The Doctor

“Jack, everything you've said borders on preposterous! I need to think about this long and hard before I can hope to give you an answer. You're asking me to risk my very future on your word.” “Then I'll tell you what,” Jack said solemnly. “Sail with me on one cruise. I'll tell you where to strike, and you take the lead. The Lobo will hang back, as support only, flying the colours of the ship you're going to take. You'll know ahead of time your prey's weaknesses and cargo. Whatever you take is yours. Outside of that, I don't know any other way to convince you.” Rhys cocked his head. “And why would you do this? Why are you trying so very hard to convince me to come along with you?” Jack looked down and took a deep breath. “Rhys, I hate debt. I owe you my life. That's a pretty big debt. You're in trouble, and I can make it right. I'm asking you to let me do this for you. As repayment. No strings, no games. We work together until you decide to break company. I ask nothing in return, not even a stake in your smuggling operation between here and Wales.” “How do you know about that?” demanded Rhys. “I told you. Bonita is very good.” “I should say so...” “And it took about fifteen minutes to verify it the last time I was in Jamaica. The Morgan legacy is a very poorly kept secret.” Rhys could feel his face colour. “That many people know?” “Well, no, not that many. I'd say fully half of Port Royal is still ignorant to your dealings.” With a chuckle, Rhys picked up his quill again and tapped it on the table. “I have to admit, Jack, your offer is very intriguing.” “Then, say yes.” Rhys stared at Jack for several moments as he weighed the pros and cons. Finally, he answered. “Yes.” “Excellent!” exclaimed Jack as he jumped to his feet. He produced a set of papers bound with a blood red ribbon and slapped them on the desk. “Here is where we sail next. As agreed, you sail lead with the Lobo as second. Take both ships on your own. If anything goes amiss, sound the bell and I'll be there to help. But I doubt that will be necessary.” Rhys looked at the packet. “All right. When do we sail?” “Tomorrow, at first light.” “No, that's not possible. I'm waiting on supplies that won't be available for another two days.” Jack gave him a sly smile and motioned to starboard. “Look out your window.” Rhys went to the window on that side and looked out. To his amazement, a set of supply boats heavy with goods was headed toward the Neptune Rising. He turned back in amazement. “How... how did you know I would agree?” “I told you, mate. Bonita is very, very good.” Rhys turned back to the window, still in shock. “I should say she is. But you never mentioned this! How much will I owe you for this courtesy? Jack?” He turned back to find Jack gone, and the casaba melon spinning in the middle of his desk.

Rhys thought for a moment, and laughed. “I'm still waiting for the catch, Jack. What is it? A steep percentage after six months? An annual lump sum payment? My soul, perhaps?” “Please! What would I do with your soul? I've no use for my own.” He shook his head. “As I said, no catch. No cut, no payments, no usury. Simply a place for your men to ply their trade, and the information with which to do it.” “Information? What information would that be?” asked Rhys, a little faster than he meant to. Jack's offer was intriguing, to say the least. But he needed to know everything before considering taking the offer. “Where to cruise, who to hit, and when.” “Nobody has those kind of specifics. It's impossible.” “I do.” “You really are mad.” “A great many would agree. But it doesn't change the fact that I'm telling you the truth.” Rhys searched Jack's face, and found nothing but cool, rational composure. For Jack to be talking like a madman, he certainly wasn't acting like one. “I have to know where this information comes from.” Jack gave a sly smirk. “The same source that told me where to find you. You went to great lengths to let everyone know you were going north from Jamaica to Nassau. But here you are, due east, hidden in the French port of Petit Goave.” “That doesn't mean a thing. So someone recognised my ship sailing into port. Tongues wag.” “You've been in port barely a day, Cambridge. Word travels fast in the Caribbean, but not that fast.” Jack leaned forward. “I sailed in from the east. Directly here. Because I knew this is where you'd be. Just as I knew where those Spanish military payroll sloops would be, just as I knew where the new French governor of Montserrat's ship would be, etcetera, etcetera.” “And where does this intelligence come from? Not even a network of spies could be so accurate.” Jack's gaze shifted to somewhere over Rhys' shoulder. “I have an associate. You might say she has special talents. Special sight...” “This is madness...” “No, it's NOT! Damn it, Rhys! I'm offering you something rare here. Something I wouldn't offer anyone else.” “Why me, then? Why seek me out?” Jack rolled his eyes. “My God, you're thick for an educated man! It's right in front of you. Literally.” Rhys looked down at his desk. “This? It's a melon. You hate these things as I recall.” “And if you hadn't yanked me off into a cartload of the damned things, I'd be a dead man.” He sighed heavily. “I am trying to repay a debt. You saved my arse when I was in trouble. I want to do the same for you.” Rhys looked at Jack, and then back to the casaba. He gave a slight scowl as he pondered Jack's offer, and idly spun the melon as he thought. “You're asking me to take quite a leap of faith, Oxford. Your success is practically legendary, to be sure. You've all but eclipsed Will Harkness' reputation. By the way, what ever happened to him? He seemed to vanish about the same time you got your ship.” Jack gave a slight smile. “He... went on to bigger and better things.” “You didn't...” “NO! God, no! I left Will on St. Eustatius. He said something about seeing how the other half lives, whatever that means. And that's the last I've seen of him.” “Maybe your paths will cross again one day.” “I'd like that. As long as he's not bringing the hangman's noose with him, that is!” The two men laughed together, but the thoughtful frown returned to Rhys' face. “Who is this 'advisor' of yours? And how reliable is she, really?” Rhys asked. “You really can't take anything on faith, can you, Cambridge?” “Not where you're concerned, Oxford.” They looked at each other for a long moment, before they laughed in unison, “Oxbridge!” “Pour me some of that rum, and I'll tell you,” said Jack. “Now we're getting down to business,” replied Rhys as he poured. He handed the glass to Jack, then refilled his own. “Tell me all about her.” Jack took a sip, and sighed. “Her name is Bonita. Ask her what her last name is six different times, and you'll get different answers. The men have settled on 'le Mystère', since that about sums her up. She is an Obeah priestess, among other things, and she is very, very good at what she does.” “That doesn't tell me much,” replied Rhys sceptically. “The proof is in the pudding, as they say. Look at the success I've enjoyed. You tell me how I can be in the right place at exactly the right time, every time. Defies the odds, even reason itself, wouldn't you say?” “You're incredibly lucky, I'll give you that.” “Luck, nothing,” said Jack. “All I did was take Bonita's word as gospel truth, and there were the ships. Just as vulnerable, just as loaded with swag as she said they would be. How in the world could any man be that bloody lucky?” Rhys ran a finger around the rim of his glass. “And what is to stop me from declining your offer and exposing your secret?” “Pffft! Easy! You're honourable to a fault, Rhys Morgan. You have no reason to expose me, nor anything to gain from it. If anything, you're terribly intrigued. Besides, I don't care if you did tell anyone. They'd think you barking mad, and you know it. Frankly, I have nothing to lose in this deal. But you do, if you walk away.” “You seem to have all this figured out. With the help of your Obeah friend, I suppose?” “With the help of a solid Oxford education, which you were so tragically denied.” Jack shook his head. “Rhys, I'm trying to help you. I wouldn't have come here if I didn't know I could fix things. All I'm asking for is the chance to prove I'm sincere.”

