Mordecai frowned. Where in the Realms Below are they? Without the others in the fight, things were going poorly. Fengel's men fought well, but Natasha's Reavers were angry, and desperate, and bloodthirsty.
Time to end this. If Lucian was the only one in command, then that was where he needed to be. Mordecai moved to make his way down the deck.
A short, boyish form landed right before him on the deck. It was a girl, a waif with blond knife-hacked hair, ill-fitting clothing, and leather gloves. She'd leapt out from one fight to his left, ducking under someone's legs, and rolled to a stop. She looked up at him in surprise. Mordecai recognized her. She was the one who had cut the rope he was climbing back near the Albatross.
He narrowed his eyes. "You," he snarled.
"Oh, no," she said. "You."
Mordecai raised his cutlass. But the waif was quick. She was on her feet as the blade came down at her. She backed away, bare inches from the edge, and brought a single heavy dagger up to guard herself with.
Mordecai advanced. He lashed out again, testing her. The young woman yelped and threw her weapon up to block the blow. His heavy blade crashed into it and sent her back. Mordecai brought his cutlass back into guard and raised an eyebrow at her.
Something dark flew at his head, screaming. Mordecai ducked and drew back. Raising his eyes he saw a wide, serpentine shape winding through the air, red light emanating from its belly to reflect upon the deck. To his amazement, the scryn circled around and landed on the waif, who held up her now-empty arm to it. The creature landed and wrapped itself around her shoulders.
"Chirr!"
"No! Not now Runt. Get off, you're too heavy!" She struggled with the thing, trying to dislodge it. For its own part, the scryn didn't want to be removed, and used its muscular length to grip onto her even tighter.
Mordecai stared a moment, then shook his head. He wasn't the sort to give up an opportunity. He raised his blade and stepped forward.
The waif looked up at him, eyes wide. She threw out one scryn-wrapped arm at him. "Runt! Kill!"
The creature turned to him, rising up. It flared its body wide, shining hellish red light at him. The scryn opened its jaws, mandibles flexing, and hissed. Poisoned spittle flew everywhere.
Mordecai raised his blade instinctively and fell back. The poison spattered across his arm and blade. Where it touched his bared wrist the skin instantly went numb. Thankfully, though, he'd been quick enough, and his face was unmarred.
Some sixth sense warned him just in time. He ducked, and the scryn flew overhead, tail whipping down to jab its stinger at his eyes. It missed by a hair's breadth. Mordecai cursed and leapt forward, hacking with his sword. He had to keep the waif on the defensive, before she could use the distraction for those knives, or before her pet could wheel back around.
The blade passed through empty air. He glanced up; she was gone, running away towards the starboard gunwales. Mordecai leapt after her with a snarl.
She heard him. Reaching the rail and the exhaust-pipe there, she wheeled around to face him, half-stumbling on a coil of rope tied to a stanchion up on the rail. Her eyes were wide and uncertain, though she did not appear frightened. For some reason, that angered him.
"Nowhere to go, girl," he said, slowing. "Now I'm going to—"
Her eyes warned him. He turned and punched out with the basket hilt of his sword. It caught the scryn in mid-flight. He felt its muscular, ropy body impact and deflect, knocked away and back into the melee.
"Runt!" the young woman yelled.
Mordecai turned back to her, an ugly smile on his lips. She looked left and right for help. None was coming. She was trapped. Mordecai decided he would take his time finishing her; he owed her a debt from the scene at the beach.
"Don't think I'll give you quarter, girl," he said.
She narrowed her eyes and sheathed the dagger on her hip. "I wasn't about to ask you for it," she said.
Quick as a cat she grabbed up the coil of rope at her feet and threw it overboard. Then she danced up the exhaust-pipe, took some of the length in her hands, and jumped overboard.
Mordecai stared. Then he leapt forward, lashing out with his blade. It missed, biting into the wood of the gunwale instead. He yanked it free and then bent out over the gunwale.
She was falling, halfway already to the green canopy of the jungle a dozen feet below her. He couldn't reach her. It might as well have been a hundred. She was escaping. The young woman looked up at him as her part of the rope went taut. Her eyes were merry and she laughed at him.
Mordecai growled. Oh, no you don't. He hefted his cutlass again and hacked out, this time at the knot around the metal stanchion on the gunwale. It parted and went flying away. He leaned out again over the rail just in time to see her plunge into the canopy, eyes wide in surprise and sudden fear. Mordecai leaned back with a smile, darkly amused.