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qqueenofhades · 8 years ago

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The Dark Horizon: Chapter XXXVI

summary: AU. The Caribbean, 1715: Royal Navy Lieutenant Killian Jones and his brother, Captain Liam Jones, have just arrived to help pacify the notorious “pirates’ republic” of New Providence. But they have dangerous allies, deadly enemies, and no idea what they’re getting into when they agree to hunt the pirate ship Blackbird and the mysterious Captain Swan. OUAT/Black Sails. rating: M status: WIP available: FF.net and AO3 previous: chapter XXXV notes: Thanks for your patience, guys; real life is seriously up my ass right now. But many many thanks to those of you who voted in the CS Fanfic Awards and awarded this story 1st place in Best Crossover and 1st place in Best Original Character for Sam Bellamy. I was absolutely delighted and this story means a great deal, so yes. Thank you. <3

The anchorage on the southeast side of New Providence Island was shallow, rugged, and rocky, choked with shifting sandbars and gnarled, slimy mangrove roots, a narrow tidal channel running twelve or fifteen feet deep – enough to allow passage to the small smugglers’ pirogues and ketches who normally did business here, but nowhere near sufficient for a full-size man o’war. Yet with Nassau Harbor blockaded, they were hardly at leisure to select a convenient spot as they pleased. This was the furthest position on the island that they could get away from that wall of Navy ships, and they were currently embroiled in a fierce disagreement about what on bloody earth to do next.

“No,” Jack Rackham said, not for the first time. “Even if we could land properly, trying to sneak into the city itself is suicide. I imagine the place is crawling with redcoats, and all they have to do would be to bag the lot of us, stretch our necks, and have their war won in a stroke. We have to retreat, find out where Charles is, or try to reconnect with Blackbeard. So I have made very clear, and as captain of this vessel – ”

“Yes, as captain,” Killian repeated, far from supportively. “Mate, we came here precisely to find out what was going on in Nassau, and it’s hardly going to do anyone a damn bit of good if we turn tail and scatter at the first sight of an English arse. I don’t bloody know about you, but I don’t intend to let them get away with this. What did you think, that we’d arrive here and stroll in for tea and biscuits? If the pusillanimous Mr. Rackham finds himself short of stomach for leading the enterprise, I’ll gladly volunteer in his place.”

Rackham glared at him, though it was not clear if this was due to the slight on his gall and kidney or because “pusillanimous” was a word he wished he had thought of using first. Two cooks in the kitchen were clearly brewing a salty stew indeed. Yet when he failed to muster an immediate response, likely a first, Killian went on, “Besides, didn’t you return here exactly in order to prove that you were finally a force to be reckoned with? The Jolie has sixty guns. Obviously I didn’t get a good look at whatever the Navy has in the harbor, but I imagine they were mostly frigates, fast but lightly armed, and perhaps a fifth-rater or two like the Scarborough, thirty guns at the upper end. If we maneuvered for a nighttime ambush, we might be able to break the siege, at least temporarily. It would take courage, though. Ambition. Not the sort of thing you can carry out hiding beneath a rock.”

Rackham opened his mouth heatedly, then stopped as Anne shot him a significant look. For a woman of such few words, she had certainly mastered the knack of smartly shutting up her verbose significant other when needed, and it was plain in her expression that she likewise did not favor the thought of scampering away again so swiftly after they had arrived. “Hook’s right, you know,” she said, with a sidelong glance at Killian that made it plain that this avowal of support should not be taken to mean that she liked or trusted him now, as she most certainly did not. “Can’t scurry off wifout knowing what they’ve taken, and how. I’ll go scout it out, if you’re so set on stayin’ behind.”

“I – no, you absolutely will not go by yourself.” Rackham blew out a breath, looking frustrated. “And I also doubt that our friend Messr. Hook will be content to sit and twiddle his thumb, nor do I intend to leave him with free rein on my ship. So, you’ll be accompanying us?”

“It’s my ship.”

“It’s not your ship anymore.”

“It’s my ship, and you will – ”

“Enough!” Emma said sharply, the first time she had spoken, and Rackham, Anne, and Killian all swiveled around. “We don’t have time to bicker about who the Jolie most properly belongs to. The war is here, the war is now, and we are the only ones even close to being able to fight it. Vane could be here, or God knows where. Blackbeard’s in Antigua. Sam is searching for David Nolan. Flint and Miranda are in Charlestown. If Nassau falls before any of them get back to help us, it won’t matter. It will be over. Only a matter of counting out how many nooses they need to twist. I don’t know about you, but after all this, I’m not dying like that.”

They all stared at her. Killian could sense the rawness of her emotion, brimming too close to the surface, the absence of Geneva a dull, constant wound that would never heal. Troubled and chastened, he put his hand on her arm, and Emma covered it briefly with her own, squeezed, and let go. “Well,” she said, still more coolly. “I take it we’re going ashore.”

This, therefore, was exactly what they did. They launched the ship’s boat with the four of them aboard, caught the tide-race, and barely needed to row before they bumped up on the briny sand. Anne gave Emma an especial hand over; while Emma had had some time to recover from the tribulation of childbirth on the voyage north, she was still not entirely back to normal, and Anne clearly did not trust either Rackham or Killian to take proper consideration of a new mother’s limitations. All of them had slung themselves with cutlasses and pistols, as it would be the height of lunacy to stroll into this unarmed (indeed, it could be dangerous to walk around Nassau unarmed during a normal day, much less during a Navy occupation) and it was going to be a long, hot, dark slog across the island to reach the city on the other side. The shadows were starting to stretch out, the sun a glowing golden ingot low in the west, and the thick tropical stickiness was already making fingers of sweat roll down Killian’s back. He had shed his long leather jacket, it not being the most practical attire for a tramp through the jungle, and the breeze plucked feebly at the damp, sheer fabric of his shirt, the straps of the brace for his hook visible through it. “Very well,” he said, when they had more or less gathered themselves. “Let’s go.”

With that, even though he was well aware that all three of his companions knew this place far better than he did, Killian turned and trudged up the beach, ducking into the heavy, twisted thickets beyond. There was not much talk, even from Chatterbox Jack, as they needed their breath for climbing. The exertion burned in Killian’s legs after spending so much of the preceding months at sea, but he said nothing, concentrating on making sure that Emma was doing all right. She was, though he could see her wincing, and he made an excuse to stop after an hour or so to collect themselves. From here, they had reached enough high ground to see the Jolie small in the bay below, but it was still another four or five hours, at best, to cross the meridian of the island and get their first look at Nassau. The early-summer evening was dark and warm and studded with stars, and Killian thought of his brother and Regina, winging away across the sea, Geneva and Henry in their keeping. He did not pray, had lost the habit early when they were never answered, but he found himself mouthing the words nonetheless. Just this one, God. Just this one bloody thing, that’s all I ask. Don’t you damned well owe me something?

The Almighty, as usual, was silent, and Killian wiped his forehead. Once everyone had had a drink from the canteen and stoutly proclaimed that they were ready to keep walking all night if need be, they set off again, charting a cautious course away from the plantations that sprawled in the interior, a few dedicated remaining colonists who did not think that the fall of the island into pirate hands should get in the way either of making a profit or keeping their slaves in chattel bondage. A thorn of fury pricked at Killian, thinking of the raid on the market on Jamaica, where he had shot the redcoat to save Lancelot’s life. No time, he reminded himself. Not enough strength with only four of us, besides. Leave it, Jones. Later.