Petit Goave -- December, 1650 A sultry breeze blew steadily off the coast of Hispaniola, washing over the sleepy port town of Petit Goave and out into the harbour. The ships anchored there bobbed gently, their masts slightly swaying like mangroves. Among these was a fine weathered vessel of quiet majesty; the Neptune Rising. Her captain, Rhys Morgan, sat in his cabin as he stared at a desk littered with maps, notes, and plotting instruments. Lines of frustration creased his brow as he puzzled what their next destination. Prizes had become few and far between lately, as merchants shifted their trade to other ports or out of the area entirely in response to the threat of one pirate who seemed to time his attacks with uncanny precision and effectiveness. Rumour had it the pirate had supernatural assistance from a dark, mystical woman. Rhys didn't believe the stories, but after nearly two months without a prize of value, he would have been happy for such an advisor. “I'll be damned if I'm left to raiding fishing boats for food,” Rhys swore. He poured another glass of rum and sipped it as he stared bitterly at the maps. There had to be some place left to hunt... but where? A knock at the cabin door broke his concentration. “I said no interruptions!” barked Rhys testily. The door opened slightly, and the quartermaster, Dolan, poked his head in. “Begging your pardon, but there's a man come aboard to see you. Says it's mightily important. “Whatever he has to say, he can say to you,” Rhys answered. “Keep him out of the crew's way, and send him off when he's through. I have enough trouble.” Dolan's head disappeared, but the door remained open. Rhys could hear voices, and after a few moments Dolan reappeared. “He won't hear of it, Captain. He claims to have vital information. Says it's a matter of life and death.” Rhys exhaled through clenched teeth. He had promised his men a solution to their predicament before the day was out in order to keep any of them from jumping ship. And here was some damned fool with “information” that he was certain would only put him further behind. “All right, damn it. Show him in.” Rhys picked up his quill and hunched over his desk, pretending to be make notations in hope that by appearing too busy the visitor would leave faster. He could hear the sound of a pair of boots on the deck in front of him, with an almost lackadaisical gait. Without looking up, Rhys said in his most impatient and officious tone, “I'm a very busy man, a fact I hope you can appreciate. So please, say your piece and be on your way...” A casaba melon rolled across the table and stopped right under his gaze. Rhys blinked in disbelief and looked up into the face of the man who had brought it. His eyes hardened into a contemptuous glare. “You,” he growled. “You were expecting Father Christmas?” smiled Jack Wolfe as he casually took the chair opposite Rhys. “Captain Morgan. Has a nice ring to it. You should take out a patent. And is that any way to greet an old friend? I had hoped they at least taught you some manners at Cambridge. Why so glum?” Rhys sat back in his chair and looked at the man he had saved from certain death at the hands of jealous Spanish warlord a scant few years before. He looked the almost the same, save for even longer hair held back from his face with a red head scarf and a close cropped goatee which served to give him a wild look. “'Mad Jack' Wolfe, master of El Lobo del Mar. Thanks to you, my crew haven't been able to take a prize worth the effort in months. Apparently Oxford taught you the vice of greed very well.” “Nope. Picked that one up all on my own, thank you,” Jack smirked. “That is the name of our game, yeah? Greed? Take all you can, and give nothing back?” “What do you want, Jack? If you came to gloat, then you've accomplished your mission.” Rhys picked up the melon and tossed it to Jack. “You can take your remembrance and go. I'm busy.” Jack put the melon back on Rhys' desk. “I'm not here to gloat, Cambridge. I'm here to help.” Rhys choked back an incredulous laugh. “Help? How? You're not planning to retire already, are you?” “Not on your life, mate,” Jack replied coolly. “I'm offering you a partnership.” Rhys stared at Jack for several seconds, unsure of what he had just heard. “Come again?” “You heard me right, Rhys. I'm offering you a full partnership. A lifeline of sorts. The question is, are you willing...,” he picked up the melon and looked at it for a moment, then tossed it without warning to Rhys, “... to take it?” Rhys caught the melon in both hands, still puzzled by Jack's mysterious arrival and even more unexpected business proposal. He regarded the melon before placing on the table again. “What's the catch?” “No catch.” “Oh, come on, Oxford. I didn't just fall off the turnip wagon. You've got quite the reputation for heavy conditions on any deal you strike.” Jack smiled to himself. “Yeah, I know. I started the stories. It's a sweet bit of leverage whenever I have to negotiate. When they're expecting outrageous demands, it's easier to sneak in onerous ones.” “How perfectly underhanded of you!” chuckled Rhys, with a hint of admiration in his voice. Jack's audacity never ceased to amaze him. For that very reason, Rhys was still wary of what his old acquaintance had in store. “It beats a career in politics. This way is more honest, as an old friend once pointed out. But I'm serious, Rhys. No catch, no conditions.” “There have to be terms.” “What good business deal doesn't have terms?” Rhys tapped the end of his quill on the desk. “I'm dying to hear this.” “Still cautious. I like that. All right then, the terms.” Jack leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him as he looked Rhys in the eye. “A division of labour. There are too many prizes and not enough of me to take them. We take certain territories, which will shift over time, and hunt them clean. Whatever you take, you keep to share out as you will.”

Friends don't let friends debug code drunk.

Loving the new digs, Stynky! I especially appreciate the wet bar and fancy hot tub. Thanks for all the work you've put into it!

“I can't believe I'm hearing this,” Jack said in disbelief. “I can't imagine any other life than this one. And I can't believe you'd just... walk away from it!” Harkness smiled a bit. “Listen to yourself, Jack. When we first met, you would have rather died than become a pirate. You said it yourself. Look at you now. Can you honestly tell me things can't change, when you're living proof they do?” “What am I supposed to do, if you leave?” “Exactly what you would have done if I had died today. Carry on.” Harkness took his student by the shoulders. “You're ready for this, Jack. And I'm ready to move on. It's time, for both of us.” Still in shock, Jack looked his mentor in the eyes. “Damn you for springing this on me, Will. It's not fair.” “Jack, I've learned you make your best decisions when you don't have time to think about it too much. You over-analyse, my boy. Trust your instincts. Your wits will balance things out. Now, answer my question. Which ship shall be yours?” Jack turned and looked at the Spanish vessel again. It was remarkably trim for ship of Spain, built almost in the style of France's lean, fast frigates. She had real possibilities, with some work. Then he looked at the Pride. There was a ship he knew like the back of his hand, since he had helped to shape her. Jack knew her quirks and temperament like a lover knows his partner. The comfortable familiarity was a powerful draw. But he knew if he took the Pride as his own, he'd never escape the shadow of Will Harkness. “If I had to make a choice...” “Yes, Jack. You have to choose.” “This ship, definitely. Harkness chuckled. “You never do anything the easy way, do you?” “Where's the fun in that?” replied Jack. “The fun is just beginning, my lad. You'll be a captain now, in your own right. We'll make the announcement once we make port. I prefer not to spring this news whilst we're still at sea.” “What are you going to do?” “What, with the Pride? The quartermaster has been wanting his own ship for a while now. He'll jump at the chance to have her.” “I thought as much. He'll do well. I suppose we'll have to work out who goes with which ship when we part company. But what I'm really interested in, Will, is what your plans are for yourself.” “I honestly don't know for sure. I certainly won't become a merchant captain, what with you out there running free! No, I'll find something. Can you imagine me as a gentleman farmer?” Jack laughed involuntarily at the thought. “You, living on dry land? I'll believe it when I see it.” “I know this for certain,” said Harkness, “you're getting more than a ship in this bargain. You're getting a sworn enemy.” “How do you figure? Mendoza? What's a ship to him? He'll just buy another.” “Oh, you don't know this ship's name?” “Not a clue.” “Jack, this is the second Mercedes of his that you've been involved with. And this time, you're taking her away.” Jack stared at his captain with a mixture of shock and glee. “You're joking! He named this ship after his wife?” “Even had the figurehead carved in her likeness.” “This is too good! I'm enjoying it more every moment. I may just have to swing out on the bowsprit and give her a kiss as we sail away!” Harkness' expression turned serious. “Be careful, Jack. Diego Mendoza may have lost today, but don't underestimate him. He's wealthy, driven, and more than a little crazy. That's a dangerous combination. You're going to have a very, very high spot on his list of people to get revenge on. I know you're not one to look over your shoulder, but you may want to start.” “He's had it out for you for a long time, you said. And you've managed to elude him.” “Because I keep tabs on him. One of the first things I do in port is ask if he's about. Not just to decide if I want to make a prize at his expense, but to avoid him, too.” “You make it sound like the better option is killing him now.” “No, and for the same reasons you arrived at. Better to have him wage his impotent crusade than to deal with a fleet of costa garda. Just watch yourself, all right?” Jack let Will's words sink in. Harkness was a cautious man, but the concern in his voice was unusually strong this time. “I promise. No letting my guard down with this one,” Jack nodded. It wasn't enough that he had butterflies in his stomach at becoming a captain, he now had a blood enemy. “Good,” Harkness smiled. “So, what are you going to name your very own ship? Assuming there's no sentiment behind Mercedes for you.” “Very funny. I'm tempted toward something Spanish as a tip of the hat to the man who so graciously provided her.” Jack thought for a moment, and his eyes brightened. “I know! How about El Lobo del Mar?” “The Wolf of the Sea, captained by Mad Jack Wolfe himself,” mused Harkness. “Interesting choice, practically naming her after yourself.” “It works then?” Harkness nodded approval. “With a name like that, your reputation will practically write itself!”

