The Doctor

Honour and Jack emerged from the tavern and headed towards the small inn down the street. "Do you realize this is the first time I have seen you in broad daylight?" she said. He laughed and spread his arms. "And dost thou like what thou sees, fair maiden?" She stood there with her hands on her hips, surveying him up and down. "You look taller in the dark." "Horizontal or vertical?" She blushed and slapped his chest. "You are a bad man, Captain Wolfe. But come on--I am starving!" He turned her around and said, "No. No tavern. I have a better idea." He marched her towards the dock. "Where are we going? To the Sea Biscuit? They have wonderful cheesy...." "You'll see!" He led her to the dock and proudly pointed. "The best food I can think of is right in my cabin." She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. "Right. Now I see. You don't have to get out of bed to dine." He laughed and put his arm around her waist, marching her towards the ship. "There is roast pork there and fresh vegetables. And a wonderful outlaying of wine. And I also get to introduce you to my best friend." "I met him. The bemused gentleman that was trying to talk some sense into you at the tavern. So it seems I am not your type." "What do you mean? You are a female and you breathe." "I caught the words 'not Spanish'. So you like them dusky and exotic." He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Why are you just now mentioning this?" She started to speak. "Because...never mind." "Because you were having too much fun to worry about details?" From above, a voice yelled, " 'Bout time ye got yer arse back to the ship, Jack!" Jack shielded his eyes. "Aye, Josiah. Permission to come aboard?" The disembodied voice shouted back, "Since when did ye ask my permission on anything? But since ye did, ye have to say, "Briggs, may I?" "Briggs, may I?" The voice yelled back, "No." "Sorry--coming on board anyways!" Jack turned to Honour. "That would be Briggs." "The gentleman I met last night." "The very one." "The one who tried to lure you back to the ship?" "Briggs isn't subtle enough to lure, darling. He came right out and said keeping company with you wasn't a wise idea." Honour stayed silent for a couple steps. "And was he right?" "Maybe not," he said with a smile. "Of course, he'd never agree." Jack and Honour appeared at the top of the deck after crossing the gangplank. "Aye, I knew you would show up after the customary two days and....oh. Hello." Briggs looked from Honour to Jack and then said, "Shall I fix the guest room up?" A crewman yelled, "Or the nursery?" Briggs turned to the crewman. "Shush, Connors. She's not that young." Honour felt her face flame red. Jack threw his head back and laughed, Grabbing her hand he held his and hers up. "Look!" "So..what am I supposed to be looking at?" "Oh. Well....um..uh...there's supposed to be wedding rings there." The pipe Briggs had been packing with tobacco clattered to the deck. "Ye... ye what?" "Mar-ried," said Jack slowly, emphasizing the syllables. "You know, when the minister says a lot of vow thingies and the man and woman say 'I do'. Ring a bell?" Briggs snapped, "Aye, I've been there...remember?" "Just making sure. And yes, I know this is a big surprise for you..." "Damn straight it is," Briggs muttered. "... as it was for us. Isn't that right, dear?" Honour looked from Jack to Briggs and could feel the colour rising in her face. "Well...um..yes...especially when you don't remember doing it..I mean the getting married part. The rest...well, um...." Briggs shook his head as if to clear away the confusion. "Married?? How... When did ye go off and do this?" "A couple hours after you went back to the ship," said Jack. "And trust me, the magistrate was just as surprised as anyone when we woke him up." "I knew I shouldn't have let ye out of my sight," Briggs grumbled. Honour wasn't sure why the quartermaster was so dismayed, but she was sure of one thing; she didn't care for the gruff man much. She edged closer to Jack and put her hand on his arm. She suddenly felt self-conscious, like a bug under a microscope. Jack laughed, "Yeah, you could have been the best man. As it was...well, I was in a bit of a hurry." Briggs took a deep breath and exhaled it through clenched teeth. Honour pressed ever closer to Jack as he fixed her in his gaze. "If it's all the same to ye, little miss--" Something sparked within Honour, and she found her voice. "That's MRS, Mister Briggs. MRS Jack Wolfe. Please get used to it." Josiah blinked as if he'd been slapped. "Aye," he said quietly. "Aye, Mrs. Wolfe. I'll be sure to remember that. But if I might be havin' a word in private with your husband, I'd be right appreciative." Jack turned to Honour and said,"Why don't you scoot to my cabin, darling? I'll be there shortly. I'll have the cook fix us a delightful lunch." She looked back at Jack and frowned. "If you are sure..." "Of course I am sure. Now scoot!" he said as he playfully slapped her bottom. Honour jumped a little at the swat, and turned back to her husband. The frown was quickly turning to frustration. "Fine! I'll wait for you there. Just one question?" "And what is that, my dove?" "WHERE is your cabin? I've never been on this ship before." She folded her arms and looked at him expectantly. "And I certainly wouldn't know where a captain's cabin would be." All right, that was a fib. But he didn't need to know everything. "You're right," said Jack with a smile. "That was thoughtless of me. Josiah, I'll be back after I show Honour to my - our cabin. You brood and get worked up for when I return in a couple minutes." Jack guided her down the long, darkened companionway to his cabin, and opened the door. As Honour attempted to walk through the door, Jack grabbed her around the waist and said, "Oh, no you don't! I do believe it is my duty to carry you over the threshold, as it were." She put her arms around him and gave a slight smile as he lifted her up. “This, my love, is hallowed ground aboard ship. None dare enter save those I've given permission. Now it's our hallowed ground.” He set Honour down and she took in the captain's quarters. The great cabin was spacious, about twenty-five feet wide and twelve feet deep. There was a large four-poster bed to starboard. The coverlet looked to be of a soft silk. Her eyebrow raised as she detected a woman's touch in the surroundings. Could it be that Jack had 'previous company' that had been a little deeper relationship? A six-foot long oak dining table that could easily double as a meeting table was in the middle of the space. To the side was a generously wide desk, messy with charts and instruments. Obviously it was Jack's private space. On the forward bulkhead there was a massive bookcase, stuffed with all manner of books, maps, and charts. Two evenly spaced oil lamps hung from the overhead. Plenty of shuttered windows to provide light most of the time, whatever direction the ship was heading. Jack took her hand and kissed it, then drew her close and kissed that one spot on her neck that always sent thrills through her body. "I shall not be long. Just long enough to get Briggs straightened." "You mean straightened out?" "Either one, love. I think you could tell he's pretty bent out of shape at the moment." Honour's face clouded. "Yes, and I don't understand why he's so cross with me. He's never met me before! Is he always so gruff?" Jack stroked her cheek. "He's not cross with you, darling. He's cross with me. I ran off and did something he thinks is wildly irresponsible, and this is his way of letting me know he doesn't approve." "But... YOU'RE the captain. Doesn't your approval matter over his?" "You tell HIM that, love!" laughed Jack as he blew her a kiss and closed the cabin door behind him. He headed up to the quarterdeck where Briggs was standing at the rail looking off into the horizon. Jack leaned against the rail and crossed his arms. "So, Josiah, are you not going to congratulate me on my nuptials?" Briggs blasted, "Jack, what was in your head? Were ye so full of whiskey that ye weren't thinking?" Jack's face turned a bit red as he said, "You want to know the truth, Josiah? She... wouldn't!" "Wouldn't--what?" Jack said, "She said we had to be married first." Josiah looked dumbfounded. "A tavern wench that was a VIRGIN?" At that Jack was a bit uncomfortable. "Well..um...I guess she wasn't after all. But she was serious and said she wouldn't until we were properly wed. So... well, I wed her." "Ye married her. Ye married a wench just to bed her? JACK WOLFE? Just who was doin' the seducing, Captain? Her? Or you? Because what it is looking like, is that ye were roped in." "Well, I wouldn't exactly say that...." Josiah said darkly, "I should have stayed with ye, I should have. I saw the looks between ye. Just how much whiskey did ye drink, Jack?" "Well, I think I quit counting after the third bottle... or was it the fourth?" Briggs retorted, "I hope that little bit o' heaven on earth was worth it, Jack." "What do you mean?" Josiah said hotly, "I mean to say is she worth all that booty we took from the Dutch merchant ship? Dangnubbit, Jack! Twenty-seven chests of guilders..." "Maybe she just wants the calico. You know, for dresses..." Jack interjected. Josiah slammed his fist down on the rail. "If ye were a doxy, would ye want calico or guilders?" Jack's jaw tightened as he said in a low voice, "Choose your words carefully, Mr. Briggs..." "Think, Jack! THINK! Can ye buy guilders with calico? Because if ye had guilders, ye can buy all the calico ye want!" "Well, somehow I can't see Honour wearing calico..." Josiah added, "And the guilders may be the lesser of your troubles." "What do you mean?" "I mean to tell ye, that as yer dearly beloved, she may now be entitled to a share of the booty we take from here on out! And the ship! Community property, that's the law of old Mother England! Commonwealth, protectorate, or empire, it's all the same. Half be hers." "She wouldn't do that..." Josiah walked off but flung over his shoulder, "That's as maybe, but I'd put that relic of a crate under lock and key. And never -- EVER – tell your glowing bride about it."

Jack redirected his hand from the curve of Honour's hip to the tenderness of her face. "Fair enough, darling. Here's a story of a fabled treasure. A couple of years ago, I heard a fantastic legend about a race that disappeared from these parts hundreds of years ago, possibly longer. Their real name is forgotten. The fellow who told me about them only referred to them in a hushed voice as 'Les Anciens'. The Ancients. The story goes that they abandoned their empire for whatever reason – war, famine, disease, something – and they left behind only a few traces of their existence. One is a golden chest containing one of their most important treasures. It's protected by a mechanism that prevents it from being opened unless you have the knowledge and the key to reveal its secrets. "The thing is, it's no fable. The Ancients existed, I'm certain of it. And so does that chest. A naturalist named Armand LaFourche stumbled across one of their ruined cities a few years back. Studied the whole thing top to bottom, and even managed to crack their language after a fashion. In a crypt beneath a crumbling temple, he found the chest. He was going to try and open it himself, only it stolen from him before he could try. Those in the know say he kept meticulous notes should the chest ever turn up again. I happen have a reliable lead on where the chest is now, and word is LaFourche's journal is on the market. Once I have both, which will be only a matter of time now, I'll be rich beyond my wildest dreams. And trust me, I have some wild dreams. So, what do you think of that little story?" Honour bit her lip as she considered his tale. "You do realise how outlandish it all sounds, don't you? I mean, if he's already got the information, why doesn't this Armand LaFork--" "LaFourche." "Whatever. Why doesn't HE go after the treasure himself?" "I should have known better than to open this up for questions," Jack laughed as he began to kiss her neck. She took him by the chin and pulled his face up to meet hers before he could get any further. She repeated, "Why isn't he going after the treasure himself?" "Because," sighed Jack, "the man is a lunatic. Stark raving mad, he is. His obsession with the Ancients and having that chest, only to lose it again, drove him over the edge. He's in no shape to go chasing after it. Or, more importantly to me, demand a share from whoever opens it. The best he can manage is to sit in his garden on Martinique mumbling to himself." "So we're sailing to Martinique?” she said enthusiastically. “I've always wanted to go there!" Jack stroked her silky hair. "I'm afraid not, my darling. Not right away, at any rate. I have some business to attend to in Tobago. After that is wrapped up, we'll be Martinique bound to buy the journal." He gently caressed her almost alabaster skin. "All that will be left is to procure the golden chest. And speaking of treasured chests..." Honour jumped out of bed, dragging the sheet with her. He sighed and propped himself up on his elbow. "You're getting shy now? That sheet does absolutely nothing for you, love." Jack smiled at her and patted the place in bed next to him. She ignored him. "Oh, come on, my sweet. Is this about that wedding ring, or lack of one? I swear upon my sainted mother's grave that I shall have a gold ring slipped on your finger before the end of the week. I just need to sort through some Spanish treasure on my ship and--" She drew the sheet around her tighter. "You intend to give me...leftovers? From your ill-gotten gain?" Jack couldn't help but laugh. "Consider it my salary from my job. Are you ready for a sail upon El Lobo del Mar? As I said, I need to meet with an associate, Cade Jennings, in Tobago. He's there setting up a fresh enterprise. He's a good sort, I think you will like him. Think of it as a honeymoon cruise. Combining business with pleasure, yeah?" Honour climbed back into bed and wrapped her arms around him. "I heard Tobago IS lovely this time of year..." she whispered lustily. But she stopped, and a curious look came over her. She looked at him and asked, "Just how old are you, Jack?" "Thirty-four. And you?" She smiled as seductively as she knew how and said, "I turned nineteen in April." Jack's head hit the wall with a thud. He started laughing and couldn't stop. "What's so funny?" she asked. He thought of what Briggs would say. 'Cradle robber' would be the kindest thing. "Nothing, my sweet. Nothing at all. Now...where were we?....."

Honour laid in Jack's arms.."Oh... that was incredible...." And with that she passed out. Jack laid there with an unconscious Honour in his arms. "I'm terribly flattered," he said softly. "But what do I do now?" A tiny devil appeared in a puff of brimstone and sat on his shoulder. "You know what to do. Have your way with her!" "Um, I just did," said Jack. "And vice-versa. Weren't you paying attention?" A tiny angel appeared and sat on his other shoulder. "Cover her, and hold her in your arms until morning. That is the chivalrous thing to do," said the angel. "Right, I know YOU haven't been paying attention," said Jack. "Go ahead," said the devil. "She's all yours!" "Yeah, ye wee numpty!! I MARRIED her! Can you possibly get off script and come up with something original?" groused Jack. The devil thought for a moment, then hung his tiny scarlet head. "I got nothin'," he said dolefully. The angel played loudly on a tiny trumpet. "Goodness triumphs again! You are indeed a good man!" he proclaimed. Jack flicked the little angel off his shoulder disdainfully. "Stow it, you little twit! She's passed out! Now get a grip, both of you! Bloody hell. Good and evil both on my shoulders, and they still don't get it!" Jack pointed a finger and the devil and angel. "You.... and especially YOU with the trumpet--- bugger off!" he hissed. The diminutive agents looked at each other and shrugged. "Fool! I'm ashamed to even associate with you!" the little red devil flung at Jack. Then both the devil and angel vanished with their respective scents. Jack woke up with a start. Honour stirred... "What did you say, Jack?" she murmured. Jack kissed her cheek. "Nothing, love. Just a bad dream featuring two clueless midgets. Go back to sleep." Honour snuggled against him and drifted off again. Honour hiccuped and threw her arm and leg around Jack. "Just love me....." and passed out again. "You aren't even..." He kissed her, and realized she passed out again. "... awake. Just lovely. Here I have this beautiful woman wrapped around me..." Honour snored softly. "...sexy as she is right now... Bugger!" He looked at her face, and found himself marvelling at her features. "You are so beautiful," he whispered. Jack kissed her lips gently, and pulled her closer against him. "But just one thing I have to ask.... please, don't make me fall in love with you."

