The Dark Horizon

by qqueenofhades

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, COMPLETE.

21. XXI

-XXI-

"No," Emma said, before she could stop herself. "No, don't – "

Bellamy wasn't listening. Bless his heart, he was already looking for a rope to throw to the wayfarer, just as Emma and her crew had pulled him out of the sea before. Her mind was whirling madly. She had never been comfortable asking Flint to remove Brennan in the first place, knowing that it was a craven, shameful, backstabbing maneuver to solve a problem that hadn't actually arisen – Killian possibly crossing paths with his estranged father and reacting badly – and even if Brennan had done a terrible thing in the past, it didn't mean that his murder would be justified. She even felt a brief spasm of relief at the sight of him, as if this would allow her a chance to make up for the mistake. But if that meant taking him on the Whydah with her, when she knew that slimy John Silver had wanted him for some reason, when Flint knew she didn't like him, when there were still a hundred and one ways that this could go wrong –

In any event, she wasn't going to get the chance to protest. Bellamy and Williams had thrown the rope, and Brennan clutched hold, hauled dripping over the railing and onto the deck. He was thin and unshaven, dark beard well frosted with silver, and his dirty shirt was stained with something that looked like dried blood; so he had been wounded in some degree, if clearly not fatally. He was volubly offering his thanks, already turning on that dapper Irish charm that had worked so well for him before, and Bellamy clapped him on the shoulder, welcomed him aboard, and sent one of the men to fetch him a restorative rum ration. Emma watched from the stairs of the quarterdeck, tense and wary, until Brennan's eyes skated over Williams' head and landed on her. His jaw dropped. "Captain Swan?"

"A-aye." She couldn't exactly deny it, after all. "How – how do you do?"

"You two know each other?" Bellamy looked between them, startled. "Did I miss something?"

"I – picked him up at sea a few months ago. Said he was on the Duchess, out of Charlestown, but it sank in a storm." Emma didn't want Brennan suddenly able to change his story now. "He joined my crew on the Blackbird and served admirably, but he accompanied Flint to the raid on the Spanish treasure camp and he – must have been wounded. I didn't know he was still here."

Bellamy glanced sidelong at her, as he knew her well enough by now to pick up on the evasion. Still, though, he didn't bring it up in front of their guest, as the man returned with the rum and Brennan gratefully tossed it down. Bellamy told him to go below and get a good night's sleep, as he had clearly had a hard day (or rather, days) of it, and they would discuss further arrangements in the morning. Then once he had gone, Bellamy jerked his head at Emma, and she followed him into the cabin, suddenly sick and cold with dread. Nearly alone among their kind, Bellamy wasn't someone who valued or engaged in dishonesty and selfishness and betrayal, and no matter what pretty veneers she wanted to put on it, Emma knew that her impulsive, emotional decision on Brennan had been all of these. He, after all, hadn't done anything to her but serve as a good sailor, tend Macintosh's wound, and make himself useful in cleaning the Blackbird and improving the crew's health and morale. If Sam found out that she'd asked Flint to hang him out to dry, was this the moment when he decided she wasn't worthy of his time, his protection, his friendship? Put her out instead, in Brennan's place? Please don't. Please don't. Please don't make me leave. She was a child again, left in the dark, terrified.

"So," Bellamy said, shutting the door and turning to her. "The devil is he?"

"He's – it's – complicated," Emma said faintly, sitting on the bed with a thump. "It's very complicated."

"All right, well." Bellamy was still in a good temper, but his arms were crossed, his fingers tapping on his forearm. "Make an effort."

Emma winced, wondering where to even start. At last, she returned to pulling him out of the sea on her way to Jamaica for the first time, and what had happened with them capturing Killian after the raid on the slave market, trying to extort Liam for his ransom which had then gone terribly wrong, Macintosh getting shot, and Brennan's extremely odd reaction to hearing who was responsible. Followed, after she was reunited with Will on the far side of her captivity aboard the Imperator, by confirmation that he was in fact the father who had sold the Jones brothers into slavery and run to save himself. That she had panicked and asked Flint to kill him, or at least see that it happened, because she was afraid. Afraid of Brennan making things worse at the wrong moment. Afraid of him revealing her own weakness to Killian, her choice not to tell him about his father, giving him that final push when he was already balanced on the brink. Afraid of everything that had happened between them. Just so very, very afraid.

She didn't dare to look at Bellamy when she finished, as she didn't know that she wanted to see whatever expression might be on his face. He remained motionless, fingers still tapping, until he finally let out a long sigh. "Christ," he said. "Complicated is the hell of an understatement."

"I. . . yes." Emma glanced up slowly, cringing. "You're not. . .?"

"Why do I have any right to be angry?" Bellamy sat down next to her, clearly picking up on the nature of her distress. "Not what I would have done, no, but I don't get to make you account yourself to me for decisions you made long before we ever crossed paths. And if nothing else, the weaselly bastard is the grandfather of your unborn child. If he has a single drop of remorse in his body about what he did to his boys, he would have to fight like hell to make sure his son doesn't do the same thing, even by accident."

That rocked Emma onto her heels. She hadn't even considered that aspect of it: that Brennan might have to help her find Killian, stop Killian from doing the one thing he had never forgiven his father for, that had scarred him for life: abandoning his own child. Brennan had done it deliberately, and Killian didn't know that she was still alive, much less that she was pregnant. But the crux of it, the cost of it, remained the same. That she somehow had to stop tragic history from repeating itself, from another Jones child being left without a father, and yet, sending this particular ghost of his past to cross Captain Hook's path now was all too likely to go down in flames. What good did it do them if Brennan genuinely repented and wanted to make things right for his grandchild before it was too late, if Hook never let him get a chance to explain? It did not seem in the least likely that he would tearfully embrace his father, absolve him of his crimes, and then rush back for a tender family reunion. It might make it even worse.

"I don't know," Emma said instead. "He'll say anything to save his own neck. He might agree to find Killian and sound as genuine as you can imagine, and then run the instant we give him a boat and send him on his way. Even if you dispatched a few men with him, that's no guarantee he wouldn't give them the slip. He hasn't survived this long by caring about anything other than his own self-interest. We don't even know where Killian is."

"Well," Bellamy said. "Sounds to me that if we made the right offer, it would be very finicky indeed for him to refuse, and then we could hold his feet to the fire. What about the other one, though? The older brother? What happened to him?"

"Liam?" Emma was startled. "I don't know, I haven't heard. I. . ." She trailed off, thinking of Killian's accusations among the flames of Jamaica. You were right. About them, about Liam, about everything. If the bond between the brothers had been irreparably shattered. . . she remembered as well Liam's chilling warning in the Imperator's brig, just before the hurricane. That if she pushed Killian over the cliff and into darkness, when he'd given his entire life trying to stop it, he would kill her himself. No matter which way you looked at it, the Jones men were not currently serving as any beacon of functional familial solicitude and affection. "He might still be a prisoner on Antigua, if they took him when they took Killian. He doesn't like me either. If you meant sending Brennan to him instead, he might be more inclined to let him explain before he did something rash, but neither of them would be able to help Killian from a jail cell."

