It was not right. It was so far from right that she lacked the words to explain so instead stood there, eyes wide, mouth slack while around them the crew hooted and hollered. It wasn’t enough that the Captain had to indiscreetly follow the Spider’s folly with more of his own, but no Jax had to get in on it. Jax the incomparable buffoon, Jax who never failed to get under her skin. Jax the wonderful in his stupid, flamboyant gesture made everyone forget the kiss of the captain and look out.

Bless him

Curse him.

For in doing so he accomplished something that Nicolette would have thought impossible. He made her envy Spice. The scrawny unwashed Frenchman took the national habit of ripeness to an extreme she could not countenance, and she envied him. Why? She couldn’t even bring herself to admit it, even to herself for all that it was obvious. For that brief second when Jax had looked at her, making her think he was going to lunch for her she had been filled with an excitement that embarrassed her. Why should have heart have sped up? Why should the deck have all but fallen out from underneath her. Fear had curdled in her belly that he might actually kiss her, he had before, all too briefly. For a moment time froze and she debated the proper mixture of tongue and ire to wield only to have it all dashed away. He reached not for her, but for Spice, the odious, odoriferous little man. It would have been so improper, she would have had to box his ears or flog him for it. It should have been a relief that he did not actually kiss her, but it wasn’t, not really because she was forced to take a full face full of unpleasant disappointment. A feeling that was rank and ripe as the little man and tasted so bitter she had never experienced the like.

She envied him for all that it was a fake kiss. She felt the world rushing around her, her head light with disappointment when Luc touched her hand and thanked her. She looked down at him, her face as unguarded as it ever had been before the boy and in its ruined beauty he would see the cracks she kept hidden when she was in any sort of control. Her eyes were filled with hurt confusion and most of all the painful vulnerability of feeling more than one should for someone who was uncertain. She didn’t see the boy at first, too much was rushing through her but when she did finally see him, finally understand that for all that she wanted to sink through the deck and let the cool of the ocean soothe every ache in her until sweet oblivious took her, it was not yet her time. There were witnesses and more than that a Captain who had just opened himself up to a world of trouble. He had put not only himself on the line but that which he treasured enough to kiss in front of rough men whose loyalty could be bought. She, his loyal First Mate would have a world of behind the scenes mess to clean up so that none of this would touch the man who wanted her trust.

The boy’s sweet smile and clear words pulled her back into her skin and into her role. For that she offered him a small, genuine smile flush with warmth and gratitude and spoke of the small rescue he had been unwittingly part of. She squeezed his shoulder again before letting go to ready herself to take Jax’s rope. He had his job after all and she had hers.

As Luc began the countdown she found her eyes landing on Spice and narrowing. The small man who had played along so well to Jax’s little game felt eyes on him and looked to her. There must have been something in her expression because for all that he liked to be in the thick of things, something in her expression made him step back and try to vanish into the crowd pressing behind him.

GO!

Jax took hold of the damp thick riggin and pulled himself up quickly, feet pushing and curling around the rope as his hands reached above him. He hadn’t thought to try hard. It would be best for the Captain to win. But something inside him changed, as was happening way too often of late.

Part of him wanted Nicki to see him succeed. He wanted her to think him capable. How silly was that? She was not a woman who would be impressed by trivial contests set to entertain. He knew that. Oh yes he knew that. Her deep eyes told him so when they scolded him, or bandaged him, or read to him. She was not the typical female that melted at some display of muscular fitness. Still. He wanted her to know, he was not a milk toast helmsman. He wanted her to see.

Yet he felt as if she, more than anyone, would understand the need for the Captain to be the winner in all these things; the affection of woman, the feets of the flesh, the best of the worst of the best. It was in Jax’s interest to be under a strong leader. He had never worried about any of that before. If he did his job, he was happy enough. But as with this whole bewitched sailing ship, this Captain was different. This crew was different. Thomas as a good leader and Jax felt an undeniable pull to support, promote and encourage a good following. He had been on crews before and he knew how delicate that balance could be. Bad men could hold ships hostage and good men could tumble through no fault of their own. Support was important.

Now that was more important then ever. Woman were on board and thoughts of kissing were out in the open. Thomas had a weak spot and that was Antonia. Oh she wasn’t helpless per say, but now there was more to any thoughts of disobeying the Captain. Anyone could blame the rouge.

So maybe Jax shouldn’t win.

Or maybe he had already. His boots were in Nicki’s cabin after all. Kissing was filling his mind as well. Not a good thing when climbing high above the beauties, trying to show best to the exciting ones below and fast fit Captain.

Stop thinking Jax scolded himself and began to just enjoy the stretch of his fingers and the curl of his toes on the hard sting of the rope. He looked forward to sitting atop the mast and sharing a drink with Thomas his Captain. He would jib the man of his romance and drink to their pleasant nights shared. And he would promise to console his mistress the ship, with gentleness and attention. But he knew his own tongue would become thick if he had to lose his end of this bet. He could not betray Nicki. His time in her cabin was more to him than the truth of a ruined shirt. Stories would have to be thought out and told. Could he lie to the Captain he sought to loyally follow?

Maybe. If that was still the real prize. He looked up to the near end of the climb and felt his breath hard and his arms strained. The wind ripped over his skin with the sting of salt and the freshness of open air. It felt good. He had offered the bet to help the strain of the Captain but as he found his way closer to the top he realized he had been selfish all along. He liked it. All of it. The Captain beside him, and Nicki holding him below.

Thomas leapt upward into the tangle of the shroud. His hands gripped and pulled, his back strained, and his legs thrust him skyward in an orchestrated dance of muscle. The warm Caribbean wind pulled at him as he rose, tugging like a taunting hand, threatening to pull him free of the hemp rope upon which he propelled himself.

Below, Thomas could hear the hoots, hollers, and cheers of the crew. Even above the sound of the fluttering sails, the beating of his heart, and the gush of air in his lungs, he could make out the spiced voice of Antonia cheering him on. A smile came to his face as the exhilaration of the contest, and the adrenaline that filled his veins coalesced into a slurry of joy. Captain Thomas Lightfoot let out a wild hoot as he made the mid-point of the main mast.

He had no idea where Jax was. Thomas did not dare look away from his next handhold, but he knew that the sea-artist could not be far behind, if he was behind at all. Even amidst the exertion, the open mouthed smile remained on Thomas’ face. This contest for Thomas was no mere feat of physical prowess, it was a venture of fun, of friendship, and of camaraderie. No matter who made the top first, Thomas would view himself the victor. It took a certain kind of man to challenge a ship’s captain to a chase up the main mast, and Thomas loved Jax for his nonchalant courage.

By the time he made the level of the skysail, Thomas’ legs burned, and he could no longer feel his fingers upon the rope. Above, he could see the crow’s nest plainly, with the youngster Barlow looking down over the railing at him. At this height, the two shrouds closed with one another as they neared the apex of the main sail. Though he could not see clearly, Thomas could make out the swift blur of Jax out of his periphery, and as best he could judge, the two men were neck and neck.