Honour stared in disbelief at the marriage certificate in her hand. At the bottom were their signatures, along with the wax seal of the magistrate making their union official. 'Add writing to the list of his talents,' she thought. Memories of the previous night's activities came into focus for her. The whiskey, the dancing, the wedding, the... "What have you gotten yourself into this time?" she asked herself aloud. At her words, Jack stirred from his sleep. He reached for her side of the bed, but she wasn't there. The bed was still warm, though. 'She'll be back,' he thought. 'They always come back.' A steady throbbing in his skull told him he was in for one serious hangover, so he didn't bother opening his eyes. Next he reached for the sheet, which Honour was using as a makeshift dressing gown. "What the...?" he grumbled as he sat up. He opened his eyes to find a glowing yet perturbed young woman before him. She held a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. He smiled, and tried to jog his memory as to her name. "Good morning, my lovely!" he offered. "Don't tell me... Your name's Helen....no, Hannah...umm....Betsy?" Her face reflected astonishment. "You don't remember, do you? Read it! It's all there in official print!" she retorted as she threw the crumpled document in his face. "It would be SO nice if you remembered the name of your wife. And I don't mean 'Mrs. Wolfe'." He unfolded the document she'd so graciously presented him. "Blah, blah, blah, 'Holy Matrimony' , blah, blah, 'John Michael Wolfe and Honour Bright'..." Jack looked at her suspiciously. "What kind of bloody name is 'Honour Bright'?" She balled up the sheet and threw it at him. "It's my name!" Jack pulled the sheet from about his head and chuckled. “I do like this arrangement much better,” he said with a sly smile. Honour blushed as she tried half-heartedly to cover herself. "The name! Ah, well, that makes all the difference in the world, love!” Jack continued. “Why don't you bring your lovely self back into bed, and we can discuss things further, yeah? 'Honour Bright' suits you. Honour Bright Wolfe, even more so. Now, what's it to be, darling wife? You, standing there unappreciated? Or here in this nice, warm bed, fully and repeatedly appreciated by me?" Honour thought for a moment, and all things being equal, Jack Wolfe wasn't that disgusting. In fact, he had a certain allure. She got back into bed, and Jack threw the sheet back over them like a matador's cape. She whispered, "You certainly don't give a woman a chance to think, do you, Jack?" He laughed, "Faint heart never won fair lady, yeah?" She looked at him warily, "Where do you get the 'lady' idea, pirate?" He chuckled, "Woman, I have been wise to the ways and means of both doxies and damsels. And you, my dear, are no mere tavern wench." She turned away and murmured, "You are mistaken." He put his finger under her chin and turned her head so she couldn't tear her eyes away from him. "I think not. You have all your teeth. They are white. You don't jump on your food and drink like you shall never see another morsel or another tankard again. Your dialect, Welsh though it may be, belies an educated gentry. You stood up for yourself against that brute yet not in a slatternly way. But as one with smarts and wits." She jerked his hand away and said, "I said you are mistaken. My mother was a housemaid and my father was a stable hand. I am the result of too much ale and moonlight. Father was long gone by the time of my birth. Mother died when I was a child. I was raised in an orphanage. End of story." Jack regarded her thoughtfully. Something didn't ring true about her story, but he had nothing more to go on but a hunch. "Aye. If you say so, my wife. Wife! Ye gads! I now have one." "You never had one before?" He laughed. "Never got caught before. love. You?" She looked away and pulled the sheet around her. "No." Jack stood up and reached for his clothes. He pulled the shirt over his head. Ripped. Damn! As he put his boots on, he looked over at the woman who was now his dearly beloved. Her arms stretched over her head, the sheets swirling around her. Her hair laid in a tangle around her shoulders and her eyes reflected some sort of dreamy afterglow. He gave her a grin and she put her hand up. "Oh, no, you don't!" she protested. “Suit yourself. It would have been magic.” He laughed and took her in his arms, giving her a passionate kiss. Then he left the bed, headed towards the door. She said indignantly, "And where do you think you are going?" "Back to my ship." She took the marriage license and threw it in his face again. "Guess again. You think you can just...just....just....and then LEAVE?" Jack shrugged. "Never been an issue before." She said darkly, "You've never come up against Honour Bright." He retorted, "And you have never tangled with Captain Jack Wolfe!" Jack suddenly burst out laughing. "Aye, and I do think I have taken on a tigress!" She raised her eyebrow as she tucked the sheet up to her chin. "Tigress?" He kicked his boots off and with a twinkle in his eye, he said, "What's this old world coming to, Honour?" "What do you mean?" He drew the sheet back. "It's not right. The hunter got captured by the game."

Jack knocked on the door. No answer. "Do you suppose no one is home?" Honour whispered. "I could always break in and find out," said Jack with a mischievous smile. She put her arm on his frock coat. "What, and have me spend my weeding--wedding--night alone?" Brushing a tendril of blond hair back from her face, he replied, "Not a chance, love. Maybe he's a heavy sleeper, yeah? Let's try again..." Jack knocked on the heavy wooden door, much harder this time. Honour cringed at the loud sound. "Shhh! You will wake up the entire port! Maybe this is a sign...maybe we aren't supposed to get married." She stood close to Jack, her jasmine perfume filling the night air with every movement of her. "We're getting married," he said with determination, "if I have to get myself ordained." Honour began to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of an upstairs window opening. "Oi!" came an angry man's voice. "Go away! It's the middle of the night!" Honour grabbed Jack's coat and said softly, 'We had better go. There is always tomorrow and you can pick me up at the tavern....." "And take the chance you'll sober up and reconsider? Not on your life, darling." He looked up at the man in the window. "You're the magistrate, right? We want to get married!" "It'll wait!" Jack pulled a small purse of coins from his pocket and jingled it loudly. Honour's eyes grew wide at the sound of what must have been a lot of money. "No, I don't think it will. At least, this money won't." "You--you're going to pay him off? I mean, isn't' that kind of like a dow--dow--you know, where the father pays the man to take his daughter off his hands? Is that my dow--dow---price?" "A dowry? Heavens, no! This is a straight-up bribe, love. Besides, I'm the one who'd get paid the dowry. I think." He looked back up at the man. "What'll it be? A couple shillings in the morning, or an awful lot more tonight?" The magistrate gritted his teeth. "I'll be right down," he growled before disappearing from the window. "He's probably coming down to excommunicate me. He's mad. Maybe we should see him in the morning. What do you think? I mean, I am not in the mood to get scolded." She started to slowly back away from the door. "Don't worry, dear. He can't excommunicate you. He's just another civil servant." He turned back to the door, waiting for the magistrate to open it. "Of course, he could punch me right in the face. I'd rather be excommunicated, then." "He's not allowed to hit you. And if that is the case, I can tell his wife about his gambling at the tavern." She giggled. "Did I say that out loud?" Jack grinned at her in surprise. "Oh, now I know I love you! We were meant for each other. I knew it!" Honour giggled again, but her smile faded quickly. "What do you mean, 'now' you know? You didn't....?" The door's deadbolt lock banged loudly as it was unlocked, and the door swung open. There stood the magistrate in his nightshirt and a robe. He had a lamp in his hand, and a scowl on his face. Honour stood there with her most somber look on her face, trying to stay upright as she leaned on Jack. "He looks fero--fero--fierce." Jack slipped his arm around Honour's waist to steady her. Giving his most charming grin, he held the coin purse out for the magistrate. The magistrate took it and felt its weight, then slipped it into a pocket in his robe. "Right!" the man said. "I'll be having your names." "That much money, you could give us a smile," said Jack. Honour tried hard not to giggle. "The money buys you the ceremony and my not calling the constable. Now, your names." 'Honour Bright." The magistrate looked over his glasses at her. "You're joking," he said flatly. "I am not!" she said indignantly. "What kind of name is that?" he asked Jack. "Um, Welsh?" shrugged Jack. The magistrate sighed. "Fine, fine. You can be Honour Bright. I don't want to know how many consonants." He looked back to Jack. "And yours better not be 'Unbroken Bond'." "John Michael Wolfe, your magisterialness. CAPTAIN John Michael Wolfe." "Oh good. Another captain. I should have guessed. All right then, is there anyone here with objections to this man and woman being joined in holy matrimony? Anyone? Please? Anyone at all?" The magistrate looked around, hoping someone-anyone--would come out of the shadows with a reason to let him get back into his warm bed. He sighed. "Yes, well...be that as it may...." His jaw clenched, he opened a copy of the Book of Common Prayer and began to read. "I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in Matrimony, that ye confess it. For ye be well assured... Oh, never mind. You'll be lucky to remember this." Honour hiccupped loudly as if to underscore his point. He looked over his glasses at them. "Yes, well, we can dispense with all the formality." "Miss Bright, do you?" She nodded. "You sure about that?" "I am." He turned to Jack. "I'd ask you the same question but the answer is pretty obvious you want her. Quickly." "Let me tell you, mate..." started Jack. "How 'bout you don't? Now, the ring please. You do have a ring to make this good and proper, right?" Jack searched his frock frantically. Finally, he produced a gold trinket and offered it to her. "What manner of wedding piece is this?" She regarded the ungainly trinket of gold. It was an ugly thing; a disc of gold with arms reaching out. Jack met her eyes. "Darling, I swear I'll get you an honest ring." "You'd better," she warned. "Anything you want. As you were saying, sir..." "By the power vested in me.... "Emeralds." "What?" The magistrate rolled his eyes and began tapping his foot. "I want emeralds in my wedding ring." "Absolutely. Your Honor..." "At least three," she added mischievously. Yes, dear! Oh, looks at that. He's getting upset with us, darling." "May I finish, please? I'd like to get back to bed," said the magistrate. Jack turned to the magistrate. "I feel your pain, Sir." "I pronounce you man and wife." He retrieved a sheet of paper from a small desk just inside the door, scribbled a few words on it, and handed it to Jack. "Now, kiss the bride and go away!" the man said, and he slammed the door. The magistrate opened the door again and called out, "Mrs. Wolfe--try not to enjoy it too much. After all it IS Sunday morning."

Her feet tried to keep up as Jack hurried her down the street. "I've never had anyone wanting to marry me in such a hurry." "It's not the wedding part I'm in a hurry to get to," replied Jack. She stopped suddenly. "You like wedding cake and I don't know any bakers." He turned to look at her. "Why... yes! Cake! I love cake," he said as he started walking again. "Can't get enough of it. We'll have to find a baker come morning!" "But I can't get married in this skirt. It's not white. And I have no veil." "And all I have is a big pistol. Come ON!" She tried to smooth down her skirt. He stopped and brushed the hair away from Honour's face, then touched her chin gently. She looked up into his eyes. "Honour, you look beautiful. And this is just a ceremony, after all. A formality. Wouldn't you agree that what comes after the ceremony is most important?" She nodded. "A house and a yard full of children and a dog..." Jack swallowed hard. "Yes, well, I wasn't thinking quite that far into the future, but you've got the flavour of it." "You don't like dogs?" "More of a cat person, but dogs are fine. Can we keep walking?" He grabbed her by the hand and yanked her down the street. "You seem very determined, Cat-pain. Captain. That is what I meant." "That I am. I thought you'd be flattered." Honour did her best to keep up. "Flattered, and winded...You really like me then? It wasn't just the whiskey or..or.....wait a second." She rearranged her flowers and looked down. "My boots. I don't have the right boots for a wedding." He winced and took a deep breath before turning back to her. "Yes, I really do fancy you, and it's not just whiskey talking. Much. Anyway, I'd marry you barefoot if I had to!" Honour smiled at him. "You're certainly easy to please." "Darling, you have no idea how easy at this point." She stopped and narrowed her eyes at him, putting her hands on her hips. "You aren't doing this just so you can...you know---finish what you started in the alley. Are you?" "Well, of course..." "WHAT??" "I mean, of course NOT," he said quickly. "But I wasn't the only one thinking about where this night might lead. In fact, you're the one who insisted we get married before sharing a bed. How do I know it's not you who are trying to take advantage of me?" Her mouth dropped open and closed quickly. "I'll have you know, Captain, that I have had--I mean can have--any man--captain!--I want in this port. So don't be thinking you are the only James--gentleman!--around." She tossed her head. "Any man would be proud to have me on his arm, I will have you know. Maybe this isn't such a good idea, Captain." She bent forward to retie her boot lace, affording him a spectacular view of what he could lay claim to if he handled this just right. "Honour, wait..." She straightened up, only wobbling slightly as she locked him with the sternest gaze she could muster as he walked to her. "You're right. And I'm sorry." "For accusing me of coercing you into marrying me, or for being a bastard?" Jack smiled disarmingly. "Both." Her look faded from disapproval to one of mild distrust. "I'm listening." "You're right. You're beautiful, and any man in his right mind would walk over broken glass to be with you and count himself lucky. Yet here I stand, making a mess of thing." "Go on," she said. "I should be counting myself the most fortunate bloke on earth by having you even considering marrying me. Now how stupid does that make me, getting you all upset?" "Very." "Enough helping from you, thanks." He took a deep breath. "So I'm sorry. I do want to marry you, Honour Bright. And not just because of that kiss in the alleyway. That's the truth." He paused and held his hands out to the side, and began to slowly back away. "But I understand if you're having second thoughts..." She shook her head. "I'm not having second thoughts. I just want to be sure you want ME. And not just a night." She stood close to him, so close he could smell the jasmine that she wore. She ran her finger down his chest and whispered, "You had better make it worth my while." "Oh, I shall," he whispered in reply, and brought his lips close to hers. Honour was quick to block his kiss with her finger. "Aaahhh, patience! Have you forgot where we were going?" "How silly of me," he smiled. "No, I haven't forgotten." He reached over and knocked on the heavy wooden door of one of the houses. "What on earth are you doing?" she exclaimed. "Magistrate's house. Told you it wasn't far!"

