Page 140 of Storm over the Caribbean
“So,” the captain enquired, eyes flashing. “Mutiny it is.”
And he dashed forward, murder in his eyes. In a blink, he was in front of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, swinging his cutlass straight towards my husband’s side. God, he was fast! Cyclops had been a big bastard, but Briggs was like a cheetah, one with a single, yard-long, deadly claw.
But then again…
What can a cheetah do against an iceberg?
Clang!
Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s sabre met the captain’s blade with a harsh, metallic sound. Briggs froze, clearly taken aback by the fact that his cutlass was not budging an inch.
“One piece of advice,” Mr Ambrose told the older man. “I. Am. Not. A. Boy.”
Only by hurling himself backwards onto the beach did the captain avoid the slash of the dagger in my husband’s left hand. Heck! Where had he gotten that from?
Wait a minute! I reached for my belt, where I kept the knife I had requisitioned during our raid…and found nothing.
Son of a bachelor!
“Oh, you aren’t?” Twisting around in the sand, Briggs jumped to his feet again and lifted his cutlass in one smooth move. “Then what are you,boy?”
Cocking his head, Mr Rikkard Ambrose shifted his left hand, revealing three more knives in his grasp. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m a pirate.”
Then he hurled the knives towards his foe.
“Bloody frigging…!” Briggs dived aside, but one of the knives still scraped along his cheek, leaving behind a deep cut. With a growl, he reached up to touch the blood—then looked up at Mr Ambrose. “No. You ain’t a pirate. You’re a dead man.”
With a snarl, he snatched one of the knives from the ground and rushed forward. Meanwhile, the pirates beside me also started checking their pockets and belts, noticing the distinct lack of knives.
He did this on purpose!I realized.He wanted to show the pirates that he was one of them. Someone who would do whatever the hell he wants to achieve his goal. The kind of man they can see as their leader.
Only…
Why thehelldid he throw his weapons away?
Briggs seemed to have had the same thought. Grinning widely, he advanced on my husband, both weapons raised. The cutlass slashed out, and was deflected to the side by a sabre. Another slash, another deflection. A stab, which Mr Ambrose promptly parried.
“Fight, you yellow-bellied bastard!” the captain snarled. “Fight!”
In answer, Mr Rikkard Ambrose simply cocked his head, as if to say:What do you mean? I am fighting.
Then he took up a defensive position once again.
Again, the captain dashed forward, his weapons lashing out.
“Why the hell—”
Clang!
“—aren’t you—”
Clang! Clang!
“—attacking?”
In answer, Mr Ambrose simply stayed silent. Eerily silent. He kept defending. Kept retreating. It was all he could do, really, having only his sabre, while Briggs was armed with both cutlass and knife. Again, why oh why did he throw his weapons away? That was incredibly stupid, and all he got out of it was a slash on Briggs’ face! So bloody stupid, unless—
Oh.
