The Doctor

The only trouble was to get out the door without him seeing her. 'Oh please, God, just let me clear the door....' But no matter how she tried, she would have to walk past him. "Hey, Barkeep! Another rum and... oh, hell, just bring the whole damn bottle, there's a good man!" The barkeep ambled over and as he was setting the bottle down and Jack was fishing coins out of his pocket, Honour saw her opportunity. She dropped down to her hands and knees and attempted to crawl out of the bar via the tables that would protect her from his sight. Almost there... almost there... She hit the threshold with her knee and stifled her cry of pain. Scurrying faster on her hand and knees, she had almost cleared the door when she felt someone grab her ankles and yank her backwards. When she felt the pressure release, she tried to scramble to her feet but was unceremoniously set on her feet and as she struggled to run, the arms drew her in a tight embrace against his body. "I know the shape of that leg and the curve of that bottom anywhere, love," the boozy voice slurred. "And that scent of jasmine. Always did do something for me, " he whispered huskily. She tried to elbow him in the gut. "Now, now....no need to be elbowing ol' Jack, love." "That had better be a pistol that is jamming into my leg." "One of them," he replied smugly. "I'll leave it to you to guess which. Now is this any way for you to say hello to your long lost husband?" He spun her around and grinned sardonically at her."Well, well...if it isn't the absentee wife! Hello, darling--fancy meeting you here. But then we met in a tavern and old habits die hard, yeah?" Honour struggled against his arms and made a noise that was equal parts frustration and disgust. "The only thing I want to say to you is, go to hell!" "Oh, I've been there, my pet. Thanks to you, I've been there a good long time." "Jack, let me go!" "Say please." "What?!" "I said, say please. Would it kill you to be civil?" She took a deep breath and said between clenched teeth, "Please." "No, too insincere," he said with a chuckle. "Besides, I rather enjoy having you in my arms again." Honour drove the heel of her boot into the toe of his. "YOW!! Damn, woman, that hurt!" he yelped, but did not release his grip on her. She tried again to stomp his other foot, but he was ready and moved it out of her way. Growing angrier by the second, she began stomping repeatedly, trying to injure him again. But even in his drunken state, he managed to evade her. "I believe we've invented a new dance, love!" he laughed. His laughter came to an abrupt stop as her elbow dug hard into his ribs. "OW! Dammit! STOP!" He loosened his grip on her and she took a swing at him, narrowly missing his face. He grasped her by the wrist and she gasped for breath. Jack chuckled, "I always did enjoy watching you try to catch your breath but for a different reason. The soft glow of sweat-sheen and a heaving bosom..." "You're disgusting!" "You didn't always think so." "And you are drunk!" "Am I? Well, your powers of observation deserve the bleedin' obvious award." He pulled her close to him, still not letting go of her wrist. "It's a smaller world than they'd have you imagine, love. Smaller than I had ever imagined though you could have fooled me for the amount of time I spent scouring the Caribbean for you, that's for sure. But I always knew some day you would come walking through my door again. And here we are." Jack caressed her cheek with his fingertips. "And we can still catch up on old times, yeah? Did you honestly think I had quit burning for you?" "I would have thought you had put that fire out a long time ago. I know I did." "Some fires never die, love. No matter how much we'd like them to." Jack chuckled ruefully, "No matter how far and wide I've sailed, you always manage to find your way into my dreams. And what fine dreams they be! Short of what we've known of each other, but fine dreams nonetheless. A poor substitute for your exquisite touch, I'll grant that." Honour's eyes softened. "You know, Jack, we could... restart that fire you spoke of." "Now you're talking, love! I knew you'd come round--" "And use it to burn those clothes of yours! Did you stop bathing when I left, too?" Jack gave a chuckle at her barb. "Walked into that one, didn't I? That lightning wit of yours. I've missed that, too. See how much we have to catch up on?" "We have NOTHING. Nothing to catch up on, nothing to reminisce, nothing to look forward to with each other, save our goodbyes." "What's this about goodbye? We haven't had a proper hello yet." He nodded toward his table. "Let's sit and talk, like normal people." Honour couldn't contain a sharp, derisive laugh. "Normal people? Do you even know what normal means?" "Enough to fake it in front of this lot," he shrugged. "Just fifteen minutes. That's all I ask. Then we can part ways peacefully." "Five." "Twelve." "Seven." "Ten. Final offer." "All right, fine. Ten minutes, and not a second more."

Jack rubbed his eyes. He had to be seeing things. That was the only explanation. Because there, sitting at the table like nothing at all was amiss, was Jack’s father. “This isn’t possible,” said Jack. “You’re dead. You’ve been dead nearly twenty years.” “Yet here I am. Are you going to pour, or spend the rest of the night stating the obvious?” Jack wobbled over to the table, set up two glasses, and poured them both full. After a few moments, he sat down opposite his father. “Just look at you,” said Charles. “What a mess you’ve become!” “I rather like the look,” protested Jack. “It serves me well.” “Ah yes, the foul, dissolute pirate captain, feared by all! I raised you better than this, Jack.” Jack picked up his glass and drained half of it. “Fat lot of good that did me. Where were you when I really needed you? Mouldering in the grave, that’s where. You buggered off into the great beyond, and left the rest of us to take care of Mum. You know how sick she was. The only one of us with any sort of steady income was Thomas, and he was over a year behind in collecting wages. So I quit university and sent back what money I could. Then, like it or not, I ended up a pirate. So don’t go climbing on your high spectral horse with me, Dad. So much of this is your fault.” Charles tapped the side of his glass. “I can accept a portion of that, I suppose. But I didn’t mean to die, Jack. No one ever does. It just happens, you know? It comes on you, slow and fast at the same time. And there’s nothing you can do about it. It just claims you. I wish I could make you understand, and at the same time I never want you to know what it feels like. Not ever. But I know I can’t protect you from it. No one is safe. It just is.” “How is Mum, by the way?” asked Jack. He tried to ignore his father’s words about death, but to no avail. “I wouldn’t know.” “What? No tandem harp lessons, or dancing on streets of gold?” “It doesn’t work like that.” “Really? How does it, then?” “There’s nothing to it. Literally.” “Then how are you here, as a ghost in my room?” “Who said I am? Here’s a better question; where’s your wife?” “Oh, no. No, you don’t get the change the subject.” “But I’m not changing the subject, Jack. All of this is about you. You, and your wife. ‘That is why a man will leave his father and his mother and he must stick to his wife and they must become one flesh.’ Genesis 2:24. I taught you that.” Jack shook his head. “Yeah, well, to borrow a phrase from you, it doesn’t work like that. Sadly.” “And that’s why you’re so angry?” asked Charles. “You think it’s that simple? All my life, people have left me. Chucked me aside, like I’m nothing. You. Mum. Rose. Cade. Now Honour. How am I supposed to feel, eh? Cheerfully accepting? Bollocks! I feel bloody well shat on, from all sides! Anyone I’ve ever made an emotional investment in, anyone at all, they’ve left me! So yeah, I’m angry!” Charles shifted the glass on the table slightly. “So that’s what this is all about? How everyone has failed Jack Wolfe? How people have so callously left huge holes in his life?” “Now you’re getting the picture.” “What about the holes you’ve gouged in other’s lives?” “I don’t know what you mean.” “Oh, yes you do. How many, Jack? How many widows, how many orphans have you made over the years? Dozens? Hundreds? I can’t blame you for not wanting to face something like that. Your hands are so soaked in blood, it’s no wonder people fear your name.” Jack’s own blood turned to ice in his veins. “Now, wait a moment. Yes, there have been some actions where resistance had to be put down. But that’s the price of doing business.” “Business?! Oh, that’s rich. Your stock and trade is death. Maybe not every time, but it’s there. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make. Jack, you are not the victim here. You never have been.” Jack drained the rest of his glass. “I’m not? Well, it sure feels that way.” “I didn’t raise you to be such a selfish bastard. Yes, your mum and I died unexpectedly. And yes, Rose was horrible to you. But look at the way you kept Cade under your thumb. And Honour? Where were you when she needed you most? Nowhere to be found. Off doing what you wanted to do, her needs be damned. Looking at things that way, who’s been doing the abandoning, Jack?” Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Isn’t there some astral moratorium to your time spent here lecturing me, Dad?” Charles shook his head. “If I were a ghost, I suppose there might be.” “You’re not a ghost? Then what are you?” “That’s for you to decide, Jack. I don’t care what you think I am. All I want is for you to listen, and to think about what I said.” Jack pushed back from the table and wobbled over to the bed. “Well, I hope you don’t mind, but it’s been a taxing day. I need some sleep. I trust you can find your way out.” He laid down face first, not even bothering to take off his boots. “Yes, yes, I can,” said Charles sadly. “Just... just know that I love you, Jack. I always have.” Jack lay there for several moments before answering, “I love you too, Dad. And I miss you so much.” A single tear escaped the corner of his eye, hung there for a moment, and dashed itself against his pillow as he drifted off to sleep. Sunlight struck Jack’s face, and the mere act of slightly opening his eyes brought forth a crushing headache. He rolled onto his back and threw his arm over his face. “What an awful night,” he moaned. “I don’t know what was in that rum, but it was more like absinthe...” He lay there a few moments more, then sat up. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked over at the table where he had surely dreamt of talking with his father the night before. And sure enough, there were two glasses, just as he remembered. And they were both empty.

Jack shifted uncomfortably as he watched Bonita shuffle the cards. He didn’t trust her, but he’d benefited from the uncanny accuracy of her second sight too many times to disregard one of her special readings. Her last card reading certainly came to pass. Perhaps, since she had foreseen the current situation, she could divine the conclusion and his certain success? Bonita dealt out five cards, all face down. Each one was laid down with a loud slap of the card against the wooden countertop. “Him sure him want Bonita to read what dese cards have to say about him life, him future?” “I’m not doubling the payment, if that’s what you’re hinting at.” “Dere be no shame in second t’oughts, cher. Bonita just making sure him serious.” “Just read the cards, please,” he said wearily. “I’ve had enough melodrama as it is.” “As him wish,” she said with an oily smile. She flipped the first card and laid it down with a slap. “De Seven of Swords,” she announced. “Someone have stolen much from Jack Wolfe. Valuable t’ings.” “I see you brought out the ‘state the bleeding obvious’ deck instead of the fortune telling one.” “Were him robbed from or were him not?” she demanded. “Yes, damn it, I was robbed. The whole Caribbean knows Honour stole a small ransom from me!” “Bonita not talking about de golden-haired child. She talking about young Cade Jennings.” “Well, I suppose you could say he’s stolen from me as well. Stolen time, effort, trust, and a large portion of my credibility.” “Cade take more from Jack Wolfe t’an him realize. Let us see what de next card say.” She flipped the next card. It showed a man hanging from a tree by his ankle. “De Hanged Man,” she intoned. “If that’s supposed to be Cade, the rope would be better suited around his neck,” said Jack. “Dis card represent Jack Wolfe, not Cade.” Jack gave a disgusted sigh. “Of course it does. What does it mean?” “It mean him will gain much knowledge, but only after great sacrifice.” “I’ll take my chances. I always do.” He rapped his knuckles impatiently on the countertop. “Next card. What’s this one mean?” “Dis be what him searches for, or what him should be searching for...” She turned the card and fought the urge to smile. “Oh, no. No, it can’t be,” said Jack as the blood drained from his face. “De Lovers,” intoned Bonita. scarcely hiding the satisfaction in her voice. “But, that’s not possible. She left port at least a full day before Cade did. They are not together. She wouldn’t do that to me.” “Dat not be what de cards reveal.” Jack sat silently, his jaw clenched tight in frustration. “Then God help them should I ever find them,” he finally growled. “De next card will show what him should do, what action him must take.” “Show me, then.” She turned the card over and tapped it with a long fingernail. “De Nine of Wands.” “What, I’m supposed to go and gather sticks now?” “Dis card show dat Jack Wolfe will face much difficulty, much strife in him search for de two what have stolen so much from him. De ones what broke him heart. De task will seem impossible, but him must never give up, no matter de cost. Because only him success in finding dem will bring to fruition de last card to be read.” Jack watched intently as she turned over the last card. “Judgement,” she intoned. “Mine, or theirs?” “Dis be de judgement Jack Wolfe bring upon de two what have brought him so much pain and humiliation. When him find dem at last, him enemies will fall and Jack Wolfe will be restored.” “So, all I have to do is find them? That’s it?” “It will not be easy. Dere will be much searching, much opposition. And him can never give up, if him want de justice him desire.” A cold fire seemed to blaze in Jack’s eyes. “Fine. Opposition and I are old friends. But I will find them if I have to tear the Caribbean apart in the process. Now if I only knew where to start looking. Your cards can’t tell me that, though. Or can they?” “De cards reveal much, but not where him should search. But de bones can.” “How much more will that cost?” “Bonita see how much pain Jack Wolfe in. She read de bones as a favour to an old friend.” She picked up the bag and dumped the chicken bones into her palm. Then she closed her eyes, and with the bones enclosed by her hands, she muttered something softly, words that Jack had never been able to understand. Bonita then cast the bones on the countertop. Her eyes flew open, and she began to scrutinise the bones and their positions. “Bonita cannot say for certain where de be exactly,” she said, with a note of frustration in her voice. “But it be to de nort’. De islands of de nort’ern Caribbean.” “That narrows it down a bit,” replied Jack. “Bonita, I thank you for the help. I’d love to stay and chat, but as you said I have a lot of work ahead of me. So there’s no time like the present to get started. Good day, ladies!” Bonita smiled as Jack quickly left the tavern, headed back to the docks. As she picked up the chicken bones, she began to chuckle. “Why Bonita laugh after the mean trick she just pull on him?” asked Drusilla. “Her not very nice at all!” “Drusilla not know what she talking about, again.” “Drusilla know enough the her see Bonita put cards on de bottom of de desk after she finish shuffling, den her deal from de bottom!” “So?” countered Bonita. “Jack Wolfe got what him looking for. It not matter to Bonita if it real or not. Him has it coming, anyway.” “And what about de bones? Were dat de trut’? Because Bonita always say de bones no lie.” Bonita gave her cousin a defiant glare. “De bones no lie. Not ever. But Bonita do.” Jack was walking as fast as his boots would carry him as he arrived back at the pier. Briggs was enjoying his pipe when he caught sight of his friend and captain. “Blimey,” he muttered. “I’ve seen that look before.” “Prepare to cast off!” shouted Jack at the ship. He stopped next to Briggs and sighed. “Please don’t give me that look, Josiah.” “And which look would that be?” “That ‘Jack’s got that wild-eyed look about him again’ look you just gave me.” “And would I be wrong?” Jack looked out at the open water. “They’re out there, Josiah. Together. Bonita saw it.” “Bloody hell. I was prayin’ that wouldn’t be the case. Are ye sure?” “Bonita is never wrong with these things. You know that.” “So what plan have ye got?” “Plan? My plan is to tear the entire Caribbean apart if I have to in order to find them.” “Jack, I know ye have plenty of reasons to want to settle the score, but to try and hunt them down like this? Based on what? More of Bonita’s ‘impressions’?” “I’m fine with chasing after her impressions, Josiah. After all, a footprint doesn’t look like a boot!” With that, Jack turned on his heel and walked toward the ship. “And just what do ye plan to do after ye find them, Jack?” Briggs called after him. “You can guess what I’ll do to Cade. As for Honour, I’ll tie her to the mast until I get that key from her.” “Aye, that sounds about right.” Jack turned and began walking up the gangway. “And then, I’ll make love to her one last time,” he said quietly.