Honour breathed the salt air as she opened the door. She gathered up her hair in one hand and fanned herself. "I swear, the nights keep getting hotter and hotter. I expect this in August, not June." Jack slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her close. Honour thrilled as his lips found that one special place on her neck that made her knees weak. "It can get even hotter," he breathed. She began to feel herself being drawn into a situation that she knew where it would lead. This was how it started with James Blake. And all the others. She found herself with a shortness of breath that wasn't due to tight corsets. She turned her face away and whispered, "No.." "Wait... what? No? Did I do something wrong? I thought..." "You thought...what? That if you bought me a few drinks and paid attention to me, and flattered me, that I would be yours for a night? That you would add another notch to your baldric?" "All right, fine. You saw through my very thin ploy. To a point. But I've never seen you as another notch in any of my clothing. No, there's something very, very different about you. Something... inescapable. I can't explain it, Honour Bright. But I'll never be able to get you out of my mind." She laughed derisively. "That is what they all say. 'I've never met a girl like you, Honour.' 'I could spend the rest of my life with you, Honour...' Well, Captain, the translation is always the same. And this time I won't fall for it." "I never said I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, Honour," Jack said with a pained expression. "Merely that I find you enchanting. If you inferred more than that, well, that's on you, love." She felt her eyes well up with tears. "Fine. Then go. JUST GO! I can find my own way to my room." She started towards the stairs. "Honour, wait!" he said. "I didn't mean to upset you! It's just... I'm not some Johnny-come-lately. Yeah, I could do the smooth talking bit, but that's a disservice to you. It's trite and overdone, and that's not my style. I prefer up-front insincerity." She stood there, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I--I'm sorry. Just too much...too much whiskey, Too many customers.... too much... life." Jack walked to her and finished wiping a tear from her eye. "I promise, you'll be amazed at my staying power," he whispered with a disarming smile. She shrugged and gave a little laugh. "You are intriguing, Captain." With barely any hesitation, Jack kisses her. Deeply, searching... It was a kiss that had no indication of ending any time soon. She found herself responding and when she broke free from it, she shook her head. "No, Jack." "No? And why not? We're both consenting adults. The night is still young... All right, maybe not young, but of a consenting age as well." He quietly managed to manoeuvre her to where her back was against the stone wall. "As I was saying...." He kissed her once again, this time it was more insistent, more demanding. She felt the cold stone against her back and she began to shiver. Not so much from the stones but from where Jack's hands were..... insistent and probing, and her heart began to race. But she found her hands against his chest, pushing him away. "No... wait," she breathed. She adjusted her chemise and her skirt. "Take me up to your room, ' he whispered. He pressed her even harder against the stones as his hands grew bolder. "No, Jack..." "Then come back to my ship...." "NO!" Jack lifted her chin to meet his eyes. "Damn it all! What will it take, woman?" Her eyes met his. "A wedding ring." Jack stood there, not believing what he was hearing. "A...a what? A wedding ring?" She nodded. "I... I won't allow you to bed me until we are properly wed." Jack looked her squarely in the eyes... and hiccuped. "A wedding ring." "Yes," she said flatly. "Otherwise, you can forget about any stairway to heaven." "Oh... I do like stairways." Jack took her by the hand and began marching down the alley toward the street. He paused only to snatch the flowers out of old lady Poggit's window garden. He dragged Honour down the street in a hurry. "Where are we going?" "To make a right proper married woman of you."

The sun was setting over the hills, setting the sky ablaze with reds and oranges. The first flickers of candlelight could be seen in a few windows. "You've been awfully quiet, Josiah," said Jack as the two men walked up the lane to the Varlet and Vixen. "Thinking of ways to spend your share of the windfall?" "Eh? Oh, sorry, Jack. Aye, it be one hell of a fortune we've got stowed away. Half of one of them chests would make a man's life easy for a few years, don't you reckon?" Jack looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear their conversation. "No question," he replied. "With that kind of wealth, I could seriously consider taking Harkness' advice. You know, go out on top while I can still enjoy life, instead of wondering if this is finally the morning my neck gets stretched?" "Speakin' of the Old Man, I wonder if he's still retired as it were?" "I've wondered that myself. It's been years since I've heard anything about him. Almost like he disappeared entirely. Wouldn't it be something to see him once more, and tell him about all this?" "He'd be proud of ye, Jack. Of that I've got no doubt. But I can't say as I see ye livin' the life of landed gentry or a gentleman farmer. The sea's in yer blood, mate. She'll always be first in that heart of yours, and don't ye doubt it!" "Rest easy, Josiah! In all the years you've known me, how long has a woman ever kept my head turned? Two days? Three?" "Five, but ye were too drunk to remember the first two days of it. So was she for that matter. So we'll call it three for sake of argument." "Fair enough, my friend!" laughed Jack as he opened the tavern door. "Here. Quartermasters and philosophers first." Jack and Briggs walked into the tavern. It took their eyes a few moments to adjust to the lighting provided by oil lamps and candles. The crowd this evening was a raucous one, filling the air with conversation and laughter. The Varlet and Vixen was cut above the rest of the dock taverns, but the crowd made it feel like any other ale house in St Lawrence. In other words, Briggs and Jack felt right at home. The little wench with the auburn hair came up to their table. "What will it be, gents?" "Irish whiskey, lass. We are celebrating our arrival in your fair port." Kate laughed, "Oooh, fancy words! Most would say, 'Rum, wench!' but thanks for the respect! I'll get it for you now. You've set me in such a good mood, I won't even spit in it," she said with a wink. As she walked off, Briggs' eyes followed her. "Not quite a redhead... but I'm willin' to overlook that." Jack laughed, "She is a looker. You two would make a dandy couple!" Briggs' face turned red which made Jack laugh all the more. Suddenly, a commotion erupted from the gaming table in the back of the tavern. "YOU'RE CHEATING!!" The words reverberated around the room and a drunken voice uttered them. Honour's face burned red with anger, "I am not! You just happen to be a poor player, Donovan, and a worse loser! And I can think of a few other things that you are terrible at! Beginning and ending in the bedroom." Jack and Briggs turned to see a loud-mouthed sot squared off against a strikingly lovely young woman. She refused to back down even though he was head-and-shoulders taller. Suddenly, the pirate hauled back and slapped her across the face. She put her hand up to her cheek in shock. Jack put down his cup, and stood to draw his pistol and intervene on her behalf. Josiah put a steadying hand on Jack's arm. "Careful now, mate. Are ye sure ye want to be steppin' in to this squall?" Before he could respond, Honour had recovered rapidly. She withdrew a ruby-inlaid dagger from where it had been nestled. Quickly she pointed it at the lout and said, "You can either go with your face sliced horizontally or vertically. But I guarantee your nose will suffer." Their faces were a few inches apart. "B*tch!" he spat. Still looking into his eyes, she threw the dagger down. And nailed his foot in his leather boot. He let out a scream of pain. Jared was there in an instant. Honour said with disdain, "Take this detritus out of here and make sure he never comes back." The patrons began cheering as he was escorted out of the tavern. Face first. She turned to the pirates and said a bit too brightly, "Gentlemen? A fifteen minute recess. Next round on the house to allay the inconvenience of delaying your game." The pirates ony heard 'next round on the house.' She willed herself to keep from tearing up due to the blow Donovan struck. Memories of Jonas Corwin and that brutal night she spent with him came flooding back to her. She walked over to the bar. Jack's eyes were locked on the captivating spitfire. He mentally took an inventory as was his custom when a woman of interest walked by. He could assess a woman's attributes and willingness to share them in a matter of a few minutes. She was a petite woman. Jack guessed her age at no more than twenty. Though she toiled as a common tavern girl, there was nothing at all common about her. She had an almost regal bearing that spoke more of a woman of privileged upbringing than a commoner, her small stature doing nothing to repress her commanding presence and lion's heart. She wore her mane of long blond hair free, save for a small portion she kept tied back from her lovely face with a black velvet band. Even her clothing set her apart from the other serving girls. The long, puffy sleeves of her gauzy white blouse gave her dress an almost gown-like quality. Despite the impracticality of such an expensive garment in her line of work, it suited her perfectly. Coal black stays accentuated her womanly charms and slender waist. A matching black skirt, with a shorter green overskirt tucked into it and draped just so completed the picture. Jack quickly realized that her measured gait, that some might dismiss as a subdued strut, was due in large part to the leather boots she wore. No padding about in a pauper's cloth shoes for this jewel of a woman. His eyes surveyed her stunningly exquisite form, feasting on every delightful curve and line. Everything about her demanded attention, and she had Jack's fully. Men's heads turned as she walked by, their conversations trailing off into the aether until the voice of reason whispered to them that there was no point in trying to draw her attentions. This woman was out of reach for the average man. She had her standards, and they would not bend. She was unlike any woman Jack had encountered, and he knew at that moment he had to have her. Pouring herself an ale, she sat down and put the cool tankard to her cheek to keep the bruising down. Her hand was shaking. The tavern keep looked concerned at her. "You alright, Honour, sweetheart?" "I will be." "Amos--your sword, please." The barkeep drew his sword and she took the blade to look at her face in the reflection of steel. 'Wonderful', she thought. 'It will be a honey of a bruise.' "Amos? Could you please let Kate finish up dealing tonight?" He nodded solemnly. "You just sit there and calm down, darlin'." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Oh hell and tarnation. I know that look," muttered Briggs. "Please, Josiah. I'm just... admiring." "My arse. Sizin' her up is more like it." Jack shot him a pained expression. "You make me sound so uncouth." "Oi, if the shoe fits..." "Like you weren't with the serving girl?" "That's different." "How so?!" "It was me doin' it," smiled Briggs. Jack laughed and set his mug down on the table. "I think it's time I introduce myself to the young lady. You know, to make sure she's all right after that dust-up." "I dunno, Jack. I think she be more than a handful, even for you!" "Good thing I've got two hands, then." Jack gave his friend a wink as he started to walk her way. "Wish me luck!" "Luck, nothin'! I'll hate auctionin' yer effects before the mast. But it'll be one hell of a wake!" Honour heard soft laughter behind her. She turned and there he stood. Captain Jack Wolfe. His way of dressing wasn't pretentious. Far from it. But even with his eclectic choice of clothes, he cut a dashing figure. Over his white silk shirt, he wore a waistcoat of green brocade. Muted red linen breeches were tucked neatly into his well-worn brown leather boots. A wide belt served as a makeshift holster for an ornate Spanish pistol. Her eyes lingered on the elaborate weapon. It was the sort carried by noblemen or officers, and she couldn't help but wonder how he'd come by it. A cutlass peeking out from his dark blue frock coat completed the package. . His hair was brown, thick and unruly, tied back with a burgundy scarf. He had arresting eyes. Eyes that peered into your soul and could see straight through to your heart, as if all your secrets were laid bare before him. They were light brown with flecks of green in them. As if Poseidon himself had bestowed them upon him. They looked like the kind of eyes that could change as the sea. From a pool of tranquility to a tempest in the wind of a mood. His beard was neatly clipped and could barely contain the sardonic smile that graced his lips. A big plus was that he had white teeth. Not that they were white. But that he had them. And they were his own. He wasn't a tall man, neither was he short. Average. And that was about all that was average about him. Jack Wolfe was no ordinary tar. He was a captain. A pirate captain. From his very aura, you knew he was someone that commanded attention. Men sat up a little straighter in his presence. Women's breath came a little shallower. She wondered what he could do to your breath in a one-on-one situation. She shook her head out of her reverie, his voice intruding into her daydream. She cooly said, "Think it was funny?" "Not at all. I was just admiring your....spunk." She closed her eyes against the pain and winced a bit. "Let me see that," he said. She gingerly took the tankard away from her face and he touched it. "Aye! That renegade struck you fiercely, for sure!" She said quietly, "Occupational hazard." "You work here?" "I don't exactly hang around here for my health." "That ale won't help much with the pain." He signaled to Amos. "Whiskey. And keep it coming." "I'm not sure of this..." "Trust me." "Your name, please. I don't drink with strangers." "Captain Jack Wolfe of El Lobo del Mar. Ported this morning." "Ah, the Spanish ship. But for someone Spanish you look awfully English to me." She extended her hand and replied with the alias she took when she landed in Barbados, "Honour Bright. Tavern wench at your service." He took her hand, kissed it and said, "Miss Bright, I do hope to see much more of you while I am in port..."

Briggs scampered down the ladder like a powder monkey. He stumbled over the ballast stones in his haste to see what his captain had discovered. The quartermaster’s mouth fell open at what he saw. Jack had pried the side off one of the printing press crates. Inside were smaller crates, stacked three high and two across. Each crate was roughly two feet high and slightly more that than deep. One of the crates was resting on a smaller crate of coffee. It was about three feet long. Its lid was cast off to the side. Briggs stared at the contents. Dozens of white cloth bags were neatly stacked within, each labelled with accounting marks. Jack had split open one of the bags, revealing the silver and gold coins it contained. “Yeah, that's about the way I looked when I opened the crate,” said Jack. “But.... but how did you know?” Briggs stammered. “That's just it! I didn't. Curiosity got the better of me.” He leaned against a support beam. “I decided to take a look before turning the crew loose on the poor citizenry, in case I wanted to keep a few of them aboard to help move these things. When I cracked the big crate open, I was puzzled about what kind of printing press could be broken down into smaller piece. It's just not possible. Then I found these lovely, lovely coins.” Briggs picked up some of the coins and admired them in the light. “Guilders,” he said, just above a whisper. “How many crates, do ye reckon? Is this the only one?” Jack shook his head and picked up a pry bar. “Let's find out, shall we?” Together, Jack and Briggs partially pried open the three remaining large crates. Packed inside each one were six identical smaller crates, just like they had found in the first one. The two men looked at one another, and together they burst out laughing. “Well, souse me for a gurnet!” swore Briggs between bouts of joyous laughter. “It was right here under our noses the whole stinkin' time! Those Dutch bastards told us true! And here ye wanted to scuttle the lot!” “Aye, my friend! Thanks for once again saving me from myself.” Jack stroked the side of one of the crates. “It's all here. Everything we'd heard, and more.” “How many chests does that make it? Twenty-four? Hell, one would suffice for a simple man.” Jack nodded. “Twenty-four. Twenty-four chests of gold and silver, right in our hands!” “The men will think they're gettin' all their birthdays and Christmases all at once when they hear about this.” “No!” said Jack sharply. Briggs gave him a puzzled look. “Eh? What do ye mean, no? What of the articles?” “Damn the articles. They got their shares and more, including ours. No, Josiah. This is ours. The men think this is nothing but a lot of worthless machinery. Let them keep on thinking that.” A deeply troubled look came over Briggs' face. “I don't rightly know...” “Oh, come on, Josiah! Don't go and develop a sense of fair play on me! We're pirates, not ministers. We don't run a charity. Look, the men are happy. They're richer than they've ever been before. And now, so are we. Balance in the universe has been restored.” “All right, all right! Not a word to the men. I swear Jack, ye could talk a parson's wife out of her best pearls.” “Don't think I haven't! The dress, too. It was a good day.” He fetched a hammer and nails from a small toolbox hanging from the bulkhead. “Now, let's fill our pockets so we can nail these shut again. And remember, not a word to a soul. Not even Duckie yet.” “Not even to me own blessed Mum,” swore Briggs as he sought to fill anything in his clothing that could serve as a pocket. “And don't you let some tavern wench get ye to yappin, neither!” “Funny man,” said Jack. “ Here, hold this nail steady, would you?” A dishevelled man begging on the docks near El Lobo looked round at the ship in confusion when he heard a howl of pain an cursing emanate from deep within her. “Ye did that on purpose!” yelped Briggs. “Did not! It slipped.” “Slipped, me arse.” “Oh, enough with the frowny face. Come on, let's get his squared away.” Briggs gingerly held the nail in place and watched the hammer intently. Eventually he relaxed by the time they got to the last crate. “Well, I don't know about you, Josiah, but I feel like celebrating!” said Jack as he tossed the hammer somewhere in the vicinity of the toolbox it came from. “I know!” said Briggs. “Let's go to the Dog and Doublet. I do fancy that place.” “You fancy that redhead who slips you extra drinks and the occasional peep down her bodice. No, I had a different place in mind.” “Where's that?” “The Varlet and Vixen,” said Jack with a gleam in his eye. “They have gaming at cards, and I'm feeling particularly lucky today!”