"Well, that's his problem," Sam said firmly. "It's his debt to pay, and I don't want to expose you to the risk of going yourself. And at least someone is likely to have heard of an angry and dangerous – though very handsome – pirate with a hook for a hand, and where he might be. Once we collect my share of the Spanish gold, I have it in mind to make for the island of Tortola. There's a good harbor and cay there, a suitable place for a hideout. You'd be safe."

"You're not going to Nassau?" Emma was relieved, despite herself. That was no place for him.

"No." Bellamy raised a wry eyebrow, clearly sensing the reason for her reaction. "Too crowded, too filled with man-eating sharks, too much a place that would not, I am afraid, appreciate my particular talents. Tortola is eastward of Puerto Rico, in the islands of St. Ursula and the Virgins. Every ship coming from the Caribbean has to pass within a hundred miles of it, on its way out of the Windward Passage and into the Atlantic. The pickings would be ridiculously good."

"In the Virgins? That's very close to Antigua." Emma frowned. "Aren't you afraid of setting up shop so close to the Navy, even if they've been decimated for the time being? They won't be forever. And you'd be a much more tempting target, working there alone, than trying to take Nassau full on. They might be – well, despicable, but they have strength of numbers."

"As for that," Bellamy said. "I think it has been quite established that one pirate captain is a possible argument, two pirate captains are a certain argument, and three or more pirate captains are an out-and-out brawl. With the exception of us, of course, because we're wonderful. But since trying to cultivate alliances among people only out for themselves is like drinking the ocean with a thimble, it would be easier for me to fight off any attempted attacks by myself – and with you, of course, once we got you a new vessel. And besides. Who else might be returning to Antigua to finish certain business, and thwart any attempt of theirs at rebuilding?"

Emma's eyes widened. "So we could find him? Somehow?"

"If that gormless father of his can't, yes." Bellamy put a comforting arm around her shoulders. "We'll turn over every rock, or rather, wave. Once we're rich, of course."

Emma snorted. "You are rich, Sam."

"Aye, well," Bellamy said, without acrimony. "Richer."

Despite herself, she had to bite a grin. She couldn't quite express her gratitude for him not rejecting her, for accepting that she had made a mistake and not leaping to condemn her with it, and then being willing to run through any number of scenarios as to their next move, even if they were by nature rather tenuous. Finally she said, "So what do I do, if I reunite with Killian? I don't want to throw the news at him straightaway, as if that's the only reason he should think of staying, but I don't want to seem like I'm still keeping things from him or being dishonest."

"Frankly," Bellamy remarked, "if it was me,I'd just see that we had a really bloody amazing fuck, and save the talking for later. Much later. Then again, I know that ladies do like to talk about feelings, so my advice may not be the most reliable. As well, if I were pregnant, I don't think all the explaining in the world would be enough."

Emma snorted again. Bellamy's obvious and profound appreciation of the finer things in life (videlicet, how very and obnoxiously good-looking Killian Jones was) had turned out to be, to her surprise, one of her favorite things about him. She didn't feel threatened by his interest, as he had already assured her that he would not be any competition, and besides, it was a bit rich of her to assume that she would still be Killian's first choice anyway. Aye, she was carrying his child, but as she had known from the beginning how this could be used as a manipulation and a weapon, that could end up being more of a hindrance than a help. If Killian was interested in this sort of thing (she didn't know that he wasn't, after all) then Bellamy might prove a far more open, adventurous, loving, caring, and capable partner. She would choose him, over herself. She tended to choose nearly anyone, over herself. No matter how much she was trying to face it, to change, it remained the most difficult thing she could possibly imagine.

"Hey," Sam said, picking up on her change of mood. "You all right?"

"I – yes. It, you know, happens these days." Emma mustered up a smile. "Well, I suppose we'll have to talk to Brennan tomorrow. And see if anyone else turns up." She couldn't imagine where else Flint would be, knowing that the treasure was still sitting here for the taking. Unless he had failed to rescue Miranda, Jennings had in fact killed her in retaliation, and hauled Flint himself off to Boston to face the noose, along with the rest of his men –

No. Certainly not, no. And did her no good to panic about, anyway. One thing at a time. One thing at a time. This, and then everything else. She could do this.

Maybe.

The dawn broke sticky and sunless, with no sign of another ship, the guardas costas having moved alarmingly nearby, and Emma unable to tell if her queasiness was due to the usual reasons or to raw, overwhelming nerves. Likely some combination of both. Her heart was pounding in her throat as she rehearsed possible openings over and over, as Bellamy went to fetch Brennan (he had promised to be present for the conversation, so at least she didn't have to try it alone) and she paced back and forth in the cabin. How did you tell a man that you knew exactly who he was, the worst thing he had ever done, and throw the gauntlet in front of him to make up for it – especially when his son had become who he presently was, and the stakes were so dangerously high? As well, there was the fact that no matter if it was with the most noble of intentions, she was going to be responsible for sending the one man that Killian had most likely never expected or wanted to see again back into his life, and if it went wrong, she would have to bear the weight of Brennan's death as fully as if she had in fact succeeded in getting him killed the first time. Oh God, this was a stupid idea. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Emma was so absorbed in her thoughts that she jumped a foot when the door opened, and Bellamy reappeared, with a bemused-looking Brennan Jones in tow. While he had no reason to mistrust her, he must be well aware that they weren't dragging him here solely for pleasant palaver and catch-up. He sketched a polite half-bow, but his eyes were wary. "Captain Swan."

"Mr. – Mr. Jones." Emma nodded for him to sit, as Bellamy subsided to take up an unobtrusive presence in the corner. She remained standing, still trying to work out how to broach this, and finally couldn't think of any other way but the truth. "I know who you are."

One dark eyebrow jumped, in a gesture so unconsciously reminiscent of his son that it made her heart ache. "Is that so, ma'am?"

"Yes. You have two grown sons. Their names are Liam and Killian, and when they were children, you sold them into indentured servitude aboard a ship at sea and ran to save yourself from some old crime. They grew up as slaves, until they finally managed to free themselves and buy commissions in the Royal Navy. They served honorably for some years, until they came out here this summer, in command of HMS Imperator. You know that, because you heard me tell you who shot Macintosh on Jamaica, and you lied to my face when I asked if you knew them."

Brennan blanched. "I. . . see."

"I've heard that you confirmed it to Flint and Will, so I'm assuming you're not going to bother denying it again." Emma remained facing him, flat and level. "I have a question for you to answer, and it had better be the truth. Do you regret it at all?"

"Of course I do." His handsome, bearded face had gone paler. "I never wanted – "

"Very well, then. Do you want a chance to make up for it?"

His eyes flickered back and forth, and she could see him wondering just what trap he might be stepping into, but unable to think of a good way around it. "What would it be, my lady?"

"I. . ." Emma hesitated, then smoothed her shirt down over her slightly swollen belly. "I'm going to have your grandchild, sometime next spring. It's Killian's. And he doesn't know about it, and doesn't even know that I'm alive, after things. . . went badly in Boston. So, as you can see, it's quite simple. You can find him. You can stop him from making the same mistake you did, and abandoning his child. Atone for your crime, in the next generation."