“Bonita not hiding! She gone from de island. Family t’ings to take care of!” “Family? Aside from her sainted aunt, she’s never mentioned family. Not even you,” said Jack, making sure those last words came across pointedly. Drusilla’s face fell. “Not... not even Drusilla? But, we cousins. Blood relations!” “Well, that’s Bonita for you, Drusilla,” he said loudly, almost as if he were addressing a courtroom. “You’re only as important to her as what you can provide at the moment.” “Dat not true!” “Isn’t it, though? Bonita is guilty as anyone when it comes to using people. Manipulating them. As long as you’ve got something she needs, she’ll tolerate you. Let me ask you a question; why would Bonita need your help now? Why not when this was a bustling port with a constant stream of sailors coming through that door? I mean, look around! There’s no one here. She hasn’t even bothered to dust the tables in weeks, nor have you. So she’s up to something. And whatever it is, you can bet she’ll brush you aside the moment you’re no longer useful to her.” Jack paused and looked Drusilla squarely in the eyes. “I should know,” he said in earnest tones. “That’s what she did to me.” “LIAR!!!” a voice shrieked from the curtained storage area just behind the bar. Bonita nearly tore the curtain down as she emerged to confront her accuser. “Bonita!” smiled Jack. “Back so soon from your little trip?” “How dare Jack Wolfe say dem t’ings about Bonita, after all her done for him d’ese many years?” she spat. “And sweet nothings would have lured you out of hiding? I doubt that.” “Bonita, him wouldn’t believe nothing Drusilla say. Drusilla tried to make him go away, just like Bonita wanted!” Drusilla was very animated as she tried to apologise to her cousin. As she spoke, her piled-up hairdo bobbed this way and that, making the tattered red bow holding it all together flutter like a pennant in a storm. Jack found it nearly impossible to tear his eyes from it. “Drusilla need to shut up,” growled Bonita. “Her not a help den, her not a help now!” “So what Jack Wolfe say about Bonita were de trut’! Her do use people up and t’row dem away!” The bow continued its dizzying flutter. Bonita’s mouth fell open at her cousin’s accusation. “Drusilla getting t’ings twisted up inside her head again! Her know what Bonita be like. And her know what Bonita be like when Bonita get angry.” Drusilla’s mouth practically snapped closed. She swallowed hard and nodded her head vigorously in the affirmative, the bow valiantly keeping up with this change in direction. Silently, she backed away a respectful distance from her cousin. “So that’s what seasickness feels like,” Jack said as he pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked. “Now for de great Jack Wolfe,” Bonita continued, her tone cold as ice. “Oh, don’t start with me, Bonita,” he countered. “You know I’m not here on a social call. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been hiding in the cupboard like a guilty scullery maid.” “Den why him here? It can’t be because him want to listen to Bonita, since him don’t need Bonita now dat him have de golden-haired girl.” A cruel smile curled her lips. “Or had her, til she run away.” “Fine, let’s get the gloating out of the way,” Jack grumbled. “So you know about Honour. Good for you. But right now I’m more interested in the whereabouts of Cade.” “Because maybe, if him find Cade Jennings, him find de girl too?” “Nice try. I expected you to goad me, but it’s not going to work. Not this time. I have it on good authority that Cade was still in port at least a day after Honour vanished. So you’ll have to do better than that.” “Den what is it Jack Wolfe need from Bonita?” “Information.” “Bonita don’t know what t’ings go on all de way up in Barbados...” “The kind of information that only you can provide, Bonita.” The dark woman grinned at him. “Him need Bonita’s Sight again? Maybe her read de cards, like old times?” Jack nodded contritely. “Dis going to cost Jack Wolfe. Him get not’ing for free from Bonita. Not anyt’ing. Not any more.” “Fine.” He unhitched a leather pouch from his belt and tossed it onto the bar. It made a solid thud as it landed, and the sound of coins - lots of them - could be heard as they clinked against one another. Bonita picked up the pouch and hefted it in her hand. “Dat will do, for dis time,” she pronounced as she tucked the pouch away under the bar. She brought up another pouch, this one made of green velvet, and pulled from it her deck of tarot cards. She gazed at Jack as she shuffled the cards and gave a slight smile. The situation had changed, and she held the advantage. And she enjoyed the feeling.

Late September, 1654 -- Castara Bay Jack looked back at El Lobo del Mar. "She's anchored safe and sound, Jack. Don't worry." He sighed. "I know. Funny when things go wrong, you just expect the worst." "Well, she's goin’ nowhere. What has you so jumpy and nervous anyhow?" "The unknown. The last time I was in Castara...." Josiah nodded. "Pleasant memories turnin’ unpleasant?" Jack shrugged. "Something like that. I hate the thoughts of facing you-know-who." "Everyone hates the thoughts of facing you-know-who." Jack chuckled ruefully and then looked over the horizon. "I want to thank you, Josiah." "For what?" "For helping me through this time. And for kicking me in the arse out of my self-pity." "Wasn't me what did that. It was Renee. I was just along for the ride. She gave you a month to indulge and then told ye enough is enough." "I can't deny it still hurts like hell, Josiah." "I know." "It wasn't all bad, you know...the memories. There for a brief, shining moment I knew..." he sighed. Josiah nodded. "Don't forget that I loved and lost too, Jack. And lost a son in the process." "I know. Listen to us. Pontificating on love won and lost. Not what is expected out of pirates, is it?" "We do have our moments. But your secret be safe with me." "The hard part of mine is wondering if it was all an act, Josiah. Did she love me? Or was it all an act to get what she could out of me? Is she out there laughing at my expense?" Josiah shook his head. "I saw how frantic she was when she thought ye were dyin’ from the sniper. That’s the puzzlin’ part. Why she ran off with the chests." "And why only a portion? I guess the only way I will get answers is to find her." "Don't make it your life's ambition, Jack. If we come across her, we’ll find out. But don't make it the uppermost thing on your mind." Jack sighed as he put the key into the warehouse. "I know. Shall we see what is left of the swag?" The heavy lock clacked open. Jack lifted it from the iron hasp and let it fall to the ground. He took a breath and swung the large doors open. They groaned on their hinges. As the men's eyes adjusted to the darkness, Josiah let out a low whistle that fairly echoed in the space. Jack's shoulders fell. It was empty. Completely empty. Every last silver cup, every last stick of mahogany furniture had been removed. All that was left were the cobwebs in the rafters above and the sandy floor below. And a note. Tacked to the first support was a piece of paper folded double, with the word "Thanks" scrawled on the outside. Jack pulled the paper free and began to read it aloud. "'To Who It May Concern...' That would be me, I'm guessing," he said with a rueful laugh. "'Being as there is no one about to lead the smuggling operation as created by one Capt. J. Wolfe, we, the ship masters who signed on to said Company, hereby claim the contents of this warehouse as compensation for our loyalty and efforts. Loyalty that was not shown in return. We remain your faithful servants...' Oh, look at that, Josiah. They even signed their names. How bloody thoughtful!" Jack wadded up the paper and hurled it at the back of the warehouse. "That.... dog. That worthless mongrel I took and raised as my own flesh. Not only does he try and steal my wife, he stabs me in the back by abandoning the work I trusted him with!" "Jack, ye knew walkin' into this Cade weren't worth trustin' nor expectin' much of. Don't go getting' all worked up over that pup." Jack exhaled loudly and looked up at the roof of the warehouse. "You know, Josiah, you have a maddening way of ruining a good rant." "Duckie told me to keep an eye one ye, so ye don't get your blood up too much. Ye spent over a month on one hell of a bender, and that ain't good for anyone, no matter how stout." "I'll be sure to tell the good physician you made an excellent nurse." Jack kicked at the sand. "Well, I guess it's time to move on to the fun part of this journey. Talking to Bonita." "I still don't know what ye expect that witch woman to tell ye," said Briggs. "Exceptin' that 'she told ye so' and what not." "Oh, I fully expect her to throw recriminations at me, hot and heavy. But you know what you can get when you get a woman really, really angry?" "Missin' teeth?" Jack chuckled and shook his head. "No, my friend. You can get the truth." The men trudged up the winding lane that ran parallel to the ocean, leading to the tavern only a few blocks from the harbour. The tavern sign Le Loup swung in the breeze. "At least it is still hanging," Jack noticed. Josiah looked up. "Yeah, remarkable for what it’s been through." He pointed up and it was then that Jack noticed it was riddled with bullet holes. "Looks like someone took their frustration out on it. Hope it wasn't an effigy for me." "Maybe it was Bonita." "No, she has more...unusual ways of revenge. And the time I spent with that little Spanish senorita proved that Bonita hadn't cut any vital organs off her poppet. Renee had no cause for complaints, either." Josiah put his hand on the door latch. "Are ye ready to go in and face whatever is waitin’ on the other side of the door?" "As ready as I ever will be." "Then after you, Jack." "Chicken." "I'm glad you're with me, Josiah, so I don't have to face that woman alone." "Oi! Did ye hear that?" "Hear what? The angels in the firmament, perhaps?" "The ship's bell! Must be somethin' urgent. I'll take care of it whilst ye talk with Bonita." "You bloody coward!” laughed Jack as Briggs scurried down the path. “Fine! Run off then. I'll deal with her myself." The door swung open, and Jack stepped out of the bright island sunlight into the dim confines of tavern. A few rays of light shone through the windows, illuminating the dust that hung in the air. No one was visible inside. He closed the door and walked toward the bar, pausing to drag a finger along one of the table tops. He looked disapprovingly at the layer of dust on his finger. While everything appeared to be in its place, it was obvious no one had been using the tavern, much less keeping it tidy. “Bonita!” he called out loudly. “It’s me, Jack.” He paused before calling again. “Bonita! Where the hell are you? You’d better not have abandoned this island, too!” he yelled impatiently. Just then, a woman came bustling out of the back room with a handful of rags. She wore a dress similar to the style Bonita wore, but in bright, mismatched colours. Her hair was haphazardly piled up on her hair, tied in place with a battered red ribbon that really should have been in with the rags. “Who be yellin’ dey head off? Can’t him see Drusilla is busy?” she answered. “Jack Wolfe, owner of this place. And just who are you?” “Drusilla. Didn’t him hear me say dat just a second ago?” Jack sighed. What was already a bad day was taking an annoying turn. “Yes, I heard you. But that doesn’t tell me who you are or why you’re here. And where is Bonita?” “Ooh, him got lots of questions! Bonita left de island weeks ago. She leave Drusilla in charge of everyt’ing. She trust Drusilla ‘cause we be cousins. We like dis, all our lives.” She held up her hand and crossed her fingers. “All right, then,” said Jack as he walked to the bar. He took one of Drusilla’s rags and wiped the counter before leaning on it. “When is she due back? I have questions for her.” “Oh, Bonita not comin’ back. Not never. Bonita made Drusilla de boss of dis whole island.” “Did she now? Funny, it’s not her island to give away.” “Well, listen to him, actin’ like him own de place!” “That’s because I do, dear.” Drusilla’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Him dat Jack Wolfe.” “Yes, I’m that Jack Wolfe. And you’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you.” “Drusilla don’t tell no lies!” “But she does tell lies. Big ones.” He pointed to a reddish satin bag that sat atop a low box that was pushed up against the wall behind the bar. Embroidered on it was a large cursive letter B. “That,” he continued, “is Bonita’s. And I know what’s in there. Something she would never, ever leave behind. Not even for a day.” “Whatever him t’ink it is, him wrong,” Drusilla said uneasily. “No, I’m not wrong. That’s Bonita’s most cherished possession. Her bones. The ones her tia gave her. The ones she uses to see with.” “Bonita gave dem to Drusilla. Bonita not de only one with de Sight!” Jack waved his hand dismissively. “Now what I want to know is, why is Bonita hiding from me?”

Jack made his way down the stairs gingerly. His very heartbeat seemed to pound in his skull, and every footfall added to the drumming. Everything seemed too loud, too bright. It didn't help that his mouth was so dust dry every attempt to swallow was a chore. He could scarcely make out the shape of Monique as she met him coming up the stairs. "Bonjour!" she said in what ordinarily would have been a cheery sing-song. But to Jack's ears, it was like nails on a chalkboard. He managed a grunt as he brushed past her. Finally, he found his way to the kitchen at the back of the house. Sun was streaming in through the windows, and for a moment Jack felt he was staring into a blast furnace. "Blimey, it lives!" laughed Renee. Jack made a face in her general direction, as his eyes were still screwed shut against the onslaught of sunlight. "You're cheery this morning," he croaked. "It's half past two, dove. Another hour and I would have been up there checking for a pulse." "I'm alive, barely. Is there anything to drink?" "The coffee is fresh." "I meant real drink. I'm not up to facing sobriety just yet." "Coffee. No backtalk. You had your fill last night at least three times over. Not that it slowed you down any." "That's me, constitution of an ox." "More like an overgrown rabbit." "I thought you were getting me coffee?" "I'll see if I can find a bucket. Something tells me you're better off soaking that aching head of yours in it rather than drinking it. Just mind where you sit if you're not going to open your eyes." "Why? Do we have company? Which one of the girls is here?" "It ain't Monique," said Briggs. Briggs came in from around the corner. "Are these the scones ye were talkin; about, Renee?" He held a basket covered with a cloth. She took them from his hands. "The very ones.Although more suited for breakfast." She tightened the sash to her dressing gown. Jack squinted at Briggs. "Since when did you have a twin, Josiah?" "What do ye mean?" "There are two of you." "Has anyone told ye that you look like hell, Jack?" "Not yet, but it is early in the day." Renee poured the coffee and handed Jack a cup. He reached into his pocket to pull out his flask to add a splash of brandy and came up empty. "Renee, darling, would you be so kind as to...." "No. You had enough. Time to give the liver a break, Jack." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Ow. That hurts." Briggs looked at him with his mother hen look. "I've been looking for ye all night, Jack. Tavern by tavern..." "Brothel by brothel?" "Don't be a wise-arse. I was worried." "What, you are afraid I would go and get myself married again? I assure you, Quartermaster Briggs, that once was enough for me." Jack eased into a chair at the kitchen table and took a sip of coffee. He grimaced. "Gah!" "What's the matter?" asked Renee. "There's far too much coffee in this coffee." "Shut up and drinking it, you big baby," she replied as she went back to buttering one of the scones. Briggs sat down next to Jack, the wooden legs of the chair barking against the floorboards. "Ssshhh!" said Jack "Sit quietly or not at all." Briggs sighed. "I figured I'd find ye in this state. And no, I was fairly sure ye learnt your lesson about getting' married." "Rest assured, that will never happen again. Once was enough." "The faster ye forget about that woman, the better." "Oh, no. There will be no forgetting or forgiving where Honour Bright is concerned. Not after stealing from me." "Don't ye have more money than ye know what to do with as it stands?" asked Briggs. "I don't give a damn about the money. She took something even more valuable. One of the keys to the chest." "That gold relic chest? How the devil did she get her paws on that??" "I... I gave it to her." "You just gave it to her? Just like that?" "Well, I didn't exactly know what it was at the time." "If you gave it to her, she didn't steal it from you," added Renee. "I think you should call it a lesson hard learnt and get on with your life." "No!" Jack said sharply. "No, I need it. I have to have it, or all the effort I put into finding the chest in the first place is wasted." "What do ye plan on doin'?" asked Briggs. "Josiah, if I have to tear the Caribbean apart grain of sand by grain of sand, I'm going to find her." Jack and Briggs both jumped at the sound of a china plate smashing against the floor. "Sorry, that was just stupid of me," apologised Renee as she stooped to pick up the broken plate and ruined scones. "I must have had some butter on my fingers." Her face burned and she felt tears well up in her eyes. She turned her head so she could wipe them hastily away. She stood up and faced Jack. "Just why is it so all -important that you find this key? For God's sake, Jack! Hasn't the woman done enough to you? Have you no pride?" Jack picked up his cup and hurled it against the wall, shattering it and putting a dent in the plaster. Both Briggs and Renee jumped. He said tightly, "Don't underestimate me. I'll burn her to the point she wishes she never had met Jack Wolfe." With that, he stalked out of the room. A heavy silence hung in the air. Renee stared at the door Jack had left through. After several long moments, Briggs decided to break that silence. "Um, Renee," he said clumsily, "I'm sorry for Jack losin' his temper like he did. Ye know how many years he spent lookin' for that infernal chest, then to find he up and gave away one of the keys to it... Ye might say he has a right to feel foolish." Renee looked at him and shook her head. "Men. You lot just can't see what's in front of you when it's big as day, can you?" Briggs fidgeted with his cup. "I guess you're gonna have to tell me what I missed." "It's not about any damned key, Josie. It's about her. Honour." "I still don't follow." Renee put the broken shards of plate into the basin and wiped her hands. "The key is just an excuse, dove. That's not why he's so all fired anxious to find her. It's because he still loves her." Her eyes began to well with tears again as she looked at the doorway. "A man doesn't get that mad over a lost key, even if it unlocked the Crown Jewels. No, Josie. He's still madly in love with her, and I suspect he always will be." "I guess I'm missin' one more thing," Briggs said quietly. "Probably. What is it this time?" she said, self-consciously wiping her eyes. "That ye wish he'd never met Honour in the first place? 'Cause things might have been different 'tween the two of ye?" Renee stared at Briggs, then swallowed hard as the tears forced their way back to the surface. "Just go back to being a stupid man, would you?" she blurted, and hastily left the room. Briggs looked down at his coffee cup. "Yes, ma'am," he said quietly. "I suppose that's best." Jack came back in the room. "Where's Renee?" "Said she had some mendin' to do." "Renee doesn't sew." Briggs just shrugged. "How long before El Lobo will be ready to sail?" "The main mast is on order and the sails will be ready in about two weeks. The wood for the hull is bein' steamed and shaped. That's what ye get for havin' that custom-made hull. All in all, I expect three to four weeks and..." "Not good enough." "WHAT? Jack, as a shipwright, ye know these things take time and can't be rushed." "Five days." "What do ye mean, 'five days?'" "I want her seaworthy and ready to clear the port in five days." "Impossible." "Sweeten the pot then. Give them a bonus.But I want to leave by Friday latest. Before she gets any further away from me." "Obession isn't healthy, ye know. Just sayin'...." Jack shot him a look. "I should say goodbye to Renee." "I say let her be. You can leave her a note." He picked up his frock coat and put his hat on. "I guess so. Let's go down to the docks and put a fire under Samuelson. Like it or not, we will sail by Friday. Come hell or high water." Briggs sighed and followed him out. "Or both."

