The desert air had a tangible grittiness to it, but it wasn’t from the bits of sand drifting on the wind or the enduring scent of burning coal. It was the salty tang of laboring bodies aboard the Dune Slayer. Stepping out from the captain’s cabin, Tin shielded her eyes from the glare of sun on sand and gazed over the empty deck. The metal spearheads of boarding pikes glinted dangerously along the lookout mast. Below them, half a dozen supply crates roasted under the relentless sun.

Tin sighed, dragging her fingers through her ragged, sun-bleached hair. The crew hadn’t objected to the captain’s last order when he was conscious enough to give it. She thought they’d follow her command without complaint—most of them, anyway. That six-foot mouthy pile of muscle that called himself Snarl believed he should be in charge while the captain recovered, not Tin. She wouldn’t be surprised if Snarl told the others to ignore her orders the moment her back turned.

If she didn’t find a way to earn his respect, she was likely to shoot him. Touching the pistol hanging by her hip, the side of her mouth quirked. It was tempting. But she’d promised the captain she wouldn’t.

However, that didn’t mean she couldn’t knock some sense into them.

The bitter scent from the bellows left a black taste in the back of her throat as she descended below deck. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light of the lamps casting a feverish glow over the brass and copper pipes. The hiss of nearby pistons receded into the roaring engine and the larger cogs grinding at the Dune Slayer’s stern.

A chorus of deep laughter burst over the noise of the ship.

She found the source of it in the bellows. Nine men clustered in the small room, grinning despite the stifling heat of the furnace. Four of them were stripped to the waist, streaked with sweat and coal. Some leaned on shovels, too absorbed in conversation to notice Tin as she entered. Unsurprisingly, Snarl was the center of their attention.

“You want to see a thing of beauty, I’ll show you beauty!” He peeled his shirt off and tossed it aside, flaunting dozens of colorful tattoos etched across his body. The image of a smiling naked woman stretched luridly across his shoulder. He turned to show her off, but froze when he saw Tin.

Even the burning coals hushed their crackling as Tin leveled an icy glare on each mand. They refused to look at her. She waited until they shifted uncomfortably before focusing on Snarl.

“Go on, then,” she said, leaning against the wooden doorframe. “I’m sure you’ve got nothing better to do, so please tell us all about her.”

Snarl crossed his arms, seeming to fill the entire room with his muscles. “She was a quiet little thing. Good at doing what she’s told. I’m sure she could teach you a thing or two if you were looking for a position better suited to your talents.” The long scar at the corner of his mouth twisted his grin menacingly.

The other men shuffled back, eyeing Tin nervously. She scowled at them. She wasn’t stupid enough to fire a gun in here, but if she did, she wouldn’t miss at point-blank range. Of course, none of them knew that, she realized. She’d only come on board after their last scuffle. None of them had any idea who she was.

“It’s too bad she couldn’t teach you anything about following simple directions,” Tin said. “Did she use a lot of big words or do you disappoint women on purpose?”

One of the men by the furnace choked on a laugh. Snarl rounded on him with a glare.

“I find it very disappointing to see a whole crew disobey orders, abandon their posts, and leave supplies to burn in the sun,” she continued.

“You aren’t the captain,” Snarl said.

“Until he’s recovered enough to resume his post, you will obey my command or you will be shot.” The other men seemed to consider her threat, but she doubted any of them would take her seriously unless she acted on it. Besides, she didn’t want to waste her bullets on cowards. She only needed one man to make an example.

“I don’t care what the captain said.” Tin’s attention snapped back to Snarl. “I don’t take orders from a lady.”

“Oh?” An idea sparked in her mind, and she couldn’t help the smirk that rose to her lips. She peered around him at the soot-streaked men. “Stop the engine and bring us to a halt. I want you all on deck. Now.”

Snarl narrowed his eyes, but Tin could see curiosity warring with his pride. As the bellow workers went about shutting off the engine, she waited for the crew to slide past and march up the stairs. When the last man left, she followed them back into the merciless sunlight.

With the engines stopped it was strangely quiet on deck. Only the whispers of the crew and the faint ticking of the mechanisms slowing down filled the stillness. Waves of heat bent the air into wraithlike tendrils. Tin lowered her tinted goggles over her eyes to protect them from the sun. Most of the assembled men did the same. Snarl crossed his arms as she approached, arrogance radiating from every pore.

Tin picked two of the boarding pikes and wrenched them from the mast, letting some of her anger show as she flung one to Snarl. He snatched it out of the air with a frown. “What’s this for?” he asked.

“It’s sharp and pointy at one end—what do you think it’s for?” she snapped.

Snarl stared at her as she gripped the pike in both hands, half crouched and waiting. “This is hardly fair.”

“I accept your surrender if you’re scared.” Tin smiled as his face twisted in outrage and he swung the blunt end of his pike at her.

She cried out as the wood struck her fingers—the crew laughed at the high, feminine sound. She raised her pike and deflected a blow meant for her ribs, then ducked as the pointed metal tip slashed the air overhead. She struck the side of Snarl’s knee, keeping the sharp end away from him. His leg buckled as she swung for his head, but he blocked her attack at the last second.

Tin took a step back, her gaze flickering to their audience. They laughed and cheered for Snarl, betting on how much longer she’d last.

She smiled.

She sidestepped as Snarl brought the bladed tip down, but allowed the blunted end to connect with the side of her face. A warm rush of blood pulsed over her cheek as she spun and jabbed her pike into Snarl’s chest. He nearly knocked the pole from her hands before sweeping her feet out from under her.

Tin’s skull crashed against the wooden planking, her fingers loosening. Her vision was clear as she stared up at Snarl. The point of his pike hovered directly over her heart. He looked up, smiling his twisted grin at the men cheering for blood. He turned back to her, a murderous glint in his dark eyes.

As Snarl raised his pike, Tin’s foot shot up and landed in his gut. He grunted in pain, but it didn’t stop him from slamming his pike straight down. Tin rolled to the side and let her momentum carry her to her feet. With one sharp flick, she sent his weapon flying. She swung the blunted end into Snarl’s stomach, sending him stumbling back and gasping.

Their audience fell silent.

Not giving him a chance to recover, she upset his balance with a quick strike to his ankle before aiming the butt of her staff directly at his chest. The sight of him flat on his back was deeply satisfying, but she wasn’t finished with him. Not yet.

Tin knelt over him, grinding her knee into his chest. He sucked in a strained breath, staring up at her with wide eyes. She looked up at the men watching. She met each one’s eyes, relieved by what she saw.

Slowly, she stood and released Snarl. He didn’t move at first, lying in stunned silence. Praying she had proved her point, she held her pike out to the nearest crewman. Without question, he grabbed the weapon and scooped Snarl’s into his hand, placing them back on the mast. Tin nodded to him before turning to the others.

“Back to your posts,” she ordered. To the men blackened by coal: “Full speed on our original course.”

“Aye, ma’am!” they shouted as they darted past her and disappeared down the stairs. The rest scattered to their duties—all except Snarl. He staggered to his feet, though Tin suspected his pride had taken a worse beating than his body.

Tin pointed to the  crates. “Take those below deck immediately.”

“Aye, ma’am,” he muttered.

For more about this story, I invite you to read some modern-day reflections on craft and the process behind writing this piece in Reflections on Writing “Authority.”

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