That, to say the least, Brennan had not been expecting. "You. . . you are – you met him? The two of you are – were – ? I. . . did not realize."

"I can see that," Emma said coolly. "Nor did I intend you to. Nobody was going to know. Has the news made it all the way here to Florida, about what has happened to him?"

"No." Brennan's eyes darted to her stomach, then away. As if trying to comprehend the possibility of history repeating itself, of what was at stake for the very future of his broken family – either that, or he thought she had purposefully eaten too much last night and was trying to trick him. She kept searching for some relic of his sons in him, aside from the dark good looks, but couldn't find it. Both Liam and Killian were so. . . well. . . steadfast. No matter what else could be said of them, neither were in the least the sort to give up, to turn aside, to swerve from what was in front of them. Wherever they had gotten that from, it had not been Brennan, as what was built on rock in them was, in him, built on quicksand. "What. . . what did?"

As economically as she could, Emma explained what she knew about the fall of Killian Jones and the rise of Captain Hook. Brennan looked rather off his tea at that, as presumably the thought of facing the son you abandoned was difficult enough without hearing that he had now become a fearsome and murderous pirate captain. When she finished, he said, "It seems he's made quite as name for himself, then? I might be able to find him, but there's no telling if I could – "

At that, Bellamy cleared his throat. "Word to the wise, mate," he said mildly. "This woman is offering you a chance even I am not entirely sure you deserve, and I'm usually the forgiving sort myself, simply because she has such an ability to overlook the mistakes folk have made in the past, and hope that they are capable of changing for the better. She has more grace, empathy, compassion, and selflessness in her little finger than you do in your entire body, and she's already stuck taking a terrible risk on you. If you duck, weasel, evade, or otherwise let down the trust that she and your own grandchild have placed in you, I will pull your guts out through your nose, tie them in a ribbon around your neck, and hang you from the top spar by them. I'm perfectly able to do it, you know. I just haven't found anyone who seemed to merit doing it to, except for Jennings, and we'll all have a party when that happens. But if you want to be the first to volunteer for the honor, you'll keep on babbling your stupid-arse excuses and planning to skedaddle the instant you can. But I really, really wouldn't advise it."

Brennan was caught completely flat-footed, without any practiced and glib patter to rescue him, and Emma shot Bellamy a grateful look. He swallowed hard, straightened up, and said, "I only meant to imply that he, well, he may not want to see me. And if so – "

"Maybe not," Bellamy said, still mildly. Emma hadn't seen this side of him before; she was used to Flint's way of threatening people, when he always looked and sounded an instant away from killing you on the spot. Bellamy had hardly been ambiguous with his wording, but he'd managed to deliver it with a smile and that light, conversational tone, which was nearly more of an accomplishment than all of Flint's menace. "Just think very, very carefully about any choices you're going to make, and what we'd think if you just happened to vanish. I'll give you a launch and a dozen men, and if you try slipping away in the night, they'll all have free rein to show you just how much we dislike cowards around here. Do I make myself clear?"

"I. . . yes, sir, you do." Brennan smiled uneasily. "I know I've made poor decisions, but this should be the time to overcome those, to forgive. If Killian – "

"Killian's the one who decides if he gets to forgive you." Emma continued to look at him with that same cool expression. "You don't have the right to demand anything from him if he doesn't. I want to believe you, you know. As Sam said, I don't have much of a choice right now. I want to think you understand what you did and what happened as a result, but I'm not sure you do."

"I do. Believe me, I do. If I could go back and change it, I would in a heartbeat. So – "

"So do the only thing you can do now." Emma's chest tightened painfully, as if she too was now grappling with the full weight of it, the scars and the damage of abandonment, of the way in which the haunting legacy of Brennan's actions had become entwined not just with Killian's future but hers as well, with theirs. She rubbed a hand over the roundness of her belly, trying to ease them both, even if she had no real reassurance to give. "You can't fix the past. You have to do your best in the present."

Brennan paused, then nodded again. "I. . . do realize that," he said, sounding different – almost genuinely sincere – for the first time. "It's just. . . not an easy thing you're asking of me."

"I didn't expect it was." Emma still didn't know what to make of him. It was in her nature to be forgiving; she wasn't a killer, she didn't like causing people pain, and she would always rather focus on their future potential rather than their past crimes, as she was so poignantly, permanently aware of her own shortcomings. She had regretted her choice to try to get Brennan murdered, and she had never been going to stand here and deny him any chance of redemption, of finally doing for his grandchild what he had so abjectly failed at with his son, but it was stretching her to the limit. If he failed in this, she would have to wonder if her entire policy of doing no harm, insofar as it was possible, was really worth it. If she trusted him, and he betrayed her, she could see a future – not a definite one, but not a remote one either – where she turned into Flint, seeing only the worst in everyone and happy to discard their lives as it suited her. She didn't want that, almost more than words could properly or fully express. For all that she lived carefully and guardedly inside her walls, it was never from a hatred of the rest of the world. It was from a fear of her own weaknesses, her creeping suspicion that if someone left her, she deserved it. Despite everything she had endured, she had never lost her innate kindness, her desire to do right by the people she did know and care for, and sometimes she even allowed herself to be proud of it. But this. This was different, and it was dangerous.

"So?" Bellamy said. "I hope we have both made ourselves entirely, extenuatingly clear. You'll be on your way before the day is out. You'll start the search in Nassau, and I'll give you some token so that it's clear to Killian that you do in fact come from me. Once you track him down, you'll tell him only that Emma is alive, that she wants to see him, that he can find her safe in my company here or on Tortola, and no more. She can correct me if she wishes, but I doubt in the utmost that she wants to let you use her child as a cheap bargaining chip to guilt your son and try to force his hand on forgiving you. He needs to come back, if he wishes, because he's choosing her, not once more desperately trying to not be like you." He looked at Emma. "Aye?"

"What he said." Emma turned back to Brennan. "Further questions?"

He didn't have any.

"Good."

---

Liam Jones' first and overwhelming impression of Boston was that it smelled like fish. Surely there were other odors in there as well – caulk, tar, pitch, turpentine, ale, sweat, wood, hemp, brine, shit, the usual rich brews of a working port – but the nearly full-body experience of fish remained upmost. It was hauled in straining nets off the boats that crowded the docks, barreled in hogsheads, pickled, hung out to dry, sliced, skinned, and beheaded so that feral cats could fight yowling for the bones, flopping on the piers if it wasn't quite dead yet, boards sticky with slime and scale. It gave Liam an unpleasant recollection of their time as boys on the Pandora, as Captain Freeman had made him and Killian dice and gut endless mountains of herrings to be sold at market. The fish knife was lethally sharp and slippery, there were hundreds of tiny bones to flay out, and as it was just a few weeks after their father had left them and Killian kept insisting he'd come back, he refused to learn how. Liam ended up doing most of it, both in fear that Killian would cut himself and in fear that if they didn't at least try to make themselves agreeable, Captain Freeman would decide that the best place for them was likewise overboard in the middle of the night, but this time without the boat. He could still debone a herring in under two minutes, but the smell – and the thought of where Killian was now, hurt and left in a far more lasting way – briefly made him want very much to be sick.