It grew very late. The only sound apart from their hard breathing was the croaking and rustling of the jungle at night, creeping and crying, shadows slithering or skittering among the heavy undergrowth. Once or twice they glimpsed distant lights, eerie as will-o-the-wisps, and steered well clear. Rackham and Killian foraged ahead, determined not to let the other get too far in the lead, while Anne hung back to keep an eye on Emma. Killian supposed that strictly speaking, he had traded away the Jolie to Blackbeard fair and square, had no automatic right to think that he could just stroll back aboard and carry on where he had left off, and if Rackham had come out on top of the ballot for a replacement, well, bloody good for him. Yet be that as it may, Killian was still finding it difficult to be rational about it, when he knew the ship better, loved her more, served on her longer, and did not regard her as merely a stepping stone to get one over on the cutthroat competition of Nassau, as Jack apparently did. Though if we’re all about to be hanged by the British, what good is it?

At last, as the moon was starting to get low in the sky, they reached a rocky outcrop where the jungle thinned, stepped out, and beheld in full and formidable sum, for the first time, the scale of the siege of Nassau, Lord Robert Gold’s slow-brewing, long-burning repayment for all the insults and embarrassments the pirates had inflicted on him and the power of the Crown alike over the last year. It was worse than he had thought. Half a dozen heavy frigates, fifth or even fourth-raters to judge from the rough count Killian was able to make of their gunports in darkness and distance, formed the first line of defense, walling off the harbor from end to end – anyone trying to get out would have to sail a suicidal gauntlet between them like a duck in a shooting gallery, and then they would hit the further half-dozen lighter frigates, which carried fewer cannon but were fast enough to overtake almost anything the pirates had afloat. The Union Jack flapped proudly from every stern, and even worse, it flew above the parapets of the fort. There could be no doubt that Benjamin Hornigold had hastened to provide useful intelligence of the place he had held for so long, so as to advise them how best to capture it. For a sickening moment, in fact, Killian wondered if Rackham was right, and there was any point in going down there at all. With every one of its powerful protectors and potential defenders – Flint, Vane, Blackbeard, Hook, Bellamy, and the rest – scattered on their own errands and intrigues, the British forces must have found it risibly easy to take the so-called feared stronghold of the vicious outlaws. Sailed in with barely a shot fired, marched on in, and that was that.

“Well,” Rackham said, echoing Killian’s thoughts. “Fuck. Still have a brilliant plan about how we’re going to be Nassau’s heroes and liberators, do you?”

“Wait.” Killian pointed to one of the ships closer into shore – not one of the Navy’s, under heavy guard, one of the frigates positioned to fire solely at it if it made any attempt to up anchor and escape. “Bloody hell. Isn’t that the Ranger?”

Rackham’s jaw dropped. “Christ. It is. So that means – Charles is here? Somewhere? Well, there’s still the matter of all that Spanish gold that he and Jennings helped themselves to. He cached it before we set out to join you for the party on Antigua. He won’t go too far from it, and neither can he transport it off Nassau under the eyes of half the fucking British Army. So what is he doing? Hanging about in taverns to have a friendly chinwag with the occupiers? Can’t see Charles doing that, if you ask me. Really, not at all.”

“Or ‘e could be in irons already.” Anne’s voice came from the other side as she crawled up on the rock, scowling down at the besieged port. “Jack, don’t tell me you’re about to try something foolish, just to make a point to him.”

“Weren’t you just urging me to exactly that, earlier?”

“Urgin’ you to make a stand. Not get captured by the fuckin’ Navy, trying to measure cocks with Charles.” Anne glanced at him sidelong through her curtain of chestnut hair. Softer, she said, “He’s only one man. You know that.”

“Yes,” Killian interrupted, “and he’s the only other pirate captain presently on Nassau, chained or otherwise. Coordinate with him, get him back to the Ranger, bring the Jolie around from the windward side – catch them at the right moment, and as I said, we might be able to break the lines. At least buy us enough time to get word to the others, then – ”

And at that, he stopped. The truth was hideously apparent that even if they did manage to momentarily disrupt or bombard the Navy blockade, it was only a vanishingly small drop in a devouringly bottomless bucket, the opening salvo to a war they were heinously ill-equipped to fight. Even if Flint, Sam, and Blackbeard should sail up in their respective ships tomorrow morning and be ready to blast bleeding Jesus out of the bastards on the spot, that was still only five pirate vessels against a dozen Navy frigates, a full redcoat garrison, whatever other devilries Gold was certain to have cooked up, whoever might be in command of the British forces on the island, and the small fact that while it might be very nice to fondly imagine that Jennings was dead after Miranda had clobbered him with an oar, it was, in Killian’s opinion, exceedingly unlikely. He was likely still out there, more vengeful and dangerous than ever. If you step into a pit of snakes, does it really matter which one bites you first?

Nonetheless, there was nothing to be done for it. One way or another, they had to go down there, and he glanced at Emma. “Should we leave you here to rest a bit, love?”

“No, I’m not letting you go without me.” Emma’s face was chalky, and she had to catch her breath as she spoke, but she pushed herself valiantly to her feet. “If something did go wrong. . .”

“I’d rather have you safe away, then.” Killian frowned at her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Emma said firmly. “It’ll be sunrise before much longer, we have to take advantage of the darkness while we have it. Come on.”

The four of them took deep breaths, checked swords were loosened in scabbards and the buckles of bandoliers, the loading and priming of pistols – they did not want to go down there and land directly in the middle of a brawl, but nor of course could the possibility be ruled out – and began to pick a path down the hillside, boots skidding in the sand. There were torches burning on the outskirts of the city, but no visible guards – yet, at least, and they managed to reach the palisade and sneak through without the alarm being raised. The streets looked almost peaceful – deceptively so, the uneasy and ill-fitting quiet imposed by military occupation, a strange and jarring change from the previously loud and lawless pirate capital. Shutters were closed, doors barred, lanterns burned low or guttered out, casting a surreal pall on the place, more silent and eerie than any of them had ever seen it. Nor was there any apparent sign of a recent struggle or resistance. If the residents of Nassau objected to abruptly and stringently being forced back under the yoke of His Majesty’s rule and recognizance, it was difficult to tell.

“Hearts of lions, these ones,” Anne muttered, evidently picking up on the same thing. “You think Hornigold’s about? Be a pity not to shoot the fat fuck, while we’re here.”

Killian rather agreed with her sentiments, even as the logical part of his brain reminded him that obnoxious and traitorous as he might be, Benjamin Hornigold was still the least dangerous of their current extensive roster of enemies. Though plenty bloody enough, if he puts his mind to it. Brazenly selling them out to Hume and the Scarborough, just for the sake of his old grudge against Sam, was more than proof of that. If Gold had promised Hornigold some sort of rule of a pacified Nassau – lying through his teeth, no doubt, but trust Hornigold not to notice – giving him the lordship of the place as he was still so convinced he deserved, the sneaking weasel would have told him anything.

At that moment Rackham, who was in front, threw out an arm to stop the other three. Someone was moving in the shadows just ahead – who, when it stepped out with a pistol pointed at them, as all of the foursome grabbed for their own, proved to be someone Jack and Anne clearly knew, one of their old shipmates from the Ranger, another sailor on Vane’ s crew. They stared at each other for a long moment, blinking, until Jack said, “Ned? Ned England?”

“Jack Rackham?” The other man lowered his pistol. “The bloody hell are you doing here? Charles said you’d left.”

“Well, I’ve come back.” Rackham was nonplussed at having to point out the obvious. “And evidently to a bit of what one would deem a pinch. What are you doing, out skulking behind the Navy’s back at night? Is Charles nearby? We really would like to speak with him, as a matter of considerable urgency.”

The man – Ned England, Jack had called him, which sounded vaguely familiar to Killian – surveyed them warily, cast a glance up at the nearest window, and then seemed to come smartly to a decision. Thrusting his pistol back through his belt, he jerked his head at them, leading them through a narrow, dim maze of side alleys and out toward the thickets on the far side of town. None of them thought it wise to talk while this was being carried out, as the eastern horizon was steadily turning brighter and stirrings of movement could be spotted on the Navy ships. Once they finally reached some measure of cover, their escort straightened up and turned around. “Edward England at your service and yours, ma’am,” he said, doffing his hat politely to Emma and Anne. “Charles Vane’s new quartermaster, now our friend Jack’s run off for greener pastures.”

