Chapter Thirty-Six

It was only after the Hawk had been at anchor in the remnants of the harbour for the best part of two days that Zach emerged from his cabin. He said nothing and, to Brookes’ weary eye, he seemed disturbingly sober as he walked to the rail and studied the wreckage of the fallen city. There was no smoke now, just the maudlin slosh of waves breaking over shattered ships and spilling across the ruined quay. No other ship was moored there, not a living soul remained in Ile Sainte Anne. Flocks of gulls, however, roamed the heaping wreckage and Brookes tried not to think about what they feasted upon.

In silence, Brookes joined his captain at the rail and, after a few moments Zach said, ‘My father is buried on that slope, so Géroux told me.’

‘Not buried at sea?’ Brookes sucked in a breath.

Zach glanced at him with bleak eyes and said, ‘A son should pay his respects, even when his father was a black-hearted devil, eh?’

‘Aye,’ Brookes agreed, and so Zach left.

That had been two hours earlier, and Brookes now found himself marvelling at the remarkable prescience of Zach’s departure. For not long after he’d taken the longboat and pulled hard for the island, the Serpent had appeared off their port bow, the very ship for which the captain had been waiting.

The Serpent sat still in the water, some distance hence, and among the rest of the crew Brookes sensed a tangible unease, though, in these unsettling times, such disquiet was more usual than not. In the weeks it had taken to sail from the British Sea to Ile Sainte Anne, they’d seen none of their kind afloat – seen naught but naval ships and merchantmen, running heavily armed. On the captain’s orders, Brookes had kept well clear of the trade routes and sailed mostly at night, with the lamps doused, so the Hawk could disappear into the darkness.

What future lay ahead of them, none of the crew knew. The ruin of Ile Sainte Anne set every man thinking about the days to come and about their place in a world intent on spinning too bloody fast.

That Zach’s thoughts had been bent in the same direction, Brookes had no doubt. But what could he do? What could any of them do? Brookes would sleep with Old Hob before he took the King’s shilling, that was for good and sure. Freedom, once tasted, was impossible to relinquish – for Zach Hazard and for them all. But with the might of the Empire turned against them, how could an honest pirate make a living?

‘Mr Brookes?’ The voice was Shiner’s, warbling nervously as he pointed towards the Serpent. ‘Looks like she’s making sail.’

So she was, much to Brookes’ astonishment. He watched the sails billow as she came about and began to race towards the mouth of the harbour and the open sea.

Brookes watched her go with mingled emotions. If she had been aboard, then the fact that she’d not sought Zach out spoke loudly of everything Zach kept silent. Brookes was glad the captain had not witnessed such a pointed rebuff, though what he would tell him when—

‘Brookes!’ A startled hand grabbed his sleeve and Shiner pointed wide-eyed towards the remains of the quay. There, staring out after the departing Serpent, stood the woman herself. It was here that Brookes’ feelings abruptly gybed, for he had the sudden fervent wish that she had sailed with her husband and not lingered to torment Zach further. What the devil did she mean by staying? She had no ship, could not live here alone …

When at last the Serpent had disappeared behind the rocky curve of the island, Amelia Dauphin turned around and Brookes could have sworn he saw an avaricious glint in her eye as her gaze fell upon the Hawk. His hand reached instinctively for his pistol, though in truth he could not see her face well enough to judge its expression. Still, the wench had all but killed his captain once and he’d not trust her again, no matter what Zach Hazard felt for her. The world was different now and each man must protect that which he valued most.

‘Watch the ship,’ he said to Shiner, pushing past the man and walking down the gangplank to the quay. He waited for her there as she made her way towards him, dressed, as always, in men’s clothes with her hair tied back into a loose pigtail. Her wrist was bound and her face, though healing, looked bruised and battered. She was not the girl he’d once known, and with a scarf tied about her head she looked more pirate than ever she had. Stopping some distance from him she held out empty hands and said, ‘Mr Brookes. It’s been a long time since we met.’

‘Aye,’ he replied, not shifting his hand from the pistol in his belt.

Her gaze travelled briefly to the Hawk and with obvious trepidation she said, ‘Where’s Captain Hazard?’ Perhaps Brookes glanced up at the ruined fortress, for after a moment she answered her own question with a smile of relief. ‘With his father, of course.’

‘And wanting to be alone while he makes his peace,’ Brookes added, moving to block her path. ‘Your business with him can wait.’

To his surprise, Amelia smiled. It was a genuine, warm smile. ‘You’re a loyal friend to Zach, Mr Brookes.’ She stepped forward and touched his arm before he could move back. ‘You have no reason to trust me, but know this – I’ll never again do your captain harm.’

