Merrick stared at Kent's ship, the Vanquisher, as she sailed on a tack that took her brazenly within range of the Redemption's cannons. The urge to take on the arrogant menace and pummel him with grapeshot filled Merrick with a dark desire for revenge.
"Should I 'ave the guns run out, Cap'n?" Jackson asked, taking a step toward the ladder.
Bracing fists on his waist, Merrick squinted against the setting sun. An evening breeze picked up from the west and filled his lungs with the sweet smell of impending conquest.
"Come on, Cap'n, we got the weather advantage o' him." Sloane cocked one eyebrow. "Ne'er sich a chance as this will come agin. Ye don't need to be killin' him, since I knows yer faith frowns on sich things. Let's jist teach him a lesson, to be sure."
"My faith." Merrick snorted. "What difference does that make now?"
"Ye don't be meanin' that, Cap'n."