Briggs squinted uneasily into the Caribbean sun as he tried to collect his thoughts. The ship was docked in St. Lawrence, and the crew were anxious to go ashore and start spending their money. But before they could, they had to endure the requisite liberty speech. Normally it would be Jack delivering the speech, but no one had seen him since El Lobo had nestled securely into her quay two hours before. All eyes were on the quartermaster. Exactly where Briggs didn’t want them. The men were anxious to get off the ship and were becoming vocal about the delay. Finally, Briggs cleared his throat and hoped he could remember all the points. Jack could rattle them off blind drunk, and often times did. “All right, ye tarry jackals, listen up! First off, has anyone seen the captain?” The men muttered among themselves. One crewman decided to offer up a theory. “I’m bettin’ ‘e went ashore early as to get first crack at th’ best girls!” he yelled. “Ha, aye!” said another. “’Cause ‘e knows we’ll be keepin’ ‘em busy enough!” “All right, that’s enough!” said Briggs. “Then it’s down to me.” He drew himself up and took a deep breath. “We’ll be in port three days, and three days only!” The men began to grumble at this restriction on their time. “Aw, quit yer bellyachin’! Not a one of ye will have two shillin’s to rub together after the second day. So if ye ain’t here for any reason when this ship sets stern to this here port, ye be out of luck. We come back for no man, and any effects ye leave behind will be auctioned before the mast. If ye land in the gaol house, ye best have money for bail or a soft-headed mate that does. If ye managed to up and get yerself killed or press-ganged, well, it’s been a pleasure sailin’ with ye!” The men chuckled, some a little more nervously than others. All these things were a distinct possibility, and no man wanted to be left behind with only the shirt on his back. Or dead. “Any man wantin’ to part company, see me after this and we’ll get ye squared away. Now remember, ye have three days! Make the most of it, lads. I’m sure the women will be happy to see ye.” A raucous cheer went up from the crew, and Briggs signalled for the gangway to be lowered. The men swarmed off the ship and into the town with pockets, bags, hats, and anything else they could use bursting with swag. They knew Briggs was right. In two days or less, they’d all be penniless once again. But they didn’t care. Why save money for tomorrow when there may not be one? Briggs watched the men file off the ship, and grunted with satisfaction when he saw there were no stragglers. It’s not that he particularly cared if a man wanted to leave the ship. That was a normal part of life at sea. But for every man they lost, it meant recruiting work for the quartermaster. He already had to find replacement for the men who died or became crippled when they took the Utrecht. That there would be no additional burden was a welcome relief. He pulled a rag from his pocket and mopped his brow. It was going to be a steamy tropical day. The kind of day that was better spent in a tavern with pleasurable company. Briggs walked down the steps to the weather deck and began to make his way to his quarters. A tangle of ropes that hadn’t been properly stowed caught his eye. He cursed under his breath and went to coil the ropes. As he passed the hatch to the main hold, something else caught his attention. “PSSSTT!!” “Eh? What?” said Briggs, looking for the source of the sound. “PSSST! Briggs! Down here!” The loud rasp was from none other than Jack. “Jack! I looked all over hell and gone for ye! What are ye doin’ down there?” “SHHHHH!!” replied Jack. “Keep your voice down! Are all the men gone?” “Aye, except for the watch on the quarterdeck.” “Good! Then get down here, just as fast as you can go!” “What for? What’s got ye so excited?” Jack help up his hand. It was full of silver and gold coins. “This!” Briggs’ eyes bugged. “Sweet blessed mother... on my way!”

That evening, Jack was sitting at the table in his cabin, looking over the preliminary inventory of cargo and booty taken from the Dutch ship. It was a more than respectable haul by any standards. The treasure, ranging from raw, mined nuggets of gold and silver to smelted bars to luxurious finery to various artefacts no doubt offered up by (or outright stolen from) the natives. A large cache of coins had been recovered from the ship as well. Add to it the expected proceeds from the sale of the calico, coffee, and spices, Jack was beginning to feel somewhat better about how this action had gone. He didn’t factor in the wine and beer the Dutchman was carrying. That would be long gone before they saw the shores of Barbados again. He toyed with the pieces of roasted chicken on his plate. The disappointment of not finding the promised riches aboard the Utrecht still weighed on him. He picked up a drumstick and examined it. “Duckie would tell me to eat you and quit brooding,” said Jack. “Eatin’ it’s a damn sight less unnervin’ to me than seein’ ye talk to it,” Briggs said. Jack blinked and looked up at Briggs standing in the doorway. Briggs was regarding his captain warily. “I didn’t hear you knock, Josiah.” He let the piece of chicken fall back to the plate. “Do come in. I’m sure you have more to say than my dinner does.” Briggs closed the door and took a chair across from Jack. He pushed a ledger sheet over to Jack’s side. As Jack reached to pick it up, he noticed his friend eyeing the meat he’d left uneaten. “Oh, have it. I was going to give it to the cat anyway.” “There’s times ye think more of that cat than ye do yourself.” “To be honest, there’s times I envy that cat’s life.” “Do ye now?” asked Briggs around a mouthful of chicken. “A life of lyin’ about, nothin’ to call yer own...” “No responsibility, a warm place to sleep, plenty to hunt, free run of the place, not to mention all the rum you want...” “All right, I see yer point. The little beggar’s got it good, a-piratin’ off pirates. But before ye start sleepin’ in the rafters, take a look at that final inventory. The men are already haulin’ the contents of the hold over to ours. Told ‘em they can’t touch a drop ‘til we’re under way. That seemed to motivate ‘em!” Jack picked up the ledger sheet and read it over as Briggs finished off the plate of food. His men had managed to find five more small chests heavy with coins, bales of tobacco, and some small casks of cognac. “Well,” smiled Jack, “Duckie will be pleased with the cognac. Well done with everything they found. Each man will go into St. Lawrence richer than they’ve ever been in their lives.” “And be just as poor as before after a couple days,” chuckled Josiah. “Ye still plan to share all of it out?” “Every last penny of it, Josiah. And I’m sweetening the pot by foregoing my shares. I owe the men that much.” Briggs frowned a little. “By all rights, they ain’t entitled to any more than what the articles say they get. Now, I know this action fell short of what ye thought it’d be, but ye needn’t cut yerself off to... never mind. Ye be the captain, and thy will be done.” “Go on,” said Jack as he poured them both some rum. “Let me hear your theory, Philosopher Briggs.” Josiah took his cup of rum and shifted uneasily in his chair. “It ain’t my place to say--” “Which has never stopped you in the past.” “All right, then. Jack, ye know the nature of this life. So do the men. How many times have we taken a fat merchantman only to find half a cask of rum and a hold full of ballast stones, or a Bermuda sloop heavy with swag when all we was after was sailcloth and nails? Sometimes fortune smiles on our scurvy hides, and most times it don’t. Why are ye puttin’ your thumb on the scales this time?” Jack sighed heavily and swallowed a healthy mouthful of rum. “Because, my old friend, those instances you mention were pure chance. Prey of opportunity. This is different. I hunted this one. Like a careful hunter stalking the proverbial white hart, I hunted this one down. I learnt her habits, her paths... Everything there was to know about her, I sorted the facts from fiction. So I thought, anyway. Now that I have her in my hand, what did I gain, really?” “A fine haul, by any standards.” “By normal standards. Will all that was promised, this is damned pathetic. If she’d carried a quarter of what was promoted as fact, I’d be set for life. I could have....” Jack’s voice trailed off. He drowned the rest of the though with another mouthful of rum. “Ye could have quit this life?” asked Josiah. He sighed and took a drink himself. “Well, hell, who wouldn’t, if ye had the riches of the Grand Mogul himself? That’s the lesson ol’ Will Harkness taught us, wasn’t it? Quit whilst ye be ahead?” Jack raised his cup. “To Iron Will. Wherever he is, I hope he’s happy.” Briggs raised his cup in kind. “To Iron Will. Ye know, there was another sayin’ he was fond of, right before runnin’ down prey. Can’t for the life of me recall what is was, though.” Jack put his cup down and folded his arms across his chest. “There are old pirates and bold pirates,” he intoned dramatically. ‘But there are no old, bold pirates.” “Aye, that’s the one!” laughed Josiah. “Ye even sounded a bit like the old man himself!” “Well, seeing as neither of us is going to join him in retirement, we should decide how to sell off this cargo.” Jack looked over the inventory again, and this time his mouth fell open when he read the final items. “The printing presses? You brought aboard the printing presses?!” Briggs looked into his cup. “I’m runnin’ a bit dry, here...” “Damn the rum! I told you I wanted those presses scuttled with the ship!” “That ye did. And, well, I figured ye were just blowin’ off steam and would change yer mind eventually. Didn’t want ye feelin’ regret for a decision made in anger and all.” Briggs glanced up to see his captain glaring at him, and he quickly looked back down again. “Mister Briggs,” said Jack slowly through gritted teeth. “Captain?” he replied, still not wanting to look up. “I have one thing to say about this blatant disregard for my direct orders.” “Now, Jack, ye needn't be pullin' rank on me--” “Thank you.” “Uh... come again?” Jack chuckled a little. “You anticipated – again – my imminent change of heart about those presses. I was going to ask you to transfer them if you hadn't already done it.” Briggs shook his head and began to laugh himself. “Ye were so mad ye couldn't see straight! I knew ye would come to your senses after Duckie got through with ye.” “Well, my friend, I hope I didn't disappoint!” “Nay, ye never do! But next time ye come across cargo ye don't care much for, hit it with a stick next time! Was anythin' broke?” “Just my pride. And I”ll take your advice, believe me!” “I'll believe that when I see it,” said Briggs. He took a sip of rum and settled back in his chair. “And just what have ye got planned for them presses? Openin' a book store? Printin' political pamplets? Or cookbooks, maybe?” Jack shrugged. “Haven't a clue. We don't even know it they're for books or VOC company script. I'm hoping books. Undermining governments by flooding their economy with useless money isn't my style. I prefer them rich and fat, because that's when they get lazy and we get rich. We'll worry about that when we get to St. Lawrence. But I do know what we're going to do right this very moment.” “Aye? What's that?” Jack reached under the table and brought up an oversized bottle of rum. “Tonight, my dear Josiah, we celebrate!”

"I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry," whispered Doctor Drake Gander to a young man who had just fallen asleep from too much pain and a healthy dose of laudanum mixed with thinned molasses. Duckie stood and looked with pity on the lad, from who he'd just taken what was left of the young man's arm and leg. "Two extra shares and a life as a cripple. I don't call that fair at all," he muttered. The surgery door banged open. Duckie's eyes screwed shut with the thought of more wounded being brought in for attention. Attention! More like selective butchering, he thought. He found himself wishing once again that medicine would one day advance from taking to giving in order to save lives. Without looking to see who came in, he ordered, "Just put them somewhere clear on the floor. There aren't any beds left. Thank your captain for that." "And would you have me lying face up or down?" said Jack. Duckie whirled around. "Oh, heavens! I'm sorry, Jack! I didn't mean..." "Oh yes you did. And you're right. But it is the nature of this business." "Still, I shouldn't-" "Save it, would you?" Jack limped to the chair by Duckie's writing desk and sat heavily. "Oh, what did you do to yourself? Get shot in the arse?" asked Duckie with a tinge of sarcasm. "And bleed all over your favourite chair? I know better. No, it's... more mundane that that." Duckie crossed his arms. "Do tell? By your limp, you hurt your foot." Jack's face coloured a bit. "I... I kicked something." "Something bigger than you?" "Yes." "Something more unyielding than you?" "Yes," said Jack through gritted teeth. "Something you didn't like finding?" "Yes. Can we dispense with playing twenty questions, doctor? And what makes you think I found something I didn't like?" "For starters, Jack, you're stone sober. If it had been what you were after, I'd find out about this in two or three days. You're not drunk, you're not happy, and you're complaining about a sore foot. One does not have to be a deductive genius to see this engagement went sour. Let's get that boot off." "Damn you and your Oxford intellect," groused Jack has he gingerly pulled off his boot. "Don't give me that," said Duckie. "You could have matriculated half a dozen times before you quit. But no, you needed more. Now, what did you do?" "I kicked a crate." "A crate of what? "Printing presses," Jack muttered. "Come again?" "You heard me! Printing presses!" Duckie sat down on the floor and dissolved into laughter. "You mean to tell me the grand treasure the Dutch were hurrying in was a way to print books locally?" "Beats the hell out of me..." "It did your foot." "Oh, shut it!" Jack extended his leg so Duckie could examine him. "Ducks, printing is expensive. Very expensive. The Dutch aren't so prosperous every citizen of a far-flung colony could afford books." Duckie took hold of Jack's foot and manipulated the ankle. "No, they're barely scraping by. The VOC see to that through heavy taxation." "So there has to be another purpose for those presses." Duckie moved on the the broader area of the foot. "Like what, do you think? You don't put something like printing presses aboard your most formidable ship, do you? It doesn't make sense." "Unless..." Jack paused for a moment. "What? Do you think they may be making a move toward paper money? No, that would be-- YEOUCH!!" "I think the word you wanted was 'insane', but I could be mistaken," said Duckie. He kept his head turned to keep Jack from seeing his smirk. "All right, you found what hurts. What is it?" Duckie bent Jack's toes one by one, eliciting no response. But when he pulled on one of the middle toes... "Damn it!" yelped Jack. "Which one is broken?" "None of them," said Duckie. "You merely dislocated one of them, and I set that to rights. Now, what do you intend to do with those printing presses?" "I'm of a mind to burn them with the Utrecht. What use are they to me?" "Well, I don't know... you could stash them at Castara and wait for the Dutch to replace what they think is lost to the depths. Then flood their economy with useless script. How better to bring an entire government to its knees than collapsing their economy?" Jack thought for a moment. "You mean, counterfeiting?" "No, I meant wallpaper. Yes, counterfeiting! Far less risky to life and limb of these young men than outright piracy." "Why, good doctor," snickered Jack. "You're beginning to sound like a proper pirate!" "A hazard of the company I keep. Foul and dissolute lot they are, let me tell you!" He handed Jack his boot. "Put this back on. My surgery smells bad enough as it is." Jack looked around the surgery as he pulled his boot back on. His foot was still sore, but the stabbing pain was gone. He gave a heavy sigh as he looked upon the wounded. "How many this time?" Duckie stood up and smoothed his clothes. "Sixteen. One of your less bloody actions, I have to say." "Thank you for pointing that out. You know I care about these men, Ducks." "Really? Answer me this, then." Duckie went to the bunk of the man he'd just sedated, who had lost his right arm and leg. He lifted the young man's head. "What's his name?" Jack's face clouded as he thought. An answer was not forthcoming. "See what I mean?" said Duckie. "You don't even--" "FRANKS!" said Jack. "Jeremy Franks. He's from Bristol. Aged twenty-two. Has a sister named Marjory. A girl he fancies named Stephanie. Oh dear God, will she even want him now?" Duckie's face drained. "I'm sorry, Jack, I didn't..." "Didn't think I care? Didn't think I give a damn?" Jack stared at the young man lying there. "Four shares. No! Five! I can't make him whole again, but I can make him rich," he spat. "Jack, just cool down a moment..." Jack shook his head. "No. No, not this time. I did this. This is a product of my ambition. And it failed. I owe him that much." He gave his friend a forlorned look. "I'm losing my taste for this game, Drake. Right now, it's ashes in my mouth. I don't like this." Duckie shook his head slowly. "I don't know what to tell you, Jack. But if it pains you that much, why continue on that course?" Jack laughed bitterly. "What, and give all this up?" "You could." "And put you out of a job? No." "It wouldn't break my heart, you know." "Yeah, but then you'd be back working for Renee." Jack straightened his waistcoat and sniffed. "There's work yet to be done, and I need you. Carry on, doctor." Jack closed the surgery door behind him. Duckie shook his head mournfully. "It doesn't take a genius to see it's not in you any more, Jack," he whispered. "May God grant you the wisdom to see it for yourself."