‘Seems as your very existence does him harm, Madame Géroux.’

She looked away. ‘Much has changed, Mr Brookes. More than even Zach knows.’

‘Has it now?’

Her eyes met his, fierce as he remembered. ‘Whether you trust me or not, Mr Brookes, I will go to him. Don’t think you can stand in my way.’

He held that gaze a moment, before stepping out of her path. ‘And don’t think I won’t have my eye on you, Captain Dauphin. You dazzled him once. I won’t let you do it again.’

With a nod, she dropped her hand from his arm and glanced up at the cliffs. ‘Then you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.’ She glanced at him again and smiled slightly. ‘I do love him, whatever you might think.’

Brookes nodded, unable to help a sigh from escaping. ‘Then I suppose you’d best be telling him that, for he’s been flat as the doldrums these past four weeks.’ He paused and scratched his whiskers. ‘Actually, for these past four years, now I think on it.’

‘The world keeps turning, Mr Brookes,’ she said as she walked past him, ‘and somewhere the sun is always rising. Today, perhaps, it is here.’

Though she’d not seen the grave, Amelia knew where Overton was buried. It had been on the third day, when all hope had been lost and they’d fallen under the shadow of defeat.

She’d still been in the fortress, though by then it was already burning and men were flinging themselves into the arms of the ocean – or of the navy, whichever they imagined would deal them a kinder fate. The message had come from the cliffs that Overton had fallen and that the marines advanced. There’d been no time to bring him to the sea and his men had refused to leave their captain’s body behind. So they’d buried him, safe from the invading horde, and stood their ground. As far as Amelia knew, none but the boy who had borne the Articles back to her had survived the onslaught.

It had been then that she’d ordered the island abandoned.

The memory was vivid and haunting; she could still feel the cold clamp of iron about her wrists and ankles, the heavy weight of defeat hanging like a chain about her neck. So many dead, so much lost.

But not all.

The Articles were preserved and she bore now a new hope for the future that shone as bright as the sun. There was much to tell Zach, much to pass on.

It was a steep climb up to the west cliffs and by the time she reached the top she was breathless. Despite the three weeks since they’d left Lisbon, her body was still recovering and her chilled bones weren’t yet used to the heat of the equator. She was forced to stop and strip off the jacket she wore. For a moment, she closed her eyes, basking in the sun’s heat upon her face, but she could not be distracted for long.

About half way down the jagged slope was a stand of trees and it was beneath their branches that Overton lay. Tying her coat about her waist, Amelia picked her way down the rocky cliff towards the softer grass and trees, beyond which spread a wide beach. The glitter of the morning sun upon the water was bright; it hurt her eyes, and she was forced to look away.

It was then that she saw him, leaning his shoulder against a tree close to his father’s grave. Sunlight bronzed his skin and set the sword at his waist flashing silver; four years, it seemed, had faded away and he looked more like the pirate she had once known than the dour man who had come to her rescue in England. Here, she thought, he was himself again.

Though Amelia’s heart soared at the sight of him, she quelled the urge to run and throw her arms about his neck. Instead, she slowed, walking quietly, and watched as Zach gazed down at Overton’s rough grave; she would not intrude. After a while his shoulders rose and fell, and in a soft voice he murmured, ‘If you saved my life, then I owe you thanks. Rest in peace, if you dare.’ After a moment he added, ‘Amen, I suppose.’

With that he turned away, only to stop with a jolt. ‘Amelia!’ His astonishment stripped away all artifice and for a moment his truth was laid bare – loss, yearning, grief and a glimmer of wild hope. She thought her heart might break at the sight of him. There was so much she wanted to say, but no words seemed adequate to the task. So she found herself standing, watching him as he watched her.

At length he cocked his head towards the grave. ‘I came for my father …’

She nodded and said, ‘I came for you.’

Zach took a step back, regarded her cautiously, as if she were a treacherous creature once more. ‘I’ve not changed my mind,’ he said in a voice that shook more than he probably knew. ‘I still think returning here is madness, but it seems I cannot be anywhere that you are not. So I’ll help you and Géroux rebuild—’

‘For you, Zach,’ she said, finding certainty in his declaration. ‘Not for Ile Sainte Anne, nor Luc, nor the Articles. For you.’ She moved closer, her heart leaping. ‘I choose you, Zach. Do you understand? I choose you. Now. Always.’

He stared as though he looked at her from the very depths of his soul. Then he was moving, and she was moving, and they crashed together like the sea against the shore. His breath washed warm and quick on her neck, fingers clenched in her hair as his heart hammered against her chest. ‘Amy …’

The whisper of her name released something deep inside; a sob of relief rose to her throat and she buried her tears against the thick fall of his hair. ‘I choose you,’ she repeated, over and over. ‘I choose you, Zach.’

