The fight had not ended when Macha pulled Ivy upright. Yet the simple act of reaching her, of seeing her alive and close, had brought an end to the chaos. It was a wrong feeling: a mistake, but his heart believed it so.

  Around them the room remained a knot of bodies. No longer the single mass of clashing men it had been a moment ago, but a broken sea of fallen shapes with few others still struggling to move across the mess. The fight had thinned, but it was still deadly and vicious.

  Men still grunted. Still stabbed. Amongst all of it, Macha had relaxed. Eyes fixed on Ivy and nothing else. Oblivious, he had watched her bend toward the floor, searching among the dead. He had seen her rise fast, a small knife in her hand, and thrust close to his shoulder.

  A blur motioned in the corner of his eye. He dodged, just in time to correct his mistake. Something grazed his temple. A miss, but close enough to count. He gasped and, embarrassingly late and clumsy; he turned. He readied to face another enemy, grabbing his revolver proper, but gripping it as if the firearm was just a rock.

  Timo's voice came clearly from within the noise. "Wake up, landsman! I don't give a damn if your ineptitude gets you killed, but I do care if it endangers others!"

  Around him, only allies stood, and the few enemies remaining were busy surviving at a safe distance. Whoever had lunged at him had already plunged into the sea of death. Among the bodies, he couldn't tell who had done it. Ivy had taken care of him.

  Half a room away, Timo and a few others stood. Macha glimpsed his venomous gaze before a burst of gunfire struck them from across a hatch door. Timo ducked as half his men fell to the ground. The quartermaster swung against the wall, seeking respite right at the edge of the opening. The others threw themselves to cover, firing blindly through the doorway. When man peeked inside for a glimpse, a rain of shots burst out again.

  More enemies, Macha thought; cornered and barricaded in another room. This fight was almost over, but a new one awaited.

  He rushed to reload. His belt, once heavy with cartridges, felt light now. He counted by touch: No more than ten.

  “Enough,” he whispered.

  He broke the revolver open and began feeding rounds into it. His hand trembled, fighting to keep the bullets steady. His ear throbbed in rhythm with his heart. Blood warmed his neck and soaked his shirt.

  Ivy’s hands moved to speak. The signs came unevenly, one hand trembling, cut too badly to form words cleanly. Then she pulled him forward. He stumbled, boot catching on a corpse. A cartridge slipped from his fingers and rang against the deck, spinning away between bodies. He nearly went down with it.

  "For the love of the Maiden, Moron!" Timo said. "At least check you haven't bent the frame of your piece or the next shot will blow on your face!"

  Macha clenched his jaw. "It's Count Izan to you." He spined the cylinder, checking to see if it bound well. Then, he opened the loading gate and removed it to peek inside to see if the barrel looked canted against the frame.

  “Good boy… Count,” Timo said.

  Macha shouted back, putting the same mocking tone on the last word. “Aye aye… Captain.”

  A heavily bandaged hand flashed in front of Macha’s face. Ivy's face paled with the mere effort of moving the fingers, and if it weren't for the grip of the man bandaging her neck, she would have fainted.

  "It won't explode." She signed. "The gun. Won't. Just maybe…"

  Macha blinked, then looked around. The fight in that room had been won. He returned to her, a brittle smile popping out. "I checked, no worries. You need to rest now. We will finish this."

  She returned the smile as her body deflated, letting her carers take her aside.

  Macha reached the other corner of the hatch door. He slowly motioned to get a look inside, but a hand on his shoulder pulled him back.

  A man whispered. "Around six. Barricaded."

  "All right, then, what do we do?" Macha said.

  Timo smirked. "Maybe Count Izan can get rid of them with his fancy weapon?"

  Macha checked the loaded revolver. Five rounds could clean the room almost entirely. If he were precise enough. Could he do it? Doubt piled. What about the last one? Could he take him in time? Would anyone else take care of him? Doubt increased, but so did commitment and courage. "Fine, I'll do it."

  Timo locked onto him. His lips pressed into a thin, downward line, followed by a few small nods.

  Macha motioned, but the hand on his shoulder squeezed. "It's fine, sir. He's just messing with ya. We have a plan."

  "Not bad, eh?" Timo said. "A freshman indeed, but one with balls… I give him that. From now onwards, no more mocking him, guys!"

  "Ye the only one doing dat, boss," said a voice from somewhere else.