Three days later, in Bridgetown, Barbados Mimi knocked on the door. "Yes? What is it?" "You'd better come downstairs, Madame Renee. We have a bit of a situation." Renee opened the door. "Don't tell me the Ferguson twins are back in town." "No, Ma'am. The situation is in the drawing room. And I think your help is needed." "Oh, bother. Very well. You sure Enoch can't handle it?" "No, Ma'am. More of a... well, you'd best come." Renee hastened downstairs, fastening the belt on her dressing gown. "Oh, Lord." Jack looked up at her with bleary, bloodshot eyes. "She's gone." "Gone?" "Disappeared is more like it. Not a trace. Not even a bootlace left." Renee crossed over to Jack. "I'll get the brandy. Not that you need any more of it." "Don't worry, Pip. I brought my own." Jack held aloft a bottle. A disappointed frown came across his face when he slowly realised it was empty. "Damn," he sighed. "Bloody awful day." "Don't you dare throw that bottle, Jack Wolfe!" Renee said sharply. "Do you talk like this to all your customers?" "You're not a customer. You're a friend. Now sit your drunk arse down and tell me what happened." She took the empty bottle from him and replaced it with a glass of brandy. "I came back from Martinique... was it two days ago? No, three days," he said sadly. "Got the journal from that loony Frenchman, LaFork." "LaFourche." "You know him?" "Oh dear. Just... keep going. You arrived in port here, and?" "Anyway, I expected to see Honour at the docks. Husband comes home from a voyage, the wife is there to meet him. I mean, that's the way it works, right?" "Yes, I expect so." "Well, she wasn't there," said Jack, his voice cracking. "Turns out she wasn't anywhere." He slugged back the brandy and wiped his eyes. “There was Briggs. Oh, dutiful, ever faithful Briggs. He gave me the news, that Honour... that she was... Oh God, Renee, she was gone! I even stopped by the registrar's office, to find out if she'd bought that plantation she had her eye on. The one she talked about in Castara. But some bloke’s name was on the papers." "Someone bought it before she could?" "I expect so. Maybe that was the last straw, I don't know. When I got home..." he laughed bitterly. "Home. Bollocks. Anyway, everything was gone. All her clothes, all her possessions. Everything. Like she'd never been there." "What about a note? Surely she--" "NOTHING! I had to find out from Josiah. I knew something was wrong when I stepped off the ship and he was there. He had that look, you know? That... pity look. I hate that look. Oh God, how I hate that look." Jack produced a shirt and threw it on the floor. "That. That is all I have to remember her by." Renee picked up the shirt. "Your shirt?" "Smell it." Renee took a whiff. "Jasmine." "And like her, it will be taken by the wind. First ocean breeze and... gone." Renee sat next to Jack, not knowing what to say. "You know what the kicker is, Renee? She stole from me." "Stole? But... what..?" Jack ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair. "Just... some cash. A lot of it. Kind of rolled me." He laughed derisively. "Rolled. Odd choice of words, isn't it? Maybe that's all we were. A hellluva good roll." "She stole more than that, Jack" "What do you mean?" "She stole your heart." He shook his head. "You have to have a heart to have it stolen." "Now don't you go trying to deny that, John Michael Wolfe. This is Pip Woolston you are talking to. Probably the one woman who understands you more than any woman alive. Even more than your dearly disappearing wife." "What am I going to do, Pip?" "You will go on. You will get out of bed every morning... breathe in and out all day long. Then, after a while you won't have to remind yourself to get out of bed every morning and breathe. The memory of her will fade. I doubt you will think of this kindly. But think of it as a lesson learned." "You always did look at the practical side of things." "Maybe next time you will think with your head and not your heart. Or any other important part of you. You were so eager to bed her that all reason was cast aside and she was shrewd. Oh, so shrewd! Blame it on the whiskey, blame it on the moonlight. But whatever it was, she played her hand and won. And you know what else?" “No, but I think you’re gonna tell me anyway.” “Jack, I’m only saying this because it’s true, and I know you won’t remember even half of it tomorrow. You never do.” He looked at her and made an honest attempt to focus his eyes. “All right then, what?” “How can you be so bloody thick when it comes to women and so brilliant with everything else?” she said, the frustration in her voice evident. “ You were thick then, and you’re thick now. Maddening as hell, it is.” Jack gave her a bleary look. “What are you on about? Thick back when? What about?” Renee shook her head sadly as she searched his bloodshot eyes. “You really don’t know, do you? You never could tell? Not even a little?” “Tell what?” “That for all these years, ever since you brought me that first book. And you quizzed me on it after I’d read it, remember? We talked about it for hours that night. You opened my eyes to so very many things. And I suppose that from that night, all this time I’ve... I’ve been in---” Her voice caught and cracked at that moment of confession, and her courage with it. She took her hands in his and tried to put on a genial smile. “--- in your debt, that’s what I’ve been. And now, you need a friend. Yes, that’s just what you need. A good friend. Good old Pip, picking up the pieces like always. I’ll start with refilling your brandy.” Renee got up quickly and went to the ornate wooden stand that held the fine spirits. She kept her back to Jack so he couldn’t see the tears that would have surely betrayed the feelings she could not bring herself to say aloud. “You know what, Pip?” he asked. Hastily she wiped her eyes. “What- what is it, dove?” “Besides Josiah, you’re my very best friend.” She winced. Why did she let herself hope, for even a moment, that he might say those three words? Even with him drunk, it would have been preferable to hear it from his own lips and not in some foolish daydream. She gulped down the brandy and poured more in the glass. “Hey, that was mine!” he protested. “So a girl can’t drink? I’ve half a mind to cut you off.” Renee downed the glass and gave him a defiant look. It was a rare thing for her to drink hard liquor. But the quicker she could make herself numb, the less her heart would hurt. She wanted to be angry with him. But she simply couldn’t bring herself to be. Jack pouted. “Well, aren’t you just the big tease?” “Big tease, eh?” She poured another half glass and knocked it back. “Get up.” “You throwing me out?” “Just get up off your arse and on your feet, if you can.” He gave her a confused look, and carefully got to his feet. Renee walked over to him and held out her hand. “Take it.” “Where are we going?” he said as he took her hand in his. She led him to the stairs. “I’m putting you to bed.” “I get to sleep it off here?” “Eventually,” she said as ascended the staircase with Jack in tow. ‘I may never have your heart, I can sure as hell enjoy your body for a while. Like always,’ she said to herself.

The carriage splashed through mud left by a passing morning shower and came to a stop outside the offices of the magistrate. Jack exited quickly, leaving Briggs to deal with the coachman. He opened the office door with enough force for it to band sharply against the wall, startling the magistrate's clerk and causing him to drop a stack of papers to the floor. “Hello there!” the clerk said with annoyance, “You can't come barging in here like that! Have a bit of civility about you!” Jack gave a mocking half bow. “I beg your pardon, but I'm on a matter of some urgency.” “It will wait whilst I collect these papers, if you don't mind,” replied the clerk. Unable to contain his temper any longer, Jack reached for his pistol. It wasn't there. He'd left it at the White Hart because he was travelling as a common gentleman. One more blow to his ego for the day. He was helpless to intimidate a snotty office clerk. Finally the man moved the stack of documents to it's new resting place and returned to the counter. “May I help you, sir?” “I need to see all the records of land transactions for the past fortnight,” said Jack. “I'm sorry,” the clerk said smugly. “You'll need a letter of- WAIT!” Jack grabbed two fistfuls of the man's waistcoat and dragged him halfway over the counter. “The records. Now,” he growled, and released the clerk, who was suddenly all to happy to comply. Within moments, Jack was thumbing through the pages of a large ledger. “What did she say his name was? Picard, Picou... That's it! Picou!” He checked every entry to be certain not to overlook the name if it were there. Finally, he found it. The record of sale for a plantation. The seller, Monsieur Henri Picou. The buyer... R. C. Castlemaine. He stared in disbelief at the page. She'd lied about the plantation. She'd lied about everything. Everything... He angrily shoved the massive book off the counter and stormed from the office, his face burning with humiliation. Briggs had stayed behind, waiting at the carriage so Jack could conduct his search of the records in private. The look on his friend's face told the quartermaster everything he needed to know. “The White Hart,” he told the driver. “Take your time.” Briggs climbed into the carriage across from his captain. In all the years he'd known Jack, he'd never seen him like this. Lost. Crushed. The wild fire in his eyes all but extinguished. There were no words to cajole or comfort this time. The two men sat in silence as the carriage rolled on. Jack paused at the door to their... to his room. The terrible emptiness he felt seemed to grow a thousandfold as his hand touched the door handle. He knew what he would find, but what the mind understands and the heart feels seldom ever reconcile. He took a deep breath and turned the handle. What was once the temporary home of Jack and Honour Wolfe was now a room at an inn, like any other. Nondescript, void of the feminine presence that had given it warmth. Empty, save for a single shirt left upon the bed. He picked it up and held it to his face, thinking back to the many times Honour had worn his shirts instead of her dressing or night gowns so he could catch her subtle scent of jasmine when he wore them next. All that was gone now. He dropped the shirt on the bed and turned to the dresser, expecting to find there a letter explaining why she'd left with no word or warning to anyone. But there was no letter. He searched the dresser drawers and the writing desk. Everything that belonged to her had been removed, even the ugly golden piece he'd given her for their wedding. No explanation, no clues. Honour Bright, his wife of nearly one month, the woman he was only now realizing how much he loved, was gone from his life. Sadly and silently, Jack Wolfe unpacked his sea bag, and began to restore some small semblance of order to his world. That night, Jack sat alone in his room. The plate of food and bottle of brandy he'd sent for were still on the dresser, barely touched. He poured over the journal of Armand LaFourche once again, this time for the distraction its riddles and strange pagan imagery offered more than anything else. It would take months if not longer to gain a basic grasp of the concepts the madman had tried to communicate in his writings. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Candlelight played over the stained and yellowed pages, lending an almost otherworldly quality to the meticulous renderings of bizarre creatures and nightmarish gods. He took a sip of brandy as he studied a drawing of a chest labelled “The Keeper of Kings,” just like LaFourche had spoken of in one of his riddles. There was no mention of what it might hold, only that it was roughly a yard in length and to unlock it required two keys. Jack remembered a cryptic partial entry he'd read previously that seemed somehow connected. He flipped back to near the front of the book. As he located the passage, he noticed that one of the pages seemed thicker than the others. Closer examination revealed that two pages had indeed become stuck together over time. He set his brandy aside and ever so gently pried the leafs of parchment from one another. The drawings they had hidden from him left Jack staring in wide-eyed astonishment. He knew them. He owned them. Or, he had until recently. There before his eyes were exquisitely detailed images of the two keys that would open the Keeper of Kings. The first was a silver disk, with some sort of grinning face engraved upon it. Short blunt spikes of varying lengths protruded from the disk's outer edge in all directions. The second was a disk of gold, with a hideous snarling face and long, slender arms reaching out from its perimeter. Two critical pieces needed for solving the riddle of the Ancients, and he'd given one of them away to a woman who had vanished as if taken by the wind. “The Moon and Sun in endless chase,” Jack quoted aloud, and sat back in his chair with a self deprecating laugh that soon took on a bitter edge. “How fittingly ironic, my love. I don't know where you've gone, Honour Bright, but I will find you, if it takes the rest of my life!”

From the deck of the aptly named sloop Homecoming, Jack watched the twinkling lights of Bridgetown. They had arrived too late for the pilot to bring them into port, so the vessel rode quietly at anchor near the harbour's mouth. To be so tantalizingly close to hearth and home was maddening for him. Four days had turned to nearly ten, and the only thought on his mind was how sweet it would be to hold Honour in his arms once again. With the plantation in their name and the Lobo to be auctioned in four days time, Jack Wolfe was finally ready to settle down and make a real home with his wife, and one day soon, their children. He swore to himself that he would never be away from Honour's side ever again. The trip to Martinique had gone far better than he'd hoped. Armand LaFourche's daughter Ceily had practically thrown her insane father's journal at Jack, believing it was the cause of poor Armand's madness. Now it was his turn to try his hand at decode the mystery of the long dead Ancients and, more importantly, their fabled treasures. If there was even a shred of truth to the stories, it could mean a delightful little adventure he and Honour could share together. At the very worst, it would be an interesting intellectual diversion. Jack had sent two brief letters ashore with the ship's jollyboat, one to Briggs and another to Honour, informing them he would be ashore not long after first light. Though he was restless with anticipation, he managed to quiet his mind enough to try and sleep. He had no intention of being exhausted and bedraggled when he was reunited with his bride. He had come to miss Honour terribly, even more so when he was forced to stay in Martinique a few extra days waiting for passage home. That was all behind him now. He drifted off to sleep, content in the knowledge that in a few hours he would be with his beloved Honour, and home. The harbour pilot came aboard as the sun rose like the Phoenix over the island, and within the hour the Homecoming was nearly into her slip. Lines were thrown, hauled, and tied off with practised efficiency. Jack stood at the gunwale, searching the faces gathering there at the dock. He spied Briggs and waved to his friend. The quartermaster waved back, but his expression was anything but cheery. Honour was nowhere to be seen. Jack was the first one down the gangplank, and he immediately searched out his friend. “Josiah! It's good to see you! Where the devil is Honour? Is she ill?” Briggs set his jaw and sighed. “I figured from your happy mood ye didn't get the letter I sent. Damn. I didn't want ye to find out this way. Let's walk a bit.” The two men walked along the dock toward the carriage Briggs had hired. “What the hell is going on?! Where is my wife?” Jack demanded. Briggs stopped and face him. “Honour's gone, Jack. She packed up and cleared out a couple days after you left for Martinique. I'm so sorry.” Jack felt suddenly sick. An awful light-headedness swept over him, making his legs feel like rubber. Briggs reached out and steadied his stricken comrade. After a minute or so, Jack found his voice again. His words came slowly and deliberately, as if it took all his strength to form them. “Did she... did she leave with Cade?” he asked through clenched teeth. A terrible dread gripped his soul. The answer he feared would destroy him. “Cade? No, not with him. Nobody's quite sure who gave her passage, but it weren't Cade Jennings.” Briggs paused for a moment. “But ye ain't goin' to like the news about him, neither.” Jack looked around and found a short barrel to lean against. He crossed his arms and looked at the planks of the dock, totally unsure what to think or feel. She hadn't left with Cade. That meant the rumours were untrue. But why did she leave at all? “Josiah, you've just told me my wife has left me, God only knows why. And you tell me there's even more bad news?” “I'm sorry, Jack, I really am,” Briggs said softly. “Ye know you're the last man I'd ever kick when he's down. Things went to hell in a right hurry after ye left. The very next day, Cade bought himself a ship, the Gryphon I think she's called. He's broke company with ye, Jack. Left port that day to go rovin' on his own account. Seems he'd been plannin' it for a while now.” It felt to Jack like he was being hollowed out, one devastating stroke at a time. “I knew it would happen one day,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Why didn't he tell me, instead of accepting the run of the Castara operation? I would have understood!” The chill of suspicion crept back in to his heart. First Cade leaves, then Honour. Did they plan it that way, to throw Jack off the scent? Did they think he wouldn't suspect they might be meeting up elsewhere? “I ain't goin' to pretend I know what goes on in the head of a boy like Cade. Impulsive to a fault, that one. Probably why ye took a shine to him. But I'll wager anything that pup will bite off more than he can chew sooner than not!” “I want him watched.” “Eh?” “I want Cade Jennings watched,” Jack repeated, punctuating each syllable. His voice was like ice. “I want to know where he goes, what he does, what his plans are, and especially who he's with at all times. The same applies to Honour. If she's in the Caribbean, I want her found. See that the word gets out.” The single most effective weapon in his arsenal was an extensive information gathering network that stretched to every nook and cranny of the Caribbean. Everyone knew that Jack Wolfe had eyes and ears everywhere, and they never rested. Those who betrayed him found out very quickly that there was no place to hide. He would find them. And they would pay dearly for their treachery. “Aye, I'll see to it,” said Briggs. He knew better than to ask questions when his captain's voice went cold. Jack looked up at him, looking for all the world a beaten man. “Please tell me that's all the news you have, Josiah.” Briggs shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry, Jack. There is one more bit of insult to injury, and it ties right back to that wife of your'n.” “Don't tell me. She took the cat?” “I wish to hell she had. No, a carriage she hired was at one of the storehouses on St. Michael street early the day she went missing.” “Number Eleven.” “Aye,” said Briggs. “All told, between the money for the plantation and the withdrawal she made from the First Bank of Jack Wolfe, ten full chests are missing.” Jack stared blankly out across the waves, as if by some miracle he would catch a final glimpse of Honour. “Ten chests...” he echoed. Why didn't she take all of them? One more indecipherable riddle added to the mix. But the driving force was all too clear to him. “She used me, Josiah. This entire time, all she wanted was the money. How could I have been so blind?” “She had us all fooled, Jack. Every last one of us.” “Not everyone,” Jack shot back. “Bonita tried to warn me, but I was too lovestruck to listen.” “With that witch's riddles, how can ye be certain? No, that Honour is a cagey one. If that's even her real name. I guess we'll never know now.” “I don't even know what's real any more, Josiah. Do you know if she actually bought the plantation, or was that just another of her charades?” asked Jack. “Beats me. I trusted her, too, remember.” Jack stood up and straightened his waistcoat. “We're going to the magistrate's,” he said, walking full speed for the carriage. “I want to know just how much that woman swindled me for.”