Rackham looked as if he was not entirely sure how green those actually were, come to think of it, but forbore to say so. “Yes, well, Ned, my felicitations on your promotion. So Charles is still at liberty? Not a prisoner?”

“Not yet. Strictly speaking, at least – though I don’t doubt that would change in a hurry, if we tried to get back to the Ranger.” England glanced at the distant silhouette of the brig, under its heavy guard. “Nor do we consider it wise to show our faces in town. You bring enough men for us to make a real go of it?”

“Possibly,” Rackham said, with half a glance at Killian. “What on earth is going on? Don’t tell me that Charles is the only one fighting the British.”

“Might as well be,” England said darkly. “Their new ponce of a governor – Woodes Rogers, he’s called – sailed up cool as you please with that armada you see, announced that he had a commission from Lord Robert Gold and His Majesty King George with sweeping powers to restore order to the Caribbean, and intended to put them into practice immediately. Has something called the Act of Grace. Apparently, every man who surrenders, admits to piracy, and swears never to engage in it again can take the king’s pardon and trot off to make an honest life for himself elsewhere. Unfortunately, to say the least, Rogers has had a good bloody uptake.”

Killian and Emma exchanged a stunned look. They had thought the acquisition of a pardon to be completely out of reach after the revelation of Peter Ashe’s betrayal – if it was suddenly, tantalizingly, desperately on the table again, the world changed contours once more, almost terrifyingly. However, something else about that had caught Killian with a jolt of surprise. “Rogers – Woodes Rogers, the same as wrote A Cruising Voyage Round the World?” As had occurred to him when he thought of sailing to the Pacific via Cape Horn, he knew Rogers, even if not well, from his time in the Navy, when they had both attended the same sort of dinners and general matters of interest for the Bristol shipping business circles. The man had seemed pleasant and mannerly enough, though with a quiet steel that warned not to be easily crossed. Not that he would be inclined to look favorably on the Navy’s most infamous recent deserter, but if Killian could at least talk to him. . . if Rogers was offering pardons for pirates, surely information about Robert Gold’s suspected subversive activities would be worth something.

“Aye,” said England, frowning. “You know the man?”

“We’ve an acquaintance, yes. From – long ago.” Killian’s mind continued to whir. “So by the sound of things, he’s managed to sap Nassau’s strength before he would even have to go to the bother of openly fighting it. Weed out any man of feeble conviction, who doesn’t really want to hang for treason, and sees more value in saving his own neck than fighting for a doomed cause.”

“Aye,” England said again. “That’s why he’s left myself and Charles at liberty, I think. We’re supposed to talk any diehards round to sense. Which you will realize, no doubt, is the fucking last thing either of us intend to do.”

Anne looked at him sharply. “So you are fighting, then?”

“We’re not lying down and rolling over like lapdogs, that’s for fucking certain.” A voice spoke from behind them, in the shadows of the trees, and they all jumped and whirled around to behold Charles Vane in the flesh, watching them with an expression of sour amusement. “And I could have shot the lot of you while you were standing there flapping your jaws, you never even heard me coming. The fuck are you doing back here, Jack?”

“Ah. Charles. There you are.” Rackham fidgeted like a schoolboy set up to recite a particularly difficult bit of Shakespeare in front of a crotchety and demanding headmaster. “It, well. It’s a very long story.”

Vane cocked one eyebrow, as if to remark that very long stories were customarily Jack Rackham’s favorite thing in the world.

“Yes, well. Suffice it to say, I was elected captain of the Jolie Rouge after you and Thatch parted ways, and in that capacity, along with my associates, have returned to ascertain the situation on Nassau and the potentialities for its – ”

Vane guffawed aloud. “What? They elected you captain? Did every other candidate have a raging case of the shits on the night the vote was taken?”

“Thank you, Charles, that is a ringing endorsement. I should have it engraved on a woodcut. However.” Rackham drew himself up. “Be that as it may, I’m still back here – and forgive me if their ships are just very tiny and I can’t see them among that wall of Navy frigates penning you in, but I appear to be the only other pirate captain present and willing to assist you. Besides. Anne and I both know where the gold is hidden, don’t we?”

At that, both Vane and Killian looked at him sharply. The precise location of that record-breaking haul that Vane and Jennings had plundered from the Spaniards was, of course, a secret of paramount importance, and as Rackham had mentioned earlier, Vane had stashed it somewhere on the island, well away from the fort, which his short-lived business partner Hornigold had wasted no time in handing over to the British. Vane wouldn’t leave Nassau for long without it, but as Rackham had also pointed out, he couldn’t get it to the Ranger, held prisoner in the harbor with Navy warships to every side. At that, the glimmer of a mad plan began to occur to Killian, and when he turned to Rackham, he could tell that the other bastard –sorry, captain – was having the same thought. Actually pulling it off, however, would require the kind of luck that even the Devil Himself would find improbable. But if they could –

“Charles,” Rackham said. “If there was a way to get your gold off the island, and conceal it in a new location of comparable security, would you in return consider doing a favor for us?”

“Us?” Vane glanced pointedly between the four of them. “Bosom friends now, are you? Those two, Hook and Swan – they’re Flint’s through and through, even if they might pretend otherwise. Where the fuck is he, anyway?”

Killian and Emma exchanged looks. It was finally the former who answered. “He went to Charlestown, along with Mrs. Barlow. The governor there, Lord Peter Ashe, was an old friend of theirs. But according to Lord Archibald Hamilton, who likewise recently just escaped from the Crown’s so-called justice with his skin, he was the one who betrayed them in London, got them outlawed and exiled. Flint is. . . planning to confront him.”

“He what?” That took Vane genuinely by surprise. “Charlestown? He’s actually bloody expecting to sail in there as the most wanted pirate in the New World, accuse the governor of treason to his face, and sail away again, especially when – as you can fucking see – Nassau is already crawling with redcoats? And take his woman with him, why?”

“They were married a few weeks ago,” Killian said. “And Miranda insisted on it. It was a betrayal of her as much as him.”

Vane snorted. It was unclear whether he thought this demonstration of marital devotion was admirable or foolish (likely the latter), but either way, he did not look quite as pleased to hear that his greatest and longest-term rival was on the verge of possible utter downfall as might be expected. “Well,” he said. “Keeps up Flint’s track record of always making the wrong fucking decision, at any rate. But if they hang him – ”

“Yes,” Rackham completed. “Believe me, Charles, we all know how you two feel about each other. But if so, they can sign the rest of those pardons tonight and hand them out tomorrow, start measuring the governor’s house for new curtains, and use our skulls for paperweights – or gild them and use them for drinking cups, I hear that’s also a fashion. The war will be over. The republic will be over. Our odds are stiff enough as it is. This would make them downright impossible.”

Vane was momentarily at a loss, eyes flicking back and forth like a cornered panther. Killian could see on his face the memory that only a former slave could have: the sensation of how it felt to wear chains, metaphorical or real, and to lose all hope of ever shedding them, of drawing a free breath again. Such a weight was not, if ever, easily forgotten, and Vane unconsciously rubbed his wrists, as if to chase away the shadow of a fetter. Then he said abruptly to Killian, “Fat fucking lot of good it did you and Flint to stop me and Thatch sacking Antigua, didn’t it? Perhaps if you’d let us, this wouldn’t be happening now, would it?”