  "Uh… true." Timo held a grin. "Where's the Jo chick?"

  Before anyone could answer, a rough voice echoed from the other room. A voice Macha remembered too well. "We have modern rifles here! And plenty of ammo, gentlemen. How about a chat?"

  "Sure. What do you wanna talk about? I'm all ears." Timo said.

  "Let the Queen in," J.J. urged, less loudly, less convincing. "We know each other well. We will discuss the terms of surrender. I can assure no treachery from us."

  Timo rolled his eyes, but the answer came from the man next to Macha. "Ye think we stupid, lizard?"

  J.J. laugh reverberated over the steel walls. "Aren't all the squids?"

  Out of a sudden, Timo tensed. His eyes widened over Macha's side, a burst of roars and hisses coming from the same place. Behind, Ivy's advance was barely held by two men. "What are you doing?" Timo rasped. "That's a trap!"

  She pushed harder against the men holding her. “It’s him! The man who killed Pablo. I know that voice. I’m going to make him pay.”

  Macha stood in her way, ready to stop her advance. “Ivy, Timo's right! They will shoot you as soon as you enter!”

  "I don't care!"

  She lost the fight against the men holding her and dropped onto the floor. “I told you, the plantation… it’s… that one.”

  Macha crouched down until they were level. Close enough that the rest of the room blurred.

  “I remember. ”

  She stared. Her anger wavered with exhaustion.

  “You told me,” Macha continued. "And do you remember I told you I was in that place when I was a kid?"

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  She nodded.

  “Well, of that part of my past I have never shared anything with anyone but…” he spoke quietly and with warmth. “You know… during that time Pablo was there too. With me. I knew him well. He was the only one who cared about me then. That day you lost him…” His voice cracked. “I lost him too.”

  Ivy’s hands dropped. Her eyes wet.

  “Let me get the payback,” he said. “For both of us. You need to rest.”

  Unable to raise her face from the ground, she gave a small nod.

  Macha stepped toward the door when Uri arrived. Following her, a great number of reinforcements: men who had delt with the other parts of the ship.

  “Got them?” Timo asked.

  She snapped her fingers at one of the crew, and iron spheres with small fuse matches fell into her hands. She juggled the two grenades briefly as her chest filled with air and her face with pride. "So… when shall we start?"

  The hand holding Macha had never let go. Fingers dug harder, but still gently. “Sir. Please. Wait with me. At orders, we enter.”

  Uri breathed in. Deep and proud. Matches burst into flames. She stepped in and threw.

  The blasts came deafening like a church bell. The hatch vomited smoke and splinters. Smoke stung the eyes and heat suffocated the lungs.

  Uri vanished into the gray with both swords drawn. Timo followed, daggers up and close. Others poured after them, one after another.

  Macha motioned, but the hand on his shoulder gripped hard. “Not yet.”

  Impatience built up.

  In the other room, the madness of war, and all its sounds and smells, returned.

  “Now!”

  The grip released, and Macha rushed forward into blindness.

  The air was thick enough to chew. Powder stung his nostrils. Almost blinded, he coughed and gagged. A man stumbled into him and fell away. He stepped over something soft and did not look down. Shadows moved around, screaming and crying. Unable to recognize friend from foe, he felt hopeless.

  A hand caught his arm and pulled. “Follow me!” Uri’s voice. Close. Urgent.

  He let himself be pulled. Through a side door. Down a stairwell that twisted too sharply. Through a corridor barely wide enough for two men. The air turned breathable, and their rush reverberated through the metal structures. Two people running, only him and her.

  “The gecko is trying to escape!” She said, not turning.

  He followed without thought.

  Out of a sudden, a massive figure burst from the left. He leapt at Uri with a knife already descending. The impact drove her against the bulkhead. One sword spun from her hand and clattered across the deck.

  Steel locked inches from her throat. The man pushed, veins thick in his neck. Uri’s boots slid, giving him more advantage.

  Macha raised his gun, hesitating at the thought of shooting her.

  “Go,” she snarled. “Go!”

  The blade trembled lower, close to her, too close. Yet, he obeyed. He slipped past them, shoulder grazing the wall, refusing to turn his head. She could handle him. She had to.

  He ran again.

  Steps rushed close: not his., J.J.'s. He followed him up a ladder and through another passage. There, the air shifted. Clean, alive. When he reached the stern deck, his sprint thinned into a walk. The walk into a careful stalk. His revolver ready in hand.