“Conscripted?!” Jack roared at the master of the merchant ship Fidelity. They were supposed to weigh anchor that day, bound for Barbados, but the captain had been served a decree stating that his ship was no longer a private freighter, but a supply ship in England's Navy. Ships of all types were being pressed into the service of the Commonwealth now that Cromwell had launched his Western Design, meaning that England's tempestuous relationship with Spain had finally escalated into all out war even in the Caribbean. Since the French had nothing but contempt for the Spanish, they were more than happy to host English troops on their soil for a nominal fee. As usual, war was good for business. “I'm sorry, Mister Wolfe, but I have no say in this,” explained the captain. “There's a whole slew of Marines aboard her right now, offloading every last bit of cargo to make room for guns and men. The owners won't be happy, not one bit. But what can I do?” Jack tried his best to rein in his temper. He knew it wasn't the captain's fault, but he desperately wanted to yell at someone for this incredible inconvenience. “You have my sympathies, Captain Sumner,” Jack said testily. “But you'll excuse me. I have to find someone with a ship that's NOT BLOODY CONSCRIPTED INTO SOME STUPID BLOODY STUPID WAR!! Good day, sir!” He straightened his hat and stalked to the door of the harbour master's offices, where he was pleasantly surprised to find them still open for business. Two deep calming breaths later, he stepped inside. There were some irate merchants venting their frustrations to an English officer, who offered in return little more than a stony expression as he stared at nothing in particular. Jack bypassed the group and went to the clerk's counter. There was nervous man behind it who was trying desperately to ignore everyone and everything around him. Jack gave him his best cheery smile, and the man seemed to relax a bit. “Excuse me, but I'd like to speak with the harbour master, please,” he said calmly. The man looked around, and said quietly and quickly, “Ce serait à moi, monsieur. Eh, that is, I am the harbour master.” “Ah, good! I'm in need of a ship bound for Barbados, the sooner the better. Heard of any?” “Je suis très désolé...” the harbour master began. “My ship will be making for Barbados,” said another man who was signing some documents. He was a grizzled old salt, but clean and well dressed. “We'll not be much for taking cargo, but we can carry a passenger if you stay out of the way. Who wants to know?” Jack extended his hand. “Jack Wolfe,” he said quietly. “And you are?” “Captain Stephen Mathwig, at your service. Your name has a familiar ring, Mister Wolfe. Have a ship of your own, do you?” “Me? A ship? No,” Jack lied. “If I had a ship, why would I be here begging passage home?” Mathwig nodded. “Fair point, that. Anyway, if you're in a hurry like it sounds you are, I’m afraid I can't be of much help to you. We just made port today, and won't leave for another four days.” “Four days?” Jack said, crestfallen. He looked to the harbour master. “Are there any other ships for Barbados leaving sooner?” The man nodded no. “Looks like I'm your best bet, Mister Wolfe,” said Mathwig. “Interested?” “Where shall we discuss terms?” asked Jack. “Meet me in an hour, just down the street at Le Cheval Rouge. You can’t miss it. The sign has a brightly painted--” “Red horse, yes, I gathered from the name,” interrupted Jack. “Of course,” smiled the older captain. “You look like a well travelled man. It shows in the eyes. I’ll meet you there, and we'll sort things out to make certain you have a berth on the Homecoming.” “I do have a question, Captain Mathwig.” “And what would that be, Mister Wolfe?” “Every other English ship larger than a dinghy is getting conscripted into Cromwell’s madness. How is it yours isn’t among them?” Captain Mathwig gave a sly smile. “Let’s just say my vessel doesn’t appear on any merchant’s ledgers, Mister Wolfe. I’m sure a man like yourself can appreciate my meaning.” “That I do, Captain. I’ll see you in an hour.” Jack tipped his hat and walked out to the street. At least he had found a fellow pirate for his passage home. Nevertheless, his return was now delayed. His absence would be almost ten days away from Honour instead of the promised four. He hoped she would understand. He pictured her standing on the widow's walk of the manor house on their new plantation, watching every sail that approached from the north and hoping that it was the one carrying her husband home to her. “This is the one and only time she'll ever feel the need to do that,” he vowed. “Never again.”

St. Pierre, Île Martinique There it was. 43 Rue Bacas. The home of the mad naturalist and linguist Armand LaFourche. For years he had been renowned for his abilities to understand dead languages and their equally dead practitioners. But if the stories were true, his attempts at understanding a forgotten people known only as the Ancients had gotten the better of him. Instead of unravelling their secrets, their secrets had unravelled his mind. Jack stepped up to the door and knocked. It was answered by a young woman, Honour's age or close to it. She was a frail thing, tall and pale, with eyes that belonged to someone much older. “Mademoiselle LaFourche?” he inquired politely. “Oui.” “My name is Cap... is Jack Wolfe. Please forgive me for dropping by unannounced. I am a great admirer of your father's work. Might it be possible for me to meet him?” She sighed heavily. “Monsieur Wolfe, my father is a very sick man.” Her heavy accent lent her voice a far more authoritative ring than one might have expected. "I am afraid it is out of the question. Au revoir, monsieur.” She began to close the door. “Please hear me out!” Jack insisted, and the woman paused. “This is more than just a social call, mademoiselle. I have a business proposition that I believe you would be interested in.” She mulled his words over for a moment, then opened the door wide. “Please, Monsieur Wolfe. Éntrer.” The interior of the house was cramped. Not from an ill-conceived floor plan, but rather every available bit of wall space had been converted into bookshelves. The air was heavy with the stale smell of leather, cloth, and vellum. The young woman led Jack through the winding maze of texts. He decided it was as good a time as any to try and break the ice. “Forgive me, but I don't believe I caught your name.” “Cecile,” she replied pleasantly. “But you may call me Ceily. Everyone does. You are here to buy my father's journal about Les Anciens, oui?” “Oui! I mean, yes, that I am. How did you know?" "You are not the first, monsieur." "You'll find I am prepared to pay handsomely...” Ceily cut him off with a wave of her hand. "I would happily give you the journal, Monsieur Wolfe. But I think you should see what the knowledge contained within it has done to my poor father before you accept. The price is far steeper than you think,” she said ominously. She brought Jack to a small sunny room. Armand LaFourche was there, sitting in a simple straight backed chair. He was looking out at a small garden Ceily no doubt maintained for him in an attempt to soothe his tortured mind. Jack watched as the disturbed man rocked gently back and forth, quietly chanting something inaudible. Ceily motioned Jack into the room and pointed to a chair for him to sit in next to her father. As he sat, he found the man wasn't chanting, but was instead singing a children's song. Sur le pont d'Avignon L'on y danse, l'on y danse Sur le pont d'Avignon L'on y danse tous en rond Les bell' dames font comm' çà Et puis encore comm' çà... Ceily kneeled down beside Armand and gently touched his shoulder. He stopped his song to smile at her. “Papa?” she said softly. “Papa, Monsieur Wolfe voudrais vous parler.” She nodded toward Jack. Armand looked at his visitor, his strange smile never fading. “Je ne sais pas vous,” he said warily. “Monsieur LaFourche, my name is Jack Wolfe. I've come to ask you some questions about the Ancients.” The man's eyes went wide. “Les Anciens! Oui! Oui, but of course! I can tell you everything about them!” His voice was suddenly infused with life, the confused fog lifted from his eyes. Such a radical change in his demeanour helped to ease Jack's mind. Perhaps the quest for knowledge about these people had nothing to do with LaFourche's madness after all. “Did you ever find out where the Ancients lived, for certain?” Jack asked carefully. “Non. No, I never did. But I learned things far more important.” Armand's expression turned gravely serious. “Things I will tell you, only if you swear to me you will never tell another soul.” “Believe me, I'll keep anything you tell me a secret. Just between us.” Jack was gambling that even though he seemed lucid enough, Armand might still be soft enough in the head to give up something useful. “The Moon and Sun in endless chase, must come together in one place.” the man said. Jack blinked and looked to Ceily, who could only offer a shrug. “That's very interesting, monsieur. Could you be more specific? Do you mean an eclipse?” The crazed look was creeping back into Armand's eyes. “In the Chamber of Tomorrows, the Keeper of Kings will awaken. Do you see it?” He smiled as if Jack should have understood his riddles clearly. “I'm afraid I'm not following,” said Jack. “Perhaps if we back up a bit...” “Three Kings will hide before your eyes, their scattered way brought together. Yes, yes, they will hide... until she finds them...” The enigmatic smile was back, and Armand LaFourche was lost once more. Jack leaned back in his chair, utterly perplexed. Ceily nodded toward the doorway, and the two retreated from the room to the hall. “So, monsieur. You see what his quest has done to his mind. Do you still want the journal?” she asked, certain Jack would decline like everyone before him. “You know, I think he actually gave me something to go on. Yes, please. I'll take it off your hands,” he replied without hesitation. Ceily shook her head sadly, and retrieved a worn book from its place on the shelf. She touched the stained cover, which read 'Un Journal de Conclusions sur la Race perdu connu seulement comme Les Anciens, comme compilées par Armand LaFourche', then quickly handed it over to Jack. “Here. Take the accursed thing. And may God take pity on you, Capitaine Jacques Wolfe.” Jack smiled gratefully. "Why should He start now?” He paused, then handed a purse full of coins to her. “For his upkeep, and your kindness. Adieu, mademoiselle."

Jack's eyes fluttered open, but screwed shut almost immediately from the pounding throb in his head. He made a tacit vow to himself not to overindulge like he obviously had again, just as he'd vowed a thousand other mornings before. Smiling in the solace of at least knowing for certain who it was he'd find lying beside him, he stretch drowsily and reached toward the other side of the bed... and found it cold and empty. “Honour?” he called quietly. When no answer came, he sat up and looked around their room. She was nowhere to be seen, and her cloak was missing. He was still in the shirt and breeches he'd worn the previous day. As he struggled to remember the events of last night, he noticed the pistol lying on the floor, its hammer still cocked. “Oh, God, no. No, no, no, what did I do?!” he wondered desperately. Bits of memories came drifting back: the tavern, the awful rumours, the argument with Honour and the terrible things he'd said to her, the hurtful accusations. Remorse hit him in a sickening wave. Why did he not trust that she was telling the truth? Why didn't he explain his friendship with Renee? “Damn you and your pride, Jack,” he said aloud. She had endured hardship and peril, never once wavering from his side. How did he repay her love and fidelity? By judging her guilty on hollow charges and no evidence, because HE felt humiliated by the idle chatter. Instead of standing beside her, he had thrown her to the wolves over wounded pride. He went to the window and looked down on the street below. The sun had just risen, and people were beginning to go about their morning routines. He caught a glimpse of a woman's cloak near the inn's entrance. It was the same colour and style as Honour's. The woman seemed to hesitate at the door before entering. If it was Honour as he hoped, he could not blame her for being apprehensive about returning. Curiosity about where she may have been was drowned out by his relief that she was safe, and had found it within herself to come back. Jack hurriedly straightened the room, being sure to safe the pistol and hide it out of sight. He splashed some water on his face and tried to do something with his unruly mane, to no avail. Finally, he rummaged around in a small wooden chest, retrieved a green velvet pouch, and stuffed it into his pocket. His heart pounded with hope and dread as the door handle rattled, then slowly turned. Honour stepped gingerly into the room, her heart beating so hard she could feel it in her ears. The guilt she had felt upon awakening in Cade's arms was nothing compared to what wracked her being now. She could not bear to even look at her husband, so she kept her face hidden by her hood as she turned and closed the door. At that moment, she longed to once again be that carefree girl sitting at the cliffs near her childhood home watching the ships come and go, far away from this place in a far simpler time. But she would not run this time. No, she would face her husband and accept whatever came next. Strangely, the angry tirade she'd expected was not there. An eerie silence, almost claustrophobic to her, hung in the air. Why didn't he say anything? Where were the now well founded accusations she was certain he'd hurl? Unpredictable to the last, she thought. No small wonder his foes found him so maddening. Honour sighed heavily, resigned to the fact that Jack was going to force her into facing him, the adulteress before the humiliated cuckold. She pulled her hood back and began to remove her cloak. To her amazement, she felt it lifted from her shoulders with incredible delicacy. Fighting against her own shame, she turned, head bowed, to discover what judgement awaited her. Astonishingly, what she found was nothing like what she expected. And her heart broke. Jack Wolfe, the most feared pirate in the entire Caribbean, stood before her as the epitome of contrition. “Honour,” he said softly and slowly, his gaze directed at the floor in front of her, “ I am so terribly sorry for the way I mistreated you last night. I have been a poor husband to you. I see that now. When you needed me, I was not there. When I should have offered explanations, I didn't. When I should have trusted you, I didn't. Though I do not expect you to, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?” Her mind reeled. He was begging forgiveness, when it was she who had broken their marriage vows? She knew in her heart that there was no way he could know yet of her sin- committed with the man who Jack loved like a son!- but that only seemed to make her feel worse. “No, Jack,” she said, her voice nearly cracking with shame. “I'm the one who should be asking forgiveness. Not you.” “Nonsense!” he interrupted. He stepped towards her and drew her into his arms. It felt to Honour as if he was holding on to her for dear life. “No, my love. This has all been a terrible misunderstanding, and it is my fault. All I ask is a chance to make things right.” He pulled the velvet pouch from his pocket and opened it. She gasped when she saw the intricate diamond and emerald necklace as he drew it out into the light. “I was holding this for a happier occasion, but I want you to have this now as a token of apology.” “It's beautiful,” she whispered. So overwhelmed was she by what was happening, it all began to take on a dreamlike quality. Jack held up the necklace, and she turned around to let him put it on her. She swept her long blond hair away from her neck. The glimmering stones were cool upon her skin. He gently kissed the back of her neck as he put his arms around her. Honour leaned back into his embrace and turned her head to look at him. Their lips met, and at that moment the flood gates that had been restraining their emotions burst open at once. Their kisses became hungry, almost desperate. She moved her body against his as he caressed her. His fingers loosened the ties of her chemise and deftly pulled it free from her shoulders. The garment slipped down over her body onto the floor as she turned and began undressing him. They held and touched each other, losing themselves in their sensual tempest. Finally, Jack swept Honour up in his arms and laid her gently upon the bed. She insistently drew him down on to the bed and over her, guiding him to her. As they made love, she kept her eyes closed tightly so he would not see the pain in them, and a single tear ran down her cheek. Honour lay in Jack's arms, her back to him, their bodies and emotions spent. She wondered what would happen next. How long before Jack found out she betrayed him with Cade? And what revenge would he exact once he knew the truth? Would he kill them both as he had threatened last night? She was thankful Jack couldn't see the haunted look in her eyes. There was no way to run from her terrible mistake, no way to hide it, no way to undo the wrong. She was trapped. The chill of hopelessness began to creep into her heart, so she snuggled back against her husband. He gently stroked her hair the way he always had after they made love, but this time it brought her no joy. Jack sighed heavily. “Honour,” he said quietly, “I have something to tell you, darling. I wish now that I didn't, and I hope you won't be too angry with me.” How could he possibly make her angry after what she'd done to him, Honour wondered. “Please, just tell me, Jack. All our breakables are in storage, so you have nothing to worry about,” she feebly tried to joke. “All right. You remember the notebook I told you I was trying to find? The one that belongs to a French naturalist?” “I think so. Why?” “I know where he is. Martinique. It's practically in my grasp, love!” he enthused. “How so?” she asked. “Is someone bringing it to you?” “This is the part I fear will upset you,” he said cautiously. “I'm going to Martinique to buy it. Today.” Honour turned over quickly to face him. “You're leaving? Today?!” Her voice was full of hurt. Damn him! He hasn't changed one bit, and never will. Leaving her behind while to go chasing after treasure? “But we were supposed to look at the plantation tomorrow! What if someone buys it before you decide to come back? Have you considered that?” “In fact, I have. I've set more than enough money aside to buy the plantation, at your disposal. Briggs will make sure you have it in hand first thing before you go to the property.” “What, I'm supposed to negotiate the contract?” she asked incredulously. Jack smiled at her. “Of course! What better way to prove how much I trust you than to let you buy your dream home? You'll do a fine job, I know it.” The news hit her like a kick in the stomach. Was this to be her destiny, to live the solitary existence of a seaman's wife and pace the widow's walk every day, hoping to see his sails on the horizon? “Jack, no!" she pleaded. "This is too important, and I need you there with me!” “I promise, Honour, I'll only be gone a few days. You'll be fine! When I return, we'll start moving in to our new home.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Now I really should get my things in order. I sail in just a few hours, and they'll be by shortly for my baggage.” He smiled happily at her, then rose from the bed to get dressed. Honour pulled the covers up around her, her heart bursting with despair. In the space of less than a day, the marriage that had brought her so much joy had come crashing down around her. She rolled over again, her back to him. "Do what you feel you have to, Jack. You always do."