“It would be,” Killian said coolly. “None of those ships were there when we were. You wouldn’t have managed to wreck a single one of them, or change the outcome of this invasion. Thatch has gone back to remedy that anyway, so it doubly makes no difference. If you want to fight against the real enemy – and mate, I know you do – help us. You can’t want to sit squatting in the woods while the British occupy our home, hoping they’ll get bored and go away. Here is the offer. You, Jack, Anne, Mr. England, and any other men you trust go to the gold’s hiding place, move it to the back side of the island, where the Jolie Rouge is anchored, and put it on board. The Jolie is the strongest command in the entire Caribbean – trust me, nobody’s going to get at it there. In return, we’ll help you contrive a way to jailbreak the Ranger and slip the blockade. And then – ”

“You really think I’m a complete fucking idiot, don’t you?” Vane looked incredulous. “Put my gold aboard your ship, and then what? Ask me to make for Charlestown, to save Captain fucking Flint’s arse from the mess he got himself into? That’s what you had in mind, wasn’t it? Have me pay you to rescue my biggest rival, so you can sail away with my whole take while my back is turned in some bloody pointless diversion in the Carolinas? Fuck off.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to bail out Flint, in fact. Not if you couldn’t strain yourself to it. But you agreed to help us once before, to get Jennings out of here. I think you’ll also agree that Robert Gold and half the bloody Royal Navy are a far greater threat to our way of life than he is. And you know as well as I do what we would be – or rather, not – without Flint. The Ranger is much faster than the Jolie, which has to stay here to keep the gold safe and offshore anyway, and we need Flint back here as soon as we can get him. Come on, mate. You have to see that the time for fighting between ourselves is over. The true and ultimate enemy is literally on our bloody doorstep, and the pardons have already stolen half the men who might have fought for us. I’ll die before I go back into bondage. I have a feeling you’re exactly the same.”

Vane continued to regard him with those piercingly blue eyes, unblinking in the light of the breaking dawn. The very world seemed to hang on his answer, either still possible or altogether past repair. Then at last, he inclined his head half an inch, spat in his palm as Killian did the same, and they shook hands, briefly and brusquely. “Fine,” Vane said. “And what are we going to do to keep the governor distracted while all this is going on? Exactly?”

“Oh.” Killian smiled grimly. “Just leave that to me.”

-----------------

For the entirety of the walk into Nassau a few hours later, after they had snatched a brief few winks of sleep, changed into respectable clothing taken from a trunk Vane had stolen, combed their hair, washed their faces, and otherwise done their best to make themselves look like honest gentlefolk, Emma was afire with anxiety. Even if this was a necessary risk to keep Woodes Rogers from noticing anything unusual going on, even if they could conceivably still obtain actual pardons from this, and everything else that dangled from a perilously thin thread, it felt nauseatingly dangerous. Or perhaps that was just nausea; the short sleep had not nearly been enough to make her feel better after the effort of the night, and she held Killian’s arm so tightly that she thought she must be hurting him, clutching her borrowed (well, “borrowed”) parasol with the other. He insisted that he knew Rogers, could at least reason with the man, but Emma was far from sure. All she could think about was Flint and Miranda, walking willingly toward a governor whom they already knew had betrayed them, had been an old friend once upon a time but turned on them when it was opportune, and had a badly foreboding feeling that she and Killian might be repeating the exact same mistake. Rogers might receive them for an audience, yes. Then all he had to do was slam shut the door and call for his soldiers, if it pleased him to keep them captive or worse, and there was precisely damn-all they could do about it.

They reached the city square without anyone raising the hue and cry about a pair of notorious pirates in their midst, and strolled past the redcoats on guard as casually as they could. There was a line of men stretched out the door of the stately house that had once been Eleanor Guthrie’s headquarters, clearly waiting to pick up their pardon and be assured that the Crown had no further grief with them, and Killian and Emma regarded them with thoroughly mixed feelings. On the one hand, the temptation to join the queue, to make themselves believe that it would be as simple as getting a piece of paper right here, right now, and then they could sail off and rejoin Liam, Regina, Will, Henry, and Geneva, was almost overwhelming. On the other hand, with the rest of their family – Flint, Miranda, Sam, and the others – equally sworn that they wanted no part or parcel whatsoever of anything that passed for English absolution, it would once more be sneaking out the back door before the war was done, abandoning them to a cruel and bloody fate, which neither Killian nor Emma could countenance. Besides, Gold had almost undoubtedly told Rogers that there were a certain few to whom the offer of clemency would not apply. The crime of common piracy was one thing, but gross and personal high treason was quite another.

With a shaky breath and a long look at each other, Killian and Emma tightened their grip and ventured forth. Walking right in and demanding to see the governor was not the most artistic stratagem ever devised, perhaps, but they were not about to waste time thinking up a more elaborate one, and it at least had the value of novelty. As well, Killian’s insistence that he had crucial information that it would greatly behoove them to know provided a bit of an extra spur. Thus, after the obligatory bureaucratic runaround, they were escorted to an upstairs office and told to wait, that Governor Rogers would be with them shortly.

Emma took the opportunity to sit down, fanning herself, as Killian paced back and forth, too nervous to stay still, digging a finger beneath his cravat. There was a pitcher of water on the table, and he moved to pour a goblet for her. “Love, you should have stayed at Vane’s camp. All this when you’re not recovered or healed – if you take illness or infection from this, I’ll – ”

“We’ve been through this, Killian. I’ll be fine.” She hadn’t been able to stand having her corset laced too tightly, and she was still prone to find blood spotting her underthings, but she was confident – well, fairly – that she could push through. “If Miranda wasn’t letting Flint go alone, of course I wasn’t letting you go alone either. But if Rogers is who I think – ”

At that moment, they were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, a quiet word exchanged in the hall, and the entrance of a handsome, sandy-haired man with cool, slaty eyes and a fine dove-grey coat, which was slung with a black leather baldric and belt. Most noticeably, however, he had a long, fishhook-shaped scar on his left cheek, curling around and under the jaw, and Merlin’s warning was recalled forcefully to mind. The man with the scar on his face comes with milk and honey in his mouth, and a poisonous sting in his tail. The pardons certainly qualified as milk and honey, creating at least the veneer of mercy and leniency – so the poisonous sting was liable to be just as effective. He regarded them with polite curiosity but no apparent recognition, at least for a moment. Then his gaze flared with shock. “Lieutenant Jones? It can’t be.”

“Aye. Well, once.” Killian smiled stiffly. “Governor Woodes Rogers, is it now?”

“Of His Majesty’s provisional government in the Bahamas, yes.” Rogers glanced to Emma. “Am I to congratulate you on a marriage, then?”

“She – I, we’re – we have a daughter, yes. Recently.”

“Then indeed, congratulations.” Rogers went to the sideboard, removed a decanter of claret, and poured two cups, one of which he passed to Killian. “And your brother? How is he?”

Killian hesitated. Rogers surely must have heard of the Jones brothers’ spectacular fall from grace, of who – or rather, what – Killian himself had become, the name he was now known by. But he appeared content to let Killian be the one to broach the topic first, to see just how much he was willing to confess to. “Liam’s. . . fine.”

“A difficult feat to manage, in these days.” Rogers raised an eyebrow. “He must be far from Nassau, if that is the case. Still in command of the Imperator? With the exigencies of the struggle against the pirate threat being what they are, one would expect a loyal captain such as Liam Jones to bring his vessel to participate in the effort, with all due speed. Has he been given a different order? Or the Imperator, perhaps, no longer sails under English colors?”

“I haven’t spoken to Liam in a while. I wouldn’t know.”

“Of course.” Rogers sipped his claret. “Well. I was told that you had certain information that it would assist our cause to hear. What is it, perchance?”

