Kef Cutmark opened her eyes. “Well. That’s a damn disappointment.”

In the cage next to hers, metal creaked as Gerald rolled over. “Talking about yourself?”

“Talking about today. Thought it’d feel special. Not every day you get executed.”

Kef pushed herself up into a squat, yawning, then raked her fingers through her tangled, salt-matted hair to scratch the back of her neck. Damn vermin were crawling all over Blackrake Prison. And the bugs were pretty bad, too.

She stretched – if you could call it a stretch, when you were all folded up in a cage without room to stand. Her joints popped. She rolled her neck, easing out the kinks, while the floor swayed beneath her from the waves crashing against the ship’s hull.

Last night, they’d pulled her out of the windowless cell belowdecks in the ship’s belly. That was a pity, because she’d finally scrounged enough contraband playing cards to set up an illegal gambling den, right in the shadowy back corner that was either the perfect place to get shanked, or the best spot to sleep.

After pulling her from the cell, they’d shoved her into a cage more fit for a dog than a woman. She’d gone quietly, not like the other prisoners. They’d all done their pathetic best to prolong the moment, which was a stupid move, because it just meant they’d spend their last hours with bruises and broken bones. Still, Kef wasn’t like the others. On a ship where everyone was desperate to delay their death, everyone was still wondering why she’d persuaded the guards to move her execution forward.

With Kef pressed up against the bars, they’d wheeled her cage along rusted metal walkways. Whenever the wheels hit a bump, the cage rattled hard enough to make Kef worry about losing a tooth. They slid her onto a platform, and then a wheezing scissor-lift elevated her onto the ship’s main deck, where a crane lifted the cage to slot Kef’s prison into a metal scaffold.

That was where she was now. Locked in a cage, dozens of condemned prisoners stacked around her – most in various degrees of concussion from their failed struggles last night.

The sun’s pale light inched over the distant horizon, flickering as waves chopped across the sea. Several miles west of Blackrake Prison, the sharp rocky blades of the Spear Reef glistened red in the early morning glow, like tusks bathed in blood. As she squinted at the Reef, a gust of wind dampened her cheeks with sea-spray. She tasted salt on her tongue.

To the east, joined to Blackrake Prison by a long anchor, Ardmouth was waking to a new day. Like the other city-ships that sailed around the Twisted Seas, Ardmouth was made from lashed-together boats, ranging from huge tankers to tiny shanty vessels which were more rust than metal. Living on a floating city could be hard. But with the land around the Twisted Seas dominated by monsters who’d kill you before you could take three steps out of the water, even the scrappiest dingy in the dirtiest city-ship was preferable.

Saying that, plenty of monsters infested the seas, too. They were just slightly easier to deal with, although that depended on where you were. Most city-ships – including Ardmouth – drifted around the Fordale Gulf, where monsters were smaller and less aggressive. But if you sailed through a place like the Deadcour Vastness, you’d be lucky to reach the other side without a leviathan swallowing your vessel.

Hundreds of miles of chains criss-crossed Ardmouth, linking the boats and spreading out far under the water – a defence against pirates and sea monsters. On the decks of the tallest ship, a crowd of well-dressed civilians had gathered, all babbling excitedly and looking through binoculars at Blackrake Prison.

Kef snorted. One woman’s death was another’s breakfast entertainment. Soon, they’d probably let the rich bastards execute the prisoners themselves.  

“Nice sunrise, at least,” Kef said.

“Do you ever shut up?” Gerald asked from the cage beside her. “We’re about to die and you’re going on about the bloody view.”

Kef turned to raise an eyebrow at her neighbour. He was hunched in a miserable ball, looking small and damp. When they’d tossed her into jail last week, she’d barely had time to fix her hair before Gerald tried to grope her.

She smirked. “How are the fingers?”

Gerald scowled down at his hands. His makeshift splints couldn’t disguise how his thumb now looked like it had four knuckles. Annoyingly enough, when she’d broken them, he’d only grown more infatuated with her, but in an irritating, puppy-dog way. She supposed he’d been useful to remove corpses from the best mattresses, but mostly he’d made her wish she’d snuck earplugs into the prison ship. Thankfully, getting pulled up to the decks for his execution seemed to have tempered his more annoying habits. Funny how death’s presence had that effect.

“And by the way.” Kef leaned back against the bars, watching the pale sun crawl out of the water. “Not to get too philosophical about it, ’cause I know that might explode your tiny brain, but this seems like the perfect time to appreciate it. It’s the last sunrise you’ll ever see.”

