"Morning, lad. Time to get up," Boson stood over Kincade, his hand on the edge of the hammock; taking just a few moments to look around the cabin, Kincade noted that Boson must have lit lanterns.

"Aye-Aye," Kincade rolled out of the hammock.

"Any food and tea?" Kincade asked.

"Over there, lad, once you have got the pressure up. We have some small timepieces and a small mechanical thing that needs you to fix." Boson said.

"Aye, Boson. I will get right on to it," Kincade offered, then took a bite of a biscuit.

Boson watched Kincade stoke the fires of the engine box. As he worked, he drove the shovel into the coal bin and tossed dark lumps of coal into the firebox. Kincade spun the shovel, twisting his body, plunged the shovel blade back into the coal, and then went back into the fire, then again without complaint to break in the rhythm. Between the scraping sounds of the shovel forced into the coal and the raging fire heating water to turn to steam. Was the ever-present ticking from Kincade's wrist.

"Lad, Is this you now?" Boson asked, noting the change.

"What do you mean 'Is this me?'" Kincade asked for clarification.

"Well, it seems to me that you're not lallygagging anymore and just getting on with it," Boson said.

"No. I am," Kincade's shoulders slumped forward. His voice caught, then. "I am just doing what I need to; I am right as rain," Kincade offered, and he dropped the shovel. His head fell into his raised hands, and he started to sob.

When he was calmer, Kincade looked at his shoes and said, "I will never leave this ship alive. Will I die before my time is up? This shipboard existence cannot be the final note in the opera of my life."

"Aw, lad. You have finally realized the truth. You needed to get here, to this point. You will be able to find a small measure of peace now. The work has its nobility," Boson offered.

At that moment, a rumble of boots clomping and stamping boots rumbled down the ladder. One by one, the crew jumped down into the cabin. Kincade had seen none of them before. The first was a skinny man in a short jacket with slicked-back brown hair and a gold ring in one ear. In each hand, he carried an over-large rifle.

"Boson, we've got to get this open to the sea," he yelled. The skinny man ran over to the wheel that opened the bay doors on the far wall, not waiting for a response. Then, resting the rifles at its base, he yanked the wheel. But, it did not move.

"Boson, get over here! Damn your hide," the interloper yelled, with just a touch of saliva projected into the space between them.

"Hold on to your hat, Grover. I am coming," Boson responded.

Two more crew ran into engineering. One was a younger man with goggles over his eyes, still a boy to Kincade's eyes. He carried two more rifles. Kincade remembered them from his time in the core, the Nock seven-barrel volley rifles. They had been produced for the navy to fire seven rounds simultaneously. He remembered how they would set up two or three firing lines. One line would fire, then the next for fire, while the other reloaded, only to fire again, setting an almost relentless onslaught of lead. The new man pushed past Boson, dropping the rifles. To grab hold of the wheel with Grover and hauled on the other side of the wheel, forcing it to relent. Turning it just a quarter turn, slowly, then another and another. Both the boy and Grover grunted as the wheel turned. The deck parted, revealing the sea, a clipper ship, three masts, and a steamer stack at the rear. No smoke was visible, but the sails were full. Six more men ran through the doors, each carrying a seven-barrel rifle in each hand and one slung over each of their shoulders.

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* * *

The riflemen had positioned themselves prone with their heads and shoulders hanging over the lip of the bay door. Rifles muzzles swaying in figure eights covering the ship below. Kneeling beside each rifleman, a boy holding another riffle and several heavy bags of shot and horns of power hung around each of their necks.

Kincade was unsure of the protocol for this sort of activity and prodded Boson in the ribs.

"What are they doing, man?" Kincade asked, a look of fascination on his face.

"Err...what?" Boson replied with his arms folded over his chest.

"What are they? Pirates?" Kincade asked again, hoping the very naming of the scourge of the Pacific would spark Boson into storytelling.