Diego Mendoza stood there, wild eyed, not sure what to do next. Finally, he decided defeat was inevitable. His chest heaving, he tossed his sword to the deck. “You win,” he whispered. Jack's brow furrowed. “Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't quite catch that. Louder, please, for the gallery?” Mendoza took a deep breath. “I said, you win!” he growled through clenched teeth. Jack began to speak, but Harkness preempted him. “I heard that, loud and clear, Mister Wolfe. And so did you.” “Aye, Captain. That I did,” said Jack. Jack backed off and let his sword drop. Mendoza swiftly went for a dagger hidden in his boot, and Jack cuffed him with the guard of his sword. The Spaniard dropped to his knees and spat a bit of blood on the deck, a bitter, hateful expression on his face. “Tell your men to stand down, Diego,” Harkness ordered. After a long pause, Mendoza shouted “¡Entrega! ¡Ahora háganlo!” Reluctantly, his remaining men stopped fighting and surrendered to their pirate masters. “Good choice,” said Jack. “Go to hell!” Mendoza spat. “Maybe some day, but that's a philosophical debate for another time.” “You English talk too much.” “Funny, I recall you're lovely wife saying that just before she, well...” Mendoza started to get to his feet, but Harkness stopped him. “That's enough, Mister Wolfe! Am I understood?” “Crystalline, sir,” answered Jack as he backed away. Will waved in a few men to take custody of Mendoza, and Harkness relieved the Spaniard of his boot dagger and a few other hidden blades. He walked over to Jack, who was at the far gunwale, staring out across the open sea. “He was humiliated enough, Jack,” began Will. “I know,” said Jack. “I guess the moment got away from me.” “It's called mercy, Jack. And with it goes respect. You must never let those qualities get away from you.” Jack turned and gave his mentor a hard look. “Would he have shown us such mercy?” Harkness shook his head. “Certainly not. But we must be better than those we vanquish, in all ways. If we aren't superior in mercy, then we are no better than a common highwayman. Does that make sense to you?” Jack thought for a moment. “I suppose it does. I'd never thought of it that way.” “Yes, you had. But you had an advantage over him, and you exploited it. As you should have.” “Now you have me confused. You tell me to show compassion, but to exploit advantages as well?” “Exploit any advantage in battle, but be compassionate in victory. Be humble in triumph,” smiled Harkness. “That is, unless they're too stupid to give up and you have no other choice.” “There's always a lesson with you, isn't there?” “Of course! I'd be a poor mentor otherwise. You two seem to have a bit of history between you.” Jack laughed. “You could say that. Remember when we were in Cuba last year?” “I do. You didn't leave the ship the last two days we were there. Usually you're off carousing in the taverns unless there's deal to be struck. I take it that's when you met the good Colonel's wife?” “The Catch of Cuba herself.” “She's something else, isn't she?” chuckled Harkness. Jack gaped at his captain. “You mean... you, too?” “What can I say? The does enjoy her Englishmen,” Will smiled wistfully. “Though Diego never heard about me in that regard. You seem to have made an impression on the fiery Mercedes.” “As you say, Will; best effort in all things. How do you know our testy friend, then?” “Diego and I have crossed paths more than a few times. The nutter has it in his head that getting rid of me is key to restoring Spain's dominance in the region. It doesn't help that I've cost him quite a bit of money, and the lion's share of his credibility with his masters.” “I've heard he's obsessed with Spain's former naval glory. Though I never thought I'd actually come face to face with him. His lot usually talk big from behind a desk.” “Oh, not Diego Mendoza,” said Harkness. “He puts a lot of personal effort into his lunacy. What do you think we should do with him?” Jack thought for a moment. “We could kill him, but for what? Being an incredible nuisance and a self-aggrandising fool? Hardly seems fair.” “Ransom him, then? He's rich.” They paused and looked across the deck of the ship to where Mendoza was being held. The defiant Spaniard was red-faced, petulantly cursing every man within earshot. “And put up with that howling? Not worth the money, if you ask me. Mercedes would never pay us to get him back anyway.” “Then we're back to killing him?” asked Harkness. Jack shook his head no. “If we did, then the Spanish government would have to take action. They may think him as much of a pain as we do, but he is one of their own. And stepped up Spanish patrols would be bad for business.” “What do you want to do with him, then?” Harkness asked. “Why me?” “All I did was muck things up by getting sloppy. You beat him. You figure out what his fate is.” Jack gave his captain a look of surprise. “Well, then. I suppose there's nothing else to do but give him the longboat and some supplies, and set him and a few close friends free near the shipping lanes. Let them sail for it as best they can.” Harkness smiled proudly at his apprentice. “I think that's a very good, very merciful choice.” “I figured it's what you would do if you were making the decision.” “You're right. It is the choice I would make. I've taught you well.” “When will you run out of things to teach me?” asked Jack jokingly. Will looked around at the two ships, and gave a chuckle as his cracked ribs argued with him. “Today. How's that?” “Today? What do you mean?” “Well, you're your own man now, Jack. You've earned the respect and trust of the crew. You'll make a fine leader, in spite of your impulsiveness. And besides, you saved my life. If it weren't for you, Diego would have run me through. I'd hate to think of myself impaled against some Spanish bulkhead. “You would have done the same for me.” Will laughed. “That has nothing to do with it. Most of the men know Mendoza is a superior swordsman and stayed back. You jumped in, your own skills be damned. That's courage. And courage will see you through, even when you don't think you're ready to take something on.” “You're talking in riddles again, Will. What are you driving at?” Harkness looked around them. “What do you think of this ship, Jack?” Jack regarded the vessel with a critical eye. “She's sleek. Well built. With a few improvements, she might even be made to give the Pride a run for her money. Why? Thinking of keeping her?” “It all depends. I'm curious. If I had died today, command of the Pride would have fallen to you. There's a packet of final orders in my quarters stating as much. Given the choice, which ship would you keep? The Pride, or this one and make it your own?” “Why all this morbid talk, Will?” “Indulge me.” “You sound like someone who is contemplating their mortality.” Harkness kept his silence. “Now, wait just a moment...” started Jack. “Mendoza never should have been able to catch me off guard the way he did. I got careless. Maybe too much success has made me soft. Or maybe just the years.” Will paused for a moment and looked at his protégé. “Piracy is a young man's enterprise, Jack. And I am no longer a young man. Maybe it's time I quit this game before it quits me.” “You can't let one misstep rattle you so!” implored Jack. “You're Iron Will Harkness, for God's sake. Your very name strikes terror into men's hearts. How could you think of walking away from that?” “Iron Will Harkness is a persona, Jack,” the captain said quietly. “A carefully manufactured façade of my own creation. In the end, I'm just a man, like any other.” He smiled enigmatically. “Maybe, if you live to be my age, you'll understand.”

On the open sea -- 1649 The two magnificent ships strained and groaned as their hulls grated against one another in this unholy union. Hooks and grapnels dug into the hull of the prey, holding it fast against the predator. Smoke from pistols, scatterguns, and patereros obscured the deck as Will Harkness stalked the deck of his latest prize. He carried his cutlass in one hand, his pistol in the other. His eyes searched the murky air as he stepped over the fallen men from both ships whom Fortune had failed to smile upon. He hated this kind of engagement, where the decks ran red because the losing captain favoured self over sense. Normally, the sight of Harkness' colours would make any ship's captain heave to and surrender. It was a regrettable loss of life on both sides. The pirate captain shook his head bitterly, and paused to look at the sails fluttering uselessly overhead, emblazoned with the blood red Norman cross of Spain. “Mendoza!!” he shouted. “Show yourself, you cowardly dog! Give it up! You've lost this time!” Harkness turned around, in case Colonel Diego Mendoza had decided to emerge from his quarters and face his conqueror. Instead, he was met by a pair of boots smashing into his chest. His pistol went skittering across the deck, but he managed to keep hold of his cutlass as he fell on to his back. Instinctively, he brought his blade up across his chest just as another clanged against it. “How dare you try and take my ship, you English dog!” raged Mendoza. “Get up, and face me like a man!” Harkness brushed Mendoza's sword aside and sprang to his feet. He ignored the broken ribs that burned in his side as he faced his enemy. “Now, who is the dog? The man that called you out, or the one who blindsided him?” Mendoza swung angrily at him, and Harkness deflected the blow. “That's not much of an answer!” “You English think you own the seas!” Mendoza raged. “Spain is her master, and I'll do whatever I must to restore the motherland to her rightful place!” Harkness had to work doubly hard to fend off Mendoza's onslaught. Though blinded by his quest to restore Spain's naval domination, Diego was a skilled swordsman, with the will of a zealot. “But you're beaten, Diego!” countered Harkness. “Your men are defeated. I've won the day! Give up now, and I'll make sure you have safe passage back to Cuba.” “NEVER!! Not as long as my heart beats!” howled Mendoza. He pressed his attack against Harkness, who had no choice but to give ground. Harkness rallied, forcing Mendoza backward. The two men clashed like titans, to a virtual standstill. Blade clanged against blade until finally, Mendoza found and advantage and spun Harkness' cutlass out of his hand. Will stood there, dumbfounded. Diego pressed the point of his sword against his opponent's chest. “Tell me why I shouldn't kill you here and know.” Harkness's eyes searched the deck, and came back to Mendoza. “Because I'm almost as good as you with a sword?” Mendoza gave a feral grin. “Not good enough.” He cocked his arm to drive his cutlass through Will Harkness' heart, but another blade slapped Medoza's sword away before he could strike the death blow. “It's about time you showed up!” Harkness groused. “What, you think this all works on a schedule?” asked Jack Wolfe, as he stepped in front of his captain. Both men's eyes went wide just before they ducked away, and Diego Mendoza's sword cut a groove into the bulkhead just behind them. Harkness rolled to Mendoza's left, out of harm's way. Jack, however, rolled right, and found himself face to face with the angry Spaniard. “I don't know you,” said Mendoza warily. “Jack Wolfe. Though I can't say it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Mendoza's eyes flared. “Jack Wolfe?!” “Um, yeah. I thought you said you didn't know me.” “I don't. But my wife knows you!” Mendoza swung wildly, and Jack easily blocked the blow. Realisation dawned on the young man's face. “Mendoza, Mendoza... Why is that familiar? You mean Mercedes, right? That sweet little contessa from Cuba! Oh, she was one hell of a goer, that one! But I'm guessing you didn't want to hear that... Whoa!!!” Jack ducked and did a shoulder roll across the deck as Diego tried mightily to take his head off. “I'm beginning to think you're upset about that little tryst.” Mendoza stalked across the deck toward him. “She's thrown your name in my face every chance she gets!” “Really!” Jack mused. “I made more of an impression than Rhys gave me credit for! How about that?” He deftly blocked another attack from the cuckold Spaniard. “I'm going to enjoy killing you, Jack Wolfe!” “And I'm going to enjoy spoiling your day!” Jack mounted a counter attack, matching Diego blow for blow. But the Spaniard quickly adapted, forcing the young pirate backwards cross the deck. Before he knew it, Jack had his back against the mainmast. Mendoza swung like a man possessed, not allowing a counter-thrust nor escape. Jack began to panic, when he saw a coil of rope sitting atop a barrel next to him. He grabbed it, and flung it at his adversary's face. The rope fouled Mendoza's vision, and allowed Jack to dance away. By the time Diego got rid of the rope, he found Jack's blade tip inches from his nose, and Will Harkness' pistol against his back. “I'm pretty sure this is where you surrender, mate,” said Jack.

If you've got fiction to write and share, you've come to the right place. There's no restriction on your story being historically based, just that it be original work.