“And yours, too.”

Kef smiled. “Sure.”

A bell toiled in the city, low and ominous. With groans and curses, the other caged prisoners woke. Some of them stuffed fingers into ears, but it did nothing to stop the bell’s headache-inducing clang. Down on the decks below, the bleary-eyed night shift guards swapped places with the morning watch. The bell kept clanging.

“Cheer up, all.” Kef grinned at the other prisoners. “By the next bell we’ll all be dead!”

That sobered them for a second. Then there were the usual responses: curses, cries, people threatening to rip off her arms and shove them up her arse. She revelled in the noise, chuckling. Playing a crowd was all about taking advantage of their emotions. And there were no emotions quite as strong as fear.

Boots clanked on the walkway. Guards ran batons along the cage bars, shouting at prisoners to shut up. A sulky silence came over the inmates. Kef smirked. Why were they still afraid of authority? Did they think obedience would change the guards’ minds? When it came to following orders, people were fools.

Chief Warden Henderson emerged onto the walkway outside Kef’s cage, scowling. He was a thickset, burly man, who was just as tough as the regular prison guards, and just as happy to beat unruly prisoners. Behind him flanked his two Lieutenants: Eames and Redfern.

Eames was a giller – a water-breathing mutant with slitted yellow eyes, webbed hands, and long bare feet, flat and stretched like flippers. With strong arms and broad shoulders, she towered over the guards around her. Beneath her grey overcoat, she wore a skin-tight swimsuit, designed to reduce drag in the water. The overcoat’s collar was turned down to expose the gills on either side of her neck. They fluttered as she breathed.

Next to her, Redfern was short and slim. He was a winger: a mutant with clawed feet and wings sticking out from his shoulder-blades. Unlike Eames, who was all drab greys, Redfern wore a ruffled white shirt with a high collar, and dozens of red silk tassels hung from his leather belt. When he flew, they would stream out behind him, rippling like a flag in the wind.

Rumour was that they’d both been prisoners, but had repented after stopping an escape attempt from another inmate, earning Henderson’s respect. Kef smirked. Repentance. More likely they’d just enjoyed hurting people, and working for the Warden gave plenty of chances for that. 

Warden Henderson surveyed the prisoners. “Cuff them.”

Guards strode along the walkways, opening slots in the cages to lock handcuffs around prisoners’ wrists. When people tried to resist, guards shoved open the door, then barged inside to bludgeon them with batons.

A guard with a crooked grin slid open the slot in Kef’s cell. “Hands here, pretty.”

The guard’s own hand rested on the slot, handcuffs held with lazy fingers. Kef thought about all the ways she could wrench those fingers against the bar, levering them until they snapped. Instead, she smiled up at the guard, allowing him to slap cold manacles around her wrists. His skin brushed hers.

“Ouch!”

The guard flinched back, frowning down at his hand.

Another guard rushed over. “You alright, Ben?”

“Fine. Just an electric shock.”

The guards unlocked her cage, then dragged her out. Standing upright made blood drain from her head. Spots danced before her eyes. Kef swayed as they marched her along the walkway, then down the stairs. As they rounded a landing, she slipped over, her arms knocking into the legs of the guard and the prisoner in front of her. They stumbled, cursing. Firm hands grabbed her arms, hauling her up. She was more careful this time, and they didn’t even notice the static electricity pass between them as their skin touched.

They stepped down onto the deck. Her balance was back now, and she managed the sway of the ground beneath her with no troubles as the guards formed the prisoners up into a line. Today, eight were scheduled for execution. Gerald was a few spots behind her, his posture slumped enough that despite his height, he was shorter than the old woman behind him, who wore circular optics. She’d been one of the few prisoners who hadn’t struggled. Not that it would’ve done much good, since she looked to be in her late seventies. Maybe living a long life made you less worried about it ending.

Guards marched them through the maze of scaffolding that held the prisoners’ cages. Jeers and spittle rained down from above. Kef glared up at the prisoners still stacked high in their cages.

“You’ll get your turn, you bastards,” she shouted.

The boos grew louder. Kef shook her head. Didn’t they see how stupid it all was? An extra day in the cage wouldn’t improve their lives, but sometimes that was all survival was: outlasting the day, the hour, the minute.