The door of the inn flew open with the percussive force of a cannon shot. All conversation abruptly halted as the stunned patrons turned to find Jack Wolfe standing in the doorway. He strode purposefully to the center of the room, looking each person there dead in the eyes. Cade Jennings was not among them. No matter. Revenge would be exacted in time. He became increasingly aware that everyone was staring at him as he swayed drunkenly like a reed in the wind. Forcing a smile, he doffed his hat and gave a theatrical bow. “Gentlemen, please! As you were!” The tension was broken, and conversations resumed. With a stiffly measured gait, he strode up the stairs. He was not about to show them the jealous husband who had lost control back at the tavern. The practiced façade he wore into battle would serve him well once again. The people below hardly noticed the creak of a door as it opened, but the window rattling slam that followed could not be mistaken. Dolan gave a low whistle. “Oh, this ain't lookin' good.” Honour sat bolt upright in the bed, the covers clutched up around her neck. “Jack! What on earth is the matter? You scared me half to death coming in here like that!” She looked out the window and saw that the sun had set. “And where have you been? You said you'd only be gone a few hours.” Her hand was still trembling from the slamming of the door as she brushed her hair back from her face. Jack couldn't bring himself to look at her, so he stared at the windows as he pulled off his frock coat. He tossed it on the bed and removed his baldric and sword. Honour noticed the dirt on the coat's sleeve, along with a tear near the elbow. “Jack, your favourite coat is torn. Hadn't you noticed it?” Her questions continued to be met with silence. “Why won't you talk to me?” she asked in frustration. He looked askance at her. “Why do you care if I came back at all?” he slurred. “I thought you'd be happier the longer I stay away.” “Jack, you're not making any sense. You're drunk, aren't you? Please, get undressed and come to bed...” “I AM DRUNK!” he erupted. “Tell me, oh wife of mine, why I should share a bed with you tonight? I can practically smell him on you.” “Smell... what? What is wrong with you? Why are saying such terrible things?” “Did you honestly think I wouldn't find out? The whole town's talking about Jack Wolfe, the cuckold pirate!” He turned to face her, his anger boiling to the top once again. “Parading around on his arm in front of the entire town, the two young lovers! More like the backstabbing cur and his little slut!” “No, no, Jack! No, you were busy, and... and Cade offered to show me the sites until you returned... It's not what you think!!” Even she could hear the note of guilt that slipped into her voice. Yes, she had thought Cade attractive and charming. Yes, she had stolen a kiss with him. And yes, she had imagined making love with him. She could feel her face turning red as hot tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, I can imagine the things he showed you!” he went on, pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed. “How long have you two been together? Since Castara? How could you betray me like this, Honour? Why?” The hurt in Jack’s voice tore at her. “I haven't! Jack, I love you! I would never betray you, never! You have to believe me! Please!” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “I've been far truer to you than you have to me!!” Her last words stopped Jack in his tracks. “Now how can that be possible?” he mocked. Honour fought to regain her composure. Her body trembled with distress, but a wave of anger began to build within her. “I saw you. I was on the corner when you came out of that... house,” she said, her voice becoming more and more forceful. “You didn't have the decency to accompany me to the inn before you ran off to lay with some whore! Another of your many 'friends'? Friends with benefits is more like it!” she spat sarcastically. Honour had found her voice at last. All the frustration and mistrust, all the hurt and anger she'd so dutifully stifled over the past month came roaring forth like a spring flood. He laughed derisively. “How dare you accuse me?” “And how dare you, my husband?” she retorted. “My hands are clean! But you… all your promises and solemn oaths that conveniently change with the wind! I gave myself to you, body and soul! I saved your life when you were shot, and this is how you repay me? With accusations and infidelity?” “You’ve humiliated me!! I’ve treated you with generosity and kindness up ‘til now..!” “You’ve treated me like rubbish!! Everything’s roses when times are good, but when I need you, when I need my husband with me, you’re never there! If I have done the awful things you say, who could blame me?” Jack’s eyes went wide with rage. He stepped menacingly toward her and drew back his hand to strike, but Honour found the courage to face him defiantly and not cower. She stared him straight in the eyes though her face was streaked with anguished tears. “Damn you, Jack Wolfe!” she said with steely resolve, “Go ahead. Hit me. But if you do, I will walk out that door and NEVER come back!” His hand flew up once more, but her only reaction was an almost indiscernible flinch, her eyes never leaving his. He stared at her, his face a mask of anger and heartache. Suddenly he turned and went to the writing desk. She followed him a few steps, relieved that he had not followed through with his threat. Maybe she could reason with him now, and make him understand she’d done nothing wrong… She gasped in horror when Jack whirled and pointed his pistol at her. The combination of alcohol and adrenalin had him so unsteady that his aim wavered as if he were on the deck of a pitching ship. “Jack, please, no! Put the gun away. This is all a terrible mistake!” she pleaded. “The mistake was in marrying a deceitful little trollop like you! A mistake I intend to remedy here and now.” He pulled the hammer back slowly. “Your precious Cade will be along to join you in Hell shortly.” Terror gripped Honour’s very core. Instinctively, she lashed out with a sweeping kick that caught Jack’s arm. The pistol flew from his hand and landed harmlessly on the floor. Enraged, he lunged at her, but she quickly sidestepped and watched as he lost his footing and stumbled head first into the wall. Her breath came in ragged, panicked gasps as she waited for him to get back to his feet. But he didn’t move. Carefully, she knelt down beside him and put her small trembling hand near his face. A small wave of relief washed over her when she felt his breath across her fingers. He wasn’t dead. But she knew it wasn’t safe to stay there. The familiar urge to flee overwhelmed her. She hurriedly dressed and left the inn, and ran down the street as fast as she could to The Horse, Hunter, and Stag. She knew she would find safety there. Cade would protect her.

The portly merchant picked up some coins from the table and looked at them suspiciously. “Dutch guilders, Captain Wolfe? You'll forgive me, but I prefer to be paid in the currency of the Commonwealth.” “You're new to the Caribbean, aren't you, Mister Archer?” asked Jack. “Money is money. It all melts down the same. If you decide to be picky, you'll find yourself starving, not that it could hurt. A handsome payment for a few days passage to Martinique is what that is, mate! Do we have a bargain?” Archer looked down at the coins, then back to Jack. “We cast off early tomorrow afternoon, Captain. I'll have some men come round to the White Hart for your things. She's the Aphrodite Merchant, don't forget!” “Who could forget the goddess of beauty?” Jack replied. He glanced out the window as Archer pocketed his money and noticed the firefly glow of lanterns beginning to dot the lane. He'd promised Honour he would be gone only a few hours, and here the day was nearly gone. He breathed a silent curse for being neglectful once again, and wondered if she was feeling any better. “Speaking of beauties, my wife will have my head for allowing business to keep me this late!” “We'll walk out together then,” Archer offered. “No need, mate. In for a penny, in for a pound. I'll finish my drink before I go to face the music.” Archer smiled cordially. “Good evening to you, Captain Wolfe. I shall see you tomorrow.” Jack raised his glass as the merchant gave a slight bow before walking away. He settled back and thought about the day. The money that would secure his and Honour's future together was safely tucked away. The ship was scheduled for auction two weeks after the completion of her repairs. Now he stood to procure the notebook of Armand LaFourche, and try his hand at unravelling a mystery that men had been trying to decode for over 100 years. It had been an immensely satisfying day. For the first time in days, he felt like things were going his way once again. A sailor took his drink from the bar and walked over to a table where his friends sat waiting. He had a smug look on his face, and his mates look expectantly for what he seemed to know. “Well, spill it! You said you knew somethin' 'bout what Wolfe's been up to, talkin' to the auction house an' the like!” the first one asked. The smug man sipped his drink and smiled. “Captain Wolfe is goin' to Martinique. In a right hurry, from the sounds of it. Been talkin' to merchants most of the day, he has.” “What's 'e up to? Takin' a packet like some lubber don't make sense!” said another. “Don't know what why he's goin', but I do know this,” the smug one said with a conspiratorial air, “It's just the chance Cade Jennings would kill for right about now. And Jack Wolfe is handin' it to him.” One of the men was so deep in his cups that he seemed likely to fall over. But one of the names roused him from his drunken stupor. “Cade Jennings!” he exclaimed. “That bloke what's been cattin' about wif ol' Wolfe's pretty-pretty?” His friends tried to hush him, but it was too late. Jack had overheard, but he made no outward sign that he had. A tavern girl came by with a bottle for another table, but Jack grabbed it and tossed a few coins at her. The rumours had surfaced again, and this time he was going to find out just what was being said. He pulled out a sheaf of papers and slouched down in his chair, pretending he had heard nothing. “Nah, nah, nah! Wai' a minute! Lemme talk!” the drunken wag continued. “What I was told, that Cade's been moonin' over that, wha's her name! Yeah! Honour! Been actin' like a lovesick puppy since Castara. I hear tell they got right cozy a bit there, I did.” “So did I! Spent every second Jack was away with her, he did! Poor stupid blighter, his own student stealin' his women out from underneath him like that! “And I'll tell you another! With the stallion out of the barn, Jennings'll tend to that filly right an' proper if you get my meanin’! And it wouldn't be the first time, you can be sure of that!” Jack sat listening to the men laugh and jeer at his expense, talking on and on about how everyone knew Cade was lying with his wife behind his back and had been since he had been foolish enough to introduce them. For the next half of an hour, Jack drank heavily while he brooded and listened as they laughed at him. Laughed at the blind, stupid cuckold. He'd seen how Cade looked at her. How the boy watched her every move. He'd ignored it, and why shouldn't he have? Honour was a beautiful young woman. Heads turned wherever she went. He had taught Cade everything he knew. How to be ruthless and calculating, how to be cold and merciless in the pursuit of the prize. And now his own apprentice - his own heir! - had betrayed him. And so had his wife. Her head was turned the moment she met a younger man. Bonita was right. Honour was nothing more than a treacherous child. But what of Bonita's other accusations? Had that tavern wench truly used him for what he could lead her to, only to discard him at the first opportunity? Anger and despair boiled in his veins. The next thing he heard pushed him to the breaking point. “... but I never thought in all my days I'd see Jack Wolfe become a cuckold and a has been! He can't control his right hand nor his own woman!” Jack exploded into rage. He jumped to his feet and whirled to face the men who were so gleefully slandering him and his bride, the bottle held like a club in his hand. The men fell silent at the sight of him. “How long have you people known this?! Answer me, damn you all!!” he roared like a wounded lion. He smashed the bottle against the table and began to advance on the gossips. “Start talking, you sorry sons of whores, before I cut it out of you!!” The men tried to back away as Jack came towards them, bumping and stumbling over furniture as they retreated from the bellowing fury. One of the men fell backwards against a table, and in moments Jack was on him. He grabbed the sailor by the throat and held the broken bottle just inches from the terrified man's face. “How long have you known?!! Tell me while you can still speak!!” he spat. The sailor's mouth moved, but no words came out. The hold on his throat was too tight. Out of control with rage, Jack drew back the jagged weapon to strike. But at the last moment, the bottle was knocked from his hand. The tavern keeper grabbed him in a choke hold and pulled him off the man. Jack kicked and fought like a demon, shouting obscenities and spitting death oaths as he was dragged out the door and thrown into the street like a common beggar. He got back to his feet, his mind still churning with rage. “You're a dead man, Jennings,” he growled, and lurched off toward the White Hart Inn.

Jack awoke to the chill of a morning breeze wafting over his skin. The sun had broken the horizon, bathing the room with a soft orange-rose glow. Unwilling to rise or, more to the point, leave his bride's side just yet, he reached to pull up the covers. He quickly discovered the reason for his chilly awakening; Honour had wrapped herself in the majority of the bed covers like a caterpillar in its cocoon. He smiled and and gently stroked her long golden hair, then tenderly kissed the nape of her neck. Honour was already awake. She had been off and on throughout the night, her sleep plagued by suspicions of the man she called husband but now saw as a stranger. She willed herself not to shrink from his touch, the same touch that only days before could ignite her passions like summer lightning, by imagining for the most fleeting of moments that it was Cade who caressed her. Just as she had the night before. “Good morning, sweetheart,” Jack whispered. Honour pretended to stir from slumber, but did not turn to face him. “Good morning,” she replied, trying to infuse her voice with something resembling warmth. “How on earth am I supposed to show my appreciation for your beauty when you're wrapped up like a mummy?” “I'm sorry, Jack,” she replied. “I've woken up with a headache.” “Should I send Duckie round to check on you?” “No, I'll be fine. I just want to sleep.” He kissed her head gently and got up from the bed. “I have some ship's business to attend to. Shouldn't be more than a couple of hours at most.” He splashed his face with water, then set about getting dressed. “If you're not feeling any better by the time I get back, I'm sending for Duckie. Wouldn't do to have you fall ill, now would it?” “Oh, all right,” she sighed. “But I'll be better after I rest. Don't worry yourself.” “Of course I'll worry about you!” he said cheerily. “I'm your husband. It's my job to worry about you.” He gave his boots a final tug and retrieved his hat from the bedpost. “Sleep tight, darling. I'll be back soon.” So I'm a job to him, not just a commodity, Honour thought as Jack closed the door. She'd had enough. She was going to find out what he was up to once and for all. She silently counted out a full minute, then sprung from the bed and dressed hurriedly to follow him, hopefully to the truth. No matter what the result, she had to know. She quickly brushed out her hair and pulled it back into a simple braid. The last time she'd thrown herself together this quickly, she was rushing to meet Rhys after being waylaid by a talkative novitiate. If only this was as happy an occasion. She watched out the window for Jack to emerge so she could being her pursuit. Finally, he did. Jack strolled out of the White Hart’s front door, whistling a cheerful tune. For the first time since the battle with Mendoza, his heart was light. It had felt so good to make love with Honour once again. He felt like a fool for pushing her away, but he was now bound and determined to make up for his mistakes. Today’s business was that of atonement. As he approached the alleyway next to the inn, he could hear a raucous conversation going on, most likely men gaming at dice. What he heard during a pause in their laughter, however, soured his mood in an instant. “Seen it wif’ they own eyes, they did! That Jennings didn’t waste no time getting’ ‘is hooks into ol’ Jack’s wife! Stole a kiss on the stairs what was more’n just friendly, what after paradin’ ‘er about town big as you please, ‘e did! An’ she weren’t upset by it none neither, if ye get me meanin’! Looked right 'appy on 'is arm she did, like they's th' married ones!” “Ha! That Jack gone an’ taught Cade a littl’ too well, didn’ ‘e?” “You’re daft is what you are, the both of ya’s! Jack Wolfe, a cuckold after less than a month? Never ‘appen. Not an’ they live t’ enjoy it.” “God’s own trufe, mate. Ask ‘em yerself an’ they’ll tell ye same as I ‘bout Jennings an’ that little trollop…” “Who will tell us?” a voice boomed from the end of the alley. The three men turned to see a silhouetted figured walking slowly toward them. They grouped together and backed away from the advancing man. He drew his sword and quickened his pace. “Answer me, damn you!” The men broke ranks and ran. One man became tangled in an old crate and fell to the ground. Before he could get back up, he felt the cold edge of a cutlass against his throat. Jack stared down at the prone man, his eyes like flames. “I’ll have names, or your blood. I’m not inclined to be choosy.” “I- I don’ know! ‘e tol’ us, but I don’ remember, I swear it on me Mum’s life! Please don’ kill me, Cap’n Wolfe! I’m beggin’ ye!” the man pleaded. “Then take this back to your friends, you miserable, feculent tosspot!” Jack growled. “The next man who so much as thinks about uttering such scandalous lies about my wife, I’ll cut their heart out and feed it to them.” He stared into the sailor’s eyes with burning hatred until he could see that the message had taken hold. Then he stepped back from the man, turned on his heel, and returned his blade to its scabbard as he stalked back down the alley. Honour stepped through the inn’s doorway and into the brilliant sunlight. She shielded her eyes and looked down the street in the direction she’d seen Jack walk, but he was nowhere in sight. As she began walking, she heard the heavy sound of boot heels striking the cobblestones of the alley just ahead. She knew that sound anywhere. It was Jack! Panic took her for a moment, and she turned back the way she’d come just as her husband turned the corner. A silent prayer was on her lips that he wouldn’t discover her. Thanks to his preoccupation with the rumours he’d just heard and the simple manner in which Honour had dressed that day, he never noticed her as she backtracked toward the inn. She sighed with relief as the sound of his footsteps faded down the lane. When she was confident he was far enough away, she turned around to follow. She paid little attention at first to the dishevelled soul who came from the alley as she walked past, but there was something familiar about him that made her look back. He was a crewman from the Lobo. The expression on his face left her shaken to the core. It was the look of disgust a pious man gives a common harlot. Guilt about the time she'd shared with Cade yesterday gnawed at her as she followed Jack through the streets of Bridgetown. She knew it was wrong of her to kiss Cade, but he'd been so kind and attentive to her. He'd shown her the respect and tenderness Jack seemed to have forgotten. Her mind returned again and again to that one sweet, stolen moment. And if that kiss was so wrong, why did it feel so sensually wonderful? Why did it feel right? Besides, she asked herself, since when did Jack Wolfe give a damn about right and wrong? If he could live his life in shades of grey, so could she. Honour quickened her pace to close the gap between them as they approached the street where Renee's “boarding house” was. She was confident he was headed back to that nest of strumpets. Her heart pounded and ached as she waited for him to turn down her street and walk up to that horrible red door. To her astonishment, he kept walking. He never so much as looked in the direction of the house. Where was he going? She'd been so certain she would catch him in an act of betrayal. Now thoroughly confused as to her husband's attention, she followed on. After two more blocks, they entered the city's warehouse district. Low, wide buildings with only a few windows mounted well above street level lined the carriageway. Jack finally stopped at the entrance to one of the nondescript buildings, where he was joined by none other than Josiah Briggs. Honour ducked around a corner to avoid being seen, then gingerly peeked back out to continue her spying. Doubt began to cloud her thoughts as she watched the two men talk. It didn't change the fact she'd seen him waltzing out of a whorehouse the previous day. But maybe this time he'd actually told her the truth. Finally, Jack and Briggs went into the warehouse, allowing her to creep closer so as to listen in on their conversation. She had to know if there was a shred of truth left in anything he said. The two tall,wide doors of the warehouse were left standing open. She slipped up to the entrance and flattened herself against one of them. The men's voices echoed in the cavernous building, making her goal of listening in that much easier to attain. She could hear them walking around, their conversation little more than friendly chit chat. Now and again she'd steal a glimpse of the warehouse's interior. Boxes, bundles, and barrels were stacked haphazardly in no discernible order, much like the hold of the Lobo had been. At long last, their discussion turned to something of interest to her. “And the guilders, where are they at?” asked Jack. “Right over here,” answered Briggs. He pulled a tarpaulin off the several large crates marked “PRINT WORKS”. “All twenty-seven chests, just as they were when we left for Castara.” “Good. I need them re-crated. All but five. The rest are to be moved to the private storehouse on St. Michael Street. The remaining five are to be put under lock and key here.” “Aye, it'll be done. To number 11 it is. I'm guessin' you'll want their whereabouts kept secret, as usual?” “Absolutely. We'll be using the money from here to buy that plantation Honour and I talked about.” She could scarcely believe her ears. He wants the plantation now? Maybe he's really had a change of heart. Maybe he was only telling Renee about their marriage, and it wasn't what it looked like... “You're goin' through with it? Turnin' from corsair to cane farmer?” Jack laughed. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Josiah. It's a good investment no matter how you look at it.” “I take it ye'll be lettin' the missus know about chests we're movin' as well? A little butter and egg money, as it were?” “No,” said Jack. “You and I are the only ones to know where they are. Honour doesn't need to know.” Honour clamped her hand over her mouth to smother a gasp. He was hiding the money from the Dutch ship from her? The ones he's boasted about when they met? She wondered what elaborate lie he'd concoct to cover their whereabouts. Damn him! So he didn't trust her after all. Her mind offered up a myriad of reasons why he'd hide so much money from her. He'll probably use it to keep that damnable doxy in satins and lace, the bastard! “Fair enough,” Briggs said. “It'll stay a secret. Not sayin' I agree, but I'll keep it mum.” ‘At least Briggs tries to be a voice of reason, for what good it did,’ she thought “That'll do, Josiah. How are repairs going on the ship?” That damned ship of his. I wish he'd get rid of it! “Comin' along well. Seems the structural damage weren't near as bad as we'd thought. Should be ready to sail a week early!” No... “Excellent. I want her made as good as new, with all her teeth! Ready to sail and fight.” Tears welled in Honour's eyes. He was going to leave her there on that island and sail off, the son of a b*tch! Probably get himself killed and leave her alone to fend for herself. She'd heard enough. Choking back tears, she fled from the warehouse district. She needed someone to talk to, someone she could trust. Why was Kate so far away when she needed her? Then it dawned on her. Duckie! He'd been quick to defend her when Jack had been so awful to her on the ship. She could trust him. She already had with her secret, and he hadn't let her down. “Damn you, Jack Wolfe!” she sobbed. “I'm never going to let you hurt me again!” “So you're goin' ahead with the sale?” Briggs asked. “That's why I want her shining like a new penny, my friend. If I have to sell her, I want top price!” “Have ye' told Honour about all this yet?” “I want it to be a surprise for her. The sale of the Lobo, purchase of the plantation, and those chests we're moving will comprise the nest egg for the next generation of the Wolfe family,” Jack said proudly. Briggs laughed heartily. “Hell, Jack, I never dreamed I'd see the day, but it does this old salt's heart good! You, a pappy? God help us all!” Jack smiled, but the events of the morning were still weighing on his mind. "Josiah, I have a question, and I need you to be honest with me." "Aye, ye know I usually am. Unless you're bein' a roarin' pain in the arse. No point in talkin' to ye then. "When am I like that?" "Most days what end in a 'y'," Briggs joked. "Remind me to send you flowers next time. Seriously, though. Have you heard any troubling rumours from the men?" asked Jack. "Ye mean outside the usual scuttlebutt?" "Yes. Anything about myself or... or any other parties?" "No, I haven't. Why? Have you?" Briggs asked with concern. "I'm not certain. It was probably nothing more than idle gossip." "Jack," said Briggs, "You and I know half these men yap just to hear their fool heads rattle. It was about Honour, wasn't it? Otherwise ye wouldn't be askin'." Jack's jaw clenched as he remembered the slurs against his wife. "Yes. It was." The quartermaster shook his head slowly. "She's a beautiful woman, my friend. Everyone can see the effect she's had on ye, and there are those who'll begrudge you that bit of fortune." He put a reassuring hand on Jack's shoulder. "Whatever was said, there ain't a shred of truth to it. Pay it no never mind. Come tomorrow, they'll be on to some other foolishness." "Thank you, Josiah. I'll take your advice. My skin is usually thicker than this." "It's worse when it's about those ye love, mate. It'll pass, believe me. Now, didn't ye say ye had some other business to tend to? You're slowin' me down with all your chatter! Turn yer rudder and shove off!" Jack smiled at his friend, and walked off toward the shipyards.