The next morning, after a light breakfast of hardtack and bad coffee, Rhys and Jack rowed the Neptune Rising's jollyboat toward the Raven's Pride. Jack was explaining to Rhys how he fell into company with Harkness and a life of piracy. When he began telling about gaining Harkness' respect with the Pride's refit, Rhys couldn't help but laugh out loud. “What's so damned funny?” asked Jack indignantly. “I'm sorry, I'm really sorry,” Rhys laughed. “But you, redesigning a ship? I just can't see you planning out something that requires that much care! You're more of a 'leap before you look' sort of fellow.” “Laugh it up, Cambridge. Why don't you tell me where you and your uncle are headed next, and you can see for yourself just how fast the Pride is?” “As entertaining as that sounds, I'll pass. Uncle Henry is looking to establish himself here in the Caribbean, so we'll be staying put a while. The waters back home are over-hunted, he says. The Spanish are thick as fleas on a dog's back here, and he does so enjoy bedevilling them.” “Pulling up stakes, eh? Well, he's picked a good place to resettle, especially if he like Spanish targets. Where exactly were the old haunts?” Rhys smiled whistfully. “Beaumaris, on the northern coast. The most beautiful place on earth. There was a small bay, more of a cove to be honest, that we used. You'd love it. It's called Blaidd Drwg Bae.” “Again with the Welsh. What does it mean?” “Bad Wolf Bay.” Jack let out a hearty laugh. “Aye, they practically named it for me!” By that time they were along side the Pride, opposite the docks and any prying eyes. Jack let out a loud whistle. “Ahoy the ship!” he yelled. “It's Jack Wolfe, and a friend! Throw us a couple of lines!” A few faces appeared at the gunwale. One of them belonged to Briggs. “If it ain't the tomcat draggin' himself home! Three lines, boys, and step lively!” Jack and Rhys tied on to the boat to prevent it drifting away, and the two men climbed the side of the ship up to the weather deck. Briggs was giving his friend and expectant look. “Josiah,” said Jack merrily, “this is Rhys Morgan. Rhys, Josiah Briggs, my best friend.” “Pleased to meet ye, Rhys,” said Briggs. “Somethin' tells me there's a story to go along with all this.” “Aye, there is,” replied Jack. “Rhys saved my life yesterday.” “He did, eh? And who was the angry husband he saved ye from?” “The Governor of Havana,” Rhys said matter-of-factly. Briggs choked back startled laughter. “Saints and angels, Jack! Only you would pull somethin' so daft! “ “In all fairness, she didn't tell me she's the governor's wife. We never exactly exchanged last names.” “Just everything else, I suppose.” “Something like that. Wouldn't be polite to kiss and tell. But when Mendoza's men stormed in to find his wife, Rhys was kind enough to stage a rescue.” “If I had known you were Oxford, I probably would have changed my mind,” Rhys smirked. “Oi! How do you think I feel being rescued by a Cambridge man?” “I dunno, who was smart enough not to climb into her bed in the first place? Certainly not the Oxford man.” “Yeah, but the Oxford man put a hell of a smile on her face...” Briggs stepped in between the two college rivals. “All right, gentlemen! That's about enough, the both of ye!” He wasn't sure if Jack and Rhys were about to come to blows, but he felt the precaution of keeping them separate was the wise choice. They glared at each other as if Briggs weren't even there. After a long pause, they both broke out laughing, leaving Briggs with a bewildered look on his face. “Thanks for saving my hide, Cambridge,” said Jack. “You owe me one, Oxford!” “Oxbridge!” they said in unison, and laughed even more. “Would somebody tell me what the hell is goin' on?” complained Briggs. Jack clapped his friend on the back. “Rival schools, my friend. Rhys here went to Cambridge, poor bloke. But he's a good man in spite of it.” Rhys smirked, “And you've done nothing to improve my opinion of anyone from Oxford, Jack.” “Likewise, but I'm starting to warm up to you.” Briggs shook his head. “What's this world comin' to? Ye'll need a head full of book learnin' to be a pirate before long!” This drew a fresh round of laughter from everyone. The rest of the men went about their duties, leaving Jack, Briggs, and Rhys to themselves. “Come on, let us show you around,” Jack said to Rhys. “You showed me hospitality, now it's my turn to play host.” Rhys smiled and shook his head. “I really should be getting back. Somebody has to watch over the crew whilst Uncle Henry is off conducting business.” “They'll get by for a few hours on their own. What could happen in that short time?” “With you involved, anything and everything!” “Ain't that the truth!” Briggs laughed. “I'm a bit of an overachiever,” grinned Jack. “And Josiah isn't about to let me live down that little incident in San Juan and the brothel. Are you, Briggs?” “It was your bright idea to try and sneak them women back to the ship... dressed as nuns.” “And it would have worked, too!” Jack protested. “If the shortest path to the waterfront hadn't gone right past the church. Damned nosy priest. What was he up at that hour for, anyway?” Rhys laughed and rolled his eyes. “That seals it! I'm leaving before you can cook up any more wild plans. Harlots dressed as nuns? Let me guess- you were dressed as a priest?” “Not exactly...” began Jack. “The Mother Superior,” interrupted Briggs. Rhys stared at Jack, slackjawed with astonishment at the older man's audacity. “You are mad, Jack Wolfe!” he exclaimed. “As if I needed any more evidence!” Jack pondered Rhys' words a moment. “'Mad Jack Wolfe'. That's got quite the ring! Mind if I use it?” “Aye!” laughed Briggs. “That sums ye up perfect!” “Wear it in good health, Oxford! Lord knows you've earned it.” Jack smiled at his new friend. “Thanks, Cambridge. And thank you again for saving my neck. I'm serious; I owe you.” “Here's hoping you never have to make good on that debt, my friend,” answered Rhys. “Do yourself a favour, eh? At least try to stay out of trouble? You can start with not going ashore anywhere you hear the name Mendoza.” “I'll give it a go, mate. I promise.” Rhys chuckled and shook his head as he climbed over the side of the ship and down to his boat. “Hey, Cambridge!” Jack yelled. “You think our paths will cross again some day?” “Oh God, I hope not, Oxford! Once was enough!” Rhys laughed. Jack and Briggs stood at the gunwale for a bit as Rhys rowed away. “Are ye goin' to take his advice?” asked Briggs. “I think I might just do that, this time,” Jack said quietly. “That close, huh?” Jack took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah.” “What about next time?” “Easy. I'll ask her straight away if her husband is the governor. If not, then it's a party!” Briggs laughed softly. “Aye, 'Mad Jack', indeed!”

Aye! We're all interested in how this came to be! Jack Wolfe Piratical Potentate of the Plains

I want one of these... Ex-STEAM-i-nate!!

The following morning, the young man with grey-green eyes was still in the tavern, sipping mulled cider as he looked over what appeared to be hastily drawn navigation charts. He had slept in the common room with the rest of the sailors and those too drunk to make it home the night before. Not because he himself had been too drunk or couldn't afford a private room. Taverns were the heartbeat of any port town. Loose tongues abounded once the alcohol began to flow. Anything of use could be overheard. What ships were in port, what they carried, where they were headed, whether or not they had an adequate crew or competent captain. The other patrons were beginning to stir when the tavern door swung open with a loud bang. In walked five serious looking men, their leader entering last, slapping a pair of black leather riding gloves impatiently into his hand. “Manuel!” the imposing man called. “Manuel, get out here!” Manuel emerged from the pantry, pausing a moment to look out over the main room and take note of the groaning, grumbling patrons. They were all moving to some degree, so he stepped behind the bar. “I hope I don't have to have the hinges on that door fixed again, Roberto,” he said, unimpressed. “Send the bill to Colonel Mendoza. Is she here?” “If you weren't certain of it, you wouldn't be here wrecking my property,” said Manuel. “Upstairs. Like always.” Roberto motioned to his men to up the stairs to Mercedes' room. Before they could reach the staircase, the young man spoke up. “I saw her kissing a man goodbye just before you arrived. It was only a couple of minutes ago. He left through the back way. He looked like a common labourer. If you hurry, you can catch him before he gets too far!” Roberto looked at Manuel, who nodded and pointed toward the back exit. “Why didn't you say so?” demanded Roberto. Manuel shrugged. “You asked about Mercedes, not if she was with anyone. Besides, I'm unhappy about my door.” “After him!” Roberto ordered his men. “Before he gets out of town!” The men crowded through the back door and into the alleyway. The young man winked at Manuel, tossed him a coin, and charged up the stairs to Mercedes' room. He paused at the top of the stairs and counted down three doors to the right. Mercedes had tried to work her charms on him more than once, but he had heard too many things about her reputation and her husband's deadly temper. Each time he declined, and each time she reminded him where she would be if he reconsidered. He listened at the door. The sound of soft laughter could be heard. They were still at it. But there wasn't time to wait. Mendoza's men would be back as soon as they found out they had been tricked, and they wouldn't be happy. The young man took a deep breath, and burst into the room. There lay Jack and Mercedes, in the throes of passion. “Whoa!” yelped the man, and he immediately turned to face the wall. “Sorry to barge in like this, but sir, you need to leave. Now.” “Excuse me, but I'm not ready to leave, sir,” Jack retorted. “Now get your arse out of here before I get up and shoot you.” “You aren't going anywhere until you finish what you started, Jack,” snapped Mercedes. “And you! You picked a fine time to change your mind about coming to see me. You'll have to wait your turn.” The man sighed in exasperation. “I haven't changed my mind, Contessa, I'm trying to--” “Contessa?” interrupted Jack. He looked down at Mercedes and smiled. “I've never had a Contessa before. I'm really taking a liking to this port!” “This port is going to be the end of you if we don't leave now!” The man picked up Jack's shirt and pants and threw them at him. “Her husband's men were just downstairs looking for her. If they find you, it won't be good.” “What, they'll kill me?” asked Jack as he reluctantly pulled on his pants. “No. They'll drag you to her husband, and he'll kill you.” Jack shot Mercedes a look. She gave a sheepish smile and shrugged. He hastened his efforts to get dressed. “Bollocks! It was good, Mercedes, but not worth dying over. And I suppose I should thank you for the warning, whatever your name is.” “Rhys Morgan.” “Jack Wolfe. I'd say it's a pleasure, but that would be lying. Shall we make our exit?” The door of the tavern crashed open again. “I said be careful of my door! And don't tell me to charge it to Colonel Mendoza! He hasn't paid for the last one you broke!” howled Manuel as Mendoza's men stormed back inside. The innkeeper began arguing loudly with Roberto in an attempt to buy the two young men time. Not that he cared about them. Blood was devilishly hard to clean off unfinished wood floors. “Nefi bliw,” Rhys swore in Welsh. “If that's anything like bloody hell, I agree,” said Jack. “How many? Can we fight them?” “Six.” “The window it is.” Rhys stuck his head out the window and looked down. There was a short drop to a long wooden overhang for diverting the tropical rains that often fell. As fortune would have it, a farmer's cart full of produce had been left in the alley. “We can do this,”said Rhys as he clambered out of the window. There was a narrow ledge that allowed for a foothold. He looked back into the room to find Jack and Mercedes sharing one more overheated kiss. The sound of boots could be heard charging up the stairs. “Damn it, Jack! Get out here! Let's go!” Rhys hissed. Jack quickly joined him on the ledge. To Rhys' surprise, Jack leaned nonchalantly on the windowsill. “What are you DOING?” asked Rhys. “One last look, mate. Believe me, she was worth a bit of trouble.” At that moment, one of Mendoza's men appeared at the door, a pistol at the ready. The man's scowl turned to a snarl as he caught a glimpse of Jack's face in the window. Rhys didn't care to find out what brazen thing Jack might do in the face of this danger. He took control of the situation. Grabbing Jack's belt at the small of his back, Rhys yanked hard. Jack's eyes went wide as he felt himself falling backward through space. With a crunching thud, he landed flat on his back in the middle of the farmer's produce cart. He shook his head hard and took a quick personal inventory. Everything still moved, and nothing seemed broken, though his back felt wet. The air was suddenly sickly sweet. Jack reached beside him and looked at one of the items that had broken his fall, just as Rhys dropped from the overhang onto the end of the cart. “Casaba melons?!” complained Jack. “I hate casaba melons!” “It was either that or a ball to the head. The melons seemed a little less final. Now get off your back and let's get--” A shot rang out from the window above, and a melon at Jack's side exploded. “They're in the alley!!” bellowed the gunman. Rhys and Jack leaped from the cart. The pair ran at full speed down the alleyway and into the street, with Jack leaving a scattershot trail of seeds and melon bits in his wake.

