A hip flask.
The Cure-all. Her scryn had been extremely attracted to it and Ryan said he'd found two barrels of the stuff. They'd be in the cargo deck below, where she hadn't been yet. But pirates were sailors first, and if she knew sailors, then Ryan would probably have kept some somewhere personal. An idea took root in her mind.
Lina waited for a break in the action, then bolted down the deck toward the rear hatch. She ducked and weaved past screaming scryn and yelling pirates. Sharp cracks sounded as those with pistols fired them, sending plumes of smoke billowing about a deck that pitched and rolled.
Lina reached the hatch. Past it near the helm, Fengel and Lucian stood back to back, fending off scryn while Maxim fought against the swarm with caustic light. She paused, breath caught in her throat.
Maxim's magic was impressive, but the captain was an elegant blur. His saber flashed through the air, neatly separating the wing of a scryn before whipping about to skewer another. He stood with his back stiff, his off hand neatly held behind him in a classic fencer's pose.
"This must be a new colony," cried Lucian as he swatted at another of the flying creatures. "Territorial little bastards! I should have known when that new girl saw one of them earlier!"
"Keep fighting," said Fengel, loud yet calm. "Keep them off long enough to get us through the Maelstrom!"
They don't see the real danger. They had to get control of the ship again, and soon, before the sails were torn away. But there were just too many scryn. She had to get rid of those first.
Lina dove down the aft hatch. Darkness enclosed her and the sounds of the strife on the deck above became muted and distant. Down the short hall she found herself in the crew room again, hammocks swaying in the air.
She moved through them, pulling out sea chests and upending sailor's bags. Knickknacks, weapons, bent cards and spare clothing went flying across the room. Lina looked for something, anything, that would hold a drink or three. Shoved into a corner beneath a hammock, hidden underneath a pile of blankets she found a keg. Would Ryan have just grabbed the whole thing?
Lina threw the blankets aside and hefted the cask. It was heavy, and sloshed when she pulled it out into the room. It was already breached, a cork now plugging the hole. She drew a dagger and wedged it out. A pungent stink immediately wafted from it to fill the room. Lina fell back, choking. This was Corsair's Cure-all, all right.
She held her face away and hoisted the keg. Lina grit her teeth and moved on, making her way back to the stair and tottering up it to through the hatch onto the deck.
Pandemonium still reigned. She did he best to ignore it, the cry of battle and the groaning of the ship. Lina took as straight a path as she dared to the starboard-side. There she shifted the cask to sit atop the exhaust-pipes and peered over the rail. The islets were still there, though they were just passing the last of them. It was large, and flat at the top like a pillar.
Groaning, Lina lifted the cask up to balance on the rail. She made sure to splash Cure-all out of the open bung onto the hot metal pipes. The air filled with the pungent, acidic scent of the stuff.
The scryn nearest stopped their screaming to look in her direction. Lina dropped to the deck, curling into a ball, and wedged herself under the exhaust-pipe as much as she could. The air above her filled with cacophony as the scryn swarmed, irresistibly attracted to the alcohol. They screeched and squabbled, fighting to be first. Lina heard the cask scrape against the wooden railing as the mass of creatures shoved it overboard. The red glow along the deck all about her darkened.
Lina look up. The massed scryn were gone, though she heard them just out of sight. A few still fought, though most of those were circling around her and the place where the Cure-all had spilled. She scrabbled away, climbing to her feet. The crew had the upper hand now, and quickly dispatched the remaining sky-rays.
Fengel moved up beside her, blade dripping black scryn ichors. "What happened?" he asked. "What did you do?"
"No time," she cried. "The Maelstrom is ripping us apart!"
Captain Fengel blinked at her. Then he looked up at the Maelstrom around them and cursed, taking notice of the groaning cries of his ship. "Hard to port!" he yelled, whirling back to face the helm. "Maxim! We've gained too much velocity! Get us turned hard to port and ride the wind!"
Those crew unwounded scrambled back to their stations. She glanced at the Maelstrom, at the skysails. No. That won't work. They had to pull the sails in.
The ship shook violently, first to one side and then the other. It swayed like a drunken horse. She opened her mouth to yell back to the captain. No. Not enough time. She had to do it herself.
Lina raced up the deck to the bow. She reached the first skysail along the starboard-side and the chain linkage that controlled it. A series of pulleys ran fine cord out from the mechanism to the skysail, attached to the linkage by a spool mounted on an axle, like the reel of a fishing rod. The cords hummed, taut against the invisible pressure of the Maelstrom. The thin metal armatures that suspended the sails squealed at the stress.