The cages were stacked tall on the deck, surrounded by a rectangle of chain-link fence topped with barbed wire coils. Leading them through several gates, none of which were opened at the same time, the guards marched the prisoners out of the compound. When they reached the base of the crane that had lifted Kef’s cage last night, the Warden barked an order. They stopped in a neat line.

Distorted cheers sounded from Ardmouth. Kef glanced towards her left. On the distant ship decks, sunlight glinted off binoculars. The mouth-watering smells of roasted nuts, baked pies, and other fair-ground foods wafted across the sea. Her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t eaten a decent meal in a week.

She turned her focus back to the prison ship as doors slammed open. Up on the bridge, which loomed above the aft deck, well-tailored men and women emerged to look down at the prisoners. Honourborns. Some held flutes of champagne, while others munched on canapes. How much had they paid for a courtside view? Their position had the added benefit of being highly visible to all the observers from the distant city. What better way to show that you cared about order, and were damn well-dressed, too?

Guards stood beside the honourborns, with rifles held by their sides. Legal attendants balanced notepads on the railing, ready to record the deaths – or as they called it, justice. In Kef’s experience, they weren’t much different.

“We are gathered here on this Fallsday morning,” said the Warden in a booming voice, “To sentence those who would breach the laws of the sea.”

Kef ignored his words as he continued. Nothing she hadn’t heard before. Taking a deep breath, she directed her focus inwards. While walking, she’d brushed against a dozen or so people, but it hadn’t been enough. She needed more.

As the Warden strode past her, prattling about order and justice and a load of other tripe, she reached out and touched his lips. Her dirty finger smeared grime over his skin.

“Shush,” she said.

For a second, everyone gaped at her. Then five guards tackled Kef, slamming her against the metal structure that supported the crane. She tried to raise her arms to defend herself, but they pinned her down and smashed kicks into her torso. Pain flared through her. She hissed, hands clenching into fists, forcing herself not to fight back.

The guards cleared aside, making way for the Warden to tower over her, his left eye twitching. He grabbed a baton from a guard, then smashed it into Kef’s skull, sending light exploding behind her eyes.

“For that, you can go first.”

Kef grinned up at him, blood dribbling down from her split lip. “My pleasure.”

The prisoners looked at her with pitiful eyes. Gerald chuckled, and when she flipped him off, he only laughed harder. Next to him the old woman shook her head.

The guards dragged Kef’s limp body upright. She stumbled, but managed to grab the crane’s frame for support. Her right hand fell on the power cable. She closed her eyes, concentrating, but didn’t get more than a second before the guards ripped her away. They marched her to the ship’s aft. She groaned. Everything ached. Maybe it had been stupid to go for the Warden when simply brushing another guard would do. But it wouldn’t have been as fun.

They took her onto a deck that stuck out from the ship’s aft. Far below, waves slapped against the hull. Water churned in a savage eddy and the propeller’s blades flicked spray into the air. Most ships kept their propeller well below the water, for safety. A long time ago, Blackrake Prison had modified their rear propeller so that the top half stuck out of the water. Not the most efficient way to execute prisoners, but it sure was dramatic. Kef had to give them points for that. There wasn’t even the option of diving into the water – gillers swam around the ship, armed with spearguns and ready to finish any prisoners who weren’t mangled by the propeller. 

“Kef Cutmark,” said a woman’s voice.

Kef glanced up, flicking her head to get the hair out of her eyes. An imperious woman dressed in a dark gown stood on the bridge, her face hidden behind a black mask that covered everything except her eyes and mouth. A dark purple sash stretched across her chest – the mark of an Ardmouth judge.

“Let this court witness the sentencing of Kef Cutmark.” The Judge looked at her notes. “Also known as Janice Claw-Arm, also known as Mary the Red, also known as the Raider of the Far Reach, also known as …”

It went on for some time. Kef yawned. The Judge reached the end of the page, turned over, saw more names, and sighed.

“… and other aliases, henceforth.” The Judge took a deep breath. “Kef Cutmark stands accused of thirty-two cases of assault, twenty-five cases of extortion, seventeen cases of piracy and theft, six cases of property damage …”

The other prisoners gaped at Kef as the Judge continued to read. Kef took that as a compliment. She’d lived more life than most people ever did, and she was only twenty-nine. Mind you, that was above average for a woman in her line of work.  

The Judge flipped the page. This time, a determined note entered her voice, and she kept reading until all of the crimes had been spoken.

Kef nodded. “Not bad. You almost got half of them.”