La Habana, Cuba -- 1645 Jack sat in a dimly lit tavern contemplating how much his life had changed in the past three years. He was no longer the idealistic, moral young man who had signed on to a freighter, certain he knew exactly how the world worked and his place in it. Events had transfigured him, remoulded him into something very different, inside and out. His neatly kept hair now hung long and wild past his shoulders, and his once clean-shaven face sported a close-cropped goatee. For a man of 27 years, his eyes belonged to someone much older. He was very much a product of his environment now. He was a pirate. And he was enjoying it. The world had revealed much to Jack. More than he could have imagined in his dreams or his nightmares. His misgivings about Harkness that arose during the refit of the Raven's Pride proved to be unfounded. The captain took Jack fully under his wing and taught the young man the finer points of piracy and seamanship. Navigation, swordplay, negotiation, gunnery, tactics and strategy, and most importantly, self promotion. Jack learned that the majority, and often the most terrifying, of the rumours circulating about William Harkness were started by Harkness himself. It was his habit on extended layovers to dress in the shabbiest, tar stained clothes he could find, smudge himself with soot and pitch, and wander into a tavern crowded with merchant sailors to weave harrowing tales of the merciless pirate “Iron Will” Harkness. With just the right touch of his powerful personality, his stories left the sailors almost too frightened to go back aboard their ships. More often than not, he could get few rattled men to divulge their ship's destination and cargo. Imagine their terror when, as if foretold by that half crazed old salt, a sleek, powerful ship flying a black flag emblazoned with a raven clutching a sword and pistol ran them down and demanded unconditional surrender. When Jack questioned Harkness on this well worn ploy, the elder man replied, “Which would you rather do, Jack? Transfer their cargo directly, or salvage it off the bottom?” The logic was irrefutable. Jack began openly shadowing his mentor, no matter the situation. He soon learned that Will Harkness was no bloodthirsty beast. Quite the contrary. Will Harkness was cool, even tempered, and a brilliant tactician. He could read men in a matter of moments, and develop a strategy to pick them apart before they knew what hit them. Jack learned the benefit of this skill from the many ships they took over the years. Yes, there was the odd foolhardy captain that dared make a stand, and they were made example of. That's where Jack saw Will's truly human side. Will Harkness despised the taking of a human life, no matter how necessary it was to achieve his ends. After one such occasion, Jack entered the great cabin to find his captain openly weeping, regretting the life he had taken that day. “Human life is precious, Jack. Never ever forget that,” Will had said. “When you must take it, never take it lightly.” But ever the enigma, Will Harkness was back on deck the next morning, playing the role of ruthless sea dog. It was a lesson Jack took to heart. No matter how the captain feels inside, he is still the captain. “You're going to stare a hole into the bottom of that mug,” said a sultry voice. Jack looked up into the most perfect emerald eyes he had ever seen in his life. They belonged to an exotic Spanish beauty with dusky skin and jet black hair that cascaded over her bare shoulders. “Dios mio,” he murmered. The woman laughed. “That sounds so funny with an English accent like yours! Come on, say something else, like paella or cucaracha!” Jack blushed. “I'm sorry. I wasn't... you caught me off guard.” “Me?” replied the woman in mock astonishment. “I caught a pirate unawares? This is indeed a great day for me! What is my reward for taking a pirate?” Jack made a production of checking his clothes. “I wouldn't say you've taken a pirate just yet. I'm still fully dressed.” “I can change that,” she purred. “Oh, can you now?” “Faster than you think. What is your name?” “Jack Wol--” The raven haired woman grabbed Jack by the collar and kissed him deeply, their tongues playing an intricate, erotic dance. He could scarcely draw in enough air when she let him go. “Jack. I like that name,” she said breathlessly. “I didn't catch yours,” he said. “No, you didn't.” “Will I ever?” She wound her fingers in hair, and pulled him suddenly to her. “Mercedes,” she said huskily, and his eyes grew wide as she playfully bit his earlobe. Alarm bells clanged in his head. A woman this aggressive had something to prove, or someone to hurt. But he shoved those thoughts aside. “Mercedes. I like that name, too.” He buried his face in her black hair, and sought out her neck. Mercedes pushed him back with a wicked smile. “Oh, no. Not until I let you. This is my game.” “If it's your game, will you ever let me?” Her devious smile grew. “I will. If you can last that long.” “Oh, I can last quite a while.” “Prove it.” “What, here? On the bar counter? Or would you prefer a table that gives everyone a good view?” “Don't tempt me!” Mercedes laughed. “No, I have a room upstairs. Unless you're afraid.” “I'm anything but afraid,” said Jack. She entwined her arms about Jack's waist and pulled him close against her. “No, I'd say you're not one bit afraid,” she smiled. “Let's go.” “Let me pay my bill,” Jack started. “Don't worry about it.” She caught the innkeeper's attention. “Manuel! He's with me.” “As you wish, señora,” Manuel replied wearily. “May God have mercy on this one...” From a corner table, a young man roughly Jack's age watched the proceedings. His grey-green eyes narrowed slightly as the pair went up the stairs to the rooms above. “Got your hooks into another one, Mercedes?” he quietly asked no one. Could Diego be far behind? Mercedes led Jack into her flat. It was opulent for a tavern room, with thick drapery and a massive bed. The room was lit with at least two dozen candles, and the air was heavy with the scent of sandalwood oil. “What have I gotten myself into?” Jack asked aloud. “Me, unless you've suddenly got cold feet,” teased Mercedes. Jack laughed. “No, no, I haven't changed my mind. But this room! This isn't what I'd expect from a tavern doxy!” Mercedes got a hard look in her eyes. She shoved Jack hard against the door and kissed him deeply, digging her nails into his chest. “You have no idea who I am, do you?” “Mine for the night?” She began loosening his shirt. “Good answer. Now, enough talk. Make love to me.” Jack laughed. “That sounded strangely like an order.” Mercedes rolled her eyes. “You English! All you do is talk, talk, talk!” She grabbed Jack by the shirt and pushed him down on the bed. Suddenly she was astride him, unbuckling his belt. He reciprocated by unlacing the front of her bodice. “Isn't this better than talking?” she grinned. “You've convinced me. I'll keep my mouth shut.” “Oh, no, no, no,” Mercedes said as she leaned forward, her lips brushing his. “I intend to keep it busy...”

Josiah put a hand on his friend's shoulder, snapping him back into the present. “I swear, Jack, if ye ain't hip deep in the workin's of this ship, you're starin' off a thousand miles away.” Jack smiled. “Just trying to keep things straight in my head is all.” Briggs gave his friend a hard look. “Are ye, Jack? Are ye keepin' all this straight in that head of your'n? Because from where I stand, I ain't seein' it.” “I don't know what you mean.” “The hell you don't. Two full years I've known ye, and of all the damn fool crazy things you've done, this top's 'em all.” Jack looked at his friend stone-faced, but kept his silence. “Remember when Harkness took the Laura Anne?” Briggs continued. “Ready to take on the entire crew bare handed, ye were. If it hadn't been for me talkin' some sense into ye, you'd be a dead man. Now look at ye. Best chums with one of the most notorious pirates these waters have ever seen.” “You said yourself, Josiah,” Jack said defensively, “that we have to do whatever is necessary to survive. 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer', was how you put it. That's what I'm doing.” “There's a big difference between pretendin' to put up with somebody ye hate, and outright hero worship. Ye know what the crew be callin' ye behind your back?” “I'm afraid you're going to tell me whether I want to hear it or not.” “'Little Will', seein' how you're the fair haired child all of a sudden.” Jack could feel his anger starting to flare. “What, do they think I kissed Harkness' arse to be put in charge of this? He GAVE it to me, Josiah. I never asked for it. Hell, I never wanted it! The next thing I knew, he was telling me how much he trusted me and how I was the only one he thought could make sure things were done right.” “Did he now?” asked Briggs with a sceptical note in his voice. “Are you calling me a liar, Josiah?” “Oh, no. Not you, Jack. I know ye too well. I'm callin' Harkness a liar.” “You're what?!” Briggs took a deep breath. “Jack, a man like Will Harkness didn't get where he is by bein' a choir boy. He stole, murdered, and lied his way there. I'm thinkin' pretty strong that's what he's up to now. Lyin' to ye.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I am the only man for this job? That he recognises my abilities and trusts me to ensure success?” “Men like Harkness don't trust, Jack...” “All right! Fine! Then answer me this; what does William Harkness have to gain by lying to me?” Briggs gave his young friend a sad, almost pitying look. “Not a thing, Jack. Not a thing. But he knows damn well you have everything to lose.” Jack blinked hard several times. Was Josiah right? Had the pirate played him for a fool, and he had become too starstruck to see it? A sickening tightness started in the young man's stomach. Just when he was certain how things in this world worked, everything was thrown into confusion again. “Think about it, will ye?” asked Briggs before returning to his work. He blamed himself for not saying anything sooner. He never dreamed Jack would be taken in by the likes of Harkness, but he had neglected to take into account his friend's age and eagerness to please, and the captain's renowned charisma. Jack turned his gaze back to the harbour, his head filled with doubts and anger at the possibility he had been duped. He quickly vowed two things to himself. First, complete the job as he had promised. At least his word meant something, if no one else's did. The second vow he believed would protect and serve him the best. Trust no one.