“Damn your eyes,” Thomas muttered to himself between gritted teeth. “Climb!”

With a last burst of speed, Thomas hauled himself upward, grunting with a final effort. His hand slapped hard upon the railing of the crow’s nest.

Huffing like a bawdy woman in a port brothel, Thomas affixed Barlow with a serious gaze.

“Well?” He yelled between breaths. “By God’s wounds, who the hell won?”

Thomas could not see Jax now, as both men were on either side of the square crow’s nest. Barlow looked nervous, glancing about, and stammering wordlessly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Thomas hauled himself over the railing, and immediately caught site of Jax leaned over the opposite side. Barlow looked to his captain, an anxious and apologetic expression upon his young face. Seeing this, Thomas let out a long sigh, and began to chuckle. He made the short distance to Jax, and helped to heave the helmsman the rest of the way over the railing.

“Well, you wily bastard,” Thomas said with a sideways smile, the perspiration gleaming upon his forehead in the dwindling light. “What do you want to know?”

Before Jax replied, Thomas held up his hand and turned to Barlow, who was standing silently behind them. The boy looked uncertain, and stood pretending that he wasn’t paying attention to what the captain and the helmsman might be saying.

“Get your ass below, Barlow, and inform the crew of the result of the race.” Thomas said sharply.

Barlow gulped hard. “Yes, Captain. Right away, Captain.”

As the boy began to scramble over the railing, Thomas stopped him by placing a firm hand upon his arm. Barlow froze, and looked very near to wetting himself.

“And Barlow,” Thomas leaned close to the boy before finally cracking a smile. “Tell the crew that they are free to drink their fill tonight. Though, do politely advise them that come the morrow, I will grant no quarter for those who are suffering from Irish fever.”

At that, even the nervous and uncertain Barlow grinned before slipping away down the main mast. Thomas turned back to Jax.

“Well, that should make things interesting. Congratulations on the victory, and damn it all, you had better have remembered the rum.” Thomas laughed. “God knows I’ll need to be drunk when I have to face Antonia.”

She wouldn’t have cheered him even if she could have. It wasn’t dignified and it wasn’t proper for the First Mate to not support her captain. Besides, she honestly did not care who won this contest, not in the least. As she stood under Jax, holding his rope, being his second, she couldn’t have cheered as she was too busy staring upwards with her mouth slightly parted her eyes heated and rapt upon him. He was beautiful, well she knew that. The sight of him standing shirtless before her was enough to still her tongue, speed up her heart and send heat to places it had no call to be. But that paled in comparison to the sight of him shirtless and exerting himself.

Her knees felt weak. Honestly, did that actually ever actually happen? Clearly it did because the rope she was holding to steady him was the only thing keeping her upright as she watched him move. The bunching of muscle, the shifting of skin, the gleam of sweat visible in the glint of the torches on the deck. The shadows on his flesh made by that light were hypnotic and she could not look away. She swallowed and twisted around the rope and did not allow herself to acknowledge that it was so she could see his bottom as he climbed. Instead she told herself it was so that she would not be so downwind of Spice.

Eventually he moved out of the range of light and she could no longer see him. It was then that the sounds of cheering and jeering came back to her and she pulled her eyes down from the rigging and the man she could no longer see but for the vision of him in her mind. She closed her eyes and leaned her head forward, feeling the vibrations of his motions twanging down the line against her forehead. She could see him still when she closed her eyes, straining and heaving.

“Fuck.” She muttered under her breath, certain that the cheers of the sailors around her would hide her vulgarity. And then it was over. The line was still and she opened her eyes to look up, peering through the dark to see what she could of the contestants. She couldn’t see a thing and so she stood, a quiet form in a sea of noise and excitement which only grew louder a moment later when Barlow clambered down, his face split in a grin.

“To the Helmsman goes the victory!” he cried.

For a moment there was silence, profound and long at Jax’s audacity to best the captain and at the Captain for allowing it to be acknowledged so publically. Neither surprised Nicki. What did surprise her was Barlow’s before now unknown showmanship, he waited until the pause was ripe before delivering the rest of the message. The crew was to drink their fill this night.

“Fuck.” She said again into the roar that followed that. Her stomach churned at the thought of more drink but more than that, of the fallout from such celebrations. But for all that she did not relish it, she thought that the captain was right to allow it. It was a good move to remind the crew why they gave their loyalty where they did. He was a worthy captain and she would follow him without complaint. She let go of the rope and moved toward her cabin. It was going to be a very long night and she needed to be dressed for it. As she stepped in she stumbled a little and looked down to see Jax’s boots just inside the door. She bit her lip and thought about his shoulders, his chest as he’d climbed, the perfection of his anatomy, the audacity of his smile.

She let her thoughts go no further but she picked up his boots and moved them further into the room. Out of the way, she told herself, as she put them behind her table and grabbed the coat that she’d hung over the chair back. She shrugged into it and tightened the twine in her hair before returning to the deck to face the bedlam there.

After all, someone needed to be alert, someone needed to be on hand when and if things got out of hand. Perhaps the Captain proclamation was wiser than she’d thought after all. In allowing this he gave the crew levity and a reason to toast him. He inadvertently gave his lost first mate a task to keep her occupied so that she would not picture over and over the sight of the helmsman straining up the rope or the way her mind translated the heaving and straining onto other activities. Not that she thought the Captain would have any conscious thought of her imaginings, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t grateful for the distraction.

Closing the door behind her, feeling the lock click into place securing her things as well as the helmsman’s boots she began to walk the deck to see what needed seeing, thinking she ought to make certain that the poor Cabin boy was sheltered somewhat from the debauchery to come. Though she supposed that with his upbringing in a tavern he wasn’t likely to be too shocked by a ship full of drunken pirates.

"To the helmsman goes the victory!"

Antonia's head fell back, her eyes closed as she groaned to the stars in the heavens, to her beloved-but-too-slow Silverfish bested by the grinning fool just above their heads.

"Merde."

In the silence following Barlow's first pronouncement, the rogue rubbed at her eyeballs irritably with her fingertips, and then?

Then she just began to laugh. Softly at first, not even the tiniest quaver of a whisper in the near instantaneous uproar, drowned in the jubilant cries of an entire crew of pirates about to drink their near endless fill. But her mirth grew with theirs, and Antonia just gave herself over to the laughter. To hell with it.

Truly, only the night before she fled the arms of an obsessed madman, and fell into the arms of the only man she'd ever loved. Morning's light greeted her with a lily's kiss, the trust of her dearest friends and the safekeeping of her precious child. Antonia was blessed. God in His heavens and all the sweet fickle loa were watching over her, keeping safe and close all the ones she held so dear. May she never be so wretched in all her life, that she could bear nothing more noxious than the annoying, knowing grin of Jax.

Besides, she still had a slim hope her as-yet-unpresented gift to the helmsman might win her a measure of relief from Jax' laughter...

Still chuckling to herself, Antonia determined she would make the most of her time on the deck. Let the victorious helmsman and the conquered captain perch atop the mast, swap her secrets and play at lookout. She hadn't the least desire to drink - she rarely did - but this was the first chance the whole day long she'd had a moment to spend with Luc.