She couldn’t see the Judge’s face behind her mask, but she sensed that the woman was glaring.

“Your guilt has been decided,” said the Judge. “This is merely a sentencing hearing. However, as by the rites of law, you may make one final statement. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Kef shrugged. “You forgot to mention my looks.”

She shone a dazzling smile at a few gentlemen in the crowd, which made them blush and glance away guiltily, much to the annoyance of their female companions.

“Oh,” Kef said. “And fuck you, Judge.”

The prisoners laughed. Back in the cages, the other inmates rattled the bars, joining in.

“For these crimes,” shouted the Judge while guards quietened the prisoners, “Kef Cutmark is sentenced to execution. Guards, activate the crane.”

The honourborns cheered. A guard climbed up the crane’s ladder, crawling into the operator’s cabin. Excitement rippled through the crowd. The crane’s hook would lock around Kef’s handcuffs, and then it would lower her over the side and onto the propeller. The hook was unpickable. And even if she slipped out of her handcuffs and dove into the water, a giller’s speargun would make short work of her. Still, that would beat the propeller. They’d lower her slowly, and rumours claimed that Warden Henderson had calculated the perfect way to keep prisoners alive until the blades sawed through to the chest.

On the deck of the prison ship, everything was quiet, save for the lapping of waves against the hull. High above in the operator’s cabin, there was a loud click as a key entered the ignition. Machinery hummed as the crane came to life. Its arm angled down, falling fast.

Too fast.

The arm swivelled to the side with a jerking motion. It bounced backwards, jerking up again, and then it changed direction once more, spasming like a caught fish. On the bridge, the honourborns stumbled back, shrieking.

“Control yourself!” barked the Warden at the operator.

“It’s fighting me!” the operator yelled.

There was a clang as he ripped something open.

The operator cursed. “The circuits – they’re fried!”

Down on the deck, Kef smiled.

The crane swung clockwise and the arm jerked down. It smashed through the chain-link fence, then crashed into the stacks of cages. With a cacophony of falling metal, the scaffolding broke apart.

Cages rained from the sky, smashing into the fence, slamming onto the deck, crushing shrieking prisoners in the lower levels. The ones who’d been higher were luckier. Their cages crashed into the ground, splitting open. Prisoners tumbled onto the deck.

Before the guards could close their gaping mouths, the freed prisoners sprinted towards them, wrestling the guards to the deck and stealing their weapons. Redfern and Eames shepherded Henderson away from the fight – Redfern lashed out with his wings to knock away a prisoner who got too close. They darted into a corridor, then slammed the door shut. Two prisoners hurled a guard into the door with a thunderous crash that dented the metal. Kef laughed. There was nothing quite like being caged to enrage an animal. Which reminded her – it was time to move.

She spun, twisting to kick the guard next to her. He staggered back. Pushing off the kick’s momentum, she whipped her manacled hands over the other guard’s neck, pulling the handcuffs up against his throat. He tried to struggle but she kneed him in the kidneys.

“Move and I’ll break your neck,” Kef snarled.

The other guard lurched back, lunging towards Kef. She twisted under his weight, using his momentum to send him crashing into the handrail. With a shove, Kef toppled him over the side. He screamed as he fell towards the spinning propeller. There was a nasty whine and a splattering of chopped meat as the blades did their grisly work. Trapped in Kef’s grip, the remaining guard cursed in a muffled voice. He dribbled onto Kef’s hands.

An alarm split the air with a high-pitch whine. Back on the main deck, a full-scale riot had broken out – prisoners and guards, grappling and stabbing, using knives and swords and batons.

Up on the bridge, a dozen guards had their rifles aimed at the chaos, but the melee was too jumbled for them to get clean shots. Then they saw Kef, standing with her handcuff’s chain across a guard’s neck, separated from the rioting crowd. Their rifles turned towards her.

Her captive guard cursed. “Don’t shoot! You’ll hit me!”

The rifles lowered. The guard breathed out in relief.

“That bitch messed with the crane!” yelled one of the riflemen. “She touched the power cable – I think she cut it!”

Their rifles tilted back up.

“So much for loyalty,” said Kef.

Kef swung the guard in front of her as the rifles boomed. Bullets tore into the screaming man. She kept him held ahead as she charged towards the crane, blocking the bullets, wincing when the killing shot reduced the man to two hundred pounds of dead weight. When she reached the cover of the crane’s base, she dumped the guard, then rummaged through his belt. Baton, knife – no gun. Damn. Made sense, though. You wouldn’t want to risk prisoners stealing a ranged weapon. Only the snipers on the bridge would have those.

