CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CARIBBEAN SEA—1719

JACK SPOTTED THE PERFECT TARGET, FINALLY, AFTER WEEKS OF RAIDING fishing canoes and small bateaux along the coast of Cuba. “There,” he said, pointing it out to Cager as Mary came to see what the fuss was about. “Two masts. Some sort of schooner. And that’s the Spanish flag.”

Mary’s skin prickled as she made out the ship, just coming around the curve of the island. They weren’t too far off.

“Aye,” confirmed Cager, squinting as he leaned over the gunwale. “Think it’s time to hoist the Spanish colors and close-haul the sails.”

“Approach with caution,” said Jack. “If she seems like a ship we can take, let’s do it as bloodlessly as possible. All we’re trying to do is convince them to trade our ship for theirs. We can’t afford to lose anyone right now.”

Mary nodded as Cager ran to tell the others, her heart starting to pound as she remembered the frightened Spanish fishermen they’d stolen their flag from. The sailors they’d been raiding as they rounded the western tip of the island and closed in on Havana were as ground down as she had been in her tenement in Wapping.

But this conquest was different. A schooner like this one, the kind of ship that could get to Nassau fast, but was small enough to commandeer from a piragua, would belong to someone wealthy. “I’ll run the flag up the mast,” she said, and ran to grab it.

They sailed close to the wind to within shouting distance, then hailed the schooner innocently, Anne leaning over the gunwale and waving a friendly hand. “Por favor!” she called in the snatches of Spanish she’d learned from an old crew member. “Estamos perdidos!” The schooner obliged by turning toward them.

Anne smiled at Jack, eyes bright with anticipation. “Look at that,” she said. “Whatever would you do without me, Jack?”

“Not now,” Jack said shortly.

Anne’s smile tightened, but she pushed her hair back and returned to waving at the ship. Without cannon they’d have to get close enough to board quickly, with surprise on their side. Mary clutched her grappling hook tight behind her back as they drew close.

“I count only seven on board,” Anne said, all playfulness gone from her voice. The pistol and cutlass she gripped were mostly hidden by her skirts. “There may be a few more of them out of sight, but it’s not a big ship. This should be easy enough.”

“Aye,” Jack said. “Prepare to board on my command.”

Blood pounded in Mary’s ears as they came up broadside. Two men peered over the gunwale of the schooner, calling to them in Spanish.

“Let’s go, gentlemen!” Jack commanded.

Mary widened her stance and imitated Cager as he swung his grappling hook toward the target’s gunwale. She flung her hook in an awkward arc, but it caught as the schooner’s passengers disappeared behind their railing, shouting. She swore and held on tight, hauling against the motion between the ships. Once Mary’s and Cager’s lines were steady, Stephen and Davie stretched a ladder between the two ships and scrambled across, Jack and Anne following.

Mary lashed her line to the gunwale of the piragua as two musket shots blasted into the deck beside her. She swore and clambered onto the ladder, splinters biting into her palms as seawater roiled below. The ladder pitched up and down wildly as the ships shifted on the waves, spray making every rung slick. She kept her eyes on the dirty hem of Anne’s skirt as it dragged in front of her, moving one hand at a time until Mary fell over the gunwale. She staggered to her feet, a thrill shooting through her as she readied her pistol and took in the scene.

Stephen ran toward the helmsman, brandishing his cutlass. One of the Spanish crewmen trembled as he trained a musket on Stephen’s back—but Cager shot past Mary and knocked him to the ground. Jack and Anne had another two men up against a mast, both of them weaponless, hands up as they pleaded.

Davie was steadying himself against a barrel, blood soaking through the fingers he held pressed to his stomach. “Got me right as I jumped aboard,” he gasped, pointing toward the captain’s quarters, “then shut himself in there.”

Will crouched beside Davie to look at his wound, while Tommy and Jeremiah swung themselves up on the ratlines toward a sailor on the mainyard, who was screaming down at them but didn’t appear to have a weapon.