They arrived in the belly of the vessel to find half a dozen men standing guard over the contents of the main hold. Every trick known and a few Jack had never seen before had gone into making sure the Utrecht could hold as much cargo as possible without sinking. That a ship its size could carry so much and still be nimble was amazing to him. The lower gun deck, which typically ate up a good portion of the hold’s vertical space, had been reduced to little more than enclosed catwalks on either side of the ship, scarcely wide enough to contain a recoiling gun. Jack marvelled at the engineering that had gone into the construction of the mighty Dutch ship. Suddenly, he wasn’t the pirate victorious surveying his prize, but the son of a shipwright in awe. “I’m sorry I had to kill you,” Jack thought to himself. But any further remorse would have to wait. Treasure first, introspection later. “Clear the hold,” he ordered his men. They climbed the ladder in turn, leaving Jack and Briggs by themselves. In the centre of the hold amid boxes of coffee and wine and bundles of linen and calico were six large crates, the four biggest lashed together and covered in tarpaulins. The two smaller ones had “Bezit van de Schatkist van het Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie”, “Property of the Treasury of the Dutch East India Company”, stencilled on the side. Jack patted one of them like one would a horse being considered for purchase. “Safe bet these are the treasure destined for the voyage back to Holland,” Jack said quietly. “But these...” He walked around to the shrouded crates. “These are what we are really interested in. Give me your knife.” Briggs retrieved a formidable looking blade from his belt and handed it to Jack. “Well, ye can rest sure that I’m interested in them first two as well,” laughed Briggs. Gold and silver be gold and silver to me. I ain’t particular.” Jack ignored him. Instead, he kept looking at the covered crates as he turned the knife over and over in his hand. Would it be what he hoped and dreamt of? Years of work had gone into this moment. It had to be the payoff of those efforts. It just had to! He took a deep breath and slashed the ropes holding the the corner of one of the tarpaulins in place. Jack grabbed the heavy canvas and pulled it back from the crate it concealed. “No....” he whispered. He stared, dumbstruck, at the single word stencilled on the crate’s side. The knife slipped from his fingers to clatter against the ballast stones. “Drupkers,” it read in bold lettering. “Ye be better at languages and such than I. But whatever it says, I’m guessin’ it ain’t ‘more treasure than what ye know what to do with’,” said Briggs. Jack continued to stare in disbelief. “Printing presses,” he managed to say, but it came out as a mumble. Briggs stepped closer to his distraught friend. “I couldn’t hear ye, Jack...” “PRINTING PRESSES!!” exploded Jack. Briggs flinched as Jacks’ crushing disappointment flashed to rage. “Printing god-damned presses?? You have to be kidding me! Years of work and planning, and for WHAT?! So I can print bloody pamphlets in bloody Dutch??!!” He picked up a ballast stone and hammered it against the side of a crate, starting low and working his way up. Every strike returned a solid thud as one would expect from a container of heavy equipment. The Dutch commonly parcelled monetary shipments into sacks containing a certain amount of gold or silver, which would have left a void near the top of the crate. There was no such hollow space to be found. He kicked a crate hard in his anger, but the crate did not yield. Something in his foot, however, did. “OW! Damn it!” he yelped. Jack paused long enough to regain a little composure before turning to Briggs. His face was red with fury and humiliation. “Finish securing the ship,” he ordered through gritted teeth and ragged breaths. “Then strip it of anything of value. Cargo, personal belongings, food, I don’t care. Then I want the two treasure crates shared out with the crew. Every last bit of it. I owe the men that much for taking them on this wild goose chase.” Jack walked to the ladder, trying hard not to limp. “Aye, it’ll be done. She’ll be stripped of her name and ship’s bell before we rig for towin’,” said Briggs. “No. I want her burned.” “She may be a derelict now, but she’s still worth somethin’ once we have her condemned in St. Lawrence...” “No!” snapped Jack. “She burns. No debate this time, Josiah. And the damned presses burn with her.” He began to climb the ladder. “Where are ye goin’?” asked Briggs. “Don’t ye want to inspect the rest of the cargo?” Jack stood on the ladder, a beaten look on his face. “I’ve seen enough. You take it from here. I need to go back to El Lobo.” Josiah shook his head. “So they got one over on us. Fat lot of good that did ‘em! We’ve got their best ship! It ain’t the end of the world.” “It’s not that,” said Jack as he began climbing again. “Well, if it ain’t yer wounded pride, what in the name of mother’s milk is it?” Jack clenched his teeth. “I think I broke my bloody foot, if you must know!” Briggs tried to stifle a laugh, and partially succeeded. “All right, Jack. I’ll take care of things here whilst Duckie gets ye fixed up.” Without another word, Jack began climbing again. The quartermaster waited until his captain was well out of sight before allowing himself to chuckle. “With that Wolfe temper, it’s a wonder he ain’t broke every bone in his body,” he said quietly. He looked around the hold and began a rough inventory of the items there, marking each box, crate, bundle, and cask with a piece of chalk to indicate what was to be transferred to El Lobo. Including the printing presses.

Together, Briggs and Jack boarded the captive Dutch ship. With their captain aboard, Jack’s men began to focus more on securing the ship and a little less on lining their pockets. Even though the ship’s articles strictly stated that not even a shilling of the spoils would be concealed from the rest of the crew by any man, he allowed some latitude for personal gain. A gunshot was heard from the forecastle, probably one of his men rounding up the last of the Dutch crew taking refuge in the forward crew spaces. One less prisoner to worry about, thought Jack. “You there!” yelled Briggs at three men gathered round a chest trying to pry off its lock. “There be plenty of time for that later! Make yerselves useful and put out them fires, quick like! Damn fools,” he groused. “They’d let this whole ship blow to hell under their feet tryin’ to get one coin out of a lockbox.” “Now, now, Josiah,” said Jack. “It wasn’t long ago that we were the ones scraping for that last bit of shine before Harkness could set his hobnail boots on deck.” “Well, ain’t we all philosophical, now that ye’ve taken the mother of all prizes?” Jack’s jaw tightened as they walked toward the large cargo hatch that led down to the main hold. “All we’ve got so far is a wrecked ship and the promise she’s carrying a king’s ransom,” he said. Though taking the Stad Utrecht was a noteworthy accomplishment in itself, he would consider the entire enterprise a failure if the wealth of the VOC wasn’t nestled in her belly. He threw a leg over the lip of the hatch and stepped on to the ladder. “Shall we? The suspense is killing me.” “Right behind ye, Jack,” smiled Briggs reassuringly. Where Jack was filled with the trepidation that he could have been misled, Josiah was brimming with faith in his friend. They descended the ladder, passing through the main gun deck as they went. Jack regarded the broken guns and dead bodies that littered the deck in quiet dispassion. Damage and casualties aboard El Lobo had been surprisingly light. Not so for the Utrecht. Jack tried to find an ounce of pity for the fallen men. But there was none in him to be had. Briggs let out a low whistle. “What a mess,” he said as he surveyed the damage. “They went down fightin’, I’ll give ‘em that.” “For king and country. Or king and Company, is more like it. A poor career choice in the end.” “They probably said the same of us when the fight started. But they’re dead and we ain’t. That’s what matters most,” said Briggs. Jack made a non-committal noise and continued down the ladder. Briggs closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for the dead before following his captain down.

Smoke swirled in the air, carrying with it the smell of burnt oak and pitch. Jack Wolfe walked along the weather deck of his ship and took the sight that lay before him: the hopelessly crippled Stad Utrecht. Shattered, smouldering wood littered her weather deck. The mainmast was gone, having been smashed down by chainshot by El Lobo's gunners. The broken foremast lay across the deck, hanging halfway over the starboard side when the mainmast fell and pulled it down as well. The sails of the mizzen were little more than tattered shreds flailing uselessly in the wind. Jack couldn't help but smile with pride. The mighty treasure ship, the pride of the Dutch East India Company, was a useless hulk. And it was his doing. His trap had worked perfectly. El Lobo lay patiently in the strait between Aruba and Bonaire, waiting for the Stad Utrecht. Once the treasure ship was full into the strait, the only easily navigable route between the two islands, she had nowhere else to go but into the teeth of El Lobo del Mar. Jack's attack was systematic; stay out of the reach of the Dutchman's guns as much as possible, and take her apart piece by piece. Gunners concentrated their fire of grape and chain on the treasure ship's sails, robbing her of canvas to catch the wind. Once she was hobbled, they focussed on the main deck, using grape and bar shot to clear the deck of personnel. The demoralising effect this had was evident as the Dutchman's return fire became sporadic and disorganised. El Lobo's gun crews then poured fire into the sides of their prey, disabling her guns and her gun crews. Finally, Jack ordered the taking of her mainmast, and took with it any hope the VOC ship had for escape. Still, the Dutch captain would not surrender. Their remaining guns still hurled iron at the pirate ship. El Lobo managed to evade most of the shots as she worked ever closer to the crippled Dutchman, returning her own withering fire. The Dutch captain commanded his crew to fight to the last before he himself was carried away by a cannonball. And fight they did. Even after the pirate ship pulled along side and the marauders boarded, the men fought. But the pirates were too many, too determined for them to resist for long. "Look at that, would you, Josiah? Isn't that beautiful?" "Aye," the quartermaster said quietly. "Ye took a hell of a gamble, Jack. And God blind me if ye didn't win once again." Jack looked at his friend. "You sound almost like you were hoping this wouldn't work." Briggs shook his head. "No, I'd never wish failure on ye, Jack. Ye know me better than that. But if ye be right, as ye usually be... this could change everythin'." "What, money?" scoffed Jack. "Money changes nothing and no one. If anything, it reveals who they really are." "There's my point. Ye can trust the starvin' man. The man what wants not... who is he beholden to? Bestow that manner of wealth on these black-hearted tars, Jack, and what can ye do with a crew what don't need ye for their next meal?" Jack bit his lip as he watched his men aboard the Dutch ship blasting or hacking open every box, every chest, and going through the pockets of the dead for anything they could find. "It would upset the order of things," he mused. "Them wheels in yer head be turnin', I can tell." "Just weighing options. We don't even know if there's an ounce of treasure aboard her. Time to go aboard and see, eh? Then I'll worry about how rich anyone will become. Including myself."

The two ships rode at anchor scarcely two hundred yards from one another in the shallower waters off a tiny uninhabited island, their sleek black hulls glistening in the sunlight where the gentle swells of the sea touched them. There was no mistaking these vessels for merchantmen, though their holds were spacious; they were not military ships, though they bristled with weapons. These were ships that belonged to the wolves of the seas. They belonged to pirates. A longboat was lowered to the water from the three-masted brigantine. Her crew clambered down the side of the ship and began rowing toward the other vessel. One man near the front of the boat sang a lewd shanty to set the pace for rowing and ensure all the men with oars pulled in unison, and they would answer back during the choruses. One man sat quietly in the middle of the boat, watching as each stoke took them closer to their destination. In ten minutes time, they were alongside the swift black frigate with a rampant wolf as its figurehead, El Lobo del Mar. A sharp knock on the great cabin's door brought Jack's attention back from the book he was reading. He looked up as Briggs opened the door and stepped inside. “Our guest is aboard and waitin' to see ye as ye asked, Jack.” “Ah, good!” said Jack. “I was beginning to wonder if he was going to accept my invitation. He runs on his own schedule, anyway.” “Why shouldn't I?” asked James Blake as stepped through the door. “I sailed three days out of my way to meet you here in the middle of nowhere. It's a good thing you sent a map. No one else has ever heard of Sand Crab Spit.” “That's because I made it up,” smiled Jack. He filled a glass with rum pushed it to Blake before refilling his own. “I didn't want unexpected company.” “Not a terribly imaginative name,” said Blake. Jack shrugged. “How many islands have you run across named Tortuga this or Tortuga that?” “Too damned many, and almost none shaped like a turtle. Briggs, you joining us?” “Aye, for supper,”the quartermaster said. “Right now I got repair work to key an eye on. I'll leave ye to business, Cap'ns,” he said as he closed the door behind him. “That Briggs is all work and no play,” Blake said. “He's got plenty of play once he spies a redhead. Like bloody catnip to him. The ship could be on fire and his arse with it, and he'd never notice.” Blake couldn't help thinking back to the blond tavern wench he'd met in the port of St Lawrence and how she almost – almost – could make a man forget about the sea. “Depending on the woman,” he said, “I can see how he'd be distracted.” “Blimey,” exhaled Jack. “Fess up. What's her name?” Blake picked up one of the books on Jack's desk. “Socrates. Still reading this long-haired stuff, eh?” “Halfway down to me bum. Now give. Who is she?” “What makes you think there's anyone?” “That mysterious smile of yours, James. The one you always get when you're keeping something secret.” “I smile a lot.” “You keep a lot of secrets.” Blake put the book back down. “You wouldn't care for her. Not your type.” “I like all kinds of women. Try me.” “She's got class, and a lot of it. And she's not married.” Jack burst out laughing. “You're right! Where's the excitement in that?” Blake's enigmatic smile grew a bit. “See? Told you she's not one you'd fancy.” He found himself thinking again of how the golden cascade of her hair smelled, and the delicate passion of her kiss. Honour Bright was proving to be a delightfully lingering memory. Blake took a sip of rum as he pushed thoughts of her aside for the moment. He knew from experience how underhandedly Jack could manipulate a distracted man. “You didn't bring me all this way to talk about my love life, Jack,” he said, regaining a businesslike demeanour. “What's the mystery?” Jack swirled his glass and watched the dark amber liquid travel round and round. “What do you know about the Stad Utrecht?” “The Dutch treasure ship? I know she's fast and heavily armed. Only a fool would try to engage her in open water, if they could catch her at all.” Jack's answer was a coy smile. “Oh, no,” said Blake. “No, no, no. Not even you are crazy.” “I'm taking her, James. And right in their own waters. I want you to join me.” “You've really gone round the bend this time, Jack. It's suicide! Unlike you, I'm in no hurry to die.” “Will you at least hear me out before dismissing the notion altogether?” “All right,” sighed Blake. “Entertain me.” Unfazed, Jack spread out a map of the Dutch islands Aruba, Bonaire, and Curaçao. “I have it on good authority and confirmed that the treasure ship will come in through here, bringing with it the year's operating capital for the VOC. They'll port here,” he pointed at Curaçao, “at Willemstad, where they'll pick up the past year's profits. Then they will travel to Oranjestad on Aruba to leave the operating monies.” “Wait, just wait a moment,” said Blake. “That can't be right. You have to have been lied to. There is no way they'd do things in that order. It's completely backwards from the way anyone sane would think.” “Exactly,” grinned Jack. “They rotate the pick up and drop off ports so no one can easily plan a raid. It's worked well for them for years. Why should they worry, then? They've gotten arrogant.” “They have the advantage of home waters. Not to mention the constant patrols of VOC and pirate hunter ships, and I'm sure that ship will be escorted.” “Ah, but they aren't! No one has been able to catch or successfully engage her, so they feel she has no need for escort. Unnecessary expenditures. You know the Dutch.” Blake shook his head. “How can you be so sure this will work?” “We're--” “I haven't said yes, Jack.” “Fine. I intend to lie in wait here,” Jack said, pointing to a spot between Aruba and Bonaire, “and ambush them when they make the turn for Oranjestad. They'll have to slow to make the approach. Then I'll have them.” Blake looked long an hard at the map, mulling over Jack's plan. It was risky. Hell, it was insane. But Jack had a way of making insane plans work. There was one more piece of the puzzle he needed to know. “Is that the only reason you believe this can work?” Jack shook his head. “Of course not. Bonita has seen that it will work. She read the bones for me again before I left her and Cade at Castara to get things ready there. That's all the guarantee I need.” Blake put his glass down and stood up. “I hope she's right, Jack. I really do. But you know I refuse to put my trust in her ways. It's unnatural, and I'll be no part of witchcraft.” “Oh, James, please. This is no time to be provincial. It's as good as ours!” “I'm sorry. But I can't.” He turned and walked for the door. “Good luck, Jack. I hope, for your sake, she's right.” “Where the hell are you going?” Jack demanded. “You're passing up the opportunity of a lifetime!” Blake's enigmatic smile returned. “Back to Barbados. I have some unfinished business there.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Fine then. Leave! And give my regards to Miss Classy Arse!” “Oh, I shall, my friend. Once we've gotten... sufficiently reacquainted. Good luck, Jack.” Blake closed the door behind him and began the walk topside. He knew he would potentially be missing out on a tremendous haul, one that could make him incredibly rich for the rest of his life. But the risks were too great for such a cautious soul as he. Add to it the involvement of the witch Bonita, and it became an endeavour too dirty even for his hands. To be honest, there was only one prize on his mind. One that he could not help but think of to the point of distraction. A golden-haired beauty named Honour Bright.