The rogue smiled as she caught sight of the boy, composed as ever in the midst of the celebratory ruckus while he watched the crew. Antonia slipped like a shadow among the men, sneaking up behind Luc as to wrap an arm about his slender shoulder, giggling as she pulled him close.

"Tante 'Tonia!" Luc laughed when he realized who it was that'd snatched him up, beaming up at his beloved aunt proudly. "Jax won!"

"Oh, I know mon petit chou-chou," the rogue grinned with a resigned sigh, "Believe me I know... "

"It was the shark's tooth you know," the boy continued, happily oblivious to his aunt's good-humored distress. "He kissed the shark's tooth, the one from Lady Moon - he told me to bring it for luck. I feel some bad for the Captain though, that he didn't get to share that luck, what with him being a cabin... Er... " Luc flushed for a moment, horrified that he'd very nearly given away the secret of the Cabin Boy's Club - and he hadn't even been a member for a full day! Jax would never forgive him!

"What with being the captain and all. Doesn't seem... Fair... "

Antonia's brow wrinkled with curiosity,

"I... see. Mostly. Well at any rate, what do you say we let the men to their drink? You're done with your duties this day, and I've some time before I must return to the crow's nest. Let's find us a quiet spot then, or rather, one a good bit quieter than this - and we'll share a story or two them, hmm?"

Luc's face lit with anticipation, nodding his head quickly in perfect agreement - until he turned to peer over his shoulder, toward Nicolette who had only just emerged from her quarters. He grew still for a moment, thoughtful now as he watched the beautiful, golden woman draw closer. "May we ask Mademoiselle Beauchamp to join us? She may enjoy our stories as well."

"You don't believe she hates you anymore then?" Antonia asked, a curious chuckle surprised from her, her grey-eyed gaze following Luc's toward the approaching First Mate.

"Oh... Oh no. I was mistaken, Tante 'Tonia. I know she doesn't hate me. I think... " Luc's small brow furrowed for a moment, the image of Nicolette's unguarded and vulnerable moment, and all the pain relentlessly secreted behind those incomparable blue eyes. He was only a boy after all, but seeing a great deal more that others may never note was in his blood.

"I think she is sad. So sad, sometimes. No, she doesn't hate me at all. Mademoiselle Beauchamp is too busy hating herself." Luc's dark eyes turned upward to his aunt's face. "I bet your stories would make her happy. They make me happy."

The rogue ran her fingers lovingly over the lengths of the boys ebony ringlets, the light of genuine pride shining behind those thoughtful grey eyes. "Of course we can ask, Luc. Why, I bet Mademoiselle Beauchamp may even have a tale or two of her own to share as well if she wishes."

Antonia stood to her full height - though not nearly enough to get her gaze much past the shoulders of most the men. Still, she waved to the First Mate - her hand certainly got well over their heads at the least - and began to wind her way toward Nicolette, Luc at her side.

"Bon soir, Mademoiselle Beauchamp!" the rogue called to the First Mate, waving Nicolette closer still until they could hear one another without shouting. "Luc and I were going to find a quieter place to enjoy our allotted free moments sans les spiritueux obviously, and share a story or two. Adventure, myth, legend, tall tales and not a few outright lies on occasion, so long as they be harmless and all in good fun - those are our fare. If we light somewhere that you may yet keep a solid eye on this drink-sodden crew, would you care to join us?"

Jax laughed between the pants of trying to catch his breath. He was winded. And laughing. The combination was a wheezing sort of blowing out uncaught air, and trying to wiggle into the crows nest only made him want to laugh harder. But in the spasm of that he did manage to hand Thomas his Captain the flask.

“Oh that was fun.” He finally sputtered out. “Most of what was wondered was just shown in that romantic display on deck. But,” He wiggled his fingers to encourage a swing for himself, “Tell me what it means?” Oh he was being much bolder than Jax the Helmsman would ever be. Must be the thrill of the win or the height of the night air. “ I have to wonder how it will change things. Are you playing the next caught male? Will we go to port and your sea love become another Ms Green, or Black, or Yellow? Useful I am sure. But hard to watch as well.”

She was talented that Tante Tonia. He could easily admit that. Yet so much so would it be hard to know the truth? Jax watched the Captain and saw something that told him maybe not so much for him. He lowered his eyes to the flask now being his turn. “Truth is you don’t need to tell me anything.” He took a swig. “Then you can tell Antonia all her secrets are safe. And I can tease her with knowing looks that know nothing.” He looked back to the Captain and laughed. “ Before she cuts my tongue or plucks my eyes out.”

“I tell you something Captain, my Captain, you sure know how to find the most perplexing and alluring women.” He laughed again and handed the flask back across the crows nest.

Jax glazed down to the party beginning to spread on deck. This was a good place to be, he thought as he shifted in the tight quarters. “But thank you.” He added softly. He was thanking him for the nights fun, for the place on board, for the foresight to include amazing woman on his ship, for the direction they now sailed. He smiled up again toward the moon light.

“And never fear. I will single handedly convince your love the Dusk Skate that your affection for another only increases her worth in both your eyes and hearts. Never underetimate a three some.” He laughed. Then a slight retraction hit his eyes and he added quickly, “The ship. Not me of course.”

A quiet place? Stories? Her expression was confused enough that the words might as well have been in a foreign tongue she did not share. She looked down at the boy and his sweetly earnest face and then up to the look-out’s face and her nose wrinkled in consideration. She looked at the crew, already rowdy and the drink had only just begun to flow and then back at the two standing before her. She was quiet but it was clear from her movements that she had heard and was considering. Then her eyes lit on her door and the word story came to the forefront of her thoughts and she nodded.

“Come.” She said without preamble and moved towards her cabin door. She pulled a key from her coat pocket, the polished metal catching the light of a nearby lantern before she inserted it and turned the lock. It swung open and she stepped inside, gesturing for the two to follow. She turned up the wick in her lam and gestured towards the chairs at her table as she discretely pushed her hostage boots further into the shadows.

She had shared stories in there with Jax so it led her to believe the two could enjoy them in there as well though her own impulse to share surprised her. But the last few days had been a series of unexplainable reactions and she was past trying to decipher them. Besides, she doubted the two would find peace anywhere on the ship tonight unless they went deep into the hold. The rats might enjoy the tales but she wasn’t certain the pair would.

With the door open they could still hear some of the revelry on the ship but it was remote, and manageable, a backdrop to whatever adventures the two would spin. And they should spin them, she was certain of that. There was a closeness between the woman and the boy that was nearly as unsettling to her for its foreignness as Jax’s smile. In the presence of it she felt like she should either flee or linger and absorb its residual warmth.

“It is quieter in here.” Her honey filled the cabin belatedly, the words stiff and delivered just a hare late and said as much about her confusion as her expression. “I doubt you will find better and I don’t mind."