Haiku is easy but mostly they don't make sense. Refrigerator.

Jack emerged from the shipyard after a gruelling marathon of haggling over repairs needed to make his ship whole again. The heavy sky matched his mood, knowing now that he would be shackled to dry land for nearly a full month. Longer still, should Honour have her way. He decided to avoid the bustle of Broad Street and opted for the more circuitous route through side streets and alleyways back to the inn. The grey overcast muted everything into a monotone palette and seemed to blur everything together in his preoccupied mind. He paused at the end of an alley as a carriage rolled past, when he saw a familiar house just down the lane. It was painted gaily, in colours that made it stand out a bit from the surrounding houses. A smile managed to find its way into his face. Jack knew the house well. It belonged to Renée de Bertrand, or Madame Renée as she was known to the women who resided at her “boarding house”. He couldn't see any harm in dropping by to visit an old friend long as he was in the neighbourhood. She was bound to find out about his marriage from some wag. Might as well be him, he decided. There were two doors on the front of the house; one unpainted, with a plain brass handle, and another trimmed with red paint, with an ornate brass knocker and no exterior handle. He went to the second door and rapped three times, paused, once, paused again, then twice more. After a few moments the door opened just a little, preventing him from seeing who was on the other side. It was Renée's custom to keep a couple of burly lads on hand to manage unruly clientèle and nosey outsiders. “Yes, hallo? Is Madame de Bertrand about? Tell her there's a Jack Wolfe at her door-” He had barely finished the pun when the door swung open. Two hands grabbed him by the collar of his waistcoat and puled him inside. He found himself pinned against the wall of a narrow hallway. Before he could protest the rough treatment, his assailant pressed her warm, soft lips hungrily against his. Ordinarily he would have gladly gone wherever such a cordial greeting led, but the pain in his shoulder and an uncharacteristic flash of conscience conspired to leave him more startled than enthused. “Owwww...” he managed to say around her insistent kiss The raven-haired girl broke their embrace, her brilliant blue eyes were still full of fire. “I'm sorry. Did I bite you?” she asked in a heavy whisper. “No, my shoulder,” Jack began. “Silly man. I was nowhere near your shoulder... yet,” she cooed. “Angelique, darling, I'm here strictly on a social call. Now, where's Renée?” The pretty girl gave him an exaggerated pout. “Oh, fine then. But you owe me!” She grabbed two great handfuls of skirt and stomped off down the hall, Jack following in her wake. He stopped at the main parlour and helped himself to the house's fine selection of liquor while he waited. He'd settled comfortably onto a velvet covered Roman couch when Renée appeared at the doorway. She was a striking woman with long auburn hair and a disarming smile. She wore a heavily embroidered purple dress, and a necklace of pearls adorned her neck. “Jackie Wolfe, as I live and breathe!” she said happily. “I thought you'd still be down in Castara...” Her voice trailed off when she noticed his drawn and dishevelled state. “Oh, dear God. What happened to you? You're a bloody wreck!” “Mendoza,” said Jack. “Among other things.” She fetched a glass and set it down on the table in from of him. “Pour and talk. I hope you finally bagged that sodding bastard.” “I do, too.” “What?! You didn't hang about and finish him?” Jack finished off his glass and poured another. “He was crippled and burning when we broke off. We had troubles enough of our own to even think of risking a boarding action.” “Trouble,” Renée said thoughtfully. If I had a penny for every time I've heard a man use that word when his wife is involved.” Jack nearly choked on his drink. “Who told you?” “Oh, please, Jackie,” she laughed. “A whisper's as good as a shout on this island. And getting married in the street isn't exactly low profile. Bound to get tongues wagging, even if you weren't the great Captain Wolfe. I take it that bit of news was the reason for this social call, not just to tell me you nearly got your precious ship shot out from under you? Or are you going to tell me what's really got you lower than a well digger's arse?” He stared into his glass as he swirled the dark liquid around and around. “The Lobo will be in the yards for nearly a full month.” “So what?” she asked bluntly. “Keep yourself busy. It's not the first time you've been landlocked for a spell. At least this time you've got that pretty young bride to take your mind off things. Her belly will be swelled up in no time, knowing you. Daddy.” She capped her friendly jab with a sly wink, but Jack wasn't laughing. “Yes, well...” he said haltingly. “Honour- that's her name- has her mind...” “'Honour'?” “Yeah. Honour Bright.” “What the hell kind of name is 'Honour Bright'?” “Welsh?” “I rather doubt it,” she scoffed. “Sounds like an alias to me. You can't be too careful of anyone going under an alias.” “This, coming from Pip Woolston of Cornwall? Sage advice,” he quipped. Renée stuck her tongue out. “Your bright idea, don't forget. Mister 'You can't run a proper whorehouse with a farm girl's name'. Go on, finish your thought.” Jack sighed heavily. “We've talked about buying a plantation here on Barbados. He paused to drain his glass. “About me quitting the Trade once and for all.” “Oooh, landed gentry! Jack Wolfe, gentleman farmer and pillar of the community. It's got a ring to it, it does.” “I thought you'd be a bit more surprised as all that,” he said glumly. Renée laughed. “Rubbish! It's not anything you haven't daydreamed about for the past two years. Although this has to be the most sober you've been talking about it. So where's the problem? The daydream's about to come true, and you can't seem to get the salt water out of your veins?” “If you're intent on engaging in gross oversimplification, yes. Something like that, I suppose.” “Oh, Jackie. Stop and think things through, would you, you silly git? What if all this is the opportunity you've been waiting for? No more looking over your shoulder. No more running. You've settled your score with Mendoza, and narrowly escaped with your ship and sorry hide largely intact. You've got a wife and the means for a fresh start. Do you realize the number of folk who'd give their right arm for the chance you've been handed?” Jack shifted uneasily in his seat. “That's your advice, then? Chuck it all, trade in my ship for sugar cane fields and my crew for a house full of mewling children?” He took the bottle to pour more liquor for himself, but this time Renée put her hand over his glass. “I'm saying it's time for you to grow up and do right by... what's her name again?” “Honour.” “I'll never get used to that one. Anyway, you've got responsibilities and obligations now. Ones that mean something. Most of all, you've got a real chance, Jackie! Call in your favours with that preening windbag Culley for a full pardon and be done with it." Jack sat back and thought for a few moments. Once again, Renée was right. It didn't make accepting the truth of it any easier, but he couldn't argue her logic. Such decisions weren't just about him any more. Honour had equal shares and equal stakes in the enterprise. “You have a damnably annoying habit of pointing out my shortcomings, love,” he finally admitted. "Thank goodness none of them are physical,” she said with a wink. “As your friend, I want to see you happy. As your business partner, I need you to have a clear head about you. Speaking of partners, where's Ducks? Usually he's the one stuck pounding some sense into your thick skull.” “We had a falling out, I'm afraid,” he said sheepishly. ”That's my Jackie,” she said with a roll of her emerald eyes. “Why burn one bridge where two or three are just as easy? Go. Go back the White Hart, heal up that shoulder, and start mending fences. That alone should keep you busy for the next month. Oh, and before I forget again, I came across something you might be interested in.” She crossed to a small writing desk and retrieved a folded, wax-sealed piece of paper. She looked at it for a moment, then handed it to Jack. “What's this?” he asked. “A bit of information you've been looking for. Go on, open it up! You're lucky enough I found it, I'll be damned if I'll read it to you as well,” she said slyly. He broke open the seal and read the words on the page. Prof. Armand LaFourche 43 Rue Bacas St. Pierre, Île Martinique He stared at the page in disbelief. “How did you find him? I've been trying for nearly a year!” “A dealer in antiquities stopped in about two weeks ago. The girls knew you've been after this professor bloke, and Annie managed to get him chatting after a few well placed, um, questions. I hope it turns out useful for you. Seems LaFourche's search for whatever it is that piqued your interest drove him right off his nut. He's under the care of his young daughter, Ceily. If he's really gone all loony, you two should get along famously.” “I'd imagine the good fellow's not using his journal any more,” mused Jack. “Someone really should take up his research, all in the name of science of course.” Renée chuckled. “The science of filling your purse, more like it. And what a grand cause it is.” He folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. “Much obliged, Renée. I'll be holding onto this for a rainy day. After I mend those fences.” “Well, I'll be damned,” she said. “You really do love her! The Jackie I know would be out the door and on his way without a second thought.” “Keep it between us, love. I've got a reputation to think of.” He rose from the couch and put on his hat. “Thanks for setting me straight, Renée. You've lifted my spirits yet again.” “A swift kick is what you needed,” she laughed. “I'd be lifting more that your spirits, darling, but you're a married man now. Now get out of here and convince that wife of yours that you haven't really turned into some horrid troll.” They exchanged smiles and he turned to leave. “Oh, Jackie? I'm curious,” she said hesitantly. “How did our Bonita take meeting the lovely missus?” He cocked an eyebrow. “As well as one might expect, I suppose.” With that, he patted his pocket and with a wink, departed. The colour drained from Renée's face. “Oh, that's not good.”

"Jack? Jack! Are ye sleepin'?" He slowly opened his eyes, unsure of where he was or even what day it might be. Finally, through the thick morphia fog he made out Briggs' worried face. "Josiah! What- what day is it?" "It's only been a couple hours or so since you were up on deck. Askin' about the ship, remember? Then the Doc walked you down here to change your bandages. Looks like he dosed you up pretty good to boot." "That was considerate of him," Jack slurred. "Why are you here? Are you hurt?" "No, no, I'm fine," Briggs sighed. "The men have been askin' about ye. They're worried, seein' as how ye looked like death walkin'. The missus must be beside herself, you wanderin' the decks in your state." Jack blinked hard, trying to clear his mind enough to at least halfway follow Briggs. Nothing. Duckie had meant for him to stay put this time. "Oh, that. Not much help with morale, was it?" "They'll be fine, once I tell 'em I talked to ye. It was quite the stroke of good fortune, weren't it?" "What was?" "Honour. Her knowing somethin' about medicine, enough to save your sorry hide like she done. Did ye have any idea she has doctorin' skills?" "No. No, I didn't," Jack said slowly. He couldn't remember her saying anything about medical training. He knew they taught women such thing in convents and such, but she was hardly the nun type. What else hadn't she told him? "Well, no matter. A bit of Providence it was, in any case. What with Duckie hands full of wounded. But I have to ask ye, Jack. Why aren't ye resting in your own quarters?" asked Josiah. Jack sighed. "We had a bit of an argument before I came topside. She'd much rather I gave up the roving life, especially after our run in with Mendoza." His head was starting to swim from the combination of fatigue and the doctor's sedative cocktail. "What in the world would she have ye do? Rovin's what ye do best. Hell, better'n most all of 'em," Briggs said. "We'd talked about buying a sugar plantation." "Ha! That's a fine one! You, a gentleman farmer? Landed gentry? I've seen ye get land sick after six or seven days from the sea! Ye'd find yer way back on the deck of a ship before very long, and ye know it." Josiah's ribbing was good natured, but it gnawed at Jack. He had made a promise to her, and the battle might very well be a sign his luck had run out. Getting out sounded so inviting. But was Briggs right? Had he made a promise to Honour that he couldn't keep? "Besides," continued Josiah, "this ship's as much a part of ye as yer own bones." "Maybe you're right," said Jack. "Can we talk about this some other time, Josiah? I'm so tired..." "Aye, Jack. Rest up and get yer strength back. We'll mind the ship for ye." With that, the quartermaster slipped quietly out of the surgery. Jack thought about Briggs' words, and the promises he'd made Honour. Guilt and conflict dogged him as he slipped into a dark, fitful sleep.