And certainly portions were indeed outright fiction. The tale of Captain Misson for instance is too detailed, too moralising, to be anything but a fable.

Jack strode the deck of the ship, keeping a close eye on the crew as they went about their assigned tasks. Every now and again he would lean in to check on a team's progress or better explain what it was he wanted them to do. If necessary, he would roll up his sleeves and pitch in to ensure everything was done just as he had envisioned. The men had been slow to warm up to Jack at first, unsure as to how they felt about taking orders from this young upstart. Jack himself was surprised at first that they listened to him at all. He hadn't sought out the chance to lead these men. It had been thrust upon him most unexpectedly. By William Harkness himself. The night was a chilled and rainy one as the Raven's Pride rode at anchor just outside the harbour of Charlotte Amalie, St. Thomas. With the water choppy and night falling, they had to hold position until the next morning before attempting the circuitous route among the islets and shoals that littered the approach to the Virgin Islands port. Jack had just finished his duty watch when one of the men brought word Captain Harkness wanted to see him. The captain had made a habit of calling Jack to his quarters over the recent weeks to discuss the refit and banter about philosophy. Harkness seemed almost starved for intellectual conversation, and Jack was happy to oblige. As he spent more time with the man, Jack's appreciation for Harkness' intellect and sophistication grew. It became harder and harder for Jack to see him a pirate any more. William Harkness wasn't anything like the murderous animals he had read about and learned to despise. Far from it. He was worldly, yes, but refined. Perhaps it was Jack's sudden immersion into a frightening, alien world that coloured his perceptions, but he had come to count his captain among the noblest men he had ever known. “Have you ever been to this island before, Jack?” Harkness asked. “No, I haven't,” replied Jack. “ It was never on the Laura Anne's run.” “Truly a jewel, this place. Hilly, like the north country back in England. And the women here! You're in for a treat, my lad. Dusky diamonds, every last one of them.” “Do you ever miss them?” “What? The women? Every hour of the day, until I've had my fill of them. Then I can't get back to sea fast enough,” said Harkness with a mischievous smile. “No, I meant the hills,” laughed Jack. “Do you ever get homesick?” Harkness' eyebrows went up in surprise a the question. “For England? Hell no. This, ” he said with a sweeping gesture of his hand, “this is my home now. This wooden world is all mine, and it gives me everything I need. I can't say as much for Mother England.” Jack couldn't imagine never returning to where he was born. He missed his sisters, Jacqueline and Victoria, and even his priggish brother Tom. He wondered how his mother was getting along. She had put on a brave face the last time he saw her, but he knew she missed his father terribly. “Have you heard a word I've said?” Jack snapped out of his reverie. “I'm sorry, William! I was lost in thought.” “I asked how you've adjusted to life at sea, and if you were homesick. I got my answer. No matter, really. It takes a few years for some people.” “A few years for what?” Harkness leaned on the table and smiled knowingly, light dancing in his eyes. “To realise this is where they belong, Jack. In a life on blue water. You'll figure it out soon enough. The sea is in your blood. Always has been. You were simply headed in the wrong direction.” “And where are you from? You've never said.” “I'm from here. The sea.” “Then why do you sound like you're from the north?” “Every place has a north, Jack,” Harkness snickered. “Is prevarication part of being an effective pirate?” “Now you're catching on! Admit nothing, deny everything, and lie through the rest of it. You'll learn the proper balance. It's an acquired skill.” “I've the feeling I'm learning from a master.” “That you are, my boy!” Harkness said with pride. “I'll have you manufacturing truth easier than the Commonwealth prints money.” “And both equally meaningless!” Jack said with a raise of his glass. “That's the spirit!” laughed Harkness. He sat back and regarded Jack with a critical eye. “You know, I haven't decided who I'll have oversee the refit of the Pride.” Jack cocked his head quizzically. “Really? I thought you'd task Phillips, the carpenter, with that duty.” Harkness shook his head. “Phillips' head is as full of sawdust as his projects. I had someone else in mind.” “Daniels? He's an able hand.” “Sycophant. Out for himself and any woman he can seduce. Try again.” “Tompkins? He was helpful enough.” Harkness looked balefully at the overhead. “Jack, Jack! What am I going to do with you?” “Not killing me would be a good starter.” That drew a belly laugh from the captain. “The answer is literally right under your nose.” Jack thought for a moment. “Oh, yeah! Briggs! He'd be perfect--” “Ah! No,” interrupted Harkness. He took a swig from his glass and pointed directly at his young charge. Jack's eyes went wide. “What? Me?! You want me in charge of the refit?” “Yes,” beamed Harkness. “You. I want you to oversee it all.” Jack could scarcely close his mouth. “But, why me?” “What, you don't think you're up to it?” “It's not that,” Jack stammered. “I thought you'd want someone, oh, I don't know... more experienced?” “I need someone knowledgeable, Jack. And you're that man.” “But I've never lead men before.” Harkness grinned reassuringly at Jack's naivete. “Despite everything you've been taught, leadership is learned. Some are born with the raw materials, but they have to be forged. You have those materials, Jack Wolfe. You were born to be a leader of men. Now it's your chance to man up and exercise the talents God Jehovah gave you.” Jack sat back in his chair, gobsmacked. “I... I don't know...” “Yeah you do,” chuckled Harkness. “We will make port tomorrow, and I shall step off this ship and leave you in command. How long will the refit take?” Jack shook his head and tried to think. He was so overwhelmed that his thoughts came molasses slow. “Um... ten days?” Harkness slapped the desk. “You have fourteen. There's a certain establishment I'm part owner in, and I need to thoroughly inspect the inventory. Womanly inventory. I like to take my time, if you get my meaning.” Jack thought for a moment, and burst out laughing. “Aye, I can see why!” Harkness refilled their glasses. “Make me proud, Jack Wolfe. Make the Pride the most fearsome vessel the world has ever seen. My trust is in you. Don't fail me.” Jack swallowed hard and forced a smile. “I won't fail you, William. I swear it.”

Good to see Talderoy joining up. Slowly but surely, we're getting the rest of us Pirates Magazine regulars aboard!

Harkness' brow furrowed as he went over the plans Jack had drawn up for the refit of his Raven's Pride. He had Jack's drawings laid out on the large table in his cabin, side by side with the ship's original construction draughts. Harkness had surprised Jack by producing a full set of brass and ivory drafting instruments with which to examine the work and the knowledge to use them. Jack breathed a sigh of relief that Josiah has destroyed the alternate set of plans. There was no way his scheme would have worked. Harkness would have spotted the sabotage easily. Jack would not underestimate this pirate captain again. “Interesting. Most interesting,” hummed Harkness in a soft baritone. He made a few more comparisons, transposing measurements between the drawings via compass and scale with practised efficiency. “You think cutting down the fo'c'sle almost flush with the main deck will gain us that much more speed?” “I'm certain of it,” replied Jack confidently. “And you'll gain four more forward guns, with significant reinforcement of the ship's prow. See? Here, and here.” “What of the quarterdeck, Mr. Wolfe?” Harkness asked with a hint of testiness in his voice. “You've reduced it to a mere six feet above the weather deck. Why?” “You wanted more speed, did you not? Dropping the quarterdeck by four feet will give you that. If your ego can stand the loss of rarefied air, that is.” Harkness flashed his quick, enigmatic smile. “Jack,” he said, tapping the drafting compass on the table, “have I told you how damned annoying I find you?” Jack gave a thoughtful look. “Only twice today. You're slipping.” The captain laughed heartily and leaned back in his chair. Jack broke into a broad smile and joined in the laughter. He had spent considerable effort getting to know Harkness over the past month, in hopes of gaining the captain's confidence. But something unexpected happened. Jack began to genuinely respect and admire the man. William Harkness was a far cry from the bloodthirsty madman of tavern lore. Quite the contrary. He was a charismatic leader of men, intelligent and articulate. Someone Jack could identify with. The crew followed Harkness out of respect, not fear. “Firm but fair” was the common consensus. “This is good work, Jack!” applauded Harkness. “Very good, indeed! You'll not only make the Pride faster, but much stronger. I dare say she'll be the most formidable ship in the entire Caribbean.” Jack couldn't help but smile with pride. “I'm glad you're pleased.” “Pleased?! To put it mildly! Of course I'm pleased! Even with all the changes you propose, there is no loss of cargo capacity. That pleases me even more. You're assuring my continued dominance in these waters, against pirates or patriots.” “As if that was ever in question, captain.” “Oh, please, Jack,” Harkness chided. “Fate and fortune are fickle mistresses. Whatever lifted you up one day will bring you crashing down another. Mark my words, lad. Treat every success as a gift. There is nothing more humiliating than your next engagement.” Much like Jack's own father, Harkness never passed up a teaching moment. The captain glanced at the plans again, then fetched two glasses which he filled with rum. Thought the dark liquid burned his throat, Jack was beginning to develop a taste for the stuff. “We'll be putting in at St. Thomas in a few days,” Harkness announced. “It's a friendly port, one I think you'll enjoy. I'll order that work begin immediately on the refit.” Jack nearly choked on his drink. “Just like that? “Of course! No reason to tarry. Unless my eyes deceive me, and they don't, these draughts are complete and ready for the shipyard.” “I'm just a bit surprised that you trust me, is all.” Harkness smiled broadly. “I do trust you. To a point. But I trust the shipwright at Charlotte Amalie more. He'll catch anything I missed. If he finds more than honest mistakes, then I'll revisit the matter. Most unpleasantly.” “He shouldn't find any mistakes at all,” countered Jack defensively. “Well then, there's nothing to worry about, is there?” Jack's reaction told Harkness everything he needed to know. The young man was more concerned about the quality of his work than whether or not Harkness believed him. The ruse with the drafting instruments had worked perfectly. Navigation charts were one thing, but ship's schematics were hardly his speciality. The captain regarded the younger man with a measured gaze. He was a bit of a puzzle, this Jack Wolfe. He had every reason in the world to be anywhere but on a ship in the Caribbean, yet here he was. The lad was intelligent, learned even, but incredibly angry at the world. Not at all unlike William Harkness at that age. If Harkness could only find a way to help Jack channel that anger, that intensity... It could well be that in Jack Wolfe, Harkness had found what he had been searching for these past few years. A protégé.

