how do we get out of here?" He glanced out the window at the sea, tempted simply to vault out and swim. The poor old Jenny seemed hopelessly far away.
Some color had come back to Davies' lean face, and he was grinning again. "Why the surgeon?"
Shandy shrugged. "Wouldn't it have sounded implausible otherwise?"
"Might have, at that." He ran his good hand through his damp gray hair. "Well! Unless the Navy's changed since my day, the powder magazine is two or three decks directly below us." He turned to Nourse. "Is that right?"