"Captain," Regina said. "What on earth is your problem?"

"Nothing." Liam swallowed hard, offering her his arm for the benefit of the watching customs agents, as they strolled up, introduced themselves as William and Elizabeth Curry, traders from Barbados, and the ship as the Jewel of the Realm. The agents noted down the information, looked as if they were expecting payment, and to Liam's surprise, Regina fished a few bits out of her bodice and covered the tariff. When they had been admitted into the city, he said, "You do remember what I said about choosing to continue with me, don't you?"

"Of course. I don't have a short memory." She smiled, with just enough teeth to allow him to hear the implied threat. "That Emma Swan likely wasn't dead, that we had to find her to save your brother, and if I was coming along, I had to help you try to save her. Not kill her."

"Forgive me if I doubt you've given up your revenge in the matter of a day, then. You still know that the best way to find her is to stay with me, and – "

"Are you saying you'd prefer it if I left?" Regina looked at him with a slanted smile. "That no matter what, you can't trust me to put anything first but my own interests, at any cost to you?"

Liam had to consider that carefully. He didn't think she would personally harm him, and it was true that without her inside knowledge of Jennings' habits and haunts, he would have had no idea to make for Boston. His crew had come to more or less respect him and follow his orders, but there were still a few holdouts, who might have caused serious trouble if not for the fact that they were all terrified of Regina. Aside from their volatile argument in Jamaica, they had worked together tersely and efficiently, seeing no more of each other than they needed to and making a show of deliberately keeping to themselves. After he had returned from the fatal confrontation with Killian, she had been – well, comforting wasn't the word, she was too acerbic and blunt-spoken to be comforting. But she understood, if nothing else. Told him quietly that he couldn't blame himself. That when someone dwelled as deep in the heart of darkness as Killian currently did, and she had since Daniel Colter's death, nothing and no one could reach them there, make any sense or hold any sway. That if either of them were going to come out, they'd have to do it by themselves. Nothing anyone else said or did mattered the slightest damn.

Liam didn't know if this was reassuring, since he had spent his entire life trying to fix things for Killian, and to think that he was now completely incapable of doing it was the realization of his deepest and longest-running fear. But without Regina to illuminate just how those darkest places worked, how someone could find themselves lost in one without a torch, the light and the air running out until they lay down to die, it would have felt far worse. Knowing that she was fighting the same battle, that she could provide accurate reports from the field. . . if he told her to leave, he would lose whatever dim flicker of insight he had into Killian's mind right now, and then the small window of opportunity might well slam shut.

"No," he said at last, neutrally. "I don't want you to go. But if you try to hurt Captain Swan once we've found her, before we can return her to my brother, I'll have to stop you."

Regina snorted. "I was never going to simply stick a fish knife into her and call it a day. I almost think we should let them see each other first. Maybe she can know what it feels like to lose him in front of her eyes, the same way I did. I wouldn't even have to lift a finger. The state they're in, he's in, he'd probably manage it himself."

Liam wanted badly to deny this, but with the image of Hook still seared into his waking and sleeping memory, he couldn't. That man was capable of anything, any destructive extreme, and he might well be deluding himself to think that one woman had a prayer of stopping it. Delusions are all I have right now. As long as he always remembered what they were.

They made their way up the steep cobblestone street to the Navy office at the top, a handsome clapboard white mansion built in the colonial style, with red shutters and a gated front garden. Liam hesitated, then let them in, thinking of how he had told Killian that they could possibly have a life here. I'll see about getting us a new posting. Somewhere in the American colonies, perhaps. I've heard good things about Boston's prospects. Well, here he bloody was, to examine said prospects in person, and it didn't matter much what he concluded. He knocked briskly on the door, waited until a servant opened it, and when asked for their names and business, began to answer with their aliases – then changed his mind. "I'm Captain Liam Jones," he said. "Formerly of HMS Imperator. I'd like a word."

The servant must not have heard the full tale of his disgrace and downfall – Boston was quite a long way from Antigua, after all – because he let them in, took them to the sitting room, and told them that someone would see them shortly. Liam perched stiffly on the high-backed mohair armchair, while Regina paced back and forth like a cat in a cage, until the door opened, someone in Navy blues stepped through, he looked up – and almost had a heart attack.

"You?" He sprang to his feet, fumbling for the sword he wasn't wearing. "What the – what the fuck are you doing here? How did you follow – I swear I'll – "

"Easy!" The man held out his hands as if in the presence of a dog about to bite, looking rattled. "Christ! My name is David. Captain David Nolan, at your service."

"David Nolan?" Liam had to take a moment to calm his racing heart. "I thought you were – "

"I can guess who you thought I was." David Nolan bowed courteously to both of them. "Sir, my lady. I regret that my brother's infamous reputation so far precedes him yet again. You can be assured, however, that I have no part in his crimes. I was told you have business?"

Liam was jolted further at the idea of both of them having brothers whose grasp on reality, morality, and sanity was currently questionable at best, that they were struggling in quite different ways with. If he's the good brother and James the bad, which the devil are Killian and I? From the Navy's point of view, it was obvious, but Liam no longer knew in the least. For his part, David Nolan probably wouldn't mind if James dropped dead tomorrow, but Liam, of course, was hell-bent to save Killian no matter what. It wasn't easy to stand here and look into a face he had last seen holding his brother down while Jennings cut off his hand, but he knew painfully that he couldn't treat the one like the other. He inclined his head stiffly. "Apologies for my mistake, sir. It is good of you to receive us so promptly."

"Of course." David beckoned for them to sit, sinking onto the settle. "Captain Liam Jones, did they say it was? I've heard of you. I've always – well, I've always rather admired you, I'm honored to meet you in person."

"You what?" Liam felt entirely unworthy of being admired. "Why?"

"Well, because of your shipboard policies." David looked surprised that he would have to ask. "That you dared to be decent and honorable and do the right thing by your men, and treat them as such, not merely vermin who could be flogged and starved to death and have more hauled in by the press gang when you ran short. I have always tried to command the Windsor the same way, and you're the reason for that. So. . ." He shrugged awkwardly. "Thank you."

Liam opened and shut his mouth. To say the least, he had not expected this, and he was stunned at the thought that anything he and Killian had done on the Imperator really mattered, had had any impact on the conduct of the Navy outside their one, lonely ship. To know that the Windsor had done the same. . . no, it wasn't some great worldwide victory, or ultimate repudiation of pervasive institutional brutality, but it was more than he had ever expected, and he briefly found himself rather choked up. He coughed, glancing at the floor, wondering if he should tell David what a wreck had ultimately come of that. Save him some difficulty, in the long run? But he couldn't bring himself to it, and he smiled uncomfortably instead. "Ah, I suppose you're welcome, then. But as it is, I have a question. Do you happen to know anything of the recent actions of one Henry Jennings?"

