'Fire!' Black Hal called as he cocked the hammer of his pistol and pointed it towards the railing as another wave of men dove over the side. A volley of pistol and musket fire spat smoke and shot towards the boarding party, most of them disappearing in a mist of blood and gunpowder. 'Reload! Hold them-.'

'Hal!'

The Captain turned his head. A man in a dark-blue coat, loosely buttoned, swayed from side-to-side before him, a cutlass in either hand, his face bore a dark, malicious grin hazed by drink.

'Leddhart,' Black Hal growled. 'You fool. What in Hell's name have you done?!'

'No more than my duty,' Leddhart's grin twisted with spring coiled menace.

'This madness has gone on long enough. Call your men off now, and I'll be persuaded to show you mercy.'

'I quite agree, Percival,' Leddhart pointed a cutlass accusingly at the Captain. 'This has gone on long enough. But I will not call off my men until you tell me where it is.'

'Where what is?'

'The cylinder!' Something in Black Hal's expression changed significantly enough for Leddhart to break into a full-on, castle-toothed smile. 'So, you do have it.'

'What do you know about that damned cylinder?' Black Hal hissed.

'That's not all I know, traitor!' Leddhart snapped with conviction. 'You're planning on selling it to the Spainish, aren't you? You're betraying your country - our country - to the enemy! Don't even try to deny it. Van Den Berg told me everything.'

'Van den Berg?' Black Hal gasped. 'So, the Dutchman is behind all of this?'

'He is behind nothing. You are the sole arbiter of your betrayal! Van Den Berg has done naught that is not honourable, unlike you,' Leddhart staggered forward, cutlass raised, giving the Captain enough time to parry with his sabre and knock him off balance.

Leddhart caught it back as he buried the tooth of his sword into the soft wood and sprung off it, his other cutlass thrust out to strike.

Black Hal swept Leddhart's blade aside and nimbly dodged around him. Leddhart roared and swung around to slash, but Captain Percival ducked and lunged forward, whipping Leddhart's exposed shin with the flat of his sword. Leddhart yelped and put a hand out to protect his throbbing leg, but by the time he had realised he had left himself open, it was too late.

Black Hal caught his wrist and twisted the cutlass from his grasp. He butted him in the teeth with the rounded hilt, Leddhart toppled on his back, lying on the deck like a floundered fish as Black Hal pinned down with his sword to his neck.

'What did Van Den Berg tell you?!' his voice rumbled like an earthquake through clenched teeth. 'He put you up to this, didn't he? Fed you lies? Why?'

'He... he said the girl...' Leddhart choked as the edge of the blade scratched his Adam's apple. 'The girl has something valuable. Says you were going to sell it to the Spanish. Says you stole...' he winced as the blade pierced his scaly skin and drew a thin ribbon of blood across his collarbone. 'You stole it from him in the night. He'd pay me a King's ransom to have it back in safe hands.'

'You bloody moron,' Black Hal shook his head. 'You pox-ridden degenerate! Is there anything between those ears that doesn't come from a bottle?! Van den Berg played you. The cylinder belongs to the girl. It's Van den Berg who's trying to steal it.'

Then, Black Hal's face twisted from mocking glee to a realised terror.

'And if he sent you to attack us... that means...' Black Hal's eyes darted up to the unguarded horizon behind them. To his dread, he watched the wispy blue sky, hazed by a thin layer of ghostly fog, broken by the dark outline of a two-masted ship.

The Captain swallowed dryly.

'That means he can't be far behind.'

As the horror waned, Captain Percival realised he had let his guard down for just a fraction of a second too long. Leddhart slipped out from under the blade and kicked Black Hal's shin out from under him. The Captain collapsed back onto a pile of crates. Leddhart leapt on his sword and he pinned Black Hal by the chest.

Percival took hold of the blade in both hands and tried to push it away from him, even as the sharpened edge dug into the flesh of his calloused hands. Blood poured from between his fingers.

'I-I'm sorry, Henry.' There was something pathetic in Leddhart's eye as he pressed more of his weight against the hilt. 'I really am. Like you said, times are tough, and you have to do what you have to do to scrape together your next bottle. Goodbye, old friend.'

'Leddhart! You...!' was all Black Hal had the strength to say. The point of the blade inched closer and the blood between his fingers was making it harder and harder to hold his grasp. Leddhart put his other hand on the pommel of his sword and thrust with all his might, whilst Black Hal fought as hard as he could to push it away. The blade was close enough now that he could feel the edge pluck at the hairs of his chest.

Crack!

The air went still. Leddhart went rigid as his grip weakened. His shirt grew dark with blood. When he gasped and went limp, Black Hal kicked his leg out and let Leddhart fell lifeless to the floor.

He caught his breath and tried to control his shaking hands as he laughed in the face of his near-met doom.

The Bosun, his eyepatch crooked, shrouded in a halo of smoke, stood over him with a musket against his shoulder. He smirked and nodded towards the Captain.

'You're welcome.'

'Captain?' the Quartermaster scurried over and put out his hand, his shirt torn with a gaping wound across his chest. 'Captain, are you alright?'

'Ratchett, we need to get out of here fast!' the Captain leapt up and grabbed the Quartermaster by the shoulder, blood still pouring through his fingers. 'It's a trap. All of this was by design. Van den Berg; he wanted the Welsh Dragon to pin us. They weren't supposed to beat us, just give them the time they needed to catch up. Look!' He pointed out to sea, where the cracked horizon had been split, the masts of the approaching ship growing taller.

'Great God in Heaven.' the Quartermaster drawled as he put a hand to his mouth. 'What are we going to do?'

'Cut them loose.' Captain Percival said in a matter of fact. 'It's all we can do. Get the sails into the wind and hope they don't catch up.'

'Captain!' Schleckt, puffing and panting, appeared through the haze and leant against a crate, his brow glistening, his cutlass rattling in his hand. 'Captain, don't cut the ropes yet!'

'What?' Black Hal barked. 'Why not? What gives you-?!'

'Hamish has a plan!' he stammered. 'He's told us to keep the Scourge sailing towards cliffs. He's going to push the Dragon into the rocks. Beach 'em, sir.'

The fire in Captain Percival's eyes was quenched as he gazed out towards the bow of the ship and saw the rapidly approaching rocks.

'That could actually work,' the Captain nodded.

'We're getting far too close to the rocks ourselves, though.' the Quartermaster swallowed. 'When are we to cut the ropes?'

'Martin is supposed to signal us from the he-,' Schleckt stopped as he pointed up towards the wheel, which swung limply on its own.

'Where is he?'