Killian hesitated again, as this was the gamble on which everything rested: to see if they could prize apart the foundations of Robert Gold’s power, sow confusion and doubt among the British forces as to whose command they were truly following, get them to turn on their own and no longer be able to present a united front against the pirates. As briefly and neutrally as possible, he explained their suspicion that Gold was an agent of an unknown cause, whether in his own right or another’s, and had expended considerable time and effort in craftily prejudicing the interests of the Crown in the Caribbean, not least in his plot to destroy the aforesaid Imperator and cast a pair of good men and reliable officers down from their decade of loyal service. If this was the case, surely, Rogers and his men here on Nassau should think very hard about taking orders from Gold, or placing reliance on his motives or decisions.

Rogers listened implacably, displaying neither belief nor disbelief, until Killian was through. Then he said only, “Indeed.”

“It’s true,” Emma blurted out. “The papers I found – ”

“Yes, aboard the ship which you so happened to be visiting? Is that how you came to be there, madam?” Rogers looked at her mildly. “Am I to understand your presence on the Imperator, at the same time Captain and Lieutenant Jones had been commissioned to hunt down a notorious pirate – a notorious female pirate – to be nothing more than a mere byproduct of unlucky circumstance?”

Emma opened and shut her mouth. This one dressed and spoke and behaved as a gentleman, always restrained and courteous to look at, but they might damn well be getting just the tip of that promised poisonous sting. “Yes,” she said, as stoutly as she could. “Unlucky circumstance.”

“We’ll see about that.” Rogers turned, strode across the floor, and opened the door. To someone waiting outside, he said, “Come in, please.”

A pause – and then Emma, who hadn’t known exactly what she was expecting, but not this – was caught completely off guard as none other than Eleanor Guthrie, dressed as a proper English lady in a flowered damask gown and dainty slippers, blonde curls tumbling down her back, stepped inside. She and Emma, of course, had known each other for years, from the days when Emma had been the captain on Nassau that Eleanor was most inclined to trust to support her interests. Sam had told them already that Eleanor had changed sides in Antigua, when Gold threatened her that it might be death if she didn’t. Yet if she had taken the step from passive to active betrayal, was now colluding with the English to provide information on her entire previous operation and all her old acquaintances. . . and more than that, evidently. Emma could tell, by the way Rogers put a hand on Eleanor’s back and drew her forward, that these two were bedding together in every sense of the word. It was far from uncharacteristic behavior for Eleanor, who had a strength of self-interest to make even Judas Iscariot weep, but it was still almost unbelievable. And if Emma herself felt the insult this keenly, she did not even dare to think about what Vane’s reaction to this revelation would be.

“My dear,” Rogers said. “These two have provided us a wealth of rather curious information, beginning with their claims about Robert Gold’s apparently suspect allegiances and concluding with the lady’s insistence that she is not, in fact, the female pirate captain known to ply these waters in recent years. The name I’ve heard was Emma Swan, would that be correct?”

Neither Emma nor Eleanor responded at once. Their eyes met briefly, and Emma stared at her in barely guarded fury, even as she was painfully conscious that letting too much of it show on her face would be its own answer. Then Eleanor said, “I know her. We’ve worked together.”

“And?” Rogers prompted. “Is it her or isn’t it?”

“I. . .” Eleanor hesitated. Then she seemed to decide that she could not afford to lie about something so likely to be found out soon anyway, and said reluctantly, “Yes.”

Killian made half a move as if to draw the sword he had been forced to relinquish before entering the governor’s presence, and Rogers’ gaze flashed to him. Feeling it might be wise to be on her feet for whatever was about to happen next, Emma got up and moved to his side, even as Eleanor stayed next to Rogers; the line in the sand (or rather, floorboards) could not have been more clearly drawn if it was marked in fire. The tension snarled almost unbearably. Then Rogers, apparently deciding to drop the pretense of ignorance, said, “Captain Hook. That is what they call you these days, Jones, isn’t it? Indeed, Robert Gold has had a great deal to say to me on the subject. If it was up to him, I would have already hanged you without you so much as permitting you to utter a single word in your own defense. The same goes as well for your – wife? But I have been invested with substantial powers by the Admiralty, and by His Majesty the King, to restore law and order to Nassau and the West Indies, and that does not necessarily include, exactly as you suggested, obeying Lord Robert’s eccentric and bizarre imperial dictates without question. So if you came to me in hopes that I would chart a different course, that, at least, is gratified. As you can perhaps tell from the fact that I am pardoning Nassau’s inhabitants – an innovation which, I am told, I ironically have Captain Flint to thank for proposing in the first place – rather than hanging them, I believe that the only way to bring civilization to a place is to behave in a civilized fashion. I have, therefore, my own proposition to offer you. I hear you have forged a considerable sphere of connections among your peers. Tell me about them, and we can arrange a way for you and Miss Swan – or is it Mrs. Jones now? – to go free.”

Killian, who had clearly been prepared for anything but that, stared at him. “What?”

“I did think,” Rogers said, still politely but with an audible tinge of impatience, “that I was quite clear. You are well-affiliated and well-informed with the rest of Nassau’s high command. I want information on three: Flint, Bellamy, and Blackbeard. Vane’s whereabouts can be more or less accounted for, given that we have his ship under guard in the harbor. Give me such intelligence as you possess on their vessels, their crews, their capabilities, their whereabouts, their disposition to submit – or not – to His Majesty’s laws and keep His Majesty’s peace, their recent activities, their associates, and anything else you consider relevant, and you can have the pardon in hand before sundown tonight. You have a daughter, you said? Don’t leave her to grow up alone.”

Killian remained speechless for a moment longer. “That’s all you want, is it?”

“Yes.” Rogers finished off his claret and set the goblet on his desk, among the stack of papers. “Your freedom, in exchange for three names. That is, after all, the essence of it. I do not wish to have recourse to unpleasantries, and unless I am much mistaken, I doubt you do either. It is not so easy to sustain being a monster, is it, as it is to dabble? No matter the infamous deeds associated with the name of Hook, you fear going back into that darkness, don’t you? The hold it had over you, and could again, if you were so feeble as to let it? That this time, you might not be able to stop yourself, or pull yourself out again? That this time, you might drown?”

Emma did not even need to catch a glimpse of Killian’s face to know how squarely that blow had struck. She tightened her grip on his arm, hoping to emphasize if nothing else that they were a team, and would not be wedged and manipulated apart no matter how skillful Rogers was at throwing darts directly into their weaknesses. It was a terrible, infernal bargain that he was offering them, the one they had sacrificed so much to avoid – and yet for that, still so dreadfully, dangerously tempting. She didn’t know what he was going to answer. . . and yet, she did.

Very quietly, knowing full well what this refusal meant, Killian Jones said, “No.”

“No?” Rogers repeated. “So you would rather I follow the course of action Robert Gold would have me carry out for you, then? Or perhaps your wife can prevail on you to see reason? If you came to me purely to offer information in the first place, I confess myself bewildered as to why you would then balk at offering more. The man who burned Antigua and Jamaica is not, I assure you, long on options or on friends in the British government. I do not intend to spend unnecessary time, effort, or blood on this venture. Surely you will not squander your future on some misguided notion of chivalry, merely to prolong the inevitable. Unless, perhaps, your visit had ulterior motives? So I should, in such case, order men sent out to secure the island?”

“Tell him to cooperate,” Eleanor said to Emma. “I can’t protect you if he doesn’t.”

Killian looked at her with absolutely scathing contempt. “Cooperate like you, that is? Sell out absolutely anyone you can, so long as you survive?”

“As if you won’t?” Eleanor seemed more angry than offended. “You burned down the entire world behind you, when you left your old life. I didn’t. I’m helping Nassau survive, the same way I always have. You have no right to claim you’re better than me. No fucking right.”

“I wasn’t, my lady.” Killian’s voice edged the honorific with ice. “I’m well aware what sort of man I am, and what I’ve done. But for better or worse, I’m still not buying my life with theirs.”