"I must be out of my mind to leave Bonita alone with Korteweg," groused Jack as he spread out some charts of the southern Caribbean on the large table in his cabin. He scribbled down some hasty notes from the conversation with Korteweg, still muttering to himself. "If I had a farthing for every time I've let that woman talk me into something... never mind, I do. More like ten for every time. Still, I must remember to count his fingers next time I see him..." He poured himself a large tankard of rum and began going over his notes, comparing them to the maps. The route the Stad Utrecht would take was indeed out of the way, but it wasn't a stretch to see her speed would make up for the extra distance. But an intercept in open waters was risky. One faulty manouever on Jack's part, and the prey could take the wind and run before he could correct his mistake. No, to catch this prey, he'd have to do the thing they'd never expect: attack in her own waters. Jack went to the bookshelf and pulled out a large leather-bound book containing detailed maps, or rutters, of various islands, inlets, and estuaries. He selected the rutters for Aruba, Bonaire, and Curacao, carefully spreading them out on the table. Notations in the margins reminded him of perils in those waters beyond the natural hazards of shoals, reefs, and straits. The VOC ensured there were heavy patrols throughout the island chain thanks to their heavy influence with the monarchy. To make matters worse, the Dutch had adopted a policy of employing pirate hunters. They operated on the fringes, with small, fast, over-gunned sloops. They didn't care about making arrests. They got their pay for stopping pirates and their trade, no matter what. Taking a healthy swallow of rum, Jack began to plan his most ambitious, and dangerous, trap ever. A knock came at the door, momentarily breaking Jack's concentration. "Go away!" he snapped. "Jack, it's Cade." "Don't care! Busy!" Jack didn't look up as the door creaked on its hinges. A handsome young man with light brown hair, tousled and sun-streaked with gold, and soulful green-grey eyes looked around the door. It was Cade Jennings, the young man Jack had rescued as a lad from the streets of New Providence years earlier and made his protege. Jack often jokingly referred to him as "the son he never wanted." But what a protege Cade had become! Piracy was second nature to him. He was especially adept at smuggling, both the mechanics and business side of things. Jack looked up, and did a slight double take. He'd never noticed it before, but there were times Cade bore a resemblance to his old friend Rhys Morgan. Maybe it because Jack had received word just two weeks before that Rhys was dead, murdered in the home of a nobleman back in Wales last Winter. That explained why Rhys never showed up in Barbados with his lady love. Hard to start a new life when you're dead. Jack silently cursed his old friend and business partner for following his heart and getting killed for it, just as he had warned. Jack shook his head and gave Cade a scowl. "Which part of 'go away, I'm busy' didn't you understand?" Cade laughed as he stepped into the cabin. "I'm here under orders of the good doctor. He says you need to take time out to eat something today." "Who says I haven't?" "Anyone who knows you. This is the third straight day I've had to remind you to take a meal." "The fourth," Jack corrected. "You've become quite the nag, Cade. Keep it up! You'll make someone a fine wife." "What can we say to get you to quit obsessing over that Dutch ship long enough to eat? You can't live off rum, you know." Jack looked up from the charts and pointed out toward the sea. "Tell me the Stad Utretch is tied up along side with her crew under guard. Then I'll worry about eating. After we're bloody rich. I don't have time to go topside for food." "I thought you'd say that," said Cade. He went to the door and retrieved from the floor a tray carrying a plate heaped with food. He put it down on the table in front of Jack, then stood back with his arms crossed. "Now you don't have to leave the cabin. Eat." Jack picked up a bone with a hunk of meat attached. "What's this supposed to be?" "Chicken, of course." Jack sniffed it and dropped it back on the plate. "Albatross is more like it. He killed the last chicken a week ago." Cade shrugged and took a seat across from Jack. He poured himself some rum and took a glance at the maps spread across the table. "Things went well with our Dutch guest, I take it?" "Better than I'd imagined," smiled Jack. He confirmed the route and timetable of the treasure ship, including her cargo and destinations. This is it, Cade. Finally, I will have her!" "Then what?" Jack gave Cade an uncomfortable look. "What do you mean?" "You'll be richer than you ever dreamt. We all will. You'll have netted the biggest prize ever. What's left after that?" "Retirement?!" snorted Jack. "Getting impatient for me to hand over the reins, Cade? How amitious of you." "You know what I mean, Jack. Most people would want to go out on top. It's only fitting for the career you've had." Jack took a sip of rum and thought a moment. "It's a tempting thought. But I still have a few scores to settle. A big pot of money would go a long way to that end." "Mendoza?" "For starters." Cade nodded. Jack had told him of his imprisonment by the dangerous Spaniard, and Briggs provided details of the rescue. He knew Jack wouldn't rest until he had revenge on Diego Mendoza. He also knew better than to get Jack talking about it. "I'm glad the Dutchman decided to cooperate," he said, to keep things on a more pleasant subject. "When do you want him and his crew released?" "I don't," said Jack flatly. "But, you said he gave you the information you wanted! Normally you take the best of their cargo and set them free." "This time is different, Cade. If I let them go, they'll race straight back to whence they came and tell everyone we're lying in wait. They're loose ends, and I hate loose ends. I haven't worked this hard to throw it all away in a fit of kindness. I'll put a crew of our men aboard their ship so she can complete her mission and get the letters to the Dutch governors." "Well, we can't keep their entire crew in our brig." "We don't have to." Cade gave his mentor a hard look. "You're not thinking of killing them, are you?" Jack took the ruler in his hand and slapped it down onto the tabletop in exasperation. "No, Cade. I'm going to do something I rarely ever do. I'm marooning them." He pointed at one of the maps. "There's an island three days sail from here, well out of the normal shipping lanes. It's lush, with plenty of food and no inhabitants. None I know of, anyway. Someone will find them in a couple of weeks. They'll be fine." Cade shook his head. "These are Dutch East India Company men. You honestly think they can survive on their own?" "Not my problem. It's not like I'm asking them to swim for it. If they can't shift for themselves, they'd best be fast learners." "I don't see a big difference between this and killing them outright." Jack closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Though he loved Cade like a son, he was often infuriated by the young man's bouts of morality. "I'm going to put this to you straight, Mister Jennings..." Cade shifted uneasily at Jack's sudden shift in formality. He'd pushed too far. The captain's hat was on. "You have a choice to make," continued Jack. "Either you're a pirate, capable of making the hard choices for your own benefit and your crew's that a pirate has to make, or you can be Saint Bloody Cade the Merciful and open up a bakery somewhere. You can't be both. Being a pirate means being selfish, being cut-throat. The quicker you lose this ridiculous conscience of yours, the better for everyone." He leaned back in his chair and regarded the young man across from him. "I thought I'd provided a better example for you, lad. This is very disappointing to me. I thought you were ready for bigger things. I thought this was the life you wanted." Cade could feel the heat of shame rise in his face. Jack was right. He wasn't thinking like a pirate, but like an idealist. In any other world, this would have been a good thing. But not in this one. Compassion and conscience were a liability, and mercy a passing whim. Ever since Jack had taken him under his wing, Cade wanted to be just like him. Jack had been a saviour, mentor and father to him. To hear disappointment in Jack's voice cut Cade to the quick. “This is the life I want, Jack,” he said, trying to keep his voice from wavering. “You've taught me how to be a good pirate, and I want to make you proud.” “Then start acting like it, Mister Jennings,” Jack said, not letting up on the pressure. He picked up the chicken leg and waved it toward the door. “On your way, then. I have planning, and eating, to do.” Cade closed the door to Jack's cabin and stood there in silence. Even though he was twenty years old, Jack knew just how to make him feel like an insecure little kid with the tone of his voice. He took a deep breath and began walking toward the weather deck. He kept hearing Jack's words over and over in his mind. And with every stride, his resolve became stronger. He did not want to be a pirate just like Jack Wolfe. He wanted to be better than Jack Wolfe.

September, 1653 It had been a full two years, maybe more, since Jack had heard a pub tale about a certain ship. A ship said to carry the entire year's profits of the Dutch East India Company's operations in the New World back to Holland. She was fast by any country's standards, solidly built, and heavily armed so she wouldn't have to be slowed down by escorts. Other pirates had tried to chase her down, but found themselves outrun, or crippled for daring to engage, or both. Her name was the Stad Utrecht. Jack originally dismissed the stories as just another sailor's yarn, because he saw no way the VOC could possibly be foolish enough to put all that treasure on one ship, no matter how fast or heavily gunned she was. Everything changed when he met a Dutch captain named Korteweg in a tiny pub on the island of Nevis. Korteweg was deep in his cups, bragging mightily about the wealth and power of the Dutch, and how they would one day rule the entire New World. Jack egged him on for laughs until the drunk Dutchman started boasting how no one had figured out that the Stad Utrecht took different routes at different times to a destination on one of the three islands of Aruba, Bonaire, or Curacao, known by mariners as the "ABC" Islands. All the silver and gold the Dutch accumulated during the year was melted down and re-minted into guilders and kroners. Less than two weeks before the Stad Utrecht was to arrive, a fast mail runner was dispatched to the islands, carrying letters to the three governors notifying them where the treasure would be picked up. The money would be quickly transported under heavy guard to the the appointed port, where the Stad Utrecht would swoop in like an eagle grabbing up its prey then head back out to sea. Jack couldn't discount the man's story; it was far too detailed. He had learned over the years to trust words of a drunken fool above those of the most sober priest. Priests were used to keeping secrets, where a drunk fool never knew when to shut up. He continued to ply the Dutchman with drink until the man couldn't string two words together. Jack asked a tavern wench for some paper and a pen and ink. He wrote down the specifics of the Dutchman's story while they were still fresh in his mind. It became his habit to refresh his memory with those notes whenever they dropped anchor at a port that had dealings with the Dutch, friendly or hostile. Talk among the crew had him obsessed with with a phantom ship, almost as obsessed as he'd become with a mysterious sealed chest he'd discovered aboard a French ship. But with Jack Wolfe, obsession and determination could be virtually indistinguishable. He came ever so close to finding out the Stad Utrecht's route when he was imprisoned by Diego Mendoza. One more thing added to the list of reasons to hate the vicious Spaniard. When he had regained his strength enough to return to the sea, he abandoned the lucrative hunting ground that had made him and his crew so wealthy to cruise waters Bonita "saw" were most likely to be taken by the Stad Utrecht. They took a ship here and there to put a few coins in the crew's pockets, but not so many as to dissuade the Dutch from continuing to use that road. The men were unhappy with with Jack's choices, but none dared part company and none dared complain too loudly for fear of drawing Bonita's evil eye. Jack's wild hunches and strangely inspired decisions had made them all rich men so far, so the crew grumbled in their bunks and hoped for the best. Finally, Jack's determination paid off. El Lobo intercepted a fast little Dutch mail ship named the Windhond, en route to the ABC Islands near the time of year the Stad Utrecht made its run. The Windhond tried valiantly to run from the pirate ship, but a series of well placed volleys of chain shot through their sails from El Lobo's bow guns made escape impossible. The Dutch ship surrendered without a fight and her captain was brought aboard El Lobo for questioning. He was taken to a stark little room with only two chairs facing each other in it. After a long wait, he found himself face to face with the pirate who had taken his ship, and a most unusual woman. "Are you comfortable enough, captain? I trust you weren't terribly mistreated whilst being escorted here?" asked Jack. The Dutchman gave him an incredulous look, then without answering tried to find a place on the wall to stare at. Jack smiled at Bonita, who sat on the floor with a small leather bag clutched in her hand. "I'll call it a yes," he said with a smirk. Bonita returned his smile, but went back to staring coldly at the Dutch captain. "You don't remember me, do you? Jack Wolfe, from Nevis?" continued Jack. He fanned himself with a couple pieces of stained paper. "Me, I remember faces. And I remember yours quite well, Captain Korteweg." Korteweg's eyes snapped back to Jack's. "How do you know me? I have never met you. I would remember meeting pirate scum like you." "Well, of course you don't remember. How silly of me. You were blind drunk! Drunk, and running your mouth." Jack held up the papers, well out of the Dutchman's reach. "But I wrote it all down. Every last bit of what you had to say about the Stad Utrecht. Wasn't that thoughtful of me?" Korteweg glared at him. "You are lying," he spat. Jack held the papers off to the side and began to read aloud. "Stad Utrecht, treasure ship of the VOC. Makes an annual run to deliver the year's operating capital and pick up the year's profits. Always preceded by a mail runner – that would be you – to the ABC Islands... Sound familiar, my friend?" The Hollander's face turned crimson with shame and anger, but he kept silent. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Now that your memory is jarred, when is the Stad Utrecht due to arrive?" "You have my ship," growled Korteweg. "If you think the letters are aboard, go find them." "Let me help you understand something, mate," said Jack calmly. "The more cooperative you are, the better things will go for you and your crew. So I'd like to hear the information from you, instead of trying to find the orange sealing wax to close those letters up again." "And if I refuse?" Jack shook his head. "That's where my lovely and talented friend Bonita comes in." Bonita gave Korteweg a wholly unpleasant smile, more baring of her teeth than anything else. Her eyes stayed cold and flinty. Korteweg snorted. "You would leave the, how do you say it? The dirty work, to a woman? You do not frighten me, Wolfe." Bonita slowly got to her feet, never once taking her eyes off the Dutchman. His sneer evaporated when he saw the long bone-handled knife in her hand. She circled behind him, stalking him. Korteweg began to sweat. "What-- what is she doing? Make her stop!" Jack shook his head pityingly. "You reap what you sew, mate. It's out of my hands." Bonita's knife flashed, and the Dutchman flinched as she came away with a hunk of reddish-blonde hair. She walked back to her original spot, casually turning the knife in her hand. "Dis tell Bonita all she need to know about de little Dutch man," she said menacingly. In one motion, Bonita slipped the knife back into her clothes and sat down on the deck. Then she pulled a long chicken bone from her pouch and tied the lock of hair around it. Once she was satisfied the knot was tight, she held the bone to her lips and whispered something, then let it fall to the floor. Korteweg watched her warily and crossed himself. "You did not say she was a witch!" "You're the one who wanted to be stubborn," said Jack. "Now, I'm not going to pretend to know what it was she just did, but it can't spell good news for you." "I bind him to de trut', so Bonita can tell if what he say be true, or lies," she intoned. "De bones reveal all, and bones no lie!" "There you have it then," continued Jack. "You have an opportunity to better your situation and tell me the truth. Or you can be stubborn, and suffer the consequences. And to help you better decide, she is the consequences. Her and her knife." Korteweg swallowed hard, and began talking freely. As the Dutchman spoke, Bonita rolled the bones over and over, announcing "Him telling de trut'" nearly every time. Only once did she shoot Korteweg a warning look, telling Jack, "Dere is much more him not telling." Korteweg sighed and divulged the information. He verified that the Stad Utrecht was indeed en route, scheduled to arrive in twenty days. She would be carrying money collected from some of the lesser outposts on St. Kitts and St. Eustasius, as well as the next year's operating capital. Her first stop was to be Curacao to collect the profits, then on to Aruba to deliver the operating money. The Dutch had become so secure with the speed and might of the Stad Utrecht and the safety of their own waters that they no longer felt the need for caution in handling such an incredible amount of treasure. "Thank you, Captain Korteweg," said Jack. "You've been most helpful. I'll make certain you and your crew are treated fairly." "You will let us go, yes?" Jack gave him an amused look. "Of course not! I may be called mad, but I'm no fool. A little vocabulary lesson for you, Mijnheer: 'treated fairly' does not mean 'released'. It wouldn't do for you to run ahead and warn everyone about my presence in these waters, now would it? I need you out of the way for a while, at least twenty days. Continue to cooperate, and I'll make sure the island we make you governor of is an hospitable one." Korteweg slouched in his chair, defeated. He had naively hoped in that his cooperation would buy the freedom of his men. To make matters worse, his first major assignment as a captain of the Dutch East India Company was a failure. "Oh, don't look so dejected," said Jack. "You and your men get to stay alive. That's something to celebrate!" "You are the Devil," said Korteweg bitterly. Jack shook his head. "I prefer 'entrepreneur', but we're just splitting hairs now. Keep your seat, captain. My men will be round to escort you to the brig. And there will be a guard on the door, so no use trying anything heroic." "Bonita will sit wit' our guest until de men come," she said quickly. "What?" asked Jack. "You-- no. No, come along. I'll post a proper guard." "De Dutchman, him already know him no match for Bonita," she countered, with a light in her eyes that made Jack uncomfortable. "Bonita too fast wit' de knife. And ot'er t'ings, too. If him know a man be outside de door, him will try to escape. De bones, dey show dis t'ing to me already." Jack sighed, knowing all to well it was useless arguing with Bonita if her bones were involved. "All right, all right! But you watch him, and that's all. Understand me? No mischief!" Bonita put her hands behind her back and gave Jack a self-satisfied smile. "Bonita be a good girl for Jack Wolfe. Him de captain, and him word final!" "Well, that was way too easy," Jack muttered to himself. "Whatever! I have plans to make. Captain Korteweg, it has been a pleasure. I'll see you later. Bonita, you stick to your promise!" He closed the door with a loud clack of its latch. Bonita waited until the sound of Jack's bootheels faded completely. She turned to Korteweg with a malevolent smile. "Now, Bonita have some questions for de Dutchman. And him gonna answer dem all, wit' de trut', or wit' him blood..."