Mary cocked her pistol and approached the cabin warily. She made herself put her hand on the knob, her breath coming fast.

She threw open the cabin door with a strangled yell and aimed her pistol at one side of the small room, then the other—a child was against the wall, eyes wide. Mary gasped, eyes flicking between the corners as she lowered her pistol. Where was Davie’s assailant? The child couldn’t have been more than six, dressed in fine clothes, tears streaking his face.

Anne panted as she came up behind Mary and peered into the cabin. “Christ,” said Anne, “you’re scared of him? Come here, child.” She reached out her hand. “It’s all right. We won’t hurt you.” She strode into the chamber.

“Wait!” shouted Mary, grabbing for Anne as a man leapt from behind the door, roaring, and grabbed Anne, holding a knife to her throat—

Jack lunged through the door past Mary, firing his flintlock. He swore as the man released Anne and fell to the ground with a gargling cry. Anne stumbled upright and spun around, pressing her cutlass to the man’s neck.

“Papá!” the boy screamed.

Mary clutched the doorframe as Jack and Anne froze. Blood bubbled between the man’s lips as he rolled onto his back, struggling to breathe, and Anne slowly drew her weapon back, her eyes flicking to Jack. The man reached for the child with trembling fingers, chest spasming as he tried to speak.

When Jack turned, the anguish on his face made Mary’s heart skip a beat. “Go!” she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him out the door. “I’ll make sure the cabin’s secure.” Jack stumbled back toward the deck as she ducked into the cabin and peered around, breathing hard. No one else was there.

Anne started after Jack, cursing under her breath. Mary watched helplessly as the man’s head fell back against the floor of the cabin, his eyes losing focus. Mary crouched down in front of the sobbing child and grabbed his shoulders. “Stay here,” she ordered, but she was sure he didn’t understand her. His mouth was open, eyes squeezed shut. “Papá, no!” he wailed. “Papá!”

Mary stood shakily and walked out of the cabin, shutting the child and his dead father in, away from the fighting. Then she ran to help the others. It would be over soon.

They won the schooner without any deaths on their side. It was well-made ship, the ropes and sails fresh and stiff, the deck newly whitewashed, with a good supply of sweet water and food, though they found only two bottles of rum on it. The Spanish crew had been convinced to board the piragua without further trouble. The child had been subdued as he climbed down the ladder, watching with bottomless eyes as the body of his father was passed down after him.

Will soaked Davie’s knife wound with rum and bound it, and both of them seemed optimistic about of the chance of staving off an infection. But a pall hung over the crew as they trimmed the sails and headed for open water. The rush of the fight had worn off, leaving Mary shaky and sick. When she rubbed her forehead her hand came away with blood on it, and it wasn’t hers.

Jack paced the deck. “I always swore I’d never be the pirate who killed some child’s nurse in front of him.” He flung himself down on a crate and dragged his fingers through his hair. “Instead, I killed his bloody father while he watched.”

“You didn’t have a choice,” said Cager from behind the helm. “You did what you had to do.”

“Aye,” Anne said, sitting on the crate next to Jack. She looked exhausted. “It was that or he’d’ve slit me throat.”

Jack jumped up and started pacing again. “If you hadn’t let your guard down, no one would have had to die,” Jack muttered. “Bill was right—we’d’ve been better off not letting a woman fight after all.”

Anne looked at him incredulously. “You think that would have gone so much better without two of your crew?”

Jack leaned on the gunwale and stared at the horizon. “I didn’t mean Mary.”

“Oh yes, that’s right,” Anne said, her voice dripping sarcasm, “she’s ‘nothing like me.’” Anne threw Mary a pointed look. “I thought we were both women at least, but I’m beginning to get the idea that I was wrong about that as well.”

Mary bit back a retort. With a cold look, Jack stalked over to the cabin and shut himself inside. Anne looked small and alone, watching Jack disappear from her perch on the crate. But before she could turn back Mary took off, pulling herself up on the ratline, to see if she could get a little more wind in the sails. She couldn’t get to Nassau fast enough.