"You look beautiful," said Will. It was the first time he had seen Elizabeth in the new dress she had ordered for the Ball, and the dark green silk suited her perfectly, setting off the hint of red in her hair. As always, Will felt that glow of undeserved pride at the sight of her. He himself was dressed plainly in dove-grey, a sword on his hip and a single drop pearl in one ear. But Lieutenant Kenton, waiting politely on the landing, looked like a uniformed fop beside him.
"Captain Stanbury's apologies, Ma'am," Kenton sounded anxious. "He feels he should stay with the ship. There's a storm coming."
"He's not taking her to sea?" In rough weather, the Dauntless might be safer in deep water, but Will was more alarmed that he would have cared to admit at the idea of being stranded on Quatre-collines without her.
"No, Sir. It's a fine harbour - very sheltered, and the holding's good. But he wants to be aboard to deal with any emergency." Kenton lowered his voice. "Besides, too many ships have mysteriously disappeared in these waters, whatever our hosts may say about keeping the pirates in their place." He noticed Elizabeth's eye on him and blushed. "Although the Dauntless would give a good account of herself, of course."
"Of course." Will, too, could feel the heaviness in the weather. He glanced at Elizabeth. "Are you nervous?"
"Certainly not!" Elizabeth tossed her head, that little show of temper telling Will everything he needed to know.
"Then, let's go."
The great Ballroom was already candle-lit and bright with colour. From the top of a short flight of stairs leading down to the dance floor, the three guests looked out across a sea of shimmering silk and powdered wigs. Cavaliers and fine ladies strolled in and out through the arched doorways from the battlements, or stood in polite groups beside the long tables heaped with gold and glittering glass. Music and conversation mingled elegantly.
At the head of the stairs, a large man in a silver wig and an expanse of blue coat was announcing the guests, rapping heavily on the floor with his brass-tipped staff as he bellowed their names:
"Representing His Excellency the Governor of Port Royal: Mister William Turner and Mistress Elizabeth Turner!" He gave them a wide, insolent grin before slamming the staff into the marble. "Lieutenant Archibald Kenton, RN!"
Ladies were not supposed to look down when navigating stairs. Elizabeth, sailing down with her head held high and a perfect faith in Will's steering, found herself nodding and even graciously smiling at the faces below as they turned to watch her. She would rather have spat in their eyes. True to his word, they had not seen El Juez all day. But they had met a few of their fellow guests, and there were others here whom Elizabeth recognised from the parties and politics of Port Royal: Admirals and island governors and the Caribbean's wealthiest planters and merchants. All of them were as spineless as her father, she decided, turning their backs on their host's chilling reputation for the sake of his power and gold.
Her smile stiffened as El Juez' elegant black coat appeared threading its way through the crowd towards them. He bowed.
"Sir," El Juez spoke to Will, dislike as thinly sheathed beneath the polite manners as a sword edge draped in silk. "You confront me with my poverty. I may own all this -" he waved carelessly at the tables of gold plates, "but yours is the finest jewel in the Americas." He kissed Elizabeth's hand, then, ignoring the glare she shot at Will, tucked it into the crook of his arm. "Please - allow me to show you the second finest."
The second finest jewel in the Americas was sitting on a small table at the end of the room, all but hidden behind the six burly men in half-armour who stood guarding it. Two carried pikes, two rested naked swords against steel-plated shoulders, and two stood square-set with arms like hams folded on their broad chests - a loaded pistol in one hand, and three more in each belt. El Juez might look and move like a fencing master himself, but he could afford to buy muscle. Behind them, the table held a display of treasure: bags of coins, untied at the neck so that the contents came spilling out beneath the candle-light, some silver ingots as thick as a man's two fingers, a swirl of necklaces. And in pride of place, nestling in the velvet lining of a polished wooden box with gold clasps... a single ruby the size of a walnut.
"I wish you to see this," said El Juez. "The 'Lagrima Colorada' - The Red Teardrop ruby. It is, of course, priceless. It was stolen by pirates from aboard one of His Majesty's own treasures ships. The dogs slaughtered every man aboard." He smiled, a flash of teeth with no warmth or humour in it. "Fortunately, my men were able to overtake the pirates responsible and recover the stone. You may tell your father this: I have an excellent record of success against the scum and filth who infest my seas. Everything you see here on this table is pirate booty - recaptured by my ships."
"But that's wonderful!" Elizabeth beamed. "Now you can return it all to its rightful owners!"
Will's mouth quirked in a sudden grin, not quite quick enough for El Juez not to see it. But Elizabeth was fanning herself innocently, her eyes wide and admiring.
"Indeed," El Juez said coldly.
Perhaps it was just as well that at that moment the next guest was announced.
oOo
"Representing His Majesty the King!" The blue-coated giant paused, enjoying the sensation those few words caused. Everyone craned for their first glimpse of the great man, the nobleman from the Maria Mercedes. "His Excellency the Ambassador, Don Carlos Diego Domingo Felipe Montoya de Monza y Esteban, Duke of Casamontana!"
Will and Elizabeth stared with all the rest.
The figure at the head of the stairs was not particularly tall, and very slim, dressed in such an enormous red coat what he looked almost like a little boy in his father's clothes. Yet he commanded attention in a way which had nothing to do with titles and kings, nor even with the Mercedes' guns.
His hat was the size of a cartwheel, its feather curling half-way down his back. His shirt seemed to froth lace at his neck and wrists, there was a white silk love-knot in his hair, and he wore bucket-top boots. His sword, which looked exquisite, was worn in what Will recognised as the latest French fashion - although he personally thought it flashy and rather stupid - with the blade stabbed through the pocket of his coat.
To complete the picture, he carried a pair of quizzing glasses - spectacles held up to the face on the end of a be-ribboned silver stick, through which he peered at the crowd in an affected manner.
Horrified, Elizabeth choked a gasp of shocked disbelief into a cough. She did not dare look at Will.
And down the stairs, strolling into the lair of the most ruthless pirate-taker in the Caribbean, with no more protection than a dress sword, and no better disguise than a borrowed name, came Captain Jack Sparrow.