“They wouldn’t do the same for you,” Rogers remarked, still lightly. “And as I said, you’re so frightened of falling back into that darkness that you will be forced to absurd and self-sacrificial extremes to avoid it. I understand. Perhaps you wish some time to think it over?”

“I’ve thought it over. My answer’s still no.”

Rogers regarded them for a long moment. Then he turned, crossed to the door again, and opened it. “You as well,” he said. “Come in, please.”

Emma had a split second in which to experience a sense of impending doom close to a physical, visceral reaction, before she thought that she was indeed about to pass out – and not from the aftereffects of exercise or hot sun or childbirth or any of it. Instead, it was because that could be the only proper response to seeing what she now did. His face was heavily and nastily scarred down the entire left side, twisted and ugly, pulling the corner of his lip into a permanent sneer, and his eye looked as if it might have gone partially blind, milky and bloodshot. His hair was almost white with sun, his skin darkly tanned; whatever exploits he had endured after being fished out of the water and almost dying, they clearly had done nothing whatsoever for his temper. He grinned at them like a leering ghast. “Good morning.”

“I believe,” Rogers said, “you know Captain Henry Jennings?”

Killian moved almost too fast to be seen, shoving Emma behind him, as Jennings leaned insolently on the wall. He seemed to be immensely enjoying the abject terror his appearance had provoked in them. “Care for my pretty new face? I’ve the Barlow cunt to thank for that. Aye, and your brother, Jones. Governor Rogers was kind enough to offer me a post, and I’ve taken it up.”

“What?” Killian snarled. “Gold sack you for failing to bring Lord Archibald back?”

Jennings shrugged. “Something to that effect, I suppose. But it was really more of a mutual decision to part ways. You see, I also want Nassau back. You and Vane turned on me once, drove me out only because I was too disadvantaged to resist. That’s not going to happen again.”

“Eleanor,” Rogers said. “I think you can leave us now. Lock the door on your way out.”

Eleanor hesitated, glancing sidelong at Emma. If she wanted to say something else, she didn’t. Then she gathered up her skirts and swept across the floor, opened and shut the door, and a key clicked in the latch. It sounded like a prison cell in the very depths of hell.

Emma was trying to think straight, to come up with a clever plan – some lie, some trick, anything to buy them a bit of time, make Rogers think that they would cooperate, even if they wouldn’t. But there was nothing in her head but white static and screaming. She had some half-baked notion of trying to fight both of them hand to hand, but Killian’s grasp on her arm was as hard as iron, keeping her behind him. At least Rogers was still distracted, hadn’t gotten around to actually giving the order to send out a patrol – that must give Vane, Rackham, Anne, and the others at least a decent chance to finish moving the gold aboard the Jolie, and of sneaking onto the Ranger. But even if Vane did get to his ship, he still had to make it out of the harbor with a dozen Navy frigates on his tail, and that, even for a berserker of his very considerable abilities, was a ludicrously high risk to run, with no particular odds of success. And if he was shot down before he could get away, get to Flint, they were in fact all as good as dead.

“Captain Jennings is going to select one of you for questioning,” Rogers said, into the horrible silence. “I wager that if you have recently been delivered of a daughter, Mrs. Jones, it would be especially cruel to subject you to such methods as he tends to employ. Once again, I remind you that this can be conducted far more easily and pleasantly for everyone. You can have a pardon in hand by tonight. Your fellows see no shame in taking it. Why not you?”

“There’s a bit of a bloody difference,” Killian said, “between taking a pardon and betraying the entire pirate republic and everything it stands for. In case you haven’t noticed. Mate.”

Rogers shrugged. “That is the thing about pardons. They are issued only to men who have sufficiently proved their contrition and penitence, and who can be trusted not to engage in their misdeeds again. For the common brigand and petty thief, such a process is relatively simple and straightforward. For Captain Hook, well. The standard is correspondingly higher.”

Jennings grinned. “Come on, Jones. Don’t go giving in now. I’ve been waiting to finish this since I gave you only one hand to please yourself with, back in Antigua the first time.”

“Information,” Rogers said again, calm and relentless. “Let’s start with Blackbeard – from what I can gather, you are likely the least fond of him. Where is he? How many cannon is the Queen Anne’s Revenge running these days? Is it true that he and Vane have a particular association? Is Jack Rackham still with either of them, or elsewhere?”

Killian looked at them with a set, silent, mulish expression. Jennings shrugged, stepped forward, and punched him in the face, hard enough to hear bone crack.

Killian reeled, stumbling to his knees, as Emma flung herself down next to him, trying to shield him, but neither Jennings nor Rogers moved to launch a follow-up attack. Killian’s nose was bleeding heavily, and he clumsily wiped it away with his sleeve. He grimaced and spat, even as more blood trickled down his chin. “You punch my brother too, or just shoot him in the head?”

“Your brother? The cut-rate Liam, you mean?” Jennings looked amused. “Only shot him, as I recall. No sense in wasting effort on that one.”

“You son of a bitch.” Killian wiped his face again. “He adored you.”

“That,” said Jennings, “was his mistake. I can assure you, I’m certainly not kept up awake at night in fits of unproductive guilt about it. Now, I believe the governor asked you a question. Answer it, or it’s her turn next.”

“Either of you lay a single finger on Emma, and I’ll rip your fucking throats out.”

“So you’re not going to let her be hurt, then,” Rogers remarked. “Where is Flint? Why hasn’t he returned to Nassau yet? Is he still associated with the former Lady Miranda Hamilton? Do either of them still have contacts in London, someone who might pass information to them, or vice versa? Where is your brother Liam? Who has he taken up with since leaving the Navy?”

Killian straightened up and spat blood onto the floor. Jennings started to step around him, clearly intending to hit Emma this time, but Killian threw himself in the way and took the blow directly in the chest, staggering back a few paces and gulping for air. “Bloody hell,” he managed, croaking. “Let her go. Let her go! You can have me, if it pleases you. Let her go!”

“No!” Emma burst out. “No! I’m not leaving you here with them!”

“I have no interest in watching Captain Jennings pummel your husband for the sheer sake of brutality, I assure you,” Rogers said. “Information, or neither of you leaves this room.”

Emma bit her lip until she could taste blood in her mouth as well. She turned away, trying to get a look through the window – as horrible as this was, if they could stall Rogers (and Jennings) enough for Vane to get away, it might somehow be worth it. But they were too far away from the harbor to see anything, or even if the Ranger was still there, and a cold spear of panic eviscerated her innards. They needed a miracle, they had never needed a miracle more devoutly than they did then, and yet she could see no front on which one might appear. Both Flint and Sam were too far away to reach them in a day or even two, even if they should happen to have some unexplainable intuition telling them to return to Nassau right now, Blackbeard would be too busy trying to take down Antigua, and unless Jack Rackham of all people was about to burst in here like an avenging angel, they were completely at Rogers’ mercy, until either he or Killian blinked. She knew Jennings wouldn’t, would not shirk or scruple at absolutely anything he had the chance to do. She remembered the story Sam had told her, about how Jennings had casually tortured his way through the entire French merchant ship, and those were men he had never met and had no particular grievance with. If he was capable of such depravity against perfect strangers, what he could manage against his sworn and mortal enemies was downright unthinkable.

“Sam Bellamy,” Rogers went on, when nobody spoke. “Who helped you rescue him on Antigua? Is it true that he has been responsible for a veritable spate of ships taken near Tortola, including one carrying the daughter of the governor of Carolina Colony, a Miss Abigail Ashe? What was the precise nature of Benjamin Hornigold and the late Josiah Hume’s grievances with him? Do you happen to know, for that matter, the identity of Josiah Hume’s murderer, and the vessel responsible for the destruction and sinking of HMS Scarborough? How many guns does Bellamy run these days? Where is he? Where are all of them?”