Just then the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh was heard in the shelter of the cabin. Nicki’s face turned towards the sound though its source was not visible from inside the sheltering walls. Her profile was lit by the lamp, her scar hidden by shadows.

“Excusez-moi.” She said and sped out of the cabin to tend to whatever foolishness was about to occur.

Antonia and Luc exchanged slightly bewildered, certainly bemused expressions that said everything needful without a single word between them. The rogue shrugged and nodded after the First Mate and her strangely terse invitation, and Luc only grinned as he fell in behind Nicolette. Captain Lightfoot had told him only this morning, he ought to speak little and obey far more until he had earned his place, and following the orders of the ship's First Mate certainly fell under that bailiwick!

The First Mate's quarters were in complete and perfect order, as would only be expected by now. The rogue didn't doubt for a moment that the remnants of a night drinking, the bottles and the lingering smell of alcohol-laced vomit, were a mere aberration to the order Nicolette Beauchamp would normally demand of herself, and in everything around her.

Luc's dark, amber-flecked eyes were wide with awe as he took everything in, half beside himself with the realization he was actually inside Mademoiselle Beauchamp's quarters! Antonia was only about to thank the First Mate for this unexpected and unasked for kindness when some commotion or other broke out on the deck, snapping up her attention.

Antonia wondered for a moment if she should follow after Nicolette. She knew as well as anyone what that smacking sound meant - but then again, she knew well there was nothing she could offer to seeing peace returned on the deck that Nicolette could not do just as well herself. And in truth? The rogue suspected Nicolette just might be half-glad for the reason to bolt so swiftly from her own quarters, despite her own invitation within.

And so Antonia settled into one of the offered chairs, her eyes roving the small confines of the First Mate's quarters before pulling the other chair some closer, patting the seat to invite Luc to join her. Yes, that grey-eyed gaze had certainly caught sight of a rather battered pair of boots in the shadows, a pair that were far too large and not near-so-well tended as any the First Mate would wear. But this sight was probably the least mysterious of all enigmas and contradictions that whirled about Nicolette Beauchamp, and she was quite content to let this go unremarked upon.

For not a moment did it occur to Antonia, or to Luc, that they might take advantage of the time they had alone within the First Mate's quarters to snoop about the golden woman's papers and possessions. Whatever mysteries still remained to Nicolette Beauchamp would remain her own and in the strangest bit of irony, were as safe in the presence of the roguish spider and her offspring, as they might have been in the deepest, darkest vault.

Besides, there were stories to be told...

"So... A story then!" Antonia clapped her hands together swiftly as Luc settled into his own chair, a signal the boy knew well for the start of a story it was meant to be. A slow smile began to spread over his face as he settled into his chair, knees to his chest, arm wrapped about them as he watched the animated and exotic features of his Tante 'Tonia flicker in the flame light.

"What do you say, another story of Anansi the Spider then? My own Maman did love them so, the tales of the trickster rascal. But did you know... ?" Antonia's warm, spice-rich voice trailed off, the tease drawing Luc's rapt attention further to her laughing, grey-eyed gaze.

"Not always did Anansi play the tricks! Oh no! The keeper of wisdom and stories, the crafty trickster must of course have learned so many before he could craft them himself! And so even when he was outwitted, he kept the story to share, for his beloved people to learn all the most clever of ways."

"One man who outwitted Anansi himself, was a fisherman. First know, that Anansi thought to trick the fisherman because the Spider, while so very smart, was also more than a touch lazy as well. But the fisherman was wise, and knew his friend's ways when Anansi suggested they go fish together... "

She had not expected the interruption, not so early in the festivities, but that did not mean it was not strangely welcome to her. She’d offered her room in a moment of spontaneous generosity and then realized the corner she’d backed herself into. She’d meant only to be certain the boy had a place that was somewhat sheltered from the rowdiness to come. She had not meant to interact with him, with anyone.

But she could not be rude and so she felt a rising panic fill her at the approaching niceties. So the sound of someone slugging someone was like the sweetest music to her. She bolted, happily. That did not mean it went easy on the two engaged so early in fisticuffs. Oh no, to fight and potentially incapacitate on of the Captain’s men en-route to such a critical prey as they were hunting was a grievous error and she would teach them with pain the folly of their ways. It was discipline, business and certainly not because a young boy with large, dark eyes terrified her in ways she could not name.

Flesh was such a miracle, she reflected as she grasped a limb and twisted, kicking out at his attacker. So frail and yet to resilient. Just the right amount of pressure and you had excruciating pain but damage that would heal in short order. Just a little more pressure and the limb was ruined, beyond fixing. The key was knowing that line. Nicolette had studied that line, not because she liked to give pain but because she hated it and if she had to deliver it, she would do so with ruthless efficiency so that she did not have to do so as often. The man she kicked went down and stayed down clutching himself though she had not actually kicked him there, carefully aiming for a spot on his thigh that would make the muscle cramp and spasm. But the blow was delivered with the message that she was very capable of aiming. His wide eyes as he peered up at her as she dealt with his combatant said he was a believer. The man whose arm she held whimpered and pleaded and in a moment, with no more pressure than she’d applied previously spilled the tale. A simple squabble over a bet and nothing more between two crew-mates who were famous for not getting along. She was certain that these two enjoyed their conflict for all that they couldn’t stay apart.

Sent to two different sides of the ship like recalcitrant children with jobs that would keep them occupied their fun was ended for the night. She felt satisfied at the swift ease of the discipline until she realized what that meant for her. She swallowed, glanced up to the Crow’s nest and wondered what was keeping the Captain and Jax. But they were not down to halt her return to her cabin, to stop her plunge into niceties. She bit her lip, furrowed her brows and strolled back to the door of her cabin. When she stopped just outside, letting the shadows hide her she told herself it was courtesy that stopped her, she did not want to intrude on their time, not terror and that strange, unsettling terror she felt. She did not want to halt the story that drifted out into the night, audible even over sounds of merriment.

Thomas took a robust pull off the bottle of rum, and after a hard swallow, he handed the bottle over to Jax. Using his sleeve to wipe his mouth, Thomas snorted a laugh.

“What does it mean?” Thomas said arching an eyebrow to the helmsman. “It means I’m smitten, I suppose. As desirable now as an old hag, and as effectual as a leper.”

He looked to Jax, knowing he was not answering the man’s question in the vein it was intended. Thomas shrugged, taking on a more somber air.

“I honestly do not see that much will change. Both Antonia and I are willful souls, and the two of us being together will certainly not change that. Antonia would never ask for special treatment among the crew, and I imagine she would be loath to receive it even if I felt inclined to give it.”

“As for the men,” Thomas said, peering down over the railing of the crow’s nest as a joyful roar rose up from the deck. Barlow must’ve delivered his message. “I trust that the vast majority will not mind having a captain with his heart tied to another onboard. At least as long as their pockets are jingling with gold.”

Thomas smirked at that. It was indeed amazing just how much a crew would stomach when their coin purses were heavy. And it’s astonishing how little they will tolerate when the fortunes are reversed, Thomas thought wryly. It was a dangerous game, being the leader of a scallywag crew. A gamble that could turn deadly in the course of any expedition. May the Saints preserve all us black-hearted buffoons.

