Chapter 1
Despite its risky reputation after dark, the Cannery pier was always a hive of activity during the daytime. Merchants conducted business amid a mad mob of workers loading and unloading the fishing and cargo ships lashed to pilings. Emma wove her way through the crowds, looking intently for the man who had given her the satchel just a day ago. It was a simple-looking bag, but whatever was inside was obviously valuable. The flap that enclosed it was held fast by a heavy lock. You don't put a lock on a bag of rubbish.
The man's directions were simple enough: Do not attempt to open it. Meet in the morning at Blackmoore Pier. Do not even try to open it. Board the Antelope and sail for Tortuga, where she'd be met by his employer – a man named Gold. Hand the package over, ask no questions, take her pay and leave.
The man, tall, thin and stiff like a twig, stressed what he said was the most important detail.
"Do. Not. Open it," he said.
As she pushed her way down the wharf, she saw him standing to the side. The flamboyant topcoat he was wearing made him stand out – something he seemed painfully aware of. He looked to be staying as far away from the workers bustling by as possible. He exuded a stiff, formal air of condescension. As she approached, he looked down his nose, lifted his arm and pointed to the schooner immediately to his right. She looked up at him, and then at the boat he expected her to board.
"That's it?" Emma asked incredulously. The ship was on the small side and seemed a little bare-bones. It wasn't hard to imagine the leaky vessel providing a stomach-churning ride across the waves. It was surrounded by much larger, sturdy fishing vessels with more sails, larger crews and much sturdier construction - all of which were no doubt capable of sailing them across Blackmoore Harbor and out into the ocean beyond.
Yet this man expected her to climb aboard what amounted to little more than a wind-powered tub. Emma was starting to have second thoughts about the whole agreement.
"Do you want to get paid, or don't you?" the man said in a reedy, impatient voice. "This is the Antelope. It'll get you to where you need to be – and where your pay is. It is small, fast and capable. Perfect for avoiding any unwanted attention."
This was not a man who wanted to be there, and had little interest in conversation. Emma was a woman in need of money. She ignored her inner voice warning her and turned a blind eye to the shoddy transportation.
"I guess a deal is a deal," she said, making sure to throw a little extra shoulder in his direction as she spun and made her way up the gang plank.
"Keep it safe," the twig man said as she stepped onto the Antelope. "Do not give it to anyone but Mr. Gold."
As she steadied herself on the deck, Emma felt a strong hand clap her on the shoulder.
"You must be our cargo," the man grumbled as she turned to face him. He was big, had weathered, leathery skin and smelled like low tide. "I'm the captain – which is just a fancy way of saying that I'm the one who tells you what to do around here. But everyone on board just calls me Cutter. Suits me better anyway."
"Emma Swan" she responded looking around for the "everyone " he referred to. She saw only five others milling around. Two busied themselves among the rigging. The others kept their distance and eyed her suspiciously.
"We run pretty bare," Cutter said. "Just enough to get this beauty galloping."
It was only a two mast vessel, smaller than most, and certainly not big enough to keep the crew far enough away for comfort. As she again began to question the whole plan, she turned back to the pier. The condescending man was gone.
"Why does everyone keep doing that?" Emma whispered.
She shook her head slowly and sized up her transportation.
"What's with the relic?" she asked the captain with a raised eyebrow.
Cutter leaned in toward her.
"It's exactly what the job calls for," he said defensively.
He was dressed like most of the other men on the pier: stomping around in oversized boots, a heavy oilskin coat hanging off his rounded shoulders and a stocking hat pulled over his large dome.
"I trust deluxe accommodations will suit you?" he said, the sarcasm barely hidden. "Go below and pick a bed. We eat after dark. Now clear out so we can get underway."
There were three shallow bunks on either side of one end of the cramped lower deck, a tiny galley and then two more bunks at the far end. Emma made her way toward those, hoping it would be the more private end. She shuffled unsteadily as the Antelope began moving away from the pier, ducking a bit to keep from smacking her head off of the beams criss-crossing the underside of the main deck. She tossed her bag into the top berth and crawled into the tiny space. The bag would have to act as a pillow, but the straw-stuffed mattress would do.
She lay her head back on the bag and gave a thought to her plan. She had no problem not knowing what she was carrying, but knowing that someone wanted it badly meant that it had some value. If the delivery should never take place, at least she was holding something that could bring in a little money back on the seedy side of Blackmoore – as long as she could avoid the attention of the twiggy man in the suit.
However this played out, she was holding something that could be liquidated – one way, or another. There had to be a catch, of course. Why would they hire a stranger to accompany it to its new owner? For now, it didn't matter. Now it was time to catch some sleep.
For the better part of two days she spent most of the time in that bunk. What food was offered was rather unappetizing, but there was enough rum to pacify the otherwise foul-tempered crew.
She slept fitfully, dreaming of being hunted by a man dressed in black with a face hidden in shadow.
On the morning of the third day she made her way topside to find every man on board gathered together and looking intently off the stern. The sky was slate gray and whitecaps topped the waves smacking against the side of the schooner.