Jack looked hard into his friend's eyes. "Rhys, our business venture has been wildly profitable. Just think of it; in less than two years, most likely sooner, you could be wealthy enough to set up a fine life for yourself and- what's her name again? Rebecca? No, that's not it. Not enough consonants." "Rhiannon. And I don't have that kind of time anymore, Jack" "Well, if she's half as in love with you as you are with her, she'll wait." "That's the problem. She's been waiting. I promised I'd be back in Wales by now to marry her. I'm months overdue as it stands," said Rhys longingly. "There's the problem with falling in love, my friend. It makes you lose your mind and rush off to stick your head in a noose." Jack poured them both some rum. "Where is your young bride to be? Still at home under her mother's wing?" Rhys shook his head. "Her mother died when she was a little girl. Not long after, her father sent her away." "To boarding school?" "To... a convent," fidgeted Rhys. Jack looked at him and blinked. "You're kidding." Rhys shook his head. "Wales is far more progressive than I thought. How does that work? You walk up to the door and ask 'I'm looking for a girl. How are you for blondes this week?'" "You can see now why I never told you this." Rhys sighed and rubbed his eyes. "We met on a hillside overlooking the harbour at Beaumaris It's up in the north of Wales." "I've been there, several years ago. Nice place. Never made it past the taverns, though. A shame, that. Sounds like the real treasure was in the countryside." Rhys ignored Jack's characteristically flip attitude. "Anyway, I was on a hillside, sketching ships and the water. To clear my head, you know? You've seen me do it a thousand times. She was there as well with her dog, writing poetry." "So one thing lead to another, and you showed her your etchings?" "We struck up a friendship, and it became much more over time." "So, what's the plan? Divest your holdings here, sail back home, and spring her from the convent? An elopement?" "Something like that. Lord Castlemaine would never agree to me marrying her." A look came into Rhys' eyes that made Jack pause. "Oh, please! You're going to steal her away from Sister Mary Monstrosity and Rhiannon's father? To think they call me mad..." "What would you have me do, then?" Jack leaned forward and looked his old friend in the eyes. "I'd say 'sod it all' and set my sights back on the Caribbean. Rhys, you've seen the incredibly beautiful women here. You'll forget about her in no time." Rhys shook his head. "You don't understand, Jack. Rhiannon is... she's everything. There's not a moment goes by that I don't think about her. I wish there was a way to make you understand why I have to go. But you've obviously never been in love." Jack paused for a moment mid-drink. "Don't be so sure of yourself, Cambridge." "Oh, right," Rhys laughed. "I've seen you in action, my friend. You don't let a woman get close enough. You see women as a diversion. Playthings. 'Unprofitable enterprises,' you've said before. I can no sooner see you falling in love that I can imaging my living without Rhiannon." "A bit of advice, Rhys. England is in turmoil. This Lord Castlemaine, he's watching his wealth and status evaporate in front of his eyes. Now you want to spirit away his daughter? He may not consciously think of her as a possession, but that's what she is to him now. One more thing to try and hang on to. A man in his position is dangerous. You keep down this path, you're likely to end up getting yourself killed. Or worse, heartbroken." "Rhiannon would never do anything to break my heart." Jack leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "She's really worth the risk? Worth walking away from this life for one of domesticity?" "Jack, if you even met her, even your ice cold heart would melt." "My heart's not nearly as icy as you think. All the same, I doubt it." Rhys finished off the last of his rum. "I'm sorry, Jack. I'm sure this looks like a foolish move, like I'm cutting and running. But it's something I have to do." "Of course it's foolish. But I have a soft spot for outlandish plans that haven't an ounce of good sense behind them. And while I am sorry you won't stay here, it's just that much more swag for me," smiled Jack. "It's been a good run, yeah? So when do you set sail for Wales to enact your grand plan?" "Tomorrow. It's going to work, Jack. It has to." "I'm sure it will," Jack said with mock sincerity. "It has success written all over it. Have you decided where you'll go once you rescue your damsel from the monsters? You'll need a place to start anew." "I have a few places in mind. Why, do you have a suggestion?" Jack stamped the floor with his heel. "Right here, in Barbados. Her father will never think to look for the two of you this far away from Wales. It's the perfect place to disappear and start a new life. In face, I'll personally guarantee your safety. Call it a wedding gift." "Thank you, Jack," said Rhys. "Don't be surprised when we show up on your doorstep." "And miss out on the chance to help Mr. and Mrs. Smith, the newlyweds? In fact, I'm looking forward to it."

Three weeks later... Rhys quietly closed the back door to Renee's house and looked around. Everyone was either in the front parlour or otherwise occupied, save Doctor Gander. He was sitting at the table with his back to Rhys, making notes in a leather-bound book. Not wanting to disturb him, Rhys turned to walk to the stairs. “Come to see Jack, Rhys?” asked Duckie. “How did you know it was me? You never looked up.” Duckie finished a notation and turned around in his seat. “You come here nearly every day to see him, and always at the same time.” “God, have I become that predictable?” “Everyone has routines. It's perfectly normal. But today is a bit different, isn't it?” Rhys' shoulders slumped a little. “Briggs told you?” “Of course. But don't worry, no one has told Jack. That's up to you.” “Lucky me. How is he today?” “Doing fine! In good spirits, as usual. Renee tells me he still cries out from night terrors, though. Not that he'll ever admit it. His body is healing exceptionally well. The psychological scars, however...” Duckie drew in a breath and sighed. “Time will tell. Wounds to the heart and mind can be just as devastating as wounds to the body. More so in some cases, because they are insidious. You can see a bodily wound, and that makes them simple to treat in comparison. I'm afraid we have yet to discover how much Mendoza really injured Jack.” “How do you think he'll take the news?” “If you're looking for the perfect time to tell him, Rhys, don't waste your time. It will never come. The question is, how much longer can you wait?” “I can't decide if you're a better philosopher or physician, Duckie.” “I'm just a simple healer, nothing more. Now, go tell him, before you talk yourself out of it again.” Rhys gave a wan smile, then turned and went up the stairs to Jack's room. Jack heard a knock at his door. Quickly, he set his book aside and got up from the bed. He hastily poured a glass of rum and took a seat at the table. “Come in?” The door opened, and Rhys stepped in. “Hello, Jack. Good to see you up and about.” “Rhys!” Jack exclaimed happily. “I was just about to indulge. Please, join me!” He poured another glass as Rhys sat down. “Duckie says I'll be strong enough to go back to the ship in a week,” said Jack. “God, I can hardly wait to be aboard her again! Now, I've been thinking – and trust me, I've had far too much time to do that – about what our next target should be. How does Guadeloupe sound? Poorly defended and not terribly rich, but enough of a statement to let the world know I'm back, and good as ever! What say you?” Rhys looked at his friend, and thought about Duckie's words. Jack was animated to the point of being almost manic. Rhys felt a twinge of pity for him, something he never thought he'd ever feel for this man. It certainly didn't make his next words any easier to deliver. “I'm sorry, Jack. I can't.” “What do you mean, you can't? Did your ship sink overnight?” “No,” said Rhys. “I hate to tell you this, I really do. But I have to leave.” “Nonsense! You just got here. Haven't even touched your rum.” “That's not what I mean, and you know it.” Rhys paused and took a deep breath to compose himself. “This is why I came back to the Caribbean in the first place. To tell you I'm leaving the life behind, for good. I'm signing over the smuggling business to you, effective immediately. Then I'm sailing home to Wales.” “What, you sailed all the way here to tell me you're homesick? Why didn't you save yourself the trouble and stay there?” asked Jack, his voice becoming agitated. “Because I had to do right by you. We're business partners and friends, and that means something. But now I have to leave this world behind, and go back home.” “What the hell is there that's more important than riches here?” Rhys took a sip of rum. “Rhiannon. She's all the riches I need.” Jack could scarcely believe what he was hearing. “Oh, of course. That girl you keep moping about. Rhys, mate! You know yourself there's a killing to be made there! The Spanish can't move fast enough to protect themselves, and the Dutch are becoming nearly as vulnerable.” He looked intently at Rhys and leaned forward. “I've been tracking Dutch East India Company shipping for several months now. Less the time I lost to that foolishness with Mendoza, of course. It set my timetable back, but I'm certain I'm on the verge of a major haul, too much even for me to spend in a lifetime if I play it right. And there's no one I'd rather share it with. It's the least I can do after you saved my life.”

Jack grinned. “Yes! I knew you couldn't pass up a good offer! There's only one problem.” “A problem? You're telling me now?” “It's your name.” She looked at him and blinked. “My name? What the hell is wrong with my name?” “Well, think of it. Pip Woolston. You'll need a fancier name than that. You can't run a proper brothel as Pip Woolston from Cornwall. People would be expecting sheep in the parlour.” “Listen here, mister minority stakeholder...” “All I'm suggesting – suggesting, mind you – is that we give you a name befitting your proprietorship, yeah? And the upside is that with a fake name, your parents would never be the wiser in the unlikely chance someone should walk into your dad's tin shop and start extolling the virtues of Barbados' bawdy houses.” Pip thought about it for a second, and burst out laughing. “All right, smart guy! What kind of name do you suggest?” Jack tapped his finger to his lips as he thought. “Something exotic, something madamely-sounding... something French. That's it! Madame Renee. Madame Renee de Bertrand. How does that sound?” “Ooh, I think I fancy that! Madame Renee de Bertrand. I do like the sound of it! What's it mean?” “Beats me, I just made it up!” “Well, I like it!” “Wonderful!” said Jack. “You'd best wrap things up here as soon as you can. We leave day after tomorrow.” Pip's mouth fell open. “Now, just a minute! This is awfully fast...” “That's when I sail, love. And if you're going to take this opportunity, you have to be aboard my ship.” “But, my parents... and Benny! Someone's got to look after that useless lump.” Jack looked at her sadly. “I'm sorry. I thought you were serious. It's a hard thing, really going after your dreams. Forget I asked.” He pushed back from the table and started to get up. “Wait!” she exclaimed. “I-- I do want to come along.” He settled back into his chair. “Then come with me. You'll be under my protection. The captain's woman. You'll be untouchable.” “The... 'captain's woman'?” “Yeah, didn't I mention? I've got my own ship! And it's magic. It's going to take you to your dreams, Madame Renee de Bertrand!” Renee smiled as she though back to those days, and how eagerly she grabbed hold of the chance Jack had given her. She pushed the last lock-box into place and ran her hand over the counter. “What, you going to hang about all day smiling at me, Josie?” she asked with a playful lilt. “Or is there something here of mine you'd like?” The entendre sent Briggs into a full blush, complete with nervous laughter. “Um, I, ah, no... I mean, yes!” he stumbled. “For Jack, I mean! He's in need of water, and the pitcher's run dry.” “Has it, then?” she asked. “I don't see a pitcher in your hands. Plan on carrying the water in your pockets?” A look of embarrassed shock came over Briggs' face. “Damn! I plum forgot to bring the thing! I'll go and fetch it.” “Hold on, love,” Renee said quickly. She picked up a fresh pitcher from the table and sauntered toward him, her eyes locked on his the entire time. Briggs watched as she approached, totally mesmerised, unable to look away from her. It was only after she pressed the pitcher against his chest that he remembered to breathe. “I know you're good for the other one. Not like I don't know where to find you, right?” “Oh, I'm pretty easy to find, for you anyway,” Briggs said absently. Renee smiled and gave him a wink. “Keep talking like that, Josie, and I'll take you up on it!” Briggs swallowed hard, and backed up. “Um, yes ma'am! I'd like that! I mean... I'd best get this up to Jack! Thank ye, ma'am!” He beat a hasty retreat up the stairs. Renee watched him as he went, and smiled to herself. “You know, Mister Josiah Briggs, I think I just might do that...”