El Lobo may have carried the day, but she had been battered and bloodied in doing so. The weather deck fared scarcely better than Jack’s own cabin. A large section of the port side gunwale had been patched with a network of lumber and rope. The two guns that should have been there were missing. A quick scan of the masts showed that they were carrying scarcely half the canvas they should be. His ship was now a wounded, crippled thing, easy prey for a lesser foe with a mind to make a name for himself. "As serious as his wound is, I was sure it would take him another day at least before he’d wander up here," a voice came from behind him on the quarterdeck. "Master Briggs, here's your money. I should have known better than to wager against his stubbornness." Jack turned to see Dr. Gander drop some coins into Briggs waiting hand. "Ain’t nary more bullheaded, Doc. Just like I said. Good to see ye up and about, Jack." "I'm sure you mean that from the bottom of your purse, Mister Briggs," Jack replied sarcastically. "What be the state of my ship?" "We handed that black-hearted bastard a right proper pastin', we did..." Briggs began. "I was there for most of it, remember? And I'd assumed the rest went relatively well, given that none of us is in chains. Get to it, Josiah." Briggs drew a heavy breath. "Right, then. We took our own share of shellin', that much is true. The carpenter's got the hull patched well enough. But I'm keepin’ two men on the pumps just to be sure. All masts save the mizzen took heavy damage. I can't see us addin’ any more sail without losin’ the main or the fore. God help us if we have to make a run for it.” "Could we make a fight of it if we had to?" asked Jack raggedly. Pain and fatigue were taking their toll on him. By this time, he was only half-listening to his comrade. "Aye, if we convince 'em to sit still and throw flowers at us, we might have a chance. We lost seven guns total. I'll have the lads remount one on the gun deck. That's the best we can do until we make port for proper repairs." "I'll take it," answered Jack. “Any more news for me, good or bad?" Duckie gave Briggs a warning look. "None ye’d care to hear, no," he half-lied. "I’ll take your word for it. If the carpenter has any spare planks, please have him report to my quarters. We seem to have acquired a draft." Jack was getting weaker by the second, but he was bound and determined to know the state of his vessel and crew. "What about casualties, Doctor?" "Nine dead and seventeen wounded, Jack. One of the more grievously injured men refuses to accept medical treatment or advice. I'm concerned that he'll quickly become a liability and danger to his shipmates. "Unacceptable," Jack winced. "Chain him to one of the surgery beds if you have to, on my orders. What is the man's name?" "Captain John Michael Wolf," Duckie responded, not missing a beat. Jack looked at him in surprise. "All right, doctor. You've had your fun at my expense." "Oh, I assure you, Jack, the past two days could hardly be considered entertaining by anyone aboard,” Duckie replied with no small amount of sarcasm in his voice. “I, for one, take no joy watching you bleed through your bandages." The doctor hooked him by the arm. "Back to bed with you. Your wife did too fine a job saving your life for you to go mucking about and ruin her handiwork." "The Lobo will be fine, Jack," Briggs reassured him. "Another couple of days or so, and we'll be safely in port." Jack tried to make his eyes focus on the Quartermaster, to no avail. "Two days. I'll hold you to it. Best speed, Josiah." “Aye, Jack, best speed.” He gave Duckie a worried look. The doctor nodded reassuringly, but his expression belied his exasperation with his roaming patient. "Now, come along, Jack. Time to get you back into your nice comfy bed where you belong. And I need to refresh your dressing." "Is... is there a free bed in the surgery?" Jack asked hesitantly. "What's the matter with your bed? It's better than anything I can provide." Jack paused a moment. "It's ... complicated." “Complicated? How complicated?” “Very complicated.” "Oh, dear," Duckie sighed. "You have been a busy boy. All right then, to the surgery with you. But you will stay out of my cognac!"

Cade stowed the last of his belongings in what could only euphemistically be called his ship's great cabin and gave an expansive sigh. "Fine. I'll just keep taking ships until I find one I'm not too tall for," he thought aloud. He sat at the table going over the charts and manifests for the upcoming voyage, but his mind kept wandering back to those incredible blue eyes that danced when she laughed. Honour's eyes. The eyes of the woman who, as fate would have it, was married to his friend and mentor. He tried to push her out of his mind, but to no avail. Why on earth had a woman of such grace and beauty cast her lot with Jack confounded him. Everyone knew that no sooner had a bit of gold crossed his hand that it would be pissed away in the taverns or stews before the next sunrise. He picked up a sheaf of papers and rummaged through them; bills of lading (some false, some not), a list of repairs to be made whilst under weigh, a fresh commission from Governor Culley (blank, as usual), and a letter. If the scrawling on the envelope didn't reveal enough about the sender, the wax seal of a wolf's head removed all doubt. "My Dearest Cade, By the time you find this Note, Honour and I shall have safely Completed our Passage to Barbadoes, with the Full and earnest Intent of building a New and happy Life in this place. Doubtless this comes as a complete Surprise to you. I myself am only now beginning to grasp the Enormity of it all. I am, my Friend, truly Happier and Content than I have ever Known, more than I can possibly Express with the written Word. And as you are the closest Soul I should ever consider claiming as my own Blood as a Son, it is Imperative that you hear this from Me, as tavern-Stories are scarcely more Reliable than those of the most Trustworthy politician. When You have made ready your Ship and Crewe, you must Join us for a while in Bridgtowne as soon as possible. There are Certain legal Instruments requiring your Attentions, for the Purpose of Substantially reducing my Stake in the Castara Co. to no more than 15%, with the Balance and Full Control of said company to be transferred to Yourself, effective Immediately. We expect to Receive you within the next two Weeks. Fair Winds and Following Seas, Capt. Jennings. Capt. J. Wolfe Mrs. H. Wolfe" Cade stared at the letter in disbelief. Jack Wolfe, the man who, he was certain, never had a waking thought that wasn't part of a scheme to relieve someone else of their wealth, was walking away from a successful life of piracy? For a woman? 'Women serve a great many delightful purposes,' he remembered his mentor saying on many occasions. 'The least of which is their maddening talent for relieving you of your money, no matter how delightful the distraction.' But Cade could understand how this time, things were different. He tried to ignore the pang of envy he felt at Jack's having found that one woman who could change his mind. Luck would have it that's she'd be the one Cade couldn't stop thinking of. He read the letter over again, and found himself increasingly bothered by its tone; relaxed, with no sense of foreboding, and certainly none of the panic he'd seen in the man's eyes only a few days ago. Had someone discovered Jack's plan? Or had Bonita filled his head with tales of another one of her visions? It wouldn't be the first time he'd thrown meticulously detailed plans to the winds because of "fresh information." Bonita was always the source, though Jack played it off as his own uncanny intuition. He was going to find out what was afoot, and he knew the perfect person to ask. Jennings left his ship in search of of Jack's dreadlocked oracle. After over an hour's search, he found her kneeling in the sand of a sheltered beach. She was gathering shallow clay dishes from near the water, scraping the salt left there by the evaporated sea water into a jar. Cade set his jaw and walked purposefully toward her, the letter clutched in his hand. "An what bring young Captain Jennings looking for Bonita, when him supposed to be making him ship fit to sail?" she asked without looking up from her task, in a knowing tone that completely unnerved him. "Cade know how anxious Jack get when him have to wait for anyone." So she seemed to know where Cade was headed and why. "Been going through my quarters, have you?" he demanded, slapping the papers in his hand. Bonita looked up at him with hardened eyes. "Dere be nothing aboard Cade Jenning's ship day Bonita need or want. Dis island, she have eyes and ears, and she tell Bonita everyt'ing Bonita need to know." "Then you know of Jack's decision to give up the sea for Honour?" "Dat little piece of paper tell you such a t'ing?" "In his own hand." She gave a derisive snort. "Jack Wolfe is a pirate by choice, and by him nature. Him little wife, she turn him head and maybe, maybe even him heart. But him soul... dat always belong to de sea." Cade's face clouded over for a moment. "Ahhhhhh, dere it is!” she chortled. “De golden-haired one, she turn a head other t'an Jack's, just as I t'ought" "Nonsense!" he protested. "She's my best friend's wife, after all. I'm concerned for both of them." "De heart, it be treacherous. It want what it want," she said, her damnable knowing smile never fading. Cade felt like she was reaching right into his mind, groping in all the dark corners. "In his letter," he said, hoping to change the subject, "Jack said he expects me to meet him in two weeks. But as he was leaving-" "He were frightened, an' told you Cade hurry so as to meet him in two days, no?" "Did you have a hand in his state of mind?" Cade shot back. Bonita took a deep breath before speaking. "Every time Jack embark on a new journey, him ask Bonita to read for him," she answered, her demeanour becoming evasive. "It were our way of t'ings." "Tell me, then. I've never seen him in such a state. What did you tell him? What did you see?" She turned to face him, and fixed him with her dark eyes. "People t'ink dat Fate be somet'ing dey can run from. Dey are mistaken. No matter how hard dey run, dey are running toward dey fate, defenceless as a newborn babe." Cade swallowed hard. "You mean, he's thrown himself and Honour straight into..." "It have already happened. If Cade care for dem, as him say, den him are needed. Go. Now." He gave Bonita a bewildered look, then ran for the docks as fast as his legs would carry him. Bonita watched the young man charge off in hopes of helping his friends. A smile slowly spread across her face. "Dat's right, young Cade," she said softly. "Run to play your part in dey fate."

Jack awoke in the dawn's breaking light. He looked over at the small form of his wife curled up next to him, her arm around his waist and her head on his chest. Her blonde hair spilled into her face and lent her the air of an angel fallen to earth. Jack tried to move, his shoulder throbbing. He tried to stifle a moan. Honour's head jerked up. In her sleep-laden voice, she said, "Jack? You're awake." He groaned, "I was hoping it was just a bad dream. But the pain is a sharp reminder I can scarcely remember what happened. So...what happened?" "You don't remember anything?" He said quietly, "I remember seeing you look out from under the canvas on the longboat. Then excruciating pain. Now here I lie with a bandage, dressing and a pain that is out of this world." Honour said, "You were felled by a Spanish sniper in the riggings. Davis picked him off." Jack closed his eyes. "Remind me to give him an extra portion of booty next time we pre-emptively salvage a vessel." Honour looked up puzzled. "But you aren't doing that anymore. Remember? We are going to buy Monsieur Picou's sugar plantation. Five hundred acres with a house and cabins for the hired help." "Slaves." "Hired help." "Whatever." Jack got up and immediately sat down. "I guess I am a bit dizzy." Honour reached over for her dressing gown. "It's because you haven't eaten for twenty-four hours. You had all that whiskey and rum on an empty stomach." "Not to mention blood loss." He tried to peek under the bandage and Honour smacked his hand. "Leave it alone." She handed him some fruit and a biscuit. "I need to find out how the ship fared." "No, you don't." "Excuse me?" Honour replied, "You need your rest." Jack said crossly, "My crew needs to see their captain up and about. Good Lord, Honour! It's a flesh wound." "A flesh wound? A FLESH WOUND? It was a flesh wound that I had to dig for the bullet. Do you think that was fun for ME?" "And do you think that was a rollicking good time for ME? I swear, the next time I run into the Mercedes, I'll send that bastard to hell where he belongs!" "There won't be a next time. Jack, we planned on starting a new life together in Barbados. With a house and a pigeonnaire and a veranda and big windows and babies and...." She was suddenly silent. So was Jack. She said sadly, "Was it all a lie, Jack? Something to pacify me with in Castara?" Jack said nothing. She said softly, "I see. A man will say anything to get a woman flat on her back. Even 'I do.' Well, go. Go and play pirate with your friends." Jack said briskly, "I need to see what damage and loss of life we have sustained. We'll talk about this later." She said determinedly, "No, we will talk about it now." "Later. I have a ship to run." He opened the door and made his way to the quarterdeck. But not before he heard the sound of a nice piece of porcelain thrown against the door. Ah, too bad. It was from the Ming dynasty....

Honour set about sweeping the glass and splinters out of the cabin. She looked around. Jack's collection of books was untouched. The only thing the cannonball seemed to hit was the wall next to the bed where the galley windows were. It was a miracle she and the animals were not hit. She looked under the bed. Muir was sleeping soundly. There was a scratching at the armoire door. She opened it and Puddin' hopped out and went his merry way. There was a knock at the door and one of the men stood there with a tray. "Doc said to send this down to ye, ma'am. He said t' be sure t' eat some of the fruit t'keep yer strength up. Somethin' about blood sugar. Whate'er that be." She took the tray out of his hands. "Thank you." The crewman looked over her shoulder. "How be th' Cap'n? Heard ye fixed him up." She said, "He will be fine. Please tell the crew that until the Captain is functional, that Mr. Briggs will be in charge." "Aye. Give our best t' Cap'n Jack, ma'am." "I shall." She took a bite of an apple and just couldn't face the thoughts of food. She shook out the blanket and covered Jack up with it. The men had nailed a few boards over the hole to keep the wind out. Jack continued to sleep but his colouring was better. He moaned occasionally when he moved his shoulder. Honour walked over to look out. She could see the sky filled with stars. How could the heavens look so peaceful after the conflagration on the high seas? She rubbed her temples, the start of a headache from the day's stress. She washed her face and slipped into a fresh chemise. Checking Jack's breathing once more, she closed the door and made her way to the upper deck. The ship was eerily quiet. Just the groaning of the riggings. Splinters of wood were everywhere and the sails were tattered, their strips fluttering in the night breeze. Honour glanced up and was surprised to see a startling sight. It was a huge carving of a beautiful woman. Or it had been at one time. The carving had a haughty face with flowing black hair. And something else. An overabundance of red paint applied to its cheeks and lips. That face looked garish under the the light of the full moon. Almost as if it were sneering. Honour's attention was riveted to it. A voice behind her said quietly, "Lovely woman, wasn't she?" She turned to face Josiah Briggs. "Briggs, what is the meaning of this--this thing?" Briggs lit his pipe and took a deep draw on it. Pointing with the stem, he said, "That be Mercedes de Castille y Mendoza. Wife of Diego." Honour stared. "Wh--why is she painted up like that?" Briggs chuckled. "It were Jack's idea. Somethin' to twist the knife into Mendoza." "Good God," she whispered. Briggs leaned over the rail. "Aye. He knew that would provoke Mendoza to no end. Bad enough that Jack stole his flagship. Carved her up almost unrecognizable and then gave her the Spanish name of The Sea Wolf. But to desecrate his beloved was the final insult. And that is what provoked the fury of this attack." "What happened to the Mercedes, Briggs?" "Right after the last volley, before Jack got hit, we did damage and they limped away." "Do you think Mendoza is dead?" Briggs shrugged. "Don't know for sure. Maybe some day we will find out. But I didn't feel the tremors of the sea when Hell spat him back so I can't rightly say." Honour sighed. "I'd best get back to my husband." Briggs touched her shoulder and said awkwardly, "Ye done right good, young missy. Better'n I expected. Ye'll be a true pirate's wife yet." Honour felt her eyes well up with tears. "That is what I am afraid of." She walked back into the great cabin. Carefully so as not to disturb Jack, she pulled the covers back and slipped into bed next to him. Suddenly she began to shake as a reaction to all that had happened. She drew herself closer to Jack and felt the warmth of his body next to hers. All of a sudden, an irrational fear surged through her. The sensation startled her. It was the fear of losing him. She laid her head against Jack's chest and whispered, 'Forgive me.' But it was not to Jack she whispered it. It was to the memory of Rhys Morgan.

The Spanish cannonball had caught the port-side aft of the ship, at the level of the great cabin. The hurtling piece of metal smashed through the coloured glass windows, caromed off the overhead directly above Honour, and exited the through the starboard windows. Honour ducked down beside the heavy bed and threw her arms over her head, which shielded her from the worst of flying shards of wood and glass the cannonball had scattered in it's wake. She stayed there for a while, huddled and trembling, her breathing ragged as her body quaked. She found herself waiting for the wave of unholy thunder and destruction, certain that it would take her with it this time. Jack promised her she would be safe in the cabin. He promised! Why, why did he have to take on that other ship? Rhys would never have gone on some mission of vengeance, certainly not with her aboard. She just knew he wouldn’t have. But Jack isn’t Rhys. And Rhys is dead. Was she to die this day, too? Honour cautiously looked up from where she crouched. The cabin was littered with glass shards and splintered wood. She gulped hard when she saw the gouge left in the overhead timbers. If that ball had come in at a lower angle, she reasoned, she would most certainly have been killed by it. Her stomach tightened into a knot as the relief of being alive faded and mortal fear took over. Jack was wrong. The cabin wasn’t safe. Though she could still hear the cannons firing and men shouting, she had to go somewhere. Anywhere but the cabin, which felt increasingly like a death trap. But where? As she began to stand up, and scuffling sound from under the bed caught her attention. Honour lifted the bed skirt and looked underneath. Muir had wedged himself as far underneath the bed as he possibly could. When he saw her face, he whimpered and started to crawl out of his hiding place. "No, Muir," she said as soothingly as her shattered nerves would allow. "Stay here, where you’ll be safe." Her words were as much a prayer as they were an instruction. The wolf-dog's ears fell a bit, and he laid down with a heavy sigh. Her eyes welled with tears as she left the bed. She hastily wiped the tears from her eyes, when she noticed the armoire and remembered Puddin'. The door was ajar, most likely knocked open from the heavy jarring the ship had taken. When she peeked inside, Puddin' lifted his head and made a noise that clearly conveyed his annoyance at having his nap interrupted. The absurdity of it all nearly made her laugh. How many battles had this rough-and-tumble cat seen? Satisfied that the animals were all right, Honour decided it was time to keep moving. She bit her lip hard, mustered her courage, and slipped out of the great cabin. As she emerged from the companionway, she saw her husband's ship transformed from a well-kept sailing vessel into a killing field. The shouts of the men were awful and terrifying. “Help me! Oh God, please, someone help me!” Honour turned and froze in horror. A man was sprawled on the deck, his left leg twisted in a sickeningly unnatural way. His pant leg was soaked with blood. When he noticed her looking at him, he reached out to her and tried to drag himself along the deck. “Please, mum, help me! I’m hurt bad!” he begged. Two men rushed up and took hold of the wounded sailor. “This ain’t no place for the likes o’ you!” shouted one of them at her. “Get below, before you end up like ‘im or worse!” The wounded man screamed in agony as the two sailors bodily dragged him off to the ship’s forecastle, out of the line of fire. Honour watched, mesmerised, until a cannon blast from directly beneath her feet jarred her back to the awful reality that was raging around her. Frightened, desperate, Honour took refuge underneath the canvas of one of the longboats. But despite her fear, she couldn't help but peek out and watch the maelstrom. "Shore up our larboard defences, you sorry mongrels!!" Jack shouted to his men. "Bring us about! I want another go at him with a full broadside! Load half with chain, grape, case shot, whatever will clear their decks! Marksmen, get your worthless arses aloft, double time! Damn me if we'll be taken!!" he howled. Honour scarcely recognised her husband. He was like a fury, bellowing orders and slamming his fists against the gunwales. She was overwhelmed by his force of will as he commanded his crew. Overwhelmed, and frightened to her very core. Jack ground his teeth as he watched his crew respond slower than he'd like. But then, no human could ever match his expectations in battle. "Damn it all, Jack! And you, too! They're doin' all they can!" Briggs countered. "Then carry them all to hell! I want action! And I want it NOW!! I want Mendoza sent back to the devil that conceived him!" Briggs looked hard at his friend. "If this don't work, Jack, you're consignin’ us all to Davy Jones’ locker." "We all have to die someday, Josiah. This one is as good as any. The order is given!" Briggs looked his captain hard in the eyes. "You heard the captain, ye dogs!" he exhorted. "Prepare to fire!" Jack looked out over the weather deck as his crew brought El Lobo’s guns guns to bear on the Mercedes. Firing in unison, they unleashed a devastating broadside against the Spanish ship. Honour flinched at the din, instinctively curling up in a ball in the bottom of the longboat. Together, Briggs and Jack looked with satisfaction at their handiwork. Their previous efforts had crippled the Mercedes, dropping her foremast and dismounting the majority of her guns. This last volley left her broken hulk. Captain Mauricio Vega watched his dreams of glory fade before his own dimming eyes as Guitano cradled him in his arms. "I... I nearly had him," Vega coughed. "I nearly..." Guitano closed his captains eyes. "Very nearly, my old friend. Your family will know you served with honour," he whispered. El Lobo delivered a final death stroke against her enemy. Colonel Diego Mendoza tried to mount the steps to the quarterdeck, only to be thrown onto the weather deck by the impact of the pirate's weapons. The tumbling barrel of a dismounted gun found his legs, crushing them. Mendoza cried out in agony, but found it in himself to shout one more order. "Musketeers!" he yelled. "Fire!! Fire on them! Kill all you can, damn you!!" Jack watched as his guns tore into the Mercedes. "Yes!!" he exulted, waving his hat in the air. "Look at her burn! Victory is ours, lads!!” The men began to shout in celebration. Honour could no longer contain her curiosity. Feeling it must be safe now that the firing had stopped, she lifted the canvas to get a look at what the men were cheering about. Jack caught an odd motion out of the corner of his eye. He turned and focused, and was astonished to see Honour's face peering out from under the longboat's canvas. "Honour! No! What are you doing up here?!" he cried. She started to reply, to explain her reason for being up on deck. But she could only stare in horror as Jack was spun to the deck by a bullet from a Spanish sniper's musket. "JACK!! NO!!" she screamed. Could it be? Had she just watched her husband die?