"Henry Jennings?" David looked surprised, and rather skeptical. "There's suddenly been quite a surge of interest in him. As a matter of fact, I apprehended him and his ship at sea just a few nights ago. He was wounded in action, so I took him ashore to be treated. He's a vile man, frankly, but he's in the personal employ of – "

"Lord Robert Gold," Liam completed grimly. "Therefore you can't legally do anything to him. I will hazard a guess that one of his recent misdeeds includes the murder of one Emma Swan?"

David Nolan blinked. "How did you – never mind. Yes, that is one of the crimes laid to his account, but as the lady in question was a pirate, it's not something he can be charged with under the law – he was, after all, just doing his job in removing her. What would – "

"I don't think she's dead." This was a dangerous wager, and David could still turn them in to the Navy higher-ups if this started sniffing too much like treason, but as he had just admitted to admiring Liam for defying them in the name of human decency, Liam himself had decided to risk it. "Jennings was lying. He might know where she really is, and I need to have a word with him. About that, and. . . other things."

"Indeed?" A slight frown creased David Nolan's blonde brows. "If that's the case, I will, of course, have to ask why a fellow Navy captain is interested in tracing the whereabouts of a known pirate. I had someone – well, two someones – looking for her not long ago. One of my old sailors, Samuel Bellamy, and another man. Killian."

Liam managed to keep his expression implacable, with an effort. "That was – is – my brother. I don't know if you've heard of him too, but – "

"That was Lieutenant Killian Jones?" Nolan's surprise was evident, and almost sad. "Well, I certainly would never have guessed if you hadn't told me. He's gone rogue, then?"

"I. . . he. . . yes." Liam looked at his hands. "I realize it's irregular. I realize I am asking far more of you than I have any legal right to do, or that you could safely or easily give. But if you met him even in passing, you must realize what's become of him, and I have to stop him. That means finding Emma Swan, and for that, I need to talk to Jennings. I'm sure he has no intention of cooperating without an inducement, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

David was quiet. Then he said abruptly, "My wife, Mary Margaret – she's the daughter of Leopold White, a rich merchant from Charlestown, in the Carolinas. For several years, the family had a maidservant named Emma Swan, who lived there with her younger brother. Only when Emma was discovered to be pregnant after the visit of a notorious rake, who left as quickly as he had come, Leopold decided himself unable to countenance the scandal, and put her and her brother out of his house. Mary Margaret only came home for a visit after it was done, and by the time she discovered it, it was too late to change. It never sat entirely well with her, what her father did to that poor girl. Is this the same Emma Swan, do you know?"

"I. . . don't, not for certain." But Liam recalled what he had been planning, to chase up her old connections in Charlestown, and this seemed like too much coincidence to be an accident. "However, I do know that she uses Emma White as an alibi, and that we indeed met her in Jamaica when she introduced herself as the daughter of a rich merchant from that very city. It seemed to be the usual way she got into important circles without revealing herself as a pirate captain. So yes, I'd say the odds are very good that it is."

"Ah." David considered a moment longer, tapping his fingers. Finally, he stood up and said, "I don't know where she is, and couldn't legally say if I did. But for whatever you can get out of that wretched bastard Jennings, I'll let you have a quarter-hour to talk to him. I wouldn't advise turning your back on him. He's wounded, but that makes any animal more dangerous."

Liam looked at him narrowly, then nodded. He and Regina rose to their feet and followed David down a corridor, up a set of creaking stairs to the second floor, and down the hall to a door at the end. He took a key out of his pocket – no matter if Jennings had diplomatic immunity, David clearly did not want him wandering around unsupervised – unlocked it, handed the key to Liam, and raised his voice. "Captain Jennings. You have visitors."

"Do I?" The figure sat in the chair by the window turned around slowly. His left shoulder was wrapped in bandages, and he didn't seem able to move much faster, or get to his feet without effort, but neither of them were falling for that. Upon getting a look, he grinned maliciously. "Captain Jones and Madam Mills. Oh, this must be quite a story."

With a look, Liam instructed David to see himself out, which the other captain did, shutting the door behind them. He then turned back to Jennings, reminding himself to be very careful. He wanted to lunge at him and slam his head into the ground, anything at all for the pain he had caused and continued to cause them, but he couldn't do that. Jennings sat there with eyebrows raised, waiting for him to commence, and when he didn't, said, "Well? Before we're old, then?"

"I know you didn't actually kill Emma Swan," Liam said evenly. "Where is she?"

Jennings smirked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, clearly adopting a pose of maximum insouciance just to see if he could get under their skin. "Do you? Afraid I don't know. Tried to beat it out of Flint's whore, but she felt like being difficult. I hope that wasn't too much of a bother, for you to come all the way up here and get nothing. Must be frustrating."

"Listen, you – " Liam caught himself, walking back down, as to rise to Jennings' bait would be the worst thing he could do. He was about to try something else, Lord only knew what, when he caught a glimpse of the other man's hand. "What the – is that my ring?"

"This?" Jennings held it up. "I got it from Swan, yes. I'd say it's my ring, now."

"Why did she give it to you?"

"Preferable to the alternative, perhaps?"

Liam glanced at Regina, remembering that she had said that she had to ban him from her establishment, that even she found it too expensive to cater to his particular desires. He could well guess what Jennings meant by that remark, which gave him an unexpected surge of righteous anger on Emma Swan's behalf. He may not like her much, but nobody deserved this odious pond slime sicced on them, and hearing that Jennings had also gone out of his way to make life difficult for her as well, after everything he had already done to the Jones brothers, strengthened the sudden solidarity. He absolutely hated seeing his lucky ring on that man's hand, even knowing what the stakes must have been for Emma to give it up, and he had to once more remind himself to be careful. Jennings was far more accomplished at this game than he was, and utterly ruthless in its playing. No need to show him just where to bite down the hardest.

"It's not that important," Liam said coolly, not giving Jennings the satisfaction of seeing him rile. "You can keep it, I don't care. So you lost Emma, did you? I do hope Gold doesn't find out about that. Not a good look for a supposedly loyal henchman."

Jennings shrugged. "Do I care if he does or not? I've switched employers once already, I could do it again. Offer me the right incentive, I could turn into your best friend. Start singing like a canary, everything I know. Help you get close to his various outposts and offices across the Caribbean. Take him down instead. How much are you offering?"

"I – what?" Liam should have been prepared for this, as a man who worked for money and only money never had the most firmly fixed of loyalties, but it took him off guard and added an even more dangerous element to the proceedings. "You destroyed us on his behalf, you cut off my brother's hand, you sank Captain Swan's ship and God alone knows what else, and you think we'd ever want to work with you?"

"I'm open to negotiation." Again, that shark-white smile. "Aye, I did all that, and I will remain devoted to you and your brother's complete destruction. . . as long as Gold is paying me enough for that to be the case. It's quite a lot, so you'd have a hard time overmatching it, but it could be done. You've seen what I've accomplished, set against you. Do you really want to keep trying your luck?"