Pip's eyes narrowed in disdain. “You idiot.” “Now that's not the Pip I remember,” he said with a hint of disappointment in his voice. “When did you become so judgemental?” “When I discovered you sold out.” “We need to talk, then.” “I'm busy.” Jack dug in his pocket and put some coins on the counter. “Here you are, Benny. She's done for the night.” Benny picked up the coins and rattled them in his hand. “It's a busy night.” Jack rolled his eyes and put a few more coins in Benny's hand. The tavern owner raised an eyebrow, then looked at Pip. “I think we'll manage. Off you go.” Jack took Pip by the elbow to lead her to a table, but she jerked her arm away from him. He held his hands up in acquiescence. “All right, fine, we'll do it your way.” Jack followed her to a corner table where it wasn't quite so noisy. She took a seat, and he sat down beside her. He tried to disarm her with his best charming grin, but Pip met him with a stony glare. “Well, this is cozy,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “Miss me?” “I thought you were dead,” she replied curtly. “You sound disappointed that I'm not.” Pip shook her head slowly. “I waited for you, Jack. Every morning I thought, 'This will be the day he comes strolling through my door with some wonderful story about where he's been.' You never did. And each day, it hurt a little more. Then I heard about your ship being taken my this Harkness fellow. They told me you were dead, and I went numb. Now, after all this time, just as I start to feel again, you finally come strolling through my door. How am I supposed to feel?” “Happy, perhaps? You find out after a year--” “Fourteen months, eleven days, and a handful of hours.” “-- fourteen months that I'm alive and well! I should think that would worth more than snarling at me. Or would you feel better if I had died?” “No, of course not. It's just that...” She took a deep breath. “It took a long time to let go of your memory, Jack. I suppose I'm in shock.” Jack gave her a quizzical look. “You... Pip, I had no idea you felt that way about me.” Her eyes went wide. “Whoa, Nelly! Don't get any ideas I was in love with you, sailor boy! I missed your library, that's all. Fine, our talks, too.” “That's all you missed?” he asked with a mischievous smile. “What about after the talks?” Pip's face turned instantly crimson, and she burst into giggles. “Yeah, I missed that, too!” But her laugher quickly faded, and she leaned on the table and rested her chin in her palm. “What happened, Jack?” Jack sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Like you heard, we got taken by pirates. By Will Harkness himself. Probably the most notorious pirate in the Caribbean. Certainly the most successful.” “You sound like you admire him.” “You'd be right.” “I don't understand. You hated pirates.” “I did. But some of the men told Harkness I knew a thing or two about ship building. I struck a bargain to help Harkness modify his ship in exchange for keeping Josiah alive.” Her face lit up. “Briggs is alive? Oh, thank goodness!” “He's done too much to keep my sorry hide safe, so I couldn't very well abandon him. But Will took me under his wing. And as irony would have it, I'm a pretty good pirate!” Jack laughed and shook his head. “Who'd have thought? But the life suits me, Pip. As strange as it may sound, I like it.” “If only those stuffed shirts at Cambridge could see you now!” “Oi! Oxford, thank you!” “I'm sorry!” she laughed. “I get those two mixed up!” Jack tilted his head and smiled. “I have missed you, Pip. Have you kept up your studies?” “Of course I have! Just because you were out of the picture didn't mean my dreams went with you. My eyes are still down the road, as my dad is so fond of saying. I just have to get my feet to follow.” “What would it take?” Pip gave him a suspicious look. “Some place far from here, with something I can call my own.” “Then I have just the thing.” “Oh, I have to hear this.” “During my travels, I managed to win a business in a game of dice. I haven't the foggiest what to do with it, and I don't want to go through the bother of selling the thing. What I need is someone to run it.” “I'll bite. Just where is this business?” “Bridgetown, Barbados. About as far away as you can get from Cornwall and still hear your mother tongue.” “And the nature of this business?” Jack shifted in his chair and looked at the table. “A brothel,” he said quietly. “Come again?” He sighed and looked her in the eyes. “A brothel.” Pip stared at him, open-mouthed. “Are you out of your bleedin' mind?! Me, a madame? What if my parents found out?” “It's over three month's sail from here to there. It's not like they can nip off round the corner and find you.” “I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted.” “Flattered! You were the first person I thought of.” “'Oh my, I just won a whorehouse. Whatever should I do? Wait! Pip would be perfect to run it!' Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm insulted.” “Oh, don't be so melodramatic. Frankly, I don't care what you do with it. Leave it a brothel, turn it into a coffee house, it doesn't matter. But think of it, love. It's something you can make your own, far away from here. That's what you want most, isn't it?” Pip crossed her arms and thought for a few moments. “How many other houses are there?” Jack fought back a smile. “Two. This one is supposed to be the classiest in all of Barbados.” She thought some more, tapping her heel as she did so. “The classiest, you say?” “The best.” “Hmph. It would be a shame to turn it into a coffee house if it's the best.” “That's entirely up to the proprietor.” “What's in it for you?” “A minimal stake. 15%. That keeps me a minority stakeholder, which means you, or whoever, calls the shots.” “I'd get free run?” “Totally free. And at 15% share, I can assure you stay afloat.” “So you're saying I can't lose?” “Now would I let that happen?” Jack smiled. “You're making this sound very enticing.” “What a relief! I meant to.” Pip thought about it a bit more, then hit the table with her open hand. “Let's do it.” “What, right here? In front of all these people? The scandal!” “Be serious for half a moment, could you? I mean yes, I'm accepting your business offer!”

Fourteen Months Later... It was a muggy June evening, and the Dog and Doublet was standing room only with patrons. The harbour was choked with a dozen or more ships, and it seemed as if every sailor had descended on this one tavern. Laughter and loud conversation filled the air, competing with the off-key stylings of a drunken fiddler. Nobody knew who he was or how to get him to stop playing, so the general consensus was to let him keep drinking until he couldn't hold on to his fiddle any longer. Pip made her way through the pressing throng as quickly as she could, her face only a few shades lighter than her hair. Once she got to the bar, she slammed her tray down, glaring at it with gritted teeth. "What the hell's got you in a snit?" asked Benny. Pip ignored him and looked over at Grace, who was filling some tankards with ale. "I swear to God above, the next tarry son of a whore that pinches my bum or tries to grab anything else is gonna get his teeth knocked out!" "They're a grabby lot tonight, that's for certain!" agreed Grace. "It's like a bloody sea of hands out there!" said Pip. "And if they're not grabbing low, they're pawing high. I've never seen it this bad!" "Oh, quit your complaining," Benny said. "You're making plenty of tip money, yeah? What's a little pinch or slap?" "I'd like to put you in a dress and shove you into the middle of them," grumbled Pip. "You'd sing a different tune!" Benny threw up his hands. "What do you want me to do? Throw them all out for being men?" "You could be a little sympathetic for a change," said Grace. "All right then. I'm sorry you got your bum pinched in the line of duty. Feel better?" "Yeah, I feel right cheery about it now," laughed Pip. "God, you're useless!" "I don't know," teased Grace. "I think he'd look pretty in a frilly dress and pigtails. And this lot is so drunk, they'd never know the difference!" Benny tried not to look uncomfortable at being the butt of their joke as Grace and Pip laughed and giggled. But Pip's laughter was cut short as a pair of arms snaked around her waist from behind and pulled her backwards into their owner. She could smell rum on his breath, and could feel the butt of a pistol poking into her. At least she hoped it was his pistol. "'Allo, lovely," he said in a boozy slur. "How I've missed you!" Pip pulled away from her assailant, grabbed her tray off the counter, and swung it hard against the man's head with a loud crack. He stumbled backward holding his face in pain. "Damn it, Pip!" he howled. "I was trying to say hello!" Her mouth fell open, and she dropped what was left of the tray to the floor. That voice! She knew it. But it couldn't be! "J- Jack? Jack Wolfe? Is it you?" she stammered. "Who the hell were you expecting? King Charles himself?" Jack straightened up and checked his nose to see if it was broken, then worked his jaw. "Whoever said only goodbyes are painful never met you!" "JACK!" she shouted joyfully, and launched herself at him. Jack quickly found himself on the receiving end of a warm and lingering kiss. "Did you miss me?" he asked breathlessly. Pip promptly slapped him hard across the face. "What was that for?!" "For dying, you jackass!" Jack gave her a puzzled look, and pointed back over his shoulder. "Know what? I'm gonna go out and come back in, and maybe you'll start making sense. Where in the world did you ever get the idea I was dead?" Pip stood with a fist planted on her cocked hip and glared at him. "First, your ship doesn't show up when it was supposed to, leaving everyone, including my dad, scrambling to find buyers for their tin. Months go by, and not even so much as a letter from you. Then two men came in, talking about how the Laura Anne was taken by some pirate named Steely Pete Harper, or something..." "Iron Will Harkness," Jack corrected. "Like I give a damn?" she snapped. "They said that any man who wouldn't join him was as good as dead. You always did say how much you hate pirates and would never be one, so what was I supposed to think after hearing that?" Jack took a step back, and with a smile he spread his arms. "Take a look. What do you see?" In the heat of the moment, Pip hadn't really paid much attention his appearance, just that he was alive and well. Jack's hair was now shoulder length, hanging in loose curls. He sported a goatee that gave him a slightly sinister look. The man who had been loathe to carry a knife now openly displayed a pistol and cutlass, and something told her there were a god many more blades hidden on his person. His clothes were very different from what she remembered. Gone were simple shoes, slops, and short jacket. Instead he wore a loose shirt of silk, a long waistcoat, a heavy belt that served as a holster for his pistol, cotton breeches, and expensive looking tall boots. Gone was the young sailor she had known. Jack had become more than just a little rough around the edges. He had become a pirate.

Another week passed, and no word from Mister Smithers. Every morning, Pip would stand at the top of the hill and look out on the harbour, straining her eyes to see Jack's ship, as if she could will it to come over the horizon. It never did. A week turned into a month, then three. She had gone to the hilltop less and less frequently, until she stopped going at all as her hope of Jack's return evaporated. It was good while it lasted, she told herself. And like all good things... Then one evening, she overheard two men talking in the tavern. She was certain one of them had said the name Laura Anne. "Excuse me, but I couldn't help overhearing," she began. "Did one of you mention the Laura Anne? The merchant freighter?" "Aye!" said one of the men. "You knew someone aboard her?" Pip's blood ran cold at his choice of words. "Yes. A friend. His name is Jack Wolfe." "Hmph. Never heard of him. But he's got me pity if'n he were aboard her a few months back." "Please, no riddles," she said. "Do you know what happened to the ship?" The second man leaned on his elbows and got a grim look on his face. "Pirates." The blood drained out of Pip's face at the word. "No..." "Afraid so, missy," said the first. "About three, maybe four months ago, give or take. Word is they became a prize of Iron Will Harkness hisself. Ruthless bastard he is. And he ain't known for taking prisoners. Ye either join up with him, or die." Pip's heart felt like it wanted to stop beating. She knew Jack hated pirates, and would never submit to becoming one. "I hope it were over quick for yer friend, miss," the second said. "I'm sorry for ye. Hell of a way for a man to go, what that lot do to ye." She backed away from their table, running into another as she did. "Um, thank you... thanks. I, I have to..." Pip broke and ran from the public room of the tavern toward the back stairs and the seclusion of her own room. Benny and Grace watched in surprise as she fled. "Oi, get back here, missy!" shouted Benny. "These tables won't wait themselves!" Grace gave him an angry look as she went to follow Pip. "Could you shut your yap for half a moment? Something's upset her, and I'm going to find out what." "Oh no you're not," said Benny. "We've got paying customers to serve!" She snatched off her apron and threw it at him. "Then put this on and start serving! If the string will reach around that belly of yours, that is. I'm checking on Pip, and that's the end of it." She left the main room, leaving Benny with a handful of apron and an open mouth. Grace knocked softly on Pip's door. There was no answer. She put her ear to the door, but couldn't hear anything. She turned the handle and pushed gently, and the door opened. Pip was sitting on the bed with a book in her hand, staring at the floor in silence. "What's the matter, love?" asked Grace as she sat beside Pip on the bed. Pip blinked, but didn't look up. "He's dead, Grace. The men downstairs said so. It was pirates." Grace gently brushed Pip's hair away from her face. "Your friend Jack? The handsome one with all the books?" "Yeah. Him." Pip ran her hand over the cover of the book. "This was one of his favourites. About some bloke named Socrates by another named Xenophon. Took me forever to get the names right when I read them aloud. Always made Jack laugh when I botched them. Never mean like or anything. Just a gentle laugh, then he'd help me say them right." "Oh, Pip. I'm so sorry. I know he meant an awful lot to you." "That's why it doesn't make any sense, Grace." "What doesn't?" Pip looked at her friend. Grace could see a hundred emotions behind the girl's eyes; pain, sorrow, anger, despair, confusion... Those and more roiled just below the surface. "Why can't I cry? I'm supposed to cry, aren't I? But I can't." "I don't know, love," Grace sighed. "Maybe you're just in shock." She pulled Pip close and stroked her hair. "It'll come. Everybody grieves differently. Just give yourself some time." "I miss him, Grace. I just can't accept he's gone. It hurts too much." "Did you love him?" Pip's eyes searched the room, as if the right thing to say would appear on the wall or on a shelf before her. She bit her lip, then quietly said, "I don't know." The words sounded hollow to Grace. She could tell from the way Pip sat on the edge of her seat listening to Jack, the way she looked at him, the way she would laugh and play with her hair when he said something funny, that she did indeed know. But it didn't matter now. Jack was gone, and Pip's heart needed to heal. "You're done for the night, young lady" said Grace. "Here. You lie back and don't worry about work. I'll take care of everything. Including Benny." She stood and waited for Pip to lie down, and pushed the candle on the table closer to the bedside. "I'll be back in a few minutes with a blanket and some hot cider for you." Grace quietly closed the door, leaving Pip to the silence of her room. Pip took a deep, shuddering breath, and looked at the book that was still in her hands. She ran her slender finger along its spine, then opened it at page 1 and began to read. And as she did, a solitary tear rolled down her cheek.