High in the sky, Jedit, Whistledove, and Jasmine had carried the assault back aboard Drumfish. Her lookout in the crow's nest died as he peered over the wooden side, for Whistledove's blade rammed into his brain. Jedit Ojanen caught the man's arm and tugged him from the crow's nest to topple to the deck. He shooed Jasmine and the brownie up into the tiny tub as sizzling crossbow bolts came soaring at them from below. The ship's midmast was still two feet thick even at this height, filling much of the tiny shelter, so the three Seveners were jammed cheek to cheek.

The tiger called, "Jasmine, time for your trick!"

"Hush! I don't perform 'tricks!' " Shooting her blue-dyed sleeves, the strawberry-blonde druid plucked an acorn from a pouch on her wide belt and mashed it against the mast with her thumb, chanting, "Soul of the tree, return unto thee!"

Drumfish shivered as if rocked by a wind gust. Jedit and Whistledove grunted as the mast's varnish curdled and cracked, flaking yellow peelings. Smooth wood grew corrugated and crazed, taking on the appearance of live bark. The brownie squeaked as a tiny branch popped out and unfurled a green leaf no bigger than her fingernail.

The ship quivered so much that Jasmine's teeth rattled. An enormous groaning and creaking sounded below. The shouting of corsairs, very loud as they fought both fire and Adira's cutthroats, became a frenzied wail. Jedit nodded as the tiny branch unfurled more leaves.

"Impressive, but if the mast is recalled to life, and sprouts leaves up here…"

"That's right." The druid was smug, almost laughing. "Down below it grows a full set of roots. Where the butt of the mast is stepped on the keel."

Whistledove's big eyes grew round. Jedit Ojanen purred as if to comfort himself. Rising, standing high above the world in the crow's nest, the tiger found no one shooting. The whale-oil fire had scorched a black circle but been knocked down, though a few errant flames crackled up tarred stays. A pitched battle raged along Conch's gunwales until blood painted wood, ropes and canvas, but now corsairs struggled to board Conch not to kill and plunder, but to save their lives.

Drumfish was disintegrating. Deck planks buckled and split around the midmast as it swelled in its narrow socket. Water spurted in jets as the hull breached and caved under the monstrous pressure of spreading tree roots. Ropes and yards strained too far snapped like kindling. Corsairs ran hither and yon, some shouting incoherent orders, some just shouting.

No one got help from their officers. The sailing master and others lay dead or dying in glistening pools of blood on the quarterdeck. Only Rimon could move. He'd sheltered behind the binnacle but even then caught a long barbed arrow through his hip. One leg hung lame, and blood ran in a river. Surely he'd die, he thought, while his ship crumbled to flotsam. Yet he might survive and even gain revenge with one last trick. Gasping in agony, the corsair captain dug in a pouch for the black lacquered nautilus shell given him by the mysterious Johan. Rimon had no clue what it might do except "help him win." With nothing to lose, he popped the wax seal with his thumb and flung the seashell overboard.

Swaying high up in Drumfish's crow's nest, Jedit and Whistledove and Jasmine stared through a wealth of open air at Sister Wilemina and Heath staring back from Conch's nest. From their shocked looks, the two archers reckoned their comrades were in dire straits. Two comrades agreed. Whistledove Kithkin and Jasmine Boreal clutched the tub's edge and peered down into dizzying space. So much rigging had parted, or threatened to snap, they had no trustworthy path to descend. More than a score of corsairs had taken refuge from the churning deck in nearby yards, but even then some were whiplashed into the hungry ocean.

Whistledove asked, "What's the plan to get back aboard?"

"There isn't one," squeaked Jasmine. "Adira said we'd think of it when the time came."

Watching the chaotic fracas below, Jedit Ojanen said, "The time has come, and Adira's busy. I've an idea. Hang on. Better yet, lock arms around the mast."

"Why?" asked both women, but Jedit just slid out of the crow's nest.

New to the sea and sailing, Jedit Ojanen didn't know exactly how ships were held together, but some facts were obvious. From atop the mainmast, he looked around at a dozen tarred ropes called stays that held the tall mast upright. Some of the stays ran all the way to the ship's sides, while others were fastened to the first and third masts. The precise arrangement was bewildering to any landlubber, but Jedit understood one simple fact-cut the stays and the mast would topple.

Starting on the side distant from the Conch of Cards, hanging by one leg and paw, the great man-tiger skittered like a spider over ropework and severed each one either by champing mighty fangs or hooking razor claws. Curious pungs and pings and prongs made weird music, as if a demented giant plucked a harp to pieces. There was an ominous creaking as the magiked mast began to tilt, then screams. Corsairs cowering in the tops howled at the destruction. Marauders on the deck below pointed and yelled. Inside the crow's nest, the brownie and druid hugged the shivering mast until their fingernails drew blood.

Jasmine objected, "This is mad! He'll get us-Whoaaaa!"

To the creak of tortured wood and snapping stays, the midmast-turned-tree tipped farther, then farther, then toppled and crashed amid the upperworks of the Conch. Whistledove and Jasmine barely had time to scream before the tilted crow's nest snarled and stopped dropping. Great furry striped paws caught their arms and hoisted them from the sideways nest. The women clutched warm fur in stark terror as Jedit pinned them with one arm and, single-handed, descended safely to the solid deck.

"By the balls of Boris!" Murdoch slapped the tiger on the back. "I've never seen an escape half as wild as that! Never seen a keener nor more crazy battle either!"

The Circle of Seven laughed, jubilant at their impossible victory'. Adira's crew was spattered with blood and panting with exertion, but aside from cuts and bruises, no one was hurt. Their victory was doubly sweet because they watched from safety while their enemies perished in panic.

The ships were still lashed together by grapnels with iron chains, and ground together with a nerve-grating racket. The corsair's midmast, now more a living tree than dead mast, stayed fetched among Conch's upperworks. Ropes and sails continued to sheer as the mast sawed back and forth. The guts of Drumfish had been torn out by tree roots wrenched awry, so the ship broke up on the angry gray waves, sinking fast. Corsairs shouted for succor while chucking jetsam on the ocean to cling to, knowing they'd never last ten minutes in the frigid water. A few raiders clung to the outer gunwale of the Conch, terrified to return to their dying vessel but more terrified of Adira's madmen. Aboard Drumfish, flames licked at tarred lines like fireworks, ropes and deadeyes dangled and swayed, and the quarterdeck seemed a chamel house with bodies strewn like oyster shells. Blood streaked sails, decking, and lines, and trickled out the scuppers to dapple the dark water. Captain Edsen bawled for his crew to grab axes and cut away the entangling mast before it dragged them under. Men and women raced to obey, for with the corsair ship almost gone, they recalled the danger of crashing on rocks to the east.

Adira Strongheart commanded her own crew. "Belay the backslapping! Help cut that curtain and this rubbish free! Find a crowbar and wrench loose those grapnels, or Drumfish will drag us to the bottom! Whistledove, get aloft and watch for rocks! Jedit, grab what corsairs you can and haul 'em aboard! We need every hand we can spare, and I don't care where they hail from! Virgil, cut loose that curtain-"