There was a dark shape, thick and long, twisting through the water towards him. When he opened them again, his heart stopped. His eyes were stinging from the salt water, and he shut them, knowing that his tears would be lost anyway. The sight of it, with his blood, dark in the water, made him feel sick. His rapier, his severed hand still attached to the handle, was lying in front of him. Something glittered on the seabed, a tail of black twisting upwards from its base. The open mouth of the hole yawned at him, a place that none of the green light seemed to reach. The wreck was old, the wood rotting and the hull split on the seabed. The rocks on the sea bed and of the cliff wall were glowing, like an oil lamp but all-encompassing. An eerie green light was emanating from all around him, penetrating easily through the crystal-clear water. He opened his eyes, and was amazed to find he could see. He went down, down, almost to the bottom, hanging in the water amongst the wreck of a ship. The man sank beneath the waves, blood pluming from his wrist, pain and shock overriding his brain. The boy twirled in air, sheathed his dagger, and flew off into the night. The man wobbled, flailed, and fell backwards, twisting through the air until he hit the water far below. The boy spun once in the air, and planted a foot firmly in the centre of the man’s chest, right on the ruffles of his dress shirt. The other man howled, clutching the stump of his wrist, dark liquid dripping from between his fingers. It bounced off a rock and, with the hand still holding it, tumbled off the cliff edge. The dagger that the man had given him as a present for completing his training.

He banked, turned in the air, and came back, slashing with his dagger as he did so. The boy twisted in the air, swerved around the blade, continued past the man. The rapier flashed upwards, aiming for the boy’s stomach, the tip poised to unzip him from naval to sternum. So saying, the boy leapt into the air, and flew, arms outstretched, over the man’s head. This island belongs to us now, and you, and your crew, are hereby being evicted!” “And you think I’m alone? I’ve found others, others like me. “You taught me too well, old man.” The boy answered. “You were a lonely, scared boy who’d run away from home! You had nothing, and no-one! I fed you, clothed you, taught you to fight! That dagger is mine, that tunic is mine, that belt is mine!” “You took me in because you needed me.” The boy retorted, parrying the attack with the flat of his blade. I took you in, and this is how you repay me?” “You think you can beat me boy?” He asked, swiping at his opponent’s face. The larger silhouette lunged forward again, snarling. A small ball of light, pure white, hovered above his shoulder, scattering silver dust as it moved. A golden belt buckle twinkled at his waist as he regained his footing, still facing the other figure.

He turned an elegant cartwheel to avoid a thrust, somehow not losing his peaked hat, his own feather tickling the grass as he spun. His feet hardly seemed to be touching the ground at all as he skipped around his enemy, jabbing and slashing with the dagger, nimbly avoiding every attack. The other figure was smaller, more slender and seemingly even more agile than his opponent. His sturdy leather boots darted over the ground as he deftly leapt forward and backward, his arm twisting and turning like a snake with every thrust of his rapier. Long, elegant mustachios twirled from above his lips, and a wide brimmed hat sat on his head, a long feather pluming from the brim. One was tall, well built, a long greatcoat swishing around his ankles. Anyone watching, on that fateful night, might have seen two figures engaging in a strange kind of dance, silhouetted against great white moon. The two blades, one slender and elegant, one short and stubby, flashed silver in the moonlight atop the cliffs.

Tick tock croc