"Them lad? It may be just a merchant in the wrong place at the wrong time." Boson said, pointing at the opening.

"Why are they flying some sort of flag? Help in distress, perhaps?" Kincade continued.

"Don't be a nonny head. The Captain is taking a prize for him and his." Boson said. Kincade turned, showing his back to the remaining crew, and leaned close to Boson's ear.

"That must be illegal? And even for Steamspire, a step too far." Kincade said urgently, the look on his face changing from curious to disgust and the feeling in his gut of revulsion.

"Lad, think nothing of it. There be no record, and if their crew doesn't fight, they may be put off in a half-friendly port. With a story that no one will believe." Boson said.

Each rifleman continued to scan for targets to appear and a justification to fire. If they fired first, the Steamspire Royal Trading Syndicate had told them. Then, this was indeed a pirate crew and fair game, and they were not disappointed. When finally, a gunshot rang out from the ship below.

In response, the gunners fired one rifle, then handed it back to the boy, exchanged it for a fresh one, and fired again, cycling between the spent rifle and the next. Thus, a terrifying forty-nine shots per minute were raining down on the ship as each of the boys worked to reload the still-hot and smoking gun. Crys and whimpers of the boy could be heard under the sound of the weapon's power blasts.

Then, each loader grabbed the heated rifle by the barrel to drop a wadding powder and a ball, then wadding again down each barrel, packing each in turn, and adding a blasting cap to the other end. The process of exchange was repeated four times for each rifle. Finishing by washing their hands with cold water to cool the burns, each barrel was uncomfortably hot as it was returned to the boy.

Kincade could see from his position that the barrage of shots resulted in several of the ship's crew killed or worse. Cries of suffering from the injured on the boat below mixed with the smell of gunpowder and a ringing in Kincade's ears.

The haze created by the smoke from riffle volleys filled the cabin; Mr Wallace drifted into view, humming a tune to himself. Grover stood still next to him and joined in with the humming, which broke into the anthem.

"Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! The nations not so blest as thee must, in their turn, to tyrants fall. While thou shalt flourish great and free, true dread and envy of them all. Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! Britons never, never, never will be slaves." Wallace sang.

"Well, that is certainly rousing, Ridderford," a shorter, portly, and white-haired man dressed in blue commented as he entered the cabin.

"Captain on deck," Grover snapped, all to attention.

"As you were," the Captain responded.

"Captain Stevenson. We have secured the pirate vessel. Shall we board her?" Mr Wallace asked.

"Yes," Captain Stevenson responded as he slowly looked around the room.

"Clear out, you lot," Grover commanded, which sparked the riflemen and loaders to jump up and leave the cabin. One of the taller boys passed Mr Wallace and received a slap to the back of the head, stumbled forward juggling his load of powered shots and guns. Unfortunately, he tripped and fell flat on his face, which caused Mr Wallace and the Captain to erupt with a burst of hardy laughter.

Over the next hour, Grover, Boson, and Kincade helped twenty men abseil down to the ship's deck. Soon after their boots landed on the deck, Kincade noted that the cries of the injured fell silent. Finally, the procession of men ended with the Captain and Mr Wallace being lowered in a boson's chair.

"What now, Boson?" Kincade asked while looking at Grover, who had stayed behind to guard the rear.

"Don't know, lad, but last time they captured one of these. The crew was split, and a few stayed here, and others went there," Boson offered.

"Aye, true enough. The Captain will give the ship to Wallace, and we will travel on. And meet up in a port somewhere," Grover added.

"Wallace will be gone?" Kincade asked.

"Aye, lad. He'll be gone for months. Then, depending on his contract, he may never come back to this ship," Boson continues with the explanation.

"That monster is gone. We are free of Wallace," Kincade said in wonderment, raising his hand to his face. He covered the red and still puffy octopus-shaped scar.

"What you got a smile about? You will still be crew for the length of your sentence," Grover said to Kincade.