Meanwhile, somewhere off Antigua... Reluctantly, Jack kept his bargain with Captain William Harkess. He would draw up plans to make the Raven's Pride even faster and deadlier, under one condition; that Josiah Briggs be allowed to assist him. To his surprise, Harkness agreed. Over the next two weeks, the men made a painstaking assessment of the Pride's superstructure, with Jack making detailed notes and drawings as he crawled about within her. At first, Harkness made sure a guard was with the pair at all times. This impeded Jack's ability to get to know the vessel he was expected to improve, and improve significantly. Finally, after much debate, they were allowed full and almost unrestricted access to the innards of the ship. Though Jack never formally apprenticed under his father as Thomas had, Charles Wolfe nevertheless managed to impart much of his 35 years of ship construction knowledge to his inquisitive younger son. While other children played with watercolours and chalk, young Jack learned the skill of drafting. He went with his father one day each week to the shipyard to see oak and birch shaped into sleek, imagination-inspiring vessels. Every moment was a teaching opportunity in Charles' eyes. He relished that, though his sons could not have been more different in their natures, they were bright and eager to learn. One particular night, as he had done so many nights during this ordeal, Jack asked his late father for guidance as he poured over his notes and roughed out a few preliminary drafts. He knew his father would never approve of the situation he was in now, but he took comfort in knowing his father's love had always transcended mistakes. “Forgive me, Papa,” he said prayerfully, “but I need all the skills you taught me to stay alive now.” On this night, he got an answer. “How many times must I remind you, Jackie? There is almost always more than one solution to a given problem. Start over, and look at it with different eyes.” Jack could hear his father's voice as if here were there in the room. Memories of the lessons and advice his father gave him often came back to him in this fashion. In a way, it helped ease his sense of loss. As Jack looked over his raw notes again, a desperate plan began to form in his head. Instead of looking for ways to strengthen the Pride, he began to map out her weaknesses. He knew every ship had fundamental flaws in either design or construction. If he were clever enough, it would be possible to use the proposed improvements to weaken the Pride sufficiently such that she would not survive her next battle or heavy storm. It was a terrible risk. Jack knew he could be planning his own suicide and the death of many good men. Though he felt an odd admiration for the pirate, he felt in his heart that Harkness must be stopped, whatever the cost. Each night, he would stay up until the wee hours working on two sets of plans. One correct set that he could use to demonstrate his progress to Harkness and others, and another set that slyly called for considerable weakening of the ship that would prove fatal for them all. These plans he kept hidden, even from Josiah. If anything went wrong, he wanted his friend to be blameless. But when the time came and Harkness approved the plans, would Jack would be able to make the swap? It would mean condemning every last man, including Josiah, to an almost certain death. “Your pappy taught ye well, Jack!” admired Briggs. “These drawin's would make any shipwright proud to call his own work. How come ye never went into the trade yerself, with such a fine eye and hand?” Jack moved around the drafting table to better check a set of angles. “My father was a good shipwright, and proud of his work. But he wanted more for me and my brother. Hand me that protractor there, would you? The half-circle with a flat side.” “Here ye be.” Briggs handed over the instrument and frowned. “Somehow, I don't see you quittin' Oxford and puttin' out to sea figurin' into his plans for ye.” Jack sighed. “No. No, it didn't. Nor did his dying of consumption figure into mine.” “That ain't why ye threw your hook. Two year's I've known ye, and ye ain't never once mentioned her name.” Jack chuckled. “That's what I like about you, Josiah. When most people get around someone who's taught at university, they get tongue-tied worrying about their grammar and diction. But not you.” “I don't see much point in usin' a two-shillin' word when a ha'penny will do. And what irks the hell out of me is the way ye change the subject whenever we start talkin' about why ye left a promisin' life on dry land.” “What makes you so certain it was a woman that drove me out to sea?” Briggs chuckled and shook his head. “It's always one of two things what makes a man like you up and trade his life for one on blue water; a woman, or runnin' from the law. Ye ain't the law breakin' type, so that leaves just one thing.” Jack opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. After a few seconds, his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Your grammar may be atrocious, but your logic is indisputable.” “Ha! My guess was right!” said Briggs as he turned a chair around backwards and sat down. “Now, spill it.” “Your guess?” asked Jack indignantly. “You were bluffing?” “Aye,” Briggs smiled in satisfaction. “That's why I never play ye in cards. You're a smart man, Jack Wolfe, but there be priests what can lie better than ye!” Jack sat against the table. “All right, I know when I'm beaten!” he chuckled. “Rose. Her name is Rose. My best friend's sister.” “Broke your heart that bad, did she?” “It took my asking her to marry me to find out my blood wasn't blue enough for her taste.” Briggs winced. “Damn. That's rough. I'm sorry, Jack. Did ye lose your friend in the deal?” “No, thank God. Duckie sat with me most of that night, bless his soul. He was completely mortified by his sister's behaviour. Kept apologising for her, for what it was worth.” “I'm sorry, but did I hear ye right? His name is 'Duckie'?” “That's his nickname,” laughed Jack. “His real name is Drake.” “Oh, I see know,” nodded Briggs. “Drake, like the male duck, so's ye called him Duckie.” “Actually, that had nothing to do with it.” “Come again? Ye lost me.” “Whenever anyone asked Drake how he was, his invariable reply was 'just ducky!' So it stuck.” Briggs gave a hearty laugh. “I'll remember to watch what I say around ye from now on!” “No worries of that, my friend. I can't see any other name suiting you,” smiled Jack. “And don't ye be worryin' none, neither. Another lass will come along and turn your head. You'll forget all about that Rose.” “Not bloody likely.” "Jack, me boy, I have a feeling some day the right one will show up when ye least expect it. And then heaven help ye!" Jack looked off in the distance, his mouth a firm line. "I don't have time for that sentimental hearts-and-flowers, Josiah. There's only one thing women are good for. And after that, it is on to the next. Women are a smorgasbord and I'm a hungry man. But I know when to push away from the table.” Briggs gave his friend a concerned look. “Suit yerself, mate. But ye can't stay angry forever.” Jack ignored Briggs' statement and turned his attention back to the drawings. “I can't believe I'm actually going through with this, Josiah.” “We do what we must to live another day, Jack. It may leave a sour taste in your mouth now, but it beats the alternative. But I gotta say, you're a more honourable man than I.” “How so?” Briggs moved one of the drawings around on the table. “If I knew ships like ye do, I'd be powerful tempted to weaken her up. Hide the lot of it amidst all the changes. Then wait and hope for the next storm or battle to come along and send Harkness straight to Hell.” Trying not to fidget, Jack said, “I have to admit, it crossed my mind.” “Ah,” said Briggs, “but there be the difference 'tween ye and me. With ye knowin' all that philosophy and such, it probably crossed your mind as well that doin' somethin' like that would make ye no better than that devil Harkness. That is, if ye were actually inclined to try such a thing.” Jack's eyes narrowed. “How long have you known?” “A couple of days now. Remember when ye asked me to fetch some paper? I ran across the other set of plans then. Purely by accident, mind ye. What in God's sweet name were ye thinkin'?” Crossing his arms defensively, Jack said, “It's just as you said. I thought that if I could trick Harkness into weakening his own ship, his reign of terror would be ended.” “Aye, along with the rest of us.” Briggs shook his head. “Jack, Jack... Harkness will get his. Men like him, they burn bright and fast. And they know it. Piracy ain't exactly known for long careers.” Jack pulled a chair over and sat heavily. “I'm sorry, Josiah. The last thing I would want to do is put you in danger. It was a foolish idea.” “Foolish, I'll give ye,” said Briggs. “Your heart was in the right place, Jack. Like I said, I'd have considered it too. But your head weren't anywhere close.” He went to the cubbyhole where the alternate plans were hidden among sheaves of drawing paper. Josiah retrieved them, and went to the porthole. “I think this here would be a better place to hide these plans.” He swung open the porthole and shoved the papers through, and they fluttered silently into the ship's wake. “What now?” asked Jack. “We finish the plans, just like ye promised.” “And make the Pride that much more deadly.” “Aye, and we stay alive. Think about it, Jack. Harkness has taken a likin' to ye. You can use that.” Jack shook his head. “I don't understand.” Briggs put a reassuring hand on his younger friend's shoulder. “There's an old saying; “keep yer friends close, and yer enemies closer.' Heard it before?” “Yes, I have.” “Harkness be one ye need to keep very, very close. Let him think you're his friend. That way ye'll know just what he's up to, and it'll give ye a measure of protection. Those plans are what ye call a good faith gesture. Then we'll bide our time and hope fate decides to smile on us.” “You really think it will work?” Briggs laughed ruefully. “Ain't like we've got anything else workin' in our favour! These are the cards we're given, Jack. Let's play 'em, and play 'em well.”