His arms tightened, desperate in their embrace, and for a long moment they stood lost in each other. At length he moved back, holding her shoulders and studying her face. ‘You’re hurt,’ he said, touching her bruised face, her wrist. ‘What happened? Did Luc—? I’ll kill him if he hurt—’

‘No,’ she said, quelling him with a touch. ‘No, this was Morton’s work.’

‘Morton?’ He looked aghast. ‘For the love of God, Amy, what happened?’

She shook her head. One day she’d tell him, when he was sure of her and would understand what had driven Luc to betray them. But not yet; it was too soon, too raw. She shook her head and said only, ‘Morton’s dead, by my hand. And Luc’s … Luc’s gone.’ She sucked in a shaky breath, trying to steady her voice. ‘Zach, my heart has always been yours. And always will be.’

His hands were on her face, sea-rough and tender, his lips following with reckless desire. Melting, drifting, floating, she traced the elegant lines of his face with shaking fingers as she kissed him, dizzy with the absolute knowledge that he was hers. Now and always. She would never let him go again.

Like the tide, their kiss ebbed and flowed until eventually they came to rest forehead to forehead, lips a whisper apart. ‘It’s a new world, Amy,’ he breathed against her mouth.

‘I know.’

‘And we must find our place in it.’

‘Together,’ she smiled, the words almost a kiss. ‘Our place is together.’

‘Always.’ He drew her tight against him, as though he might never let go; she almost hoped that he wouldn’t, for she felt that she could live an eternity in his arms. Eventually, however, he pressed a gentle kiss against her neck and drew back to look at her, a strange half-smile touching his lips. ‘You’ve turned my world upside down again, Amy. I hardly know what I’m about any more, where to go, what I’m doing.’

‘You were saying farewell to your father,’ she said, smiling sadly as she glanced over at the rough mound of earth beneath the trees. ‘As should I.’

Zach’s smile faltered, his brow creasing into a frown. ‘He should have been buried at sea,’ he said. ‘Not right for him to lie in the ground like this.’

‘It’s where he fell,’ she said gently, ‘and there was no time. I’m sorry.’

‘No.’ His arms tightened around her again. ‘I should have been here. If I had—’

‘Then you’d have died at his side, Zach, and I’d have hanged broken-hearted from the Tyburn tree.’ She pulled away and looked into his face. He was beautiful in the sunlight; she’d always thought so, even at his worst, but never more so than now. For there was a light in his eyes that burned brighter even than the sun and she knew, in her heart, that it was for her alone. She smiled despite his gravity and kissed his mouth, her fingers brushing his cheek. ‘Come,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘There is something we can do for him at least.’

Leading him back to Overton’s grave, she crouched down and dug her fingers into the loose soil, scooping up a handful of dirt. After watching her a moment, Zach did the same and then followed her as she scrambled down towards the beach at the bottom of the cliff. There were rocks there, leading out into the crashing waves, and Amelia led him along them until they stood as far out as possible. The waves roiled close to their feet, the spray blowing up and over them like a strange kind of baptism. ‘Lord, I commend to your care a true son of the ocean!’ she called over the roar of the sea. ‘Let him sail once more, and always, under your protection!’ With that, she scattered the soil from Overton’s grave across the water, and glanced over at Zach. He was watching her with a smile that lurked between amusement and pleasure; then in a loud voice he shouted, ‘But keep the old bugger away from the rum!’ and flung his own handful of dirt into the sea.

His smile faded, turning into something more sombre, as his gaze drifted across the ocean. ‘So it ends,’ he said at last. ‘Ile Sainte Anne is no more and our time is over.’

Amelia turned so that she might face him, drawing his eyes back from the horizon. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘It doesn’t end here. It just passes on.’

He frowned. ‘What passes on?’

‘Let me show you,’ she said, and took his hand to lead him back to the fortress.

The walk was long, but they were neither of them in a rush; after their days of travelling together it seemed natural to walk side by side in relative silence. This time, though, they walked close, fingers touching, eyes meeting often, and, occasionally, lips meeting, too. It was a quiet happiness she’d not anticipated, and, from the somewhat bemused expression on Zach’s face, it was a new experience for them both.

As they drew closer to the fortress, however, their mood grew more sombre, for it was a grim sight indeed, blackened and twisted. There were few features she could make out, but the bones of her father’s court stood proud, like the skeletal ribs of some vast creature of the deep. So much had been lost, but not all. Not all.