Through his own thoughts, Thomas heard Jax comment about his propensity for attracting perplexing women. At that, Thomas laughed heartily.

“No truer a statement has ever been said about me. And I am glad you apparently approve of my penchant for such.” Thomas took the bottle of rum from Jax, and regarded him with a thoughtful smile.

“Tell me if I’m mistaken, but I perceive that I’m not the only one being pulled by the heart of another onboard? Or at the very least, drifting in their wake?” It was perhaps a more pointed question than he had intended to ask, but the opportunity was there, and it was posited in a place far from the prying ears of others.

Thomas decided to lighten his own question before Jax chose to answer. “And no, I didn’t think you desired a ménage à trois with the Skate and myself.” Thomas smirked before taking another pull off the rum. “You’re much too beautiful for my taste.”

"The fisherman was very agreeable, very pleasant and very wise to his friend Spider's ways, and only smiled at Anansi's suggestion. 'Then we shall certainly go fish together,' the fisherman said most amiably. 'I will make the nets, and you will get tired for me.'"

"Anansi thought for a moment," Antonia said, tapping her chin with her fingertip, her face screwed up comically as if deep in thought. "And then the Spider shook his head. Why certainly it would not do, for such a lazy creature to allow himself to be tired out! 'Now wait just a moment friend,' Anansi said craftily, 'What do you say, that I make the nets, and you get tired for me!'"

Luc giggled as Antonia pantomimed the fisherman's oh-so-reluctant roll of his eyes, his long drawn out sigh as the fisherman acquiesced to the clever Anansi's demand. "'As you will, friend Anansi, as you will,' said the fisherman as he curled up against a tree, napping as he pretended to be so tired while Anansi made the nets.'"

The rogue slid from her seat, wrapping herself about the legs of Luc's chair on the floor of the First Mate's quarters, her eyes closed tightly as she snored loudly. But in an instant, Antonia leapt to her feet right before the boy, her laughing grey eyes wide as she peered inches from Luc's wide-eyed face!

"'Wake friend fisherman, wake!'" The rogue was rewarded with a spate of bright children's laughter as she grabbed at Luc's knees, tickling him as he thrashed about, near to toppling off Mademoiselle Beauchamp's chair as he giggled and swatted at Antonia's hands. "Anansi finished the nets and, when his fisherman friend woke from his nap, off to the riverbank they went! And they caught not one, not two or three, but four lovely grand fish!"

"But the fisherman shook his head, deep in thought as he looked to their tasty fresh catch. 'Friend Anansi,' he said, 'Go on. You take these fish. I will take tomorrow's catch - why, it might be bigger!'"

"Now Anansi was positively incensed at his friend's greed! Especially when Anansi's own greedy imagination could see just how large the next day's catch would be! 'Now that doesn't sound so fair, friend fisherman! I simply must insist; tomorrow's catch will be mine and you take these four tonight.'"

Antonia hung her head low, as if she had just been bested by a far greater, far cleverer adversary as she looked up with the eyes of that beleaguered fisherman. "'As you will, friend Anansi. As you will. If you insist, I will take these fish tonight, and tomorrow's catch will be yours... ' Anansi was, as you might imagine, very pleased with himself and his cleverness."

"Yet the following day, when Anansi and the fisherman went fishing? Why, there was not a single fish to be caught, and the nets were rotting at that!"

"'Friend Anansi,' said the fisherman, obviously concerned that the Spider had gotten nothing for all his troubles in two days. 'You take these nets to the market and sell them. Surely they will fetch a goodly amount of coin to line your pocket!'"

"Anansi agreed that this was a fine idea, and tromped off to the market with the rotten nets to sell." Antonia tromped all about Luc in his chair, the heels of her hobnail boots making a fine lot of noise on the floorboards as she pretended to heft those heavy nets over her shoulder. "But all Anansi got for those troubles was a beating by the villagers, for trying to sell them rotten nets!"

"Anansi limped back to his friend, cross and fuming. 'Friend fisherman, you have not been such a good friend to me today! I have taken the beating - the least you could have done, was take the pain!'" Antonia waggled her finger mightily in Luc's face, scowling so furiously that Luc simply could not help but another stream of giggles.

"And that is when the fisherman looked up to Anansi from beneath the brim of his great straw hat." The rogue's scowl disappeared in an instant, her lovely face smoothing to a wide, and knowing, and oh-so-clever smile. "Anansi suddenly saw the fisherman's grin, and he knew he'd been bested. And being a good-natured trickster, he knew well he'd been had by one of the very best - and the Spider laughed. He had no fish, no nets, and was aching and sore from a very thorough beating at that!"

"But Anansi did have a story, and now my own dear friend, we have come to the end of it!" Antonia lightly tapped the tip of Luc's nose with the very point of her finger, her wide grin full of laughter.

Jax watched Thomas wipe the extra rum from his chin and listened closely. It wouldn’t change anything. Jax was sure that was an understatement. The guy was in love and that, in Jax’s mind changed everything. Yet Jax trusted the man for reasons he couldn't express. It was the rouge he would watch. Ha, as if that was a chore. But he was not sure what he thought of a woman who could slide in and out of other’s masks, other people with such skill and grace. How would you know which was you, which was real? Still Jax would never say so or give his Captain any advice in that. Just might be some choppy waters ahead. Still a strong ship could take any of it.

But the inference the Captain tossed back to him with his words and the flask, shook those thoughts away. What was the difference in the maks either of the woman wore? And how was it Jax’s let his growing affections be so easily read? He smiled and lowered his head pausing before taking a drink.

Then the threesome came up again and Jax tossed back his head and laughed. “Too much for you, ah?” He chuckled. It was his turn to wipe his mouth not wanting to waste the rum through caught laughter. He shook his head as he smeared the drips before they spilled down his chest. “You smack me aside the head if you see me looking too hard.” He was sure Thomas would know he was talking about Nicki. “I am sure it is a losing bad idea screwed up mistake sitting there waiting for me to make.”

He took another drink. “The attempt I mean. Yet..” He smiled and shrugged. What was it both of them liked so much about being a pirate? The hunt, the chase the trip as much as any reward at the end.

Jax glanced over the rail to catch a bit of action on the deck. Was that the first mate beating on some crew? He laughed and pointed down for Thomas to watch his first mate settle something quickly and efficiently. “What’s not to like in that?” He laughed back to his Captain and leaned over the edge of the rail to call out, not that she would hear but maybe she would, “Well played, winner!”

Nicki stood with her arms wrapped around herself and listened to the story with a slight purse to her lips and a crease to her brow. She had not heard of this Anansi before and so she missed a great many of the nuances that would be so natural to Luc who had likely been raised on such tales. Nicki was fond of stories or rather, she was fond of books, printed words that read the same over and over again. Words that did not change and could be counted on and referred to. She understood and counted upon them.