Liam eyed him, still more coldly. He had to fight a brief and unsettling impression that he was talking to the worst part of his conscience, the darkest recess of his soul, that had gulled him into accepting bargains with bad men – Plouton and Gold – before, when his back was against the wall and there looked to be no other way out. He was not at all interested in making it a hat trick, yet it was as if he was looking in the mirror and seeing the evil shadow and fetch of himself, down to the wounded shoulder and his ring on Jennings' hand. Objectively, he knew that turning Jennings to their side, depriving Gold of one of his most valuable assets and dangerous weapons, would be a massive coup. But for the same reason, he knew that it would risk costing them far beyond what they, or he, could afford to pay – in money, or anything else.

"Well?" Jennings pressed, when he didn't immediately answer. "I know the coordinates to the Spanish wreck site, and I would have had a fair bit of treasure, if your pustulant little brother hadn't chased me off – back when he had two hands, that was. I'm not sure how he's amusing himself these days with one. Then again, a man only really needs one, eh?"

"Shut up." Liam clenched a fist. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's obvious, isn't it? I am languishing dolorously in the dubious grip of the Navy's hospitality, my ship has been damaged, you clearly need all sorts of help or you wouldn't be within ten miles of me, and you're lucky that I am a charitable and giving fellow who doesn't hold a grudge. Get me out, reunite me with my men, and ensure we make it back to the wreck site without further molestation. If we can collect the cut of the spoils we were originally planning to take, we'll hold you as our benefactor and ally, not Lord Robert. Simple."

"That's insane. You think I'd take the wolf into the henhouse and then feed him more eggs, and that you'd have any intention of – "

"I'm a mercenary." Jennings shrugged again. "Frankly, politics bore me witless. I played the part of the good Jacobite as long as Lord Archibald was padding my pockets, but James Stuart is an inbred fanatic and George of Hanover is stupider than a post. Whichever of them wants to sit the throne, I don't care. Nor do I care about stopping piracy and overthrowing Nassau and whatever other drums Gold beats. Only as long as he pays me. What do you want me to be, Captain? The perfect little Navy sailor? It might be a stretch, but if the money's good, I'll give it a try."

"I don't want anything to do with you." Liam was feeling rather filthy just by being in the same room with him, and yet he still couldn't walk away with no leads at all. Kept telling himself he would never sink to Jennings' level, when he couldn't be sure if he already had, long ago, and just kept denying it, the way Regina claimed. For her part, she was watching with a slight smirk, as if she was enjoying the process of seeing just how far he could be pushed. Jennings hadn't bothered to work on her at all, clearly aware that it would be much more fun with Liam, and he had to fight the impulse to clear the fuck out of here and let them amuse themselves however they would. "You'd sell me out again the instant you got a better offer. The risk – "

"Show me an investment without a risk, and I'll show you a poor man." Jennings grinned. "I negotiate the best deals for myself and my crew to do our jobs. They always get paid, from the deepest pocket out there. That's why they love me, that's why they'll do whatever I ask them to, that's why you really don't want me as your enemy if you can at all afford it. But no, I understand. You have to take the empty moral high ground, yet again, and act as you think would be right, not what would be useful. Who are you planning to justify yourself to? Your little brother, the one who killed the entire Royal Navy headquarters in the Caribbean and all those poor unfortunate souls in Jamaica? Aye, I'm sure he's in a real position to judge you."

"I – " Despite himself, Liam faltered. It was true that Killian's rampages of the last several weeks had not left much room for other people to be branded murderous lunatics, or for him to censure their extreme choices. Just do it, one more time. Make the deal with the devil, if that was what it took – but no. Not again. Not like this. It was clear that anyone who made the mistake of regarding Jennings merely as a mindless attack dog working for the highest bidder, with no real volition or ambition of his own, would not live long enough to regret it. He was the most dangerous of all, precisely because while everyone else had their agendas and binding commitments and desperate ends that they would pay any price to achieve, Jennings simply profited off their weaknesses, and would kill any and all of them if the wind changed. The nearest analogue Liam could think of was that he was the Horseman of War, from the Book of Revelation. He was given focus and form and power and meaning by chaos, favoring none, devouring all. Might ride at your side for a time, make you think he was your friend, even as the sky was falling. Only, in the end, to destroy you too, and not once look back.

At that, Liam also thought of the parish church in Bristol, the one with the massive jawbone of a whale serving as the roof arch. Among the candles always burning to the memory of those who went to sea and never returned, there was a painted mural of a group of sailors gazing lustfully on mermaids with the heads of devils, while Christ stood on the headland in place of the lighthouse, trying to guide them safely back to shore. Ulysses and the sirens' passage, respectably made over for a seafaring Protestant society. It made Liam wonder why the idea of going to sea, of leaving firm land and the rules of mankind, had long been such an apt metaphor for temptation. In the abstract, it was easy to understand that you had to follow the lighthouse, not the sirens' voices, when you were standing safely on land and could declare that of course you would do the wise and safe thing. Out to sea, in the thrall of the elements, when all the best intentions and exalted rules of mankind did not matter a single damn, there was nothing and no one to stop you from doing whatever, quite literally not on earth, you pleased.

Yet that, somehow, firmed Liam's resolve. I can do without this sort of help. Even if it made finding Killian and Emma that much harder, he was willing, for once, not to take the shortcut. He straightened up, and looked Jennings dead in the eye. "No deal," he said, flat and level. "Good day, Captain Jennings."

The man actually blinked, as he must have rarely been turned down before in his appeal for new employment. "You're making a mistake, Jones."

"No, actually. For once, I'm not making it." Liam turned on his heel, gesturing to Regina. "I hope you enjoy Boston, I've heard it's a fanciable place. Goodbye."

With that, he let them out, locked the door again, and headed downstairs to return the key to David, informing him that unfortunately, they had had no luck. Regina held her tongue until they were outside, then could do so no longer. "He's right. You're making a mistake. If we get Jennings away from Gold – "

"Yes, I know. You think that after taking infernal bargains from both Plouton and Gold, this is suddenly and arbitrarily where I draw the line. Well , I don't care for your opinion, madame. I can still find my brother without breaking Jennings out and taking him on board my ship. So – "

"You don't care for my opinion?" Regina's eyes were narrow. "Even with your record of making the wrong decision at the right time before, now you're just making the wrong decision at the wrong time. You don't get points for style or good form, Captain. If nothing else, Jennings has the coordinates for the wrecks, and there will be other pirates there. One of them is likely to know where your brother is. You could, though it strains my imagination to picture, bargain with one of them, get them to take you straightaway. Or you'd rather sail around in circles for months, trying in vain to ever get close enough to pirate waters, just because you turn up your nose at a man who, on the face of it, isn't much different from you?"