"Here," Cutter said, handing Emma a copper spyglass. He pointed to a small smudge against the horizon.
She put the lens to her eye and swept back and forth until the dark spot came into view. While it was still a good distance away, she could make out sails billowing in the stiff wind on three main masts. It was a large galleon flying no identifying standard. It stood three decks above the waterline with a long bowstrip jutting out from the forecastle.
"It's been following us since we left Blackmoore," the captain said. "I thought it was just a coincidence for the first few hours. Now I know it's not."
The speed of the Antelope kept it out of range of the looming vessel, but with wind picking up, the much bigger ship was quickly gaining ground.
"What would they want with your boat?" Emma asked.
"It's not me, or my boat, that they want, I'll wager," the captain said.
He turned to look at Emma. She hadn't noticed the rest of the small crew filling in behind her.
"What's in that bag of yours, anyway?" he said. "Why don't we have a look so I know what I'm risking my ship for?"
That bag was the one thing she had in her possession that could put some money back in her pockets – either by making the delivery or by fencing it. Either way, she wasn't about to hand it over to this crew.
"You really want to mess with Gold?" Emma barked.
She was bluffing. She didn't know anything about the man's reputation, but if he had the money to hire a ship and pay a courier to keep his merchandise safe, it was a safe bet he had some influence.
Cutter snarled at her, took a look back at the approaching galleon and waved a beefy arm in her direction.
"Well then stay out of the way."
The wall of seamen parted and she took the opportunity to retreat below. The satchel was where she left it, so she draped the strap over her shoulder and gave it a tug to make sure it wasn't going anywhere. She thought it best to keep everything nearby. Just in case.
The ship rocked harder as first an hour passed, and then another. It creaked as it was tossed and rivulets of seawater began to spew inward as seams began to weaken. She could hear shouting from above, but couldn't make out what was being said. When cups began tumbling out of the mess area, she had had enough. The storm was obviously picking up in intensity, and if she was going into the water, better to be able to see it coming.
Climbing up the ladder topside, she was met by sheets of rain pelting down. She poked her head up and saw a shoreline just off to the left. It appeared and vanished as the waves tossed the small ship high into the air, and then cradled it in a deep, briny trough. She scanned the deck, only to find it completely abandoned. The vessel whirled and jumped aimlessly with no one at the wheel. She barely had time to realize the danger she was in when a massive ship rose up atop a growing swell just yards away, turning broadside to the now-abandoned schooner. The galleon had caught up to the Antelope in the churning waters, and its bristling four-pounder guns were pointed right at them. She could make out figures rushing around the deck before another swell tossed the boat sideways. With little hope of holding on much longer and with the threat of canon fire at her back, Emma did what she assumed the rest of the crew had already done – she jumped into the roiling ocean.
The violently churning waters were ice cold, and Emma hit the water flailing. She kicked as hard as she could as the waves took her under and then spit her out. The leather bag slung over her shoulder became heavy and her arms and legs worked feverishly to keep from going under for good. She focused on the shoreline in front of her, kicking wildly and riding atop cresting waves. As the horizon rose violently, she took a deep breath before being sucked below the surface by a powerful rip. She kicked again, reaching for the surface just inches above her outstretched hand - and struck solid ground. She pushed off and popped up above the waterline. Emma began pushing against the sandy bottom as she was tossed forward by breaking waves. Staggering, soaked and exhausted, she struggled to crawl away from the current that threatened to reclaim her. A treeline was just yards away, and as she made for it she stole a look back at the ocean. The Antelope was nowhere to be seen. The galleon, meanwhile, sat bobbing on the waves – and plain as day: two skiffs were being lowered into the rough waters. It was time to move.
Emma made for the wooded labyrinth in front of her. She grasped the leather satchel tight to her side and began running. Branches slapped into her face as she cut through the dense undergrowth, waving an arm out in front of her in an attempt to shield herself. Without knowing where to possibly turn, she kept moving. Like the sea behind her, the ground pitched down and then up again. She tripped over a tangle of roots, got up and continued running. Her lungs burned, her vision was growing unclear and an intense weariness began to take hold. She'd stop for just a moment, she told herself. Just to catch her breath.
She sat on the wet forest floor and leaned her back against a tree. Her mind began to calm as she peered through the driving rain for any sign of movement. Confident she was free for the moment, she stood and turned to move further inland.
There, less than 20 feet way, was a tall, bare-chested man standing stock-still, barely visible through a small opening in the trees. His head was bald except for a dark topknot of hair. A smear of black paint slashed across his face, creating a fearsome mask. He glared at her and crouched low, as if preparing to pounce. Threateningly, he clutched a long club with a rounded end in his fist.
Emma stood for a moment, wavering slightly and staring at the menacing figure - and then bolted. She tore headlong in the opposite direction, crashing through thickets and nearly falling. She looked back and saw her pursuer moving effortlessly through the same thick forest, his arms pumping and the club cutting through the air as he began to gain ground. She turned back around and continued running as fast as her tired legs would carry her. She heard crashing through the trees just behind her.
And then nothing.