Kef glanced over at the brawling prisoners and guards. The prisoners had the upper hand, even though a decent number were hiding instead of fighting, or using stolen keys to race into the ship’s hold. She saw Gerald hiding between two cargo crates, with the old woman crouching behind him. Good. Kef’s target was safe. Although to reach them, she’d have to cross in full view of the snipers. Not a good move.

Instead, she climbed the crane’s support frame, trusting that the dense structure would protect her from the snipers. Her boots slid on the slippery metal, almost sending her flying off the frame, but she gritted her teeth and clamped her hands around the steel with all her strength. This was her only way up. Getting inside to the access ladder was impossible, because the bars were spaced too closely together for security. That served her well, though, because the tightly spaced bars blocked Kef from the snipers.

High above, the crane’s arm kept spasming. It swayed near the bridge several times, but it was too short to smash into the balcony.

Kef reached the top of the frame, then jumped onto the spinning operator cabin, grabbing the exterior handle. Inside, the guard’s eyes bulged. Kef drew back her arm and with a furious swing, she smashed her baton against the windshield. The impact jolted up her arm. Spiderweb cracks raced out from her blow. She hit the windshield again, and again, and on the fourth try the glass shattered.

Kef crawled inside, slapping away the guard’s feeble defences. She ripped off his keys before hurling him screaming out through the window. Then she ducked down behind the cover of the dashboard as bullets sprayed through the cabin, sending fragments of glass raining down around her.

She used her stolen knife to pry the maintenance panel open. Judging by the scratches on the metal, the operator had tried to do the same, but he’d lacked her strength. The acrid stench of melted wires greeted her. Screwing up her forehead, she searched for the manual circuit breaker, trying to remember the electrical diagrams she’d studied. There – by the sagging green wires. She glanced over the dash, waited until the crane arm was angled so that the end was fifteen feet above the bridge’s balcony, and only three feet away from it. Then she yanked on the circuit breaker.

With a shriek of metal, the crane froze. The long metal cord swayed in the breeze, slapping against the bridge’s railing as the hooked end came to a scraping rest on the deck below – forming a perfect climbing rope from deck to bridge. A prisoner dashed for the rope, only for a barrage of gunfire to slice her down. But then there was another, and then three more, and then they were scrambling up the rope as the snipers struggled to reload.

Kef grinned as prisoners swarmed onto the bridge. Snipers dropped their rifles. They tried to flee inside, but the doors were locked. Prisoners grabbed the snipers’ guns, whooping.

A powerful horn-blast shook the air. Kef whipped around. Three dreadnaughts were approaching Blackrake Prison, with eight wingers flying above it. Dozens of tiny speedboats raced around the fleet, each with gun turrets mounted to their prows.

“Prisoners of Blackrake!” boomed an amplified voice from the lead dreadnaught. “The military might of Ardmouth approaches. Surrender now or suffer our wrath!”

On the deck below, the prisoners kept pummelling the guards. Outside the bridge, the others slammed their rifles against the doors and the now-shuttered windows, denting the metal. There would be no easy surrender today. All the prisoners knew that capture meant death, so they fought with the frenzy of the condemned.

Kef opened the cabin’s trapdoor. She slithered down the ladder inside the crane’s support structure, landing on the deck with a thud. Around her, the close-spaced bars of the frame felt like another prison. Except this time she was on the right side of the bars.

Using the operator’s keys, she opened a gate built into the frame, letting her step out onto the deck. She dashed across to Gerald and the old woman. Gerald gaped at her. He opened his mouth, probably to say something stupid. Whatever it was, Kef never found out, because before he could speak she slammed the baton into his head. He collapsed, knocked out cold.

Behind him, the old woman adjusted her optics. “Great. Now who’s going to block any bullets that come my way?”

The woman spoke in a clipped tone, with a calm firmness despite the chaos unfolding around her. Her grey hair was pulled into a tight bun. She looked about the right age to be someone’s grandmother, but the steeliness in her eyes and her rigid jawline made Kef think she had more in common with a drill sergeant.

“Gabine Ruth?” Kef asked, extending a hand to help her up.

The old woman stood by herself, frowning. “What do you want?”

“The same thing you do, I presume. I’m here to free you.”