"We are nothing alike." Liam reared back, especially stung because of his own thought earlier, that he was looking at the worst half of himself in a mirror. As if Jennings was what he could become if he just kept sliding, taking every deal he was offered, until he no longer saw any line that he was not willing to cross. "You will not – "

"What if I could control him?" Regina faced him defiantly. "Or at least render him more. . . amenable than usual? I know a few bokor, vodou sorcerers. There are drugs, you know. Poison made from the spines of puffer fish, jimsonweed, other substances. A pinch of it, and a man feels light, unburdened, dreamy. A bit more, and he loses control of his own mind, his own volition. He does dumbly what he is told. That is where the legend of zombies comes from, you know. They're not corpses brought back from the grave. Just living men, properly bridled."

"That is. . . that is evil." Liam turned away, revolted. "We're not making Jennings a drugged slave! We're not having anything more to do with him! We're leaving, as soon as I ask a few more questions around the docks, and that's final!"

Regina eyed him sourly, then reverenced a sardonic curtsey. "As you command, O Lord and Master. I'd never disobey my husband."

Gritting his teeth, Liam decided that he needed a break from her company for the afternoon, turned on his heel, and left her behind without another word. He spent several hours trolling the dockyards and port offices, but nobody was able to turn up a definitive paper trail. There were a few who remembered somebody roughly corresponding to Killian's description, traveling in company with a ginger-haired glowering brawler and a black-haired swaggering charmer, but all became quite evasive when asked why they hadn't collected any names or ship registries. One of those miscreants bribing them like all get-out, I imagine. David Nolan had mentioned that Killian was with someone named Sam Bellamy, which rang a distant bell in Liam's mind; he was sure he had heard that name in connection to pirate activities before, which meant that Nolan likely had too. Had he refrained from arresting Bellamy, even though he probably knew perfectly well what he really did, because they were old friends? He'd also let them visit Jennings after disclosing his wife's connection to Emma, and had said that he tried to follow Liam's example in captaining the Windsor. He seemed decent enough, shockingly. For whatever that was worth.

At last, Liam was finally able to get someone to cough up that if Killian had indeed been with Bellamy, it was worth it to sniff by Cape Cod, as that was where the man usually sailed through. If Emma had escaped, this was also a connection she might know about, as a pirate herself, and it could be an option for her to meet up with him. They were not likely to still be conveniently anchored there, but someone had to have an idea of where they had hied off to. Perhaps this could be done after all.

Thus, Liam felt almost hopeful as he made his way back to the Jewel. He strode down the quay and stepped on board, thinking that they would depart tomorrow morning. If the news about Jamaica and Antigua had not arrived yet, he would be well served not to be here when it did, as wanting to find the perpetrator for any reason other than to swiftly hang him would be very bad. Even David Nolan, clement as he might otherwise be, would look at that askance. And then –

Liam opened the cabin door, and froze to the spot.

"Good evening," Regina said sleekly, stirring something in her teacup. Her companion, sitting across the table, was just lifting his to his lips. No telling if she'd dosed it with something vile, or it was merely a cordial business meeting, to hammer out the terms of their – no, no, no – their new alliance. "Captain Jennings and I are so delighted you could join us."

---

The return voyage had, thankfully, been less of an event than the outgoing one, though it was anyone's guess as to whether this was a good thing or not. Will was inclined to think so, seeing as he had spent the fortnight en route to Boston packed in the Bathsheba's brig with very little food, water, or privacy, wondering every moment if Jennings or some of his men were going to come down there and drag Merida out for some "sport." He and Mac would have fought to stop them, but as this would probably have resulted in their own death, he was grateful for numerous reasons that it had not come to pass. At least on the Walrus he had his own hammock, a regular share in mealtimes and watches, and the only person shagging Merida was Mac himself, which was a state of affairs that had become established rather quickly. They kept trying to be discreet about it, as even on a pirate ship, men would not appreciate one of their number having all the fun while they had only their hands for company, but that was not working out for them.

In the meantime, they kept on heading for Nassau as fast as they could go, which was sometimes quite fast and sometimes not fast at all. Flint was not going to risk another sea battle with them starting to run low on supplies, as well as with Miranda aboard, and the malcontents mumbling about the lack of recent scores would have to keep mumbling for at least a while longer. Will had, for his own safety, adopted a strict policy of not even walking anywhere near the cabin, as the two of them were usually in there if Flint didn't have someone to annoy on deck. He couldn't help but wonder if Miranda had told Flint whatever the reason was for Emma's solo escape – surely he would have asked why Emma had left her alone, or what had gone wrong if both of them had been meant to make it? If so, however, Flint was certainly not about to breathe a word to anyone. That man could know the ancient alchemical formula for changing lead to gold, or the location of the lost city of Atlantis (though you'd think he'd be a lot richer and not have to bother with this whole pirate business if he did) and nobody would be any bit the wiser.

At last, they were less than a day out of Nassau, preparing to dart in, drop Miranda, pick up a few extra cargoes of food, powder, and shot, and be directly on their way again. That, however, was when this fine plan hit what was usually known as a snag. Said snag was the sighting of another ship on the horizon – which, when it drew into range, was revealed to be the one ship Flint never wanted to see under any circumstances. His great rival, Charles Vane and the Ranger.

"What the fuck is he doing out here?" Flint snarled, twisting shut his glass with a look that could have rivaled Medusa for sheer snaky-headed stony business. "Doesn't he have some lowlife to brawl with in some godforsaken hellhole? Who would even – "

There was no way for the two ships to avoid each other, besides the fact of Flint wanting immediate answers, and they shortly drew close enough for their respective captains to glower at each other more efficiently. It gave Will an unpleasant turn to lay eyes on Vane, who of course had nearly beaten him to death on the occasion of their previous ill-fated meeting in a tavern, and he decided to judiciously lurk among the rest of the crowd. Rackham – was that him? Shit, yes, it was – was also as weak-chinned and obsequious as usual, plus he still had the sideburns, further increasing Will's distrust. Oh, and his lady friend, Bonny. Real charmer, that one.

"The fuck are you doing?" Flint shouted, in case his opinion on the matter should not have been clearly stated enough before. "Suddenly you're out and about after months of sitting on your hands and refusing to sail as my consort?"

"Funny thing, Flint. I don't need to sail as your fucking consort anymore." Vane grinned, teeth white in his sunburned face. "I've got the coordinates for the Spanish wrecks myself, and now that the treasure is sitting there on the sea bottom, I can just go in and pick it up. No need for you at all. Must chafe your arse right sore, doesn't it?"

"You what? Who the bloody hell could give you the coordinates for the – "

"Some new prick. Called himself Hook. Wanted to enter the harbor, so he bartered them off. Said he didn't know where you were, no ally of yours, either. Surprise you?"

It clearly did rock Flint, in fact, along with Miranda and Will. It was also clear that he was facing a truly intolerable choice: whether to head all the way back to Nassau to resupply and drop Miranda off safely, and thus run the risk of his rival making it to the wrecks before he did, able to take first pick of the plunder and get all the credit for the scheme that Flint had so painstakingly and dangerously planned for so long. It was comparable to asking Flint if he would rather walk barefoot over broken glass or be sodomized with a splintered broom handle. Not to mention the residual grudge he held against Hook for cutting and running back in Boston, thus nearly costing him a chance to rescue Miranda (Emma, Will thought, he could take or leave). Finding out now that Hook had spilled this priceless information to Vane was the icing on the cake. In no event would he like to be Hook, whenever Flint got his hands on him again.

