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 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 that 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.

"What this must be illegal? And even for the Steamspire, that is 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. Nothing is illegal fo rSteamspire. Not out here." Boson said.

Each rifleman continued to scan for targets to appear and a justification to fire. If the ship below fired first, the Steamspire Royal would have every reason and the right of the laws. 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. Each loader grabbed the heated rifle by the barrel to drop a wadding powder and a ball, followed by 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 ship 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."

"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 return to this ship," Boson explained.

"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; the constant ticking of the bracelet seemed somehow less.

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

"Time and work, I can do. And, when I am done with this travesty of justice, I will be home," Kincade continued, his voice proud and clear.