She felt a prickle across her skin at this story. It was so fluid, so changing. She understood that if Antonia were to tell the tale again she would use slightly different words, and that would change it. But it was clear there was some substance to the tale. Such tales gained richness with the retelling of them. Such tales were good at touching places deep inside, the places that every person has by virtue of simply being human. Nicki, grown up in a household of a scholar had learned to read before she’d lost her first milk-tooth and had never had the telling of a story. She’d been read to, for certain, but told a story? Never before and she found questions pressing at her. Questions about the plausibility of someone being as foolish as this Anansi had been. Who would take rotten nets to a market and expect coin for them? Who would be goaded into work while the other slept? She pressed her lips together to hold the questions in. She didn’t want to appear a fool and she didn’t want to disturb the delight of the boy. On a deep level Nicki understood that such questions had no place in the story, that it wasn’t about logic. But it bothered her.

She heard a voice calling from above and flicked a glance up, understanding that it was Jax who had addressed her. His voice broke her spell of aggravation at the incongruousness of the tale. She waved up at him, still unable to see him but strangely grateful for the break in her thoughts. He would understand the tale, she was certain. He would grin that aggravating grin of hers and make her eyes narrow upon hearing it. It would make her feel dull but even so she wanted to see his reaction to the tale. As if in somehow predicting it’s outcome for Jax gave her some way to measure and control it. She shook her head and was stepping into the cabin, her cabin, before she had known she was going to move. She silently stalked to the bolted in sideboard where she kept her medical equipment and fished out a small tin. She opened it and slipped a small pink and white swirled disc out and placed it in front of the boy.

“It is a peppermint.” She said without preamble. “It is good for stomachs that might not be used to the sway of the sea.”

Antonia's head twisted over her shoulder as the First Mate strode back into her own quarters. Though the rogue smiled widely as she stood to her full (not considerable) height, she was nevertheless perplexed by Nicolette's lack. Not, of course, that cracking heads together, twisting arms or dropping men to their knees should automatically invite a wide and cheerful smile from anyone. But Antonia sensed there was something else there altogether that... Displeased the First mate - though for all her skills and insight, even she could not read minds.

But Luc did not notice in the least, Nicolette's mood, whether it be foul or fair. He was simply glad for a story, glad for the laughter and images his Tante 'Tonia always brought to his mind's eye with her tales, and the mere presence of that golden, angelic woman. Oh, that sweet wide smile said that much as he slipped from the chair. Without much of a thought, Luc followed after the First Mate to the side board, watching all she did curiously. And when she slipped the small pink and white lozenge toward him, his face positively shown with the light of his simple, uncomplicated joy.

"Thank you Mademoiselle Beauchamp," Luc said, taking the lozenge and placing it on his tongue, savoring the cool, refreshing sweetness of it. He liked the flavor of peppermint and some, like this one, had a little touch of burn to them, and he opened his mouth to innocently enjoy the tingly breath, like a frigid wind, that blew softly over his tongue.

Was Luc's stomach actually flipping over with seasickness? Oh no, not in the least. But he would not turn away any gift from Nicolette Beauchamp, great or small. The boy's dark, amber-lit eyes widened at an idea that skipped through his head, and he grinned. Luc knew Nicolette was the ship's surgeon, and would certainly require no payment for her services, great or small, but he truly wanted to give her even a little something anyway, some token of thanks for her small consideration.

"I'm afraid you missed Tante 'Tonia's story, Mademoiselle Beauchamp. But there is one that I know - well, of course my Tante told me it some time ago - but I could share the story if you like, a fairy tale!

Antonia leaned against the wall of the First Mate's quarters, her arms folded over her chest as her head rested against the planks. She watched the two of them, woman and boy, and simply waited, nothing but the most light-hearted and patient expression on her face, one that promised she was in absolutely no hurry in the least.

Panic, consternation, it was unclear what it was that fluttered through the First Mate’s eye as the boy made his offer. She felt a flutter of panic in her belly that she could not place. It was one thing to be silent witness to the scene, lingering in the shadows, part of and yet removed from the story. Another to be in the middle, to be the recipient of the tale. Yet she did not want to be rude. She knew that to refuse such a gift would be unforgivably rude. She clung to her gentility even more now that she was an officer because of the brutal world she made her place in. She stubbornly held to her manners even after flogging a man. It was as much a part of her as her sweetly thick voice. So she swallowed her panic and bit back any hasty words of denial that might have slipped out before she collected herself and graciously nodded

“If you like,” her honeyed voice told the tin of peppermints that she still held in her hands. “I would be honored to hear it young Master Luc.”

She nodded to the tin and turned to put it back where she got it from, looking longingly towards the door and knowing it provided her no escape. She would endure the tale and enjoy at all at once. The sweet scene already having brought up the ache of what her damage would never let her have.

“Let me pour myself some Brandywine and I will join you.” She looked to the look out who watched the whole scene with such uncomfortably knowing eyes.

“Would your Tante like a glass do you think?” this time she managed to look at the boy, her lips curving into a half smile before looking away and readying two small glasses and reaching for a heavy bottle.

“Ha!” Thomas laughed, “It’ll be my pleasure to smack you aside the head, though I’d be more worried about the angel of your affection beating me to the punch.”

Thomas joined Jax at the railing, and cast his eyes downward as the man called out to the first mate. “She seems to be quite the prize,” he replied earnestly. “I certainly don’t blame you for the desire of the chase. Not unlike diving for deep pearls, don’t you think? I hope you can hold your breath for a good while.”

“But, pox on the whole lot of them and their damned feminine powers,” Thomas said with a playful jab to Jax’s ribs. He spun back into the small deck of the crow’s nest, and took another drink of rum. “And pox on me as well, damn it all. I promised you a story, and if I won’t be telling you the one about last night, I’ll regale you with another!”

Thomas turned again, leaning against the opposite railing from Jax. After taking yet another drink, he tossed the bottle back to the helmsman.

“Now, let me see. It needs to a good one to fulfill my debt.” Thomas said, his face looking up to the dark sky as he thought. “Ah ha, I have a splendid one for you.”

“When I was around eighteen or nineteen,” Thomas began with a smile, “and a right scoundrel and scallywag, Lightfoot had us running raids out of Nassau. We were there long enough that we even had to careen the Skate once or twice. Now, on one such occasion, I returned to our shore camp after a long day of scraping barnacles. Exhausted, I went straight to my tent and collapsed with the desire for a long night’s rest.”

“I had lain there not five minutes when I heard a whisper, persistent and flirtatious, from just beyond the fabric of the tarp. Our camp was in a well-known location, and had been frequented by the whores from Nassau on a daily basis. Now, the ones that had been visiting our camp were not your normal street woman. These were famed courtesans from a respected bawdy house within Nassau. They were beautiful, exotic, and damned expensive.”

Thomas shrugged. “Now, being the over-confident man I am, I immediately thought I was being accosted by one of these fine island seductresses. Exhaustion be damned, I pulled aside my tent, and sure enough, there was a woman waiting on the other side. Mind you, it was near pitch black, and I could not clearly see this woman, but my expectant mind filled in all the pertinent details.” Thomas laughed at himself, and shook his head a moment before continuing.