  J.J. could be heard no more, and that meant danger. He felt the weight of it as something certain. His thumb rested on the hammer. The barrel remained low but steady, waiting.

  Near the davits and next to a hanging boat, he found him. J.J. was fighting canvas and ropes to free his escape. The fabric tore free, but the man spooked instead of continuing. Without the need to check, J.J. ducked behind the hull.

  “Let’s talk about this!” he called. “Come on! Do not shoot me!”

  “Come back out where I can see you.”

  “I swear I won’t shoot!”

  "Me neither," Macha replied.

  Silence fell for a moment, then J.J. stepped out slowly, hands raised with two old flintlock pistols gripped from their sides. His fingers tried to hide the deceit he was planning, but not too well: one hammer was locked back.

  He wondered if J.J. believed him that stupid. He considered telling, but he didn't. It was better that way.

  The man’s face was worse than memory. More scar. More twist. The living eye bright and restless, the other clouded and useless. His grin stretched too wide, too hideous.

  “Don’t hurt me,” J.J. said softly. “I surrender, boy.”

  He bent and placed the pistols on the deck. Still too close. He kneeled, hands up and empty, yes, but one fast move down and they would be armed again.

  Macha stepped forward. The revolver did not waver.

  So close to the end, he thought. But an end that would not come without a last shot. Of that he was certain. He knew the man’s tricks. Ivy had told him everything. And deep down, he was happy it would go that way.

  “Come, boy,” J.J. murmured. “I surrendered. Do not shoot, aye? Easy.” His hands drifted forward as if in prayer. Deception dressed as begging. He relaxed, pretending good faith. Hands lowered further until they rested on the knees.

  Was he really that stupid?

  Macha drew a slow breath, as Em had taught him. In. Out.

  'Let the noise fall away,' the old man used to say. 'Forget anything else. Now is you, him and your guns.'

  “Do we know each other?” J.J. asked. “You look familiar.”

  “I doubt it.”

  J.J. took the answer as a weakness. A proof he had relaxed and lowered his guard. But Macha hadn't.

  He moved. Maybe he thought he was fast. Maybe he was, but not enough.

  Macha raised his revolver faster, and his shot cracked across the stern.

  J.J. jerked backward, hit the boat, slid down it and collapsed in a heap.

  One flintlock discharged uselessly as it fell.

  Smoke drifted between them.

  Macha did not lower his weapon as he approached slowly. J.J. lay on his side, coughing thick and wet. Each breath bubbled. Blood spread beneath him. He tried to speak, but only red foam came. His lively eye locked on Macha, that was it. Nothing more could he do.

  Macha remained silent. He'd like to say many things in that moment, yet no words came to mind.

  J.J.'s living eye lost its sharpness and turned dull.

  The revolver remained pointed at him long after the movement ceased. Macha knew it would not come, but still he waited for a last trick.

  The deck felt unsteady. His legs weakened without warning. The revolver grew heavy in his hand. The edges of the world softened. Was it really over? The thought circled and would not leave. His stomach tightened. His throat burned. The air seemed thin, insufficient.

  "Is it really over?" he mumbled.

  He stepped back. Slowly. His eyes over the dead man until the steps of Uri make him turn.

  Distant shouts and laughs echoed. Above, a man climbed through the metal structure to reach the upper roof. Using an antenna as a pole, he tied a flag. One with a golden Kraken over a white field: Riko's.

  On all the ships gathered around the Adamant, men exploded in exultation. Roars, yells, and whistles darted toward the flag.

  Uri smiled as she had never done before. And then he knew. It was over.

  Truly.

  "What is it?" Uri asked as he reached her side.

  Macha gave J.J. a last glance. "I don't know."

  He did know. He had dreamed of a moment like this many times. And he always had words for it. Words to honor his friend. But when he had the chance to speak them, he remained silent.

  "I didn't expect it to end this way, the gecko, I mean."

  "That happens sometimes." Uri shrugged and moved away, limping and holding her side.

  "Are you all right?" Macha asked. "You can lean on me."

  "Not in a thousand years."

  After a few steps, she halted and grabbed his shoulder. "Well, maybe just this time."

  Macha huffed.

  "Annoying," she said, though with no trace of annoyance.

  "Shut up and walk."