“Did your mother fuck the entire leper colony, Jennings, or did she just drop you on your head too many times as a baby?”

Instead of words, Jennings answered this with a spectacularly succinct and effective gesture that sent Killian flying, crashing into Rogers’ desk and upending books, inkwells, papers, and a small sandalwood chest everywhere. While he was still flattened, Jennings sprang across the room in a single, horribly agile bound, got him by the collar, and began slamming him into the wood over and over, like a dog shaking a bird in its jaws. Then he drew his knife with one hand and dug the point of it into Killian’s cheek, tracing along the line of the thin white scar until it was weeping blood. “Want me to mark this one a little deeper, or give you one on the other side to match?”

“Stop,” Emma said desperately, whirling on Rogers. “Please stop.”

“I asked for information.” He remained as opaque and inscrutable as a standing stone. “I also asked quite civilly and repeatedly, and promised you a significant incentive for cooperation. You are both well acquainted with Captain Jennings, and thus knew exactly what he might do if you both continued to withhold material that is vital to the proper reestablishment of His Majesty’s control over New Providence Island and its population of rogues, renegades, thieves, and traitors. So I am not sure, Mrs. Jones, what else you expect me to do. Conversely, if you have some ability to persuade him from his present course, it would be wise to do so.”

Emma stood mute. She would of course do anything to save Killian from being thrashed to a pulp by Jennings, but nor could she order him to betray their entire family and any faint hope at all for their world’s very survival. As well, he had offered himself up as bait for the trap knowing full well that things might take a bad turn, and they still had to hold out long enough to cover Vane and the others. “I’ll share it,” she said recklessly. “If you’re going to hit him, surely you’ll do the same to me.”

“Love to, actually,” Jennings informed her. “Preferences where we start?”

“No!” Killian lifted his head, eyes wild. “Don’t you dare! Emma, love, no. No. No!”

“In this case,” Rogers said, “I concur with the pirate. I do not find it either desirable or defensible to beat a woman, even one accused of the same capital crimes as her male counterparts. And we may make some progress if Jones does not have his wife to put on a brave face for.” He strode across the room to unlock the door, opened it, and held out a hand to Emma. “Mrs. Jones, please go downstairs. You will be summoned back if there is further call for your presence.”

Emma threw a frantic look at Killian, begging him to let her stay, but just as obstinately, he shook his head. “Bloody hell. Get out of here. Go. Go!”

“Killian, I’m not going to leave you!”

“Yes!” he said fiercely. “Yes, you are! Go!”

It struck her like a lightning bolt, burning through her from head to heel. Her feet had been rooted to the floor, she was a dumb, useless stump of felled wood. It was only looking into his eyes, which remained stark and silent and imploring on hers, that gave her the strength to back out of the room, as the door slammed in her face, the key turned, and her knees almost gave out, as she clutched onto the railing of the landing and thought she might be sick, but she wasn’t. Gulped and dry-retched a few times, throat burning, but then forced herself to pull it together. Neither of them would survive this if she lost her wits entirely.

After a moment, she turned and began to blunder down the stairs to the common room below, still busy with the commerce of pardons. Part of her wanted nothing so much as to run at them, overturn their tables and drive them out with whips like Jesus and the money-changers in the temple, curse them all for cowards, on account of what Killian was now going through due to his refusal to take one. Not if it came at the price of his, of her, of all of their souls.

Emma’s throat was still dry as dust, but she couldn’t think of eating or drinking, even as Eleanor spotted her from across the way and wove through the crowd toward her. “Emma, did he – ”

“Please.” Emma reached out to put a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder, restraining herself from shaking her with a terrible effort. “You seem to have gotten some influence over Rogers. Eleanor, if we were ever friends, if you ever trusted me at all, anything – make him stop. Tell him something, anything. Jennings – what he’ll do to him, he’ll – ”

“Tell Captain Jones to cooperate.” Eleanor looked back at her, both guiltily and unyieldingly. “You two can be free! It doesn’t have to be like this. But as long as your husband is capable of telling the governor everything he needs to know to put an end to this war and save Nassau, and doesn’t, he remains a – ”

“You are turning your back on everyone. Everything. All of us.” Emma had no idea how to make her see, to get through to her. She wanted to be angrier at Eleanor than she was, but she knew that if Eleanor had charmed her way from a prisoner under likely sentence of death for treason, to Rogers’ lover and valued source of inside information to complete the reconquest of Nassau, she had in fact done the exact same thing that Emma had considered when she was first captured by Killian and Liam. Seducing the man, making herself indispensable, giving him whatever he needed, inducing him to trust her, to loosen her leash, no matter what it meant for her old life. And as such, Emma recognized the deep kernel of fear in Eleanor that if she ever stopped doing it, if she pushed back against Rogers for any reason, all her hard work would crumble, would have meant nothing, and he would calmly turn around and consign her to the gallows anyway. For someone like Eleanor, whose own neck always came first, that was something she could not risk, could not even contemplate.

Still, though. Emma tried. “You could be free,” she said quietly. “Truly free. You might be out of chains now, but you’re still a prisoner. You could escape, could – ”

“Could what?” Eleanor’s expression turned defiant. “Could run from island to island like a hunted dog, trying to stay one step ahead of the law, dying like some piece of filth in a ditch, when we all know what side will win in the end anyway? I’m glad for you if that’s a future you fancy, Emma, but I don’t. As I said, I’ve been fighting all along to save Nassau. That hasn’t changed. The pirates aren’t going to do it. Rogers and his men will.”

Emma opened and shut her mouth, struggling for words, even as she was straining to hear anything from the room upstairs, to know what Rogers and Jennings were doing to Killian. Jennings’ cruelty was one thing, and horribly well-known to all of them by now, but Rogers’ was different. He did not love it, or perform it merely for sport, or even revert to it first in any given situation, but if he deemed it necessary, he would carry it out calmly and thoroughly, and without a single twinge of conscience to stop him. Indeed, he could hardly have set up the carrot and the stick more masterfully. Offer pardons to every ordinary pirate who would, for obvious reasons, think better of wanting to fight the full might of the British crown, and even be willing to negotiate with the dread Captain Hook behind Gold’s back, if letting Killian himself walk free gave them the information to bring down the pirate republic once and for all. But if it was refused, if this eminently fair and sane-sounding offer should run into a wall of true conviction, then that wall would have to be not only broken down, but obliterated.

Emma couldn’t sit down, even though she was once more feeling rather light on her feet. She thought madly of trying to make a run for it, but every door was well guarded by armed redcoats, and she would neither get very far nor do any good for Killian by it. Her heart was pounding fast and short in her chest, making it hard to breathe. They had been up there for well over an hour by now. She had reasonable faith in Killian’s resilience, but this was no way in which she had ever wanted it tested. This must be exactly what hell was like, this interminable, impossible waiting, knowing that someone you loved was being tortured, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

Another hour passed, then two. The crowd of pardon-seekers began to thin, and Emma caught a glimpse of Max, the owner of Nassau’s most profitable brothel and another of Eleanor’s old lovers, across the way. Evidently Max had also been forced into cooperation with the new regime whether or not she liked it, and her heavily kohl-lined eyes caught Emma’s. Then she glided over, stopping a few paces short. Quietly she said, “So you are caught in this web too?”

“I. . .” Emma surfaced only slowly from her miserable reverie. She wasn’t well acquainted with Max personally, as she herself had not had much occasion to visit the brothel, but the place had been popular with the Blackbird’s crew. Max, the daughter of a French plantation owner on Saint-Domingue and one of his kitchen slave girls, was both a mulatto and a woman in a world that generally had little time for either, as ruthless and hard-nosed a business owner, wheeler-dealer, and political intriguer as any man – and also not someone with any particular reason to love the English, appreciate Eleanor’s backstabbing, or indulge in wanton cruelty. At that, Emma stood up abruptly, pulling Max around the corner and into a dim back corridor. “I need help,” she whispered. “I need you to get a message to – to Anne Bonny.”