“At any rate, I passed a long and vigorous night with this woman, and fell asleep in the wee hours thinking myself to be the very embodiment of the virile pirate. I awoke some time later to the first rays of the sun, and though still tired, I forced myself awake so as to gaze upon the goddess I had tamed during the night.”

A scowl came to Thomas’ face, and his eyes squinted with the disdainful memory. “What I awoke to, however, was no goddess. She was a dogfish of a woman, Jax. A real iron-chewer that looked as if she could handle a halyard as good as any man aboard the Skate. I still remember with all-too vivid detail that the hair upon her lip looked as if it could have been braided into cordage, and still there would have been enough for the woman to have a respectable mustache.”

"Oh, his Tante certainly would like a glass," Antonia said softly, though she waited for Luc's head to nod his assent before she turned to the First Mate in earnest. The rogue watched the graceful hands of Nicolette finish pouring the brandywine before taking up her own offered glass, smiling to the gracious woman gratefully. She hadn't the least idea what one of uncountable numbers of stories she shared with Luc over the years he might want to tell Mademoiselle Beauchamp, but she was as intrigued by the boy's sudden boldness as she was by the question of what story he would choose to share.

Antonia nodded her thanks to Nicolette and, with the glass of brandywine perched in her fingers, crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall. Luc beckoned Nicolette to the chair abandoned by his aunt, because whether in the telling or the hearing, one truly ought to be most comfortable in the presence of a story. Only when the golden angel took her seat, did the boy begin his tale.

"Once upon a time - and as you know, 'tis not a true fairy tale unless it begins just so," Luc began, his voice sure and warm. His words held only the faintest hint of the Cajun patois that spiced his aunt's and his Maman's so thickly, but the easy cadence he fell into was the very match of the rogue's own.

"Once upon a time, there was a king who had three daughters. At dinner one evening, he thought to discover which of his daughters loved him best, and so he said to them, 'Come now and tell me, my precious girls, tell me just how dearly you love your father!'"

Antonia's brow lifted curiously when she heard the start, recognizing the tale and wondering how this one ever came to Luc's thoughts. But she did not interrupt, of course, to ask. The rogue simply took another sip of her delicious brandywine and smiled softly to herself.

"The oldest girl proclaimed, 'Papa, I love you as dearly as all the treasure and gold on this good world!'"

"The second declared, 'Papa, I love you more than the heights of the skies, or the depths of the ocean!'"

"And the youngest daughter said, humbly and sincerely, 'I love you as much as water and salt.'"

"As pleased as the king was with the proclamations of his eldest two daughters, he was furious with the sentiments of his youngest. 'Water and salt? Is that all I am worth to you, but common water and salt? Executioners! Come at once and take my youngest daughter away, and kill her immediately!'"

"Right away, the elder sisters brought the executioners a small dog to kill in her place, and begged them to kill it and bring its tongue and their sister's rent clothing to their father. The executioners did exactly as the princesses asked of them, killing the dog and rending the youngest sister's clothing to the king as false proof of their deed."

"The king rewarded his executioners handsomely, though unbeknownst to him? The executioners left the youngest sister in a forest cave. But Fortune and Fate both dearly loved the little princess, and she was found in that same forest by a strange magician who took her in, to his home opposite a royal palace."

"And it was here where the lovely youngest princess was espied by a king's son who fell madly, desperately in love with her. And when the match was agreed upon, the strange magician came to the little princess with the oddest of requests."

Luc leaned forward toward Nicolette where she sat, the cast to those dark, amber-lit eyes suddenly far, far older and wiser than his meager eight years alive in this world. "'On the day before your wedding, sweet little princess, you must kill me. Invite three kings to your nuptials, your father being the very first. Order your servants to pass water and salt to all the guests, but your father.'"

"The young princess was heartbroken, but swore she would do as he asked. And yet her heartbreak was not, in truth, near so great as that of her father who, the longer he lived, was buried beneath regret for what he'd done to the youngest daughter he truly loved more, day by day. So great was his regret and sorrow and grief, he very nearly turned away the invitation to the wedding, thinking only that his littlest girl should be old enough to have been marrying by this time as well."

The young boy sat back in his chair, his face aged and careworn, his arms spread wide as if the old king's helplessness were his own. "And yet he feared the other king might make war on him, and so he decided he must go."

"The day before the wedding, the strange magician was killed as he was ordered, and they quartered his body, a quarter in each of the cardinal directions of the castle, and sprinkled his blood in every room. Wherever the crimson drops fell, flesh and blood turned to gold and precious gemstones. And when the three kings arrived, they were amazed and awed by the sight."

"The wedding was a magnificent affair as well, as was the celebratory banquet afterward. And true to the words of the strange magician, the little princess' father was served all the rich foods, but nothing of water or salt. The young queen sat near her father, and noted he did not eat."

"'Your majesty,' she asked, 'Does this food ill please you?' The king shook his head sadly, though he replied only, 'No, the food is grand - only I do not feel well.' At that the bride and groom fed him the choicest pieces of meat themselves, though without salt he found all flavorless, and without water the old king found it impossible to swallow past the lump of grief in his throat."

"And when the dinner was done, the entire assemblage told stories. And it was a towering regret that drove the old king to tell the tale of what he'd done to his youngest daughter. The young queen slipped from the room and returned then, in the very dress she'd worn when she last told her father how dearly she truly did love him."

"As he sat astonished, amazed with recognition, the youngest daughter said, 'You wished me dead because I told you truly, I loved you as water and salt. Do you see now Papa, how little there is to savor to the lengths of our days, without these dear and simple-seeming blessings in our lives?'"

"The old king said not a word, but only took his youngest daughter in his arms and begged her forgiveness - a thing she most gladly gave, another simple-seeming blessing as beautiful as water and salt. And they all most certainly did live, from that day forward, happily. Ever. After." The boyish grin returned to Luc's face as he searched Nicolette's face, to read there what she thought of his tale.

"And as you might know, Mademoiselle Beauchamp, 'tis not a true fairy tale, unless it ends just so."

Jax grinned and thought of diving for pearls as his Captain leaned over the rail and looked below. Deep pearls or deep perils he had said. Jax could not help but chuckle at that. They both looked over the edge of the crows nest and watched a lovely wave from far below. Jax couldn’t really see her but his mind had been memorizing her for longer than he cared to admit. Oh he saw well enough all on his own.

Damn female powers he repeated the Captain's words in his head and took another swing. It felt right to lean against the side watch the moon waltz in and out of the thin layers of clouds and listen to Thomas tell his story.

Stories of young lust and seeing what he wanted in the dark of night. Jax knew of those. He could not help but wonder if the Captain was telling him more. But he had to laugh out loud at the end discription of the face that settled his tired night..“Sometimes tis best to keep your eyes closed.” He chuckled. Jax glanced up at the moon, “Nights always cast a different light. But still, bet your exports were wagged about on the tongue of that dog faced woman. Least ya didn’t eat hair.” He chuckled at the imagine that brought to his mind.

