M3C25 - Chimp

Crowded onto platforms high on the masts, marines fired feverishly down on the French. Visser Four swung up and around them, unnoticed.

I grabbed a rope. The sailors were incredibly agile, racing up and down the masts and ropes to shift the sails, to replace ropes that had been shot away. Visser Four himself wasn’t bad.

But now I was a chimpanzee. The human hasn’t been born who can touch a chimpanzee in a tree.

Ka-Pop! Ka-Pop! Ka-Pop! Muskets fired.

I swung up into the rigging and shot straight up at a speed and with an ease that made even the most graceful sailor look like a lumbering ox.

Up and up, hand and foot, hand and foot, effortless. Visser Four was above me, heading higher.

Then, he looked down and saw me.

I enjoyed the fear in his blue eyes. I loved the fear in his eyes.

<That’s right: You are all mine.>

(...)

And worse, from my point of view, the French had a couple of small brass cannon mounted on swivels on one of the mid-mast platforms. They were firing into the rigging.

Ping!

The rope I was holding parted. I fell! My left hand reached out and snagged another rope.

Effortless. This was my world. This was my environment!

Visser Four was as high up as he could go, the junction of the highest spar crossed the mast. He was clutching the mast.