The larger serpent seemed more philosophical. He was content to hover alongside the slaver, watching expectantly for men bearing bodies to approach the railing. He then opened his maw to catch whatever was thrown, regardless of whether it was dead or wriggling. He would seize a body in his jaws, but made no effort at chewing it. His teeth seemed devoted to the purpose of tearing. These small tidbits needed no dismembering. Instead the serpent would fling his head back and open his jaws far wider than Kennit would have believed possible. Then the body would vanish, boots and all, and Kennit could mark its progress down the creature's gullet by the distention of his sinuous throat. It was a spectacle at once chilling and fascinating.

His crew seemed to share his awe, for as the battle subsided and there were but bodies and subdued captives to dispose of, they gathered their serpent victuals on the high afterdeck of the slaver and took turns feeding the serpents from there. Some of the bound captives wept and screamed, but their cries were drowned out by the approving roars of the pirate crew as each human morsel was flung over the side. It soon became a game to toss each victim or corpse not to a serpent, but between them, to watch the great beasts vie for the meat. Those men who had remained aboard the Marietta felt greatly slighted to be excluded from this pastime, for though they kept to their duties on the ship, it was with many a glance in the direction of their comrades. As the serpents became sated, their aggression diminished and they were content to take turns with their feeding.

As the final captives went over the side, the first of the slaves began to emerge onto the deck. They came up from the hatches, coughing and blinking in the morning light. They clutched their tattered rags about their bony bodies against the briskness of the sea wind. As hatch cover after hatch cover was removed, the fetid stink in the air increased, as if the stench were an evil genie confined too long below decks. Kennit's gorge rose as he saw how scabrous these men were. Disease had always held a great horror for him, and he hastily sent a man to tell Sorcor it was time the vessels parted. He wanted good clean seawater between him and that pestilence-ridden hulk. He saw his messenger leap to his command, more than willing to get a closer look for himself. Kennit himself quit the afterdeck and went below to his cabin. There he set scented candles alight to ward off the trailing odor from outside.

Some moments later, Sorcor rapped smartly on his door.

“Enter,” Kennit invited him brusquely.

The burly mate came in, red of hand and bright of eye. “A complete victory,” he told Kennit breathlessly. “A complete victory. The ship is ours, sir. And over 350 men, women and children released from below her scurvy decks.”

“Any other cargo worth speaking of?” Kennit asked dryly when Sorcor paused for breath.

Sorcor grinned. “The captain seemed to have an eye for fine clothes, sir. But he was a portly man, and his taste in colors rather wild.”

“Then perhaps you will find the dead man's garments to your taste.” The chill in Kennit's tone stood Sorcor up straight. “If you have finished with your adventure, I suggest we put a small crew aboard her and sail our 'prize' to port somewhere, seeing as how that wooden hulk is all we have to show for the night's work. How many men lost or wounded?”

“Two dead, sir, three cut up a bit.” Sorcor sounded resentful of the question. Plainly he had been foolish enough to expect Kennit to share his exuberance.

“I wonder how many more we shall lose to disease. The stench alone is enough to give a man the flux, let alone whatever other contagion they have bred in that tub.”

“It's scarcely the fault of the folk we have rescued if we do, sir,” Sorcor pointed out stiffly.

“I did not say it would be. I will put it down to our own foolishness. Now. We have the ship to show for our troubles, and perhaps it will sell for a bit, but only after we have rid it of its cargo and seen to its scrubbing out.” He looked at Sorcor and smiled carefully as he phrased the question he had been looking forward to. “What do you propose to do with these wretches you have rescued? Where shall we put them off?”

“We can't simply put them off on the closest land, sir. It'd be murder. Half are sick, the others weak, and there are no tools or provisions of any kind we could leave them, save ship's biscuit.”

“Murder,” Kennit cut in affably. “Ah, now there's a foreign concept for you and me. Not that I've been tossing folk to sea serpents of late.”

“They got what they deserved!” Sorcor was beginning to look badgered. “And better than what they deserved, for what they got was quick!” He smacked a meaty fist into his other palm and nearly glared.