“She didn’t demand payment did she?” He slapped the flask in the Captain's direction. “Not as dramatic as your but my first night off ship at a port, young as I was, I was sure the ladies found me irresistible. Got friendly with one feeling oh so dashing and manly only to learn I had to pay her.”

“Damn female powers.” He laughed and pushed himself higher against the rail. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back feeling the rays of the moon. Or was that the tingle from the flask? Didn’t matter much. It felt good as the cool breeze of passing stars tickled his hair and touched his chest. He opened his eyes to view the sky never tiring of the way the stars dance and directed.

As he was looking up he heard a melody distance and faint. At first he thought it was Nicki calling to him. She had his boots. She was singing to call him down and back to them. But it didn’t take long for Jax to realize it was not the voice that read stories to him and recited poetry. Although the sound was sweet there was no honey in the song at all. It was far away It mixed with the waves and the salt spray. It sang with promises like that of the whore in some far off camp . Jax turned his head following the sound. He strained his ears and then his eyes.

There was a faint light below the star light horizon. It rose and faded as if reaching for the night sky, as if it was trying to jump from the sea to the join the moon and her clouds. In fact Jax had to look to make sure it just wasn’t a trick of the waves against the far edges of the sky line. He closed his eyes and opened them again.

It was a distant fire. Jax knew where they were. He knew that direction. He slowly raised his hand and glanced to his Captain. “Tell me if that far off light is not a ship on fire?”

He watched with more focus wondering if it was a expensive exoitc wonder tapping on their tent flap luring them in the dark. Or a dogfish of a hairy beast they might not want to see in the daylight.

Nicki realized with a start that her hands hurt. She blinked and realized with a start that her eyes were dry, as if she’d been staring, unblinking for a great long while. She blinked and looked at her hands and realized that they were gripped so tightly around the small glass of Brandywine, untouched but for a first sip, that her knuckles were white. She forced them open and they moved only because the force of her will was such that they could not help but move. It hurt, considerably and the pain flashed in her eyes before she dropped them.

She was shaking and stirred and more than a little bothered that it was the words of a little boy who had brought her to this state. A story, a fairy one at that. What was it that bothered her so? She lifted the neglected glass to her lips to wet them and to buy herself some time. What had bothered her so? For she was well and truly bothered. Forgiveness. That was it. The end, that neat, pat ending in which all was forgiven and the king learned the error of his ways. Bullshit. It was all bullshit and she wanted to spit on that ending. She felt fury build to take the place of the hurt. How dare anyone presume to know her pain? To coax her to forgive?

But it was just a story.

A stupid story and for all that his eyes had looked wise he just was a boy and he didn’t know, he couldn’t know what he was talking about. How could he? His life, though not sheltered as hers had been before she’d gotten lost, was too short to have felt the sting that Nicki had. Why was it always those who had not suffered who thought they could advise anyone on the dispensation of their grief and anger? It had been one of the things that had caused the rift between her and Yan.

He was just a boy.

She knew that the silence was getting too long, too thick in the cabin and she had to say something but she was uncertain that she could manage it without a thickened voice or hot tears. Her control was hard won and not sturdy at all, not with Jax sapping at her foundations. She tossed back the rest of the Brandywine, a sin to not have sipped it but she could not linger, no matter that it was her own cabin.

“Thank you.” She managed, her honeyed voice tight but not trembling. She put the glass down and stood, her knuckles still white and aching, her hands held before her like claws.

“You have a gift for storytelling Young Master Luc. A fine voice.”

She nodded to the lookout and then looked to the air somewhere over the boy’s shoulder so that the unfocused maelstrom of emotions swirling in her eyes did not alarm him. After all, he was a boy and he did not know what he was talking about and could not be held responsible for what he stirred up.

“If you will excuse me, I must see to something.” And she left. She did not leave time for replies and if any came they would have fallen on her deaf back.

Thomas laughed with a good-natured tilt to his head. “Well, as it turns out, my crewmates had already paid the err…lady beforehand. Apparently I was the victim of some high good sport, and the perpetrators were waiting for me to rush out of the tent like a hurricane.”

He grew silent then, taking the flask and listening to Jax tell of his own first encounters with the realities of love and lust in the world of pirates. Thomas smirked. The experience was almost a universal eye-opener to the young men—and women—that sought the outlaw’s life. Freedom had an interesting way of looking the same, which made Thomas muse that perhaps it wasn’t truly freedom they were experiencing at all? Maybe it was all a different set of laws, unwritten and informal, but laws all the same?

“Bah!” Thomas said. This was not the night for such deep thinking. He tipped the flask back once more when Jax’s observation dawned upon him.

Bringing the flask away from his mouth, Thomas’ brow furrowed as he turned to follow the helmsman’s gaze. What he saw there made his face go slack. In the distance, silhouetted against a night bright with stars and moon, were the dancing tongues of a great fire. With the distance that Thomas knew they had traveled, he realized that Jax was right: it had to be a burning ship, as not settlements were in sightable distance of the Skate. At least, none that Thomas had ever seen on any chart.

“Damn it all,” Thomas muttered. Spinning to Jax, he said, “I need you at the helm. Now. Take us west, and away from the fire. Whoever or whatever set her ablaze might be able to sight us beneath the moon.”

Turning from Jax, Thomas leaned far over the railing of the crow’s nest, cupped a hand to his mouth, and yelled with all his might. “Ship ho! To your stations! Make ready for speed.”

With that, Thomas thrust himself over the railing, and into the roped shrouds of the main mast. Swiftly he descended, taking the lengths of the rope ladder with dangerous abandon. Below him, he distantly heard the crew react with uproarious shock to his call from the nest. The sound of boots thundering upon the deck combined with the yells of the men as they scrambled from their raucous partying, and to their duty stations.

As his feet met the deck, Thomas called out once more. “Antonia, I need you aloft! Lieutenant, make us ready for iron.” He said, indicating that the Skate should be prepared to receive, and send, cannon shot.

Around him, the crew worked with practiced efficiency as they ran out all the sail the Dusk Skate possessed, working the blocks and tackle lines with grunted determination. Thomas could hear the canvas unfurling, and he could hear the groan of hemp as ropes were pulled taut to bring the sails ot bear.

Retreating towards the aft castle, Thomas made to bring up his looking-glass, when another sound stopped him dead. Squinting with concentration and disbelief, he looked up, bringing his copper eyes to stare towards the far-away flicker of the burning ship.

For several long moments, the captain merely stood, entranced by a beautiful, ethereal, and angelic chorus of voices that drifted to his ears. His breathing slackened, and his tensed muscles began to relax as the singing crescendoed. Even as the volume increased, the chorus seemed infuriatingly distant and faint. He leaned forwards, his mouth opening in wonderment. All he could think was that he had never once in his life heard such a perfectly striking and intoxicating sound.

More. He had to have more. He had to know what holy embodiment could call so beautifully.

“Jax,” Thomas said, not looking to the helm, or even knowing if the helmsman had yet made it to his station. “Take us to that ship.”