Max’s dark gaze flickered. She had also been involved with Anne (and Jack) at some point; indeed, while as a brothel owner and former house girl she had had to service plenty of drunken men, in her own personal life she preferred other women, another of the black marks she’d had to fight against. She said only, “Anne is on the island?”

“Yes. She and Jack Rackham, they’re here. I know you have messengers, spies, ways to make contacts. Tell them that. . .” Emma hesitated. “Tell them where we are. That we need help. That Eleanor is working with the English, and Jennings and Rogers are torturing Killian for information. I’ll pay. If that’s what you want. Max. Help me. Please.”

The other woman regarded her warily. Emma was well aware that this was a favor which, if ever found out, would be enough to convict Max herself of treason, and that money was hardly enough to offer for such a debt. But after a very long moment, Max put a finger to her lips and turned away. Without another word or a look back, she made her way gracefully across the room, giving no sign as to whether this was to do what Emma had asked or not. If the latter, Emma couldn’t think of anything else to do or try. They would be trapped here until there was nothing left of Killian to interrogate.

Another hour and then some passed. It was the end of the afternoon, and dusk was falling. There was no sound from upstairs, and the last of the pardon-seekers seemed to have cleared out for the day. The redcoats were starting to think about supper, congregating in the hall by the trestle tables, laughing and drinking, as sheer exhaustion and desolation finally drove Emma to collapse in a corner. It was full dark outside when there was a faint thump in the hallway above. Then, after a moment, another.

Emma’s chest seized up. As casually as possible, she rose to her feet and made her way to the stairwell, climbing up in the dimness and doing her best to stop them from creaking underfoot. At the top, she turned down the corridor, took a step – and almost tripped over the prone body of an English soldier, sprawled on the floorboards with blood gently pulsing in scarlet seas from his slashed throat. He had been killed without having time to so much as utter a squeak.

Oh, God. Picking up her skirts, Emma plunged headlong – just as there was a gunshot from the end of the hall. The window was open, offering a clue as to how the murderer had gotten in, killed the guard, then climbed back out, around to the balcony, and vaulted into Rogers’ office. Emma reached the door, lowered her head, and slammed her shoulder into it, as hard as she could. It sawed, groaned, and swung open.

Inside, it was sheer, silent, furious chaos. Rogers was bleeding down half his face; it looked as if the shot had skimmed along his skull, but not done any lasting damage, and said gun was still being pointed at him by Anne Bonny, who was trying to hold up Killian with one arm while fumbling for a fresh pistol with the other. Jennings wasn’t there, as evidently Rogers had excused him so he could have a chance to work on Killian personally, but after the gun had gone off, he would be up here in moments, and the rest of the soldiers hot on his tail. At that, a mad, unthinking fury took hold of Emma. She snatched up a heavy candelabra from the desk, and just as Rogers was whirling toward her, hit him with it as hard as she possibly could. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he dropped like a stunned ox.

Emma, however, did not stop. She and Anne draped Killian’s arms over their shoulders; he sagged, semi-conscious, as they ran onto the balcony, which had a grappling hook and rope thrown over its railing, clearly how Anne had climbed up here in the first place. They abseiled down in a barely controlled tearing hurry, burning their hands on the rough hemp, and at the bottom, stumbled against someone waiting to catch them – they had a black cloth tied over nose and mouth, but there could be no doubt that it was Jack Rackham. He took over Killian’s dead weight from the women, as Anne pulled the hook free, they looked frantically from side to side, and ran for all they were worth.

The four of them zigged and zagged a dark, treacherous, stumbling path among the streets and side lanes, an echo of their arrival yesterday, but with the stakes unimaginably raised. They kept having to jerk back into the shadows and change directions as brigades of shouting redcoats with torches and muskets ran by, and finally made it to the edge of the city and into the woods, blundering, crashing, until they stumbled and staggered to a halt in the center of a dense jungle thicket. Wheezing, Jack let Killian down onto the matted vines, and Emma knelt next to him in a panic. “Killian. Killian? Killian!”

At last, a faint slit of blue showed under his battered eyelids. “Swan. . .?”

“Look at me.” Emma cupped his face in her hands. “You’re going to be all right.”

“Not sure you want. . . to look. . . at me. Jennings rather. . . knocked the handsome out of me.”

“Nobody’s that powerful.” Emma tore a strip off her skirt, wet it, and began to try to dab off the blood. “We’ve got you now. It’s – it’s going to be all right.”

Killian’s head rolled painfully to take in his rescuers. He and Rackham looked at each other particularly, until Killian struggled to raise his hand. “Could be. . . I was wrong,” he managed. “About whether. . . you’re good enough. . . for the Jolie.”

Rackham looked down, genuinely moved and at a loss. This man had spent his life in the shadow of giants, striving his best as a dolphin in a world of sharks, and to have his efforts finally recognized must be all he really wanted, the proof of his worth that he had striven so hard to obtain. “I, ah,” he said, and coughed. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

Killian closed his eyes again and sank back with a muffled groan, and for a long moment, there was no sound whatsoever. Then, and all at once, the night was split apart with fire.

Emma, Jack, and Anne looked up wildly, expecting that the redcoats had caught up with them, but this did not come from nearby. It came instead from the harbor. Flames were leaping merrily from boat to boat, all the smaller craft and supply launches, and at the center, the unmistakable shape of the Ranger was starting to move. Her guns boomed out broadside as bells started to ring, summoning the crews of the Navy frigates up from evening mess and to their stations, as the Ranger led a spearhead of fireships directly into the siege lines. There could be no doubt that Charles Vane had made it back to his ship, heard about Eleanor’s defection to the English, and resolved on his most insane decision yet. He had used this exact tactic before, when he joined forces with them to drive Jennings out, and he apparently saw no reason to tamper with success.

The fireships drifted out of control, sending up towers of eerie orange smoke and spitting fountains of embers, as the frigates tried furiously to fend them off. The fort opened fire, but couldn’t hit the Ranger, a small and fast enemy target among a multitude of friendly ones, and the darkness was pulverized by the flash and thunder and echo of guns. Then the Ranger ran the gauntlet, smashed through in a hail of screaming splinters, and made it to the open ocean beyond. It was raising as much canvas as it could carry, clearly well aware that it was going to have to run as fast and as far as it never had before, and though they obviously could not hear her, Emma found herself screaming. “Go! Vane, go! Go! Go!”

She then had to bite her lip hard, as she couldn’t risk drawing the attention of any soldiers still hunting in the woods for them, but twisted her hands together in a mad, silent prayer. If Vane could make it to Charlestown in time and extricate Flint and Miranda, if Sam found David Nolan quickly and convinced him of Gold’s perfidy, if Blackbeard did something to cripple Antigua’s ability to channel reinforcements – if they could still have a chance, if they had anything –

Nassau Harbor resembled the mouth of hell, distant dark shapes burning and cracking and blundering, at least two of the frigates ablaze and sinking and the fireships still endangering several more. Even as Emma, Jack, and Anne huddled in the trees, putting Killian back together as best they could, the horrendous din went on and on and on. When it finally died down in the wee hours, leaving the air thick with smoke and ash and soot, an eerie, ringing silence took its place. Then as the sky turned grey, as another day began to come, but with the world so entirely and utterly changed, a new sound took its place.

Hammering.

Emma did not need to ask the others what it was. She knew, and knew as well that the promise of pardons had officially been revoked. The gloves were off, the gambit struck, no more kindness, no more mercy. From now on, any pirate would meet the same fate. All of them would.

They were building the gallows.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs au #the dark horizon #black sails

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