Free Snake Bite by Andrew Lane

length of a man’s arm, sealed at one end and open at the other. It was pivoting on a metal knob which was attached to the rail. The knob
somehow fitted into a recess in the tube. Sherlock had seen the metal knob before, while he’d been working on deck, and he had wondered what it was for. Now he knew. Gittens had said they had
no cannon on board, but he had been wrong. There was one – a small one – and Larchmont was holding it. He was pointing it at the pirates.
    ‘Light it up,’ he said grimly. A hand holding a lit taper emerged from the throng of crewmen. The taper touched a hole at the sealed end of the cannon.
    Mayhem ripped across the deck.
    Whatever was in the cannon, it wasn’t a cannonball. Sherlock guessed it was probably a length of metal chain, along with nails and bits of scrap.
    Those pirates who, miraculously, were not hit by the blizzard of metal turned and ran. The others . . . well, Sherlock didn’t even want to look. There would be a lot of clearing up to do
later.
    The crew let out a ragged cheer.
    ‘Well done, lads!’ Larchmont shouted. ‘Extra rum for everyone! Now make sure the motherless sons of the devil have really gone!’
    Sherlock joined in as the majority of the crew crossed to the other side of the deck. They clustered against the rail, watching in disbelief. It was true – the pirates were casting off the
lines that bound them to the
Gloria Scott
, and their ship was pulling away. The pirates on deck were shouting curses at the crew of the
Gloria Scott
and shaking their fists, but they
were a lot more subdued than they had been earlier. There were fewer of them as well.
    Sherlock felt sick, and his legs were suddenly weak. He leaned on the side of the ship and fixed his gaze on the distant horizon, waiting for the sensation to subside.
    Why was he feeling like this? It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been in danger before. In the past couple of years he’d been chased, knocked unconscious, drugged, locked up in a
lunatic asylum and attacked variously by men, dogs, mountain lions, lizards, falcons and bears. It had been an eventful few years. So why was he reacting this way now?
    Because, the logical side of his brain told him, he was a long way from home. Nobody was going to leap in at the last moment to save him – not Matty, not Mycroft, not Amyus Crowe and not
Virginia. He had never relied on their help before, but in the back of his mind he’d always known that if his intelligence and strength weren’t enough to carry the day then one of them
would be there for him. But not now. Not here. And not for a long time to come.
    The full weight of loneliness descended on him like a leaden cloud, and he found his eyes stinging with hot tears. If he died out here, on board the
Gloria Scott
, thousands of miles from
England, then nobody would ever know. Even the other sailors would forget about him within a few weeks.
    ‘Dangerous situation,’ a voice said beside him. ‘I am gratified that you came through it alive.’
    Wu Chung was standing there, gazing out across the water with a faint, enigmatic smile on his face. He had a scratch on his shoulder which had bled on to his cook’s apron, and there were
scratches on his face.
    ‘Are you all right?’ Sherlock asked.
    Wu Chung nodded. ‘There was a fight,’ he said. ‘I won.’
    ‘
T’ai chi ch’uan?
’ Sherlock asked, imagining Wu Chung in full combat, fighting off an opponent with subtle movements of his hands and feet.
    Wu shook his head. ‘No – I used a frying pan. Unarmed combat is all very well, but if the universe in its infinite wisdom provides a weapon to hand then it would be rude not to use
it.’
    ‘I was in a fight as well,’ Sherlock said.
    ‘I can see. Your neck looks like someone has tenderized it with a meat hammer, and your voice is as hoarse as a man who has been smoking rough tobacco for many years.’
    ‘I used the skills you taught me. They worked.’
    ‘Of course they did,’ Wu said,