Smoke, flame, and metal erupted from El Lobo’s guns. Cannonballs smashed into Mercedes' starboard side even as her crew struggled to get their guns into place. Shards of wood and debris sprayed throughout the gun deck with hellish force. A few guns were even blasted fully from their carriages, transforming them into tumbling engines of destruction within the cramped confines of the gun deck. One of the barrels slammed into the foremast hard enough to dislodge it from its footings. Men hauled frantically on the rigging lines as they fought to disengage their ship from the pirate’s before another broadside could be unleashed. A couple of the Spaniard’s guns made a feeble response, their shot landing in the water wide of their target as the Mercedes wheeled away hard to port. The wounded ship continued on, smoke roiling from her starboard side as the crew struggled to set their stern to El Lobo and escape Jack Wolfe’s deadly reach. "Guns at the ready!" Jack called. "Make pursuit, Mister Briggs! Diego started this, and I’m of a mind to finish it." "Herd him ahead of us, and pick 'em apart by hit and run?" asked Briggs. "Seems a lovely day for it, don't you think, Josiah?” Jack stared at the retreating Spanish ship, and his jaw tightened. “Mendoza thought he could best me with a crew of cowhearted regulars, eh? I hope they’re saying their prayers, because this day is about to get a whole lot worse for them. Diego needs to imagine the worst that could possibly happen, then add a locker full of bad to it." Briggs gave Jack a measured look. "We'll be not givin' them quarter, then?" "Put it this way, Josiah: if there's anyone left after we finish Mendoza and his pretty ship, they can swim along side us to Barbados. That’s all the quarter they can hope from me." Colonel Mendoza picked himself up off the deck and tried to comprehend what had just happened. How could it be? How could he have been outwitted - again! - by that heretical pirate? He looked down on the weather deck and watched as the crew shook off the blow they'd been dealt. They went about making what quick repairs they could to restore manoeuvrability and keep their ship in fighting order. Other crews might well have panicked, abandoning their posts and anything resembling military discipline in hopes of saving their individual hides. But these seasoned, highly paid veteran mercenaries were well acquainted with the heat of battle. Defeat was worse than death in their minds. It would take more than a surprise reversal to scare them off. "Why did we sail past them?" Mendoza demanded. "Turn us around so we can fight!" "It doesn't work that way, Colonel," answered Captain Mauricio Vega as he climbed the steps to the quarterdeck. "I relieved you, Vega," Mendoza spat. “You were too cowardly to engage Wolfe.” "You got your way and were outfoxed. And now you're going to get us killed," Vega said calmly. "How dare you..." "Because I don't particularly feel like dying today, Señor. And I pray to God you don't either. Now, if you haven't noticed, the pirate is winning. Is that the result you are working for?" Vega's defiance would have earned him a solid flogging under normal circumstances. But he was right. Mendoza wanted to see Wolfe dead more than anything, even if he had to swallow his pride for a little while. "Fine," the Colonel finally said. "Resume your station." Guitano could scarcely contain his smile as Captain Vega resumed command. "Welcome back, amigo." "That remains to be seen, but thank you," said Vega quietly. "Now for a proper fight. Splice the forebrace and tie off! And reef those courses!!" he ordered. The crew redoubled their efforts now that a real man of the sea was giving the commands. "Hold us on this heading, Señor Guitano. Let him think we are more damaged than we are. We’ll find out if this Anglo dog is as clever as he pretends. Gun crews, double the powder for each shot! Remain at the ready, and wait for my command!" Mendoza was still fuming. "And this foolishness of slowing the ship and sitting here like dull-witted sheep will accomplish what, exactly?" "Very simple, Colonel," Vega replied. "I intend to bring this Wolfe to us." Briggs surveyed the wounded Spanish ship through the spyglass. "Looks like we hit 'em good, Jack! They're takin' in sail, holdin' a steady course. They must be takin’ on water faster than the pumps can rid it. Y'know, I never figured crossin' swords with that beast Mendoza would be so... anticlimactic." Jack finished setting El Lobo on a parallel course with her sister. "Would you rather this had been a protracted artillery fight, Josiah? I wish you'd told me sooner, so I could have let them catch us." "I'm likin' this just fine," laughed Briggs. "In the spirit of sportsmanship, we should run up our colours, don't you think? Just in case Diego is unclear about our intent," Jack mused. "You'll be wantin' the red one?" "Aye. It suits my mood." Briggs went to a deck locker and pulled from it a blood red flag, the signal that no quarter would be given and none expected, and hauled it up to the top of the mizzen mast. Jack watched the flag whip in the breeze. “No, that won’t do. Not enough.” Briggs shrugged, and untied the line to haul the flag back down. “No, leave it up there, Josiah. I want to add to it.” "Aye? And what be that?" "You know that discarded figurehead we have in the hold?" "Aye! The one Mendoza had made of his lady?" "That would be the one," Jack smiled. "Oh, you've got not but mischief in your head," Briggs grinned. "See that it's brought on deck, Master Briggs. And trice it up to the foremast. Should the men take a liking with what paint's available, tart her up as they please. Good and bold." "Lookin' to piss Mendoza off to a fare ye well?" Briggs asked. "I’d call it a tribute to her reputation, but we don't have enough paint for that, do we?" Jack laughed. "Helm!! Takes us outside of her guns and hold us parallel. Half sail once we’re there." "Half sail, aye!!" cried the helmsman. Briggs stopped at the steps leading down from the quarterdeck. "Half sail?" Jack winked at his friend. "I want Diego to get a nice, long look at our portrait of his dear departed wife. The angrier he is, the bigger the mistakes he’ll make!” "Gunners, at the ready" Jack called out. "The Mercedes will, if I’m right, make a run at us before too long. I want her blown to hell this time. And 100 extra pieces to the crew what hits her magazine!" The crew cheered, and a feral smile played across his face as he looked Mendoza’s vessel. "Be of good cheer, Diego. You're about to square an old debt." “What is that damned pirate doing?” asked Mendoza. “He’s been matching our speed and staying just out of range for nearly an hour now.” Mendoza peered through the perspective glass to try and see what was happening aboard his former ship, and more to the point, try to catch a glimpse of Jack Wolfe. He got his wish when he trained the glass on El Lobo's quarterdeck. He was finally close enough to see the face of the man he'd sworn vengeance on. But why was Wolfe point up at the foremast? He lifted the glass in the direction the pirate was pointing. The Spaniard began to quake with rage when he saw. It was the ship’s original figurehead of his wife, painted up like a two-bit trollop. His blood boiled at the sight of his beloved wife’s likeness so disrespectfully defaced. “Vega!” he roared. “You’ll attack now!” “No, Señor!” Vega protested. “It’s another trap, it has to be! They’re goading you into this. Do not be tricked again!” Mendoza pulled his pistol and pointed it at Vega’s head. “Attack him now, damn you! This shot is meant for Wolfe, but I swear to God I’ll use it on you first if it means his destruction!” Vega closed his eyes and sighed in resignation. “Full sail, now!” he ordered. “Guitano, close in on the pirate. Keep our profile small to their guns as long as you can. Lieutenant Santos!” “Yes, captain?” a fresh-faced young officer replied. "Have Ramirez's guns crews concentrate fire on their masts and rudder,” said Vega quietly. “Carry the order personally. We'll see if he still taunts us once we show our teeth.” Mendoza's orders had been explicit: destroy El Lobo and her master at all costs. But Vega was willing to gamble on the Colonel's generosity should he manage to bring Wolfe aboard Mercedes in chains. Santos hurried to the master gunner with the revised orders. He used what passed for military formality to avoid the gaze of the Colonel. Normally, Santos avoided the gun decks entirely, but the deafening roar there was far preferable to another of Mendoza's tirades. Ramirez's report came even quicker than Vega had hoped. "The word is given, Captain!" "Excellent, excellent!" Vega answered. "Marksmen, get aloft!! Guitano, wait for my order before turning for the broadside." “Well, slap me twice and hand me to me momma,” laughed Briggs. “He’s taken the bait!” Jack grinned at the sight of the Spanish ship as it turned to charge, like some angry bull. “You’re making this all too easy, Diego,” he laughed. He turned to face the weather deck and began shouting more orders. “Full sail! Port-side gunners, stand ready to make your target when they turn!” “Jack, what the hell is he doin’ now?” said Briggs, pointing at the Spaniard. “They’re turnin’ too soon! Their guns won’t be near as effective that far away.” “A feint? No matter. They’re committed now. Helm, get us closer!” Master Gunner Ramirez watched his prey carefully, timing the swells to better his gunners’ accuracy. He caught the rhythm of the enemy ship on the water, and smiled. "And... now! FIRE ALL!!" With that, Mercedes threw the full fury of her double-charged guns at El Lobo del Mar in the form of ball, chain, and bar. Jack turned from the gunwale to speak his orders. "Port guns, hold until we close, just a few seconds more!” A thunderous roar erupted behind him. He whirled back to see smoke and muzzle flashes burst from Mercedes' gun decks. Whirling chains tore at El Lobo’s masts, gouging and hacking at her rigging and sails. The heavier bar shot did double duty against both ship and crew. He felt the familiar thud under his feet of balls striking the hull near the stern as the Spaniard tried to shoot away his rudder. But the sound of glass and wood shattering at the stern from and errant shot made his heart lodge fast in his throat. His quarters, where Honour was hiding, had been hit!

"Come on, come on! Have you the stomach for this, or not?" Jack grumbled impatiently at the pursuing ship. Mendoza’s vessel had been pursuing El Lobo for nearly an hour without showing any intention of overtaking the pirate ship. Jack knew the Spaniard was toying with him, looking for some misstep or weakness to exploit. Just as Jack was doing to him. Despite Jack’s grousing, this was the part of a sea battle he enjoyed most. Employing strategy and deception to gain every tactical advantage possible. Outwit them with your brains and you stand a better chance of conquering them with your guns. Confound them completely, and you could win without a shot being fired. He had no illusions about the latter; if Mendoza didn’t break off unexpectedly, all hell was sure to break loose. "Oi, Cap'n!” shouted a lookout from the rigging. “She's makin' 'er move to windward, runnin' out 'er larboard guns, she is!" "And there it is. Now we dance,” said Jack with satisfaction. “Open the starboard gun ports, but do not run out the guns yet!" he ordered. "Everyone, make fast your positions!" "Starboard ports only, righto!" the master gunner answered. "Stay sharp, lads, to a man. He's got somethin' up his sleeve besides a bottle o' rum this time, I'm thinkin'! Now get them ports open!" Jack watched carefully as the Mercedes began her bid to overtake his ship and gain the superior position to windward from which to fight. Her sails shifted and finally set, filling with more wind as the Spaniard committed to their course that would carry them to El Lobo’s starboard. From there they could batter the pirate ship and force her to fight against the wind, impairing her manoeuvrability and making her easier to vanquish. Mendoza watched El Lobo's gun ports swing open one by one along her right side. A bloodthirsty smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Wolfe must be drunk again. He’s ceded the windward position to us! Gunners, fire as we come along side! I want nothing left of that abomination, or its captain!” The crew cheered heartily, each one thinking of how fat their pockets would soon be once the pirate lay a burning hulk. The Colonel gloated over how easy the chase had been. Yet another victory was at hand. He was a little sorry, though, that the pirate hadn't made more of a fight of it. “Your days of running from me are over,” he said as he watched the stern of Jack’s ship. “You escaped me before, but not today. You are out of tricks. When I see you die this time, I shall make certain it lasts!” “That’s it, you greedy bastard,” smiled Jack. “That’s it! Come to papa! Briggs, I’ll take the wheel. I need you on deck with the men, up forward.” “Ye’ve got somethin’ in mind?” asked Briggs. “Don’t I always?” “Aye, ye do. But will it work?” “I hope so.” “That’s good enough for me. On my way!” Jack took the wheel from his quartermaster. He could feel the vibration and pull of the ship’s rudder in his hands. He and his vessel were in direct communication, and it felt good. “Oh, and Briggs!” he called. Briggs stopped at the stairs leading down to the weather deck. “Aye, Jack?” “Grab an axe and keep it with you.” “An axe. Part of the plan?” “Part of the plan. Off you go!” He held El Lobo’s course steady and waited for Briggs to take his position near the forward part of the main deck. Briggs held up his axe and gave a shrug. Jack smiled and gave another look back at the Spanish ship. She was closing, but had not yet come directly astern. ‘Now the fun begins,’ he thought to himself, and he began shouting a flurry of orders. "Everyone, hold for my mark! Larboard guns, you will run out and prepare to fire! Mr. Briggs, you will loose the anchor and let it run free to 10 fathoms and hold there! And... NOW!” The gun crews hastily opened the gun ports and shoved the artillery pieces into position, as three men under Briggs’ direction freed the starboard anchor and let it fall into the sea. Briggs stood by the brake for the wildly spinning capstan and stopped the anchor's descent around the requested depth. Jack let go of the wheel, and the sudden drag created by the anchor and its thick hemp cable as they hauled it through the water made El Lobo veer hard to starboard, cutting across the path of the onrushing ship and losing speed. Men clung to the rails and rigging to keep from being pitched to the deck. The Mercedes’ helmsman Stephan Guitano didn't wait for the surprised Mendoza to recover his wits. He battled the wheel back hard to port, certain that a collision at their present speed would doom both ships. "Starboard guns, make ready and fire!!" he yelled. "What do you think you're doing?!" demanded Mendoza. "Making sure we don't all die," Guitano replied though clenched teeth. Mercedes resisted the course change, but finally began turning back inside the pirate's course. They were going to pass dangerously close. Below decks, the gun crews scrambled frantically to secure the larboard guns and respond to their new circumstances. Their well rehearsed gunnery routine was suddenly thrown into complete chaos and panic. "Briggs! Cut the cable, now!!" yelled Jack. "Back off, boys, lest ye lose somethin' you're fond of!" Briggs brought the axe down hard, cutting more than halfway through the thick woven ropes. He swung again, and the anchor was free. One man had to dive to the deck as the severed cable, no longer under the tremendous stress of dragging an anchor, came flying back and slammed into the bulkhead above him hard enough to shatter the wood. Briggs grunted in satisfaction and handed off the axe. "What are you lot standin’ around for like a bunch of lost pups for? Get movin'! We’ve got Spaniards to kill!" he barked as he ran back to the quarterdeck. Jack adjusted course to ensure the Mercedes would be squarely in the reach of El Lobo's guns. He now commanded the weather gage, and Mendoza's ship was travelling too fast to do anything about it. Now was Jack's opportunity to inflict fresh humiliation on his old nemesis, and he would do it at point-blank range. "Fire as they pass!" he ordered. "Fire all!" Briggs echoed. "All guns, make your target!" yelled the master gunner. "Steady, lads, steady..." The men watched tensely as the view out of their gunports became filled with the hull of the enemy ship. "And FIRE!!"