The more magical question would be how does she keep everything in the blouse? ...but I guess you guys don't want her to keep things hidden, aye? I think you answered your own question...

Really! That's the first time I've heard of Honour Bright's shoes being used for such. OH! You meant... never mind!

Instead of writing out the Cliff's Notes, I'll just point you to it directly. El Lobo Del Mar

Four months later, off the coast of Antigua... “Get off me, damn you!” Jack cursed. The pirate kept a firm grip on the collar of Jack's shirt as he dragged the young man toward the cell. Jack struggled and tore at the big man's hand, to no avail. Finally, the cell door swung open, and Jack was thrust inside. He whirled and lunged at his assailant. “I'll do you for that, you bastard!” As he dove forward, a heavy fist caught his chin and sent him spilling to the deck. Jack saw stars, and could feel the world caving in on him. He shook his head and fought off unconsciousness. A minute or two passed with him on his hands and knees, trying desperately to grasp what was going on. The taste of iron became more than he could take, and he spat a mouthful of blood onto the deck. He ran his tongue over his teeth, and found them to all be in place. “Ain't no use in fightin', Jack,” said a weary Briggs. “The Laura Anne be theirs, no matter what we think about it.” Jack dropped to the deck and rolled onto his back. “You saw what they did.” “I saw a hell of a lot, Jack. You're gonna have to narrow it down a bit.” “Captain Pritchard!” spat Jack. “They murdered him, right before our eyes!” Briggs shook his head sadly. “Cap'n Pritchard had been lookin' for a way to die ever since his wife passed on six years ago. He found it today, tryin' to save his ship. An honourable way to go, no matter how ye look at it.” Jack stared at the overhead as he listened to his friend. He kept running his tongue over his teeth, and was unhappy to find that the left canine and surrounding teeth were somewhat loose. “I never knew the captain was so despondent.” “Aye, he hid it well enough,” said Briggs. “Buried himself in work, he did. But we knew why. And not a one of us could blame him.” “And this is supposed to make me feel better?” asked Jack. “What's next? Tea and crumpets with our new pirate master?” Briggs laughed darkly. “Yeah, somethin' like that. They'll be wantin' to press us into service, seein' as we're the skilled ones. Same with the cooper and sailin' master.” “I won't turn pirate,” said Jack sternly. “Then you're gonna find yerself dead, Jack. Harkness ain't known for playin' around. Best ye drop yer high-minded ideals and look to what keeps ye drawin' a breath.” Jack thought about his friend's words. William Harkness was notorious for disposing of anyone or anything he didn't find useful. But what did he have to offer? Briggs was obvious. Ten years on the sea had made Briggs an expert sailor and a fierce warrior. Jack had two and a half years. What use was he? Heavy footsteps on the deck caught their attention. Jack rolled over to see two formidable looking men approach the cell and unlock it. “You,” one of them said as they pointed at Jack. “Come with us.” Jack dragged himself to his feet, with a balled a fist behind his back. “Jack!” called Briggs. “Don't do anything stupid! I'll never forgive ye if'n ye get yerself killed for no good reason. Think! You're good at that! We'll get out of this alive, I swear.” Jack looked back at his friend, and uncurled his fingers. With a nod, he turned and went with the two pirates. They led Jack up one deck, and down a long companionway to a room with an ornate teakwood door. The largest of the two men rapped three times on the door. “Come!” came a voice from within. The door was opened, and Jack was shoved roughly inside. He struggled back to his feet and tried to get his bearings. He was standing near the middle of the ship's great cabin. Behind him, to either side of the door, were bookcases stuffed full of books, journals, and charts. A large, four-poster bed was to his left, and a heavy table that could easily seat six lay before him. To his right was a simple desk, covered in charts. The setting was more what Jack expected to find in a governor's mansion, not a pirate ship. Everything was orderly and clean, with just the right amount of opulence to let anyone entering know they were in the presence of a wealthy and powerful man. Harkness himself sat at the table, with a full spread of cheeses, bread, and claret. He was not a large man, but imposing nonetheless. Jack guessed his age at about thirty. His clothing was much like the cabin; understated elegance. Over a simple white silk shirt, Harkness wore a waistcoat of emerald and black brocade. His shoulder-length mane of jet black hair was loose, but neatly kept. “Ah! Mister Wolfe. Welcome aboard the Raven's Pride. How good of you to join me,” he said, flashing a warm yet unsettling smile. “Please! Have a seat. No doubt you're hungry.” Jack sat warily, and tried to mask his desire for the food in front of him. Harkness filled a glass with claret and offered it to Jack. Jack sat it down on the table, and without a word, pushed it back at him. Harkness chuckled. “Imbido non per vestri hostilis. But the Bible teaches us that if your enemy hungers, feed him. If he is thirsty, give him drink.” “And in doing so, you heap burning coals upon his head. Romans, 12:20. I've read it too, a number of times. You'll have to do better, Captain Harkness.” “My, my, my,” said Harkness. “You're going to make this difficult, aren't you, Mister Wolfe? And you've heard of me! I'm flattered.” “Everyone has heard of William 'Iron Will' Harkness. You're the most vile, wicked pirate to every terrorize these waters.” The toothy smile flashed again, but Jack detected and edge of annoyance showing through the pirate's smug façade. “You're forgetting 'ruthless', Mr. Wolfe. Always remember 'ruthless'.” Harkness took a sip of wine. “Yes, I've enjoyed a modicum of success plying my trade. One might say that business has been good.” “Robbery and murder? That's a business to you?” Jack fired back. “I could have gone into politics and done exactly the same things, Mr. Wolfe, and been hailed as a noble public servant. But I prefer things this way. More open, more honest. If you're expecting me to justify myself to you, you're sorely mistaken.” “It's not me I'd be worried about, Captain. You'll have to answer for your crimes one day. In one court or another.” “First you try to insult me, now you moralise. If your intent is to annoy me, you're off to a good start.” “Fine, then. If I'm an annoyance, then let me go. My friend as well. We'll cause you no trouble,” said Jack as he got up to leave. “SIT DOWN, Mr. Wolfe!” Jack froze, then slowly retook his seat. Harkness shook his head slowly, his ready smile not nearly as bright this time. “I can't tell if you're brazen, or stupid. You're certainly dancing on either side of that dangerous line.” He leaned back in his chair and popped a piece of cheese in his mouth. “Let me explain to you how this works, Jack. Isn't that what your shipmates call you? Do you mind if I call you that?” Jack looked around the cabin feigning boredom. “Your ship, your choice.” “Let me make this perfectly clear to you, Jack,” Harkness began deliberately. “My reputation for discarding that which is of no service to me is well deserved. I'm offering you a chance to continue drawing a breath. Cooperate, and you'll have an opportunity to join my crew. Continue to be a flippant, disrespectful pain in the arse, and you'll find yourself swimming for your life as this ship fades into the distance. Am... I... CLEAR?” “Crystalline,” replied Jack. What was most clear to him was that Harkness wasn't like the other sailors he had encountered. When other men got angry, they got loud and made mistakes. Not William Harkness. When he got mad, he got cold. It was a trait the pirate captain shared with Jack's father, and the realisation left Jack feeling unsure of himself. “There, that's more like it,” smiled Harkness. “I brought you here for a reason, Jack. Care to venture what it is?” “My sparkling personality?” Harkness' eyes hardened. “Hardly. Word amongst your shipmates is that you're the son of a shipwright. Is this true?” Jack fidgeted. “Yes,” he answered quietly. The broad smile returned. “Excellent. A bit of honesty at last. And what would you make of the Pride, Jack?” “She looks fast enough. Certainly fast enough to overtake freighters and merchantmen.” Harkness sat forward and leaned on the table. “I want her faster.” Jack thought for a moment, an decided that Josiah was right. He could stick to his principles and die, or live and find a chance to escape. “With adjustments to the forecastle and stern, maybe some other alterations with the masts, I think it's possible to make her much faster,” he answered. “Can you make that happen?” “What if I can? What do I get out of it?” “You become part of my crew, and I reward you handsomely. I suppose now you want to know what happens if you don't, or worse, try to deceive me?” “I have an idea...” “I make good on my promise to throw you overboard to drown,” said Harkness quietly. “You, and your friend.” Jack's mouth fell open. “Leave Josiah out of this.” Harkness grinned. “Consider it an incentive to perform.” He poured more wine in his glass, and pushed the glass Jack had refused earlier back to the young man. “Now, do we have a pact?” Jack lifted his glass from the table and stared into the blood red wine. He swore he would never fall in with pirates, but he couldn't let his stubbornness be the cause of his best friend's death. With the words tasting like ash in his mouth, Jack replied “Yes. We do.” Harkness' smile became one of self-satisfaction. “I knew you'd see reason, Jack. You know, in a way you remind me of myself at your age. We're going to become good friends, you and I.” Jack forced a smile and sipped his wine, and tried to ignore the feeling he had just sold his soul.