Far below, she could see the Hawk at rest in the harbour and Amelia imagined old Brookes watching her with a disapproving eye. She held no animosity towards him, though – no matter how much he might distrust her. He loved Zach as much as she did, in his own way, and for that she would love him, too. When Zach waved in the general direction of the Hawk, she knew she’d been right.

Keeping hold of his hand, she led him around the foundations of the fortress until she had her bearings, and then set out deeper into the forest, pacing her steps with care. When she had found the right place, she crouched down and swept aside the fallen leaves and other rotting vegetation to reveal an iron trapdoor embedded in the earth. From around her neck, she took the keys Luc had returned to her during her sojourn aboard the Serpent and turned the bronze key in the lock.

‘What is this place?’ said Zach, the first words he’d spoken for some time.

‘The vault.’ Amelia hauled open the door and let it fall with a thud onto the ground. Cold, damp air flooded out and she slipped on the coat she’d earlier tied about her waist. ‘I had it built soon after my father was taken.’

He nodded, but said nothing in return.

Steps disappeared into darkness, but a torch sat ready close to the door. Amelia lifted it out as Zach produced a flint and soon the brand burned fiercely. ‘It’s not far,’ she said, leading the way down steep steps carved into the bones of the cliff, the torch flickering before her as she walked.

Soon, she reached the bottom of the vault, cold air nipping at her nose and fingers. From above, a shaft of sunlight gleamed on the far wall and it seemed as though she looked up from the bottom of a well. Resting the torch in a sconce on the wall, Amelia made her way across the small chamber to the sea chest which lay on the floor. Her fingers came to rest on the lid and she frowned, remembering the despair with which she had locked it so many months ago.

‘Amelia?’ Zach’s voice was a soft growl, warm and immediate. His hand rested on her hip and she thrilled at the hint of possessiveness in the action.

She turned and, in the firelight, he was all dark shadows and glitter. ‘Take the key,’ she said, offering him the golden one. ‘Open the chest.’

‘What’s inside?’

‘Don’t you know?’

Zach made no answer, simply crouched down and turned the key in the lock. It opened with a smooth click and, carefully, Zach lifted the lid. Peering over his shoulder, Amelia was irrationally relieved to see the contents undisturbed.

With an unenthusiastic sigh, Zach sat back on his heels. ‘The Articles.’

‘Everything we fought for,’ she insisted, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. His skin felt warm beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, though she thought he must be cold in the chill air. ‘This is what we must pass on, Zach.’

Slowly he stood, brow furrowed. ‘Pass on to whom, Amy? There’s none left who want to hear. The navy owns the seas now, there’s no room for an honest pirate or—’

‘It’s not about piracy, Zach. You know that as well as I. The ideas in the Articles, the ideas of your grandfather, they must be passed on. For the poorest man that is in upon the Earth has a life to live, as the greatest man. We are born free creatures—’

‘We are crushed, Amy, and our colours banished to the depths. Our time is passed.’

‘I know. I understand that now.’ She smiled, couldn’t help but smile despite her own fears. ‘Don’t you see? We must pass this on to others.’

‘Pearls before swine, Amy. You can’t free a man who shackles himself, and the likes of them are ten a penny these days. Too many men are content to wear a golden chain if it makes them rich enough. We’ll be passing nothing to them but our necks for stretching.’

‘Not to them, Zach. Not to men of this world.’

His lips twisted into a sceptical smile. ‘Then to whom?’

Now that the moment had come, she found herself uncertain. Yet there was nothing to be said but the truth and it was a truth that could not lie hidden for long. She took Zach’s hand and raised it to her lips, kissing his palm, before she pressed it against her belly. ‘To her,’ she said quietly. ‘Zach, to our child.’

His hand jolted beneath her touch. ‘Child?’

She nodded, watching with trepidation the play of disbelief and wonder that danced across his face.

‘Our child?’ He pulled her hard against him, fingers bunched in the fabric of her coat. ‘Bloody hell, Amy, our child?’

‘Yes,’ she laughed into his shoulder. ‘Our future, Zach. Our immortality.’

Long fingers cupped her face, eyes tight shut as his lips pressed shakily against her forehead. ‘Our hope,’ he breathed against her skin. ‘An improbable, incredible bloody hope!’ He laughed then, a quicksilver flash in the torchlight, before quickly sobering. His dark eyes were bright with firelight as he fixed her with a steady look. ‘I’m a rootless, faithless blackguard, Amy, wanted for crimes from Nova Scotia to the end of the bloody world. But tell me this: do you trust me?’

‘I always have.’

‘Then throw off these chains, Amelia. Throw off your duty here, and I’ll show you what freedom really means.’