Isle of Swords Read Online Free PDF

take up every pistol, every dagger, every cutlass, every dirk—anything you can use as a weapon! Be ready for the fight of your lives!”
    One man stepped forward. Leathery-skinned with wrinkly slits for eyes, Drake was the oldest sailor aboard the Wallace . “But, Cap’n,” he said, “you make it sound like Chevillard’s going to board us!”
    â€œI mean to let him,” Ross said. This announcement rattled the crew, but they followed their captain’s orders.
    â€œStede, take whatever wind we have and steer behind the corvette —out to sea!”
    â€œWe can’t outrun her!” Stede called back, spinning the wheel.
    â€œNo, but we’ve got to make it look like we’re trying to!”
    â€œCare to let me know what ya b’ planning, mon?”
    â€œNot now,” Ross replied. He drew near to his old friend. “Just keep your thunder gun handy!”
    â€œGot it right here,” Stede replied, grinning. He reached into a cabinet beside the wheelhouse and withdrew a short musket with a snubbed barrel that widened drastically at its end.
    â€œAt least we have one cannon!” Ross winked. Weaving in and out of crewmen and leaping lines strewn across the deck and open hatches, the captain made his way to the mainmast where a group of bewildered sailors waited. No one was more confused or more vocal about it than Cromwell.
    â€œShouldn’t we be takin’ to our station of battle?” he asked.
    â€œYou are at your station of battle!” Ross said curtly. “Now, speak no more and listen. Cromwell, you and Henrik get to the top of the mainmast, one on the topsail and one on the main. Smitty, take the mainsail on the foremast. Here’s my plan.”
    As he told them, the looks on their faces underwent a marked transformation from shock and horror to roguish grins. Smitty leaped away and scaled the foremast. Each with a boarding axe holstered at his side, Cromwell and Smitty clambered up the mainmast.
    â€œStick close to the mast, lads!” Ross yelled. “Wait for my signal and make a clean cut!”
    â€œWhat about us?” Midge asked, fingering his own dagger. Red Eye, a powder monkey—one of the many deck hands who shuttled black powder cartridges from the stores below to the gun decks during battle—stood impassively. The left side of his face was scarred and slightly misshapen from a cartridge that had gone off as he loaded it into a cannon. His left eye was blind, the pupil dark red, and the whites permanently colored a sickly pink.
    â€œI have a very important task for you two,” Ross said. As he finished outlining his plan, Midge whistled and Red Eye, who almost never smiled, gave a crooked grin.
    â€œWhat if we get caught?” Red Eye asked. “I don’t speak French.”
    â€œJust remember,” Ross implored. “As soon as Chevillard and the lion’s share of his men board the Wallace , you two hit the water.”

    The pieces of his plan all in place, Declan Ross stood on the forecastle waiting for his opponent’s next move. He didn’t have to wait long. Thierry Chevillard’s sleek ship maneuvered across the Wallace ’s path, cutting off the ship’s escape. By Captain Ross’s orders, Stede let the Wallace drift slowly into the enemy’s firing range.
    â€œDeclan, I hope ya know what ya b’ doing,” said Stede.
    â€œDon’t I always?” Ross replied. “Second thought, don’t answer that.” Stede raised an eyebrow, then checked on Chevillard’s ship.
    â€œHe won’t fire right away,” Ross said quietly, almost to himself.
    â€œHe’ll wait until his ship rolls on the top of the wave.”
    â€œHow ya b’ knowing that?” asked Stede.
    â€œFrench tactics. The Butcher sailed for King Louis’ Royal Navy before turning pirate. He’ll want to fire high and take out our masts before coming to