"Hook –Hook is in Nassau?" Surprisingly, it was Miranda who spoke. "Is he still there?"

"Was there when I left." Vane shrugged. "He some friend of yours too? Fairly sure we don't need any more of those."

Flint loudly loosened his sword in its scabbard. "Watch your mouth."

"Or what, you'll cut my tongue out from here?" Vane shifted into a combative stance of his own, as if the two of them would sprout little wings out of their boots, flap into the air, and cross blades among the shrouds and sails of their respective vessels. Well, that would be a stirring spectacle, if quite a stupid one. "Let me know how that goes for you, while I – "

"James." Miranda turned to Flint, putting a hand on his arm. "I need to get to Nassau."

"What? For that? I'd rather get you home as fast as possible, aye, but – "

"James." Miranda gave him one of those looks that long-married women used so effectively on their husbands, the sort intended to make them realize that absolutely no good could come of crossing them on this matter. "It's important. It's about – it's about Emma."

At that, Will's ears pricked up as well. "What about her?" he demanded, forgetting to remain anonymous. He glanced at Vane, hoping he didn't remember their meeting in said tavern – no wait, shit, he definitely remembered it. "Where is she? The devil does Hook have to do with it?"

"It's complicated. But please. Trust me."

"Get you there how?" Flint objected. "We'd have to sail all the way back while letting this dung weevil get the jump on us to the wrecks, we only have a longboat and it's too far for a man to row, and if you did find Hook, you should punch him in the face from me, rather than – "

"I'll take you," Anne Bonny said.

It was impossible to overestimate the effect of this utterance, especially coming from a completely unexpected front. As everyone on both ships swiveled to stare at her, she shrugged defensively. "We 'ave a launch. I can handle it with an extra man or two. Not far to Nassau from here. No one else seems about to volunteer."

"Anne," Rackham said, still blinking. "Is there something I am missing? You have made your opinion on our friend Captain Hook exquisitely clear, and now you want to – ?"

Anne gave him a searing look. "I ain't doin' it for him."

"Then – I am honestly baffled, please, darling, do enlighten me – what can be the reason for such a munificent offer that seems to run counter to all – "

"She said it was for Swan." Anne eyed them defiantly from beneath her hat. "Not right what happened to her, not by that Jennings. Should help another lady, if I can."

"I had no idea you were a lady."

Anne's look turned into one that nearly burned Rackham's eyebrows off, and which he instantly recognized as a boulder-sized hint to shut his mouth if he ever wanted to get laid again in his life. Vane and Flint appeared equally nonplussed by the women's sudden decision to band together against them, and Vane said, "You can't bloody take the Ranger's launch without asking me, we could need that. I'm not about to – "

Anne laid a hand on one of the knives at her belt. "We can fight for it."

"No, no, no," Rackham said loudly. "No fighting, you two. Jesus Christ, I think I'm in nursery school sometimes. Charles, I myself do not understand what on earth Anne thinks she's doing, but if it frees us to continue without a serious incident, shouldn't we at least consider it?"

Vane looked at him scathingly, clearly saying that he had no incentive to make it easier for Flint, and would happily delay him with everything he could possibly think of. "Whose fucking side are you on, Jack?"

"Whatever side allows us to get as much money as possible, as fast as possible, without some idiotic, self-inflicted injury because you were too stubborn to let Anne take Flint's lady friend out of harm's way. Are you saying you wouldn't let her do the same if it was, say, Miss Guthrie in the line of fire?"

Vane looked as if he was very seriously considering wringing Rackham's neck and chucking him overboard, and Will himself had to admit to a sudden (temporary, only temporary) upsurge in his estimation of the yammering sleazeball. Finally, however, Vane spat, "Fine. It's a bargain. I'd rather beat you black and blue in a straight fight at the wrecks, Flint, so might as well both of us get there at the same time. You'll wish you fucking didn't, though."

"I'll be the judge of that." Flint tipped him an extremely sarcastic salute, then turned back to Miranda. Much quieter, he said, "Are you sure about this? If that bastard Hook hurts you – "

"He's not going to hurt me." Miranda smiled reassuringly up at him, laying both hands on his shoulders. "I need to find him. I told you, it's important."

"Very well," Will said. "Then I'm comin' with you. Not having you go completely alone."

Flint gave him a surprised look, on the verge of refusing by old habit, but could in fact see the sense in this, and grudgingly deferred. Merida and Macintosh looked startled, and the latter took a step forward, but Will held up a hand. "You two and the others, you stay and get us a good share of that Spanish money. I have to find our captain."

Mac looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Fine," he said. "But I'd feel better if ye would at least watch your fool back. Though I should be stabbin' it meself, for everything you've been blethering about the past few days."

"In that case, you'll be glad to be rid of me, eh?" Will raised an eyebrow. "Much more peaceable fuckin', that way."

Mac took a swing at him, Will ducked, and on that note, he and Miranda collected their things, boarded the Ranger in a reprise of their dramatic escape from the Bathsheba, and joined Anne Bonny, who grunted, beckoned curtly to Will, and went to the ship's launch: the largest of its boats, with a sail that could be put up to spare them having to row, which should be a journey of four or five hours back to Nassau. Miranda climbed in, Will and Anne lowered it, and hit the water with a splash, the ropes squeaking through the hoists. With Rackham waving anxiously at them from one ship, and Flint staring holes through them from the other, they set out.

There was not much to report from the journey. The Ranger and the Walrus quickly faded on the horizon (Will half-expected a plume of smoke from them starting to shoot each other on the instant) and the waves rolled on. Anne was a most competent sailor, and the launch was small enough that she didn't need his help tending the lines – he had tried, and gotten such a look that you'd think he had tried to see her naked. Stung, he snapped his mouth shut, only to open it again thirty seconds later. "So, Miss Bonny – that what I should call you? – good of you to – "

"Told you I didn't do it for you." Anne tied down the sail and resumed her seat. "Keep talking, and you can swim."

Will was miffed, as if she didn't fancy a talky bloke at all, there was no conceivable way to explain how she had ended up with Rackham. But he could at least understand that Anne viewed herself as helping out Emma, her fellow female pirate, and perhaps Miranda as well, far before she was doing it in any part for any of the men involved. Makes sense. We're a bit thick, really. If he was in her position, he too would be quite sensitive to injustices done to women, suffering more than usual in this world. Which at least gave him a distraction from wondering why on earth finding Hook was going to fix anything, though if it was true the bugger had gone a bit mad upon hearing that Emma was supposedly dead, but if she wasn't –

Oh, shit. Will suddenly had a most unwelcome epiphany. They're sweet on each other, aren't they? He didn't know if it was more than that, or how Emma had possibly come away from being captured by the Navy with the desire to get closer to anyone in said Navy, but there was no other explanation. Miranda had to find Hook to tell him that Emma wasn't dead, and this might call him off the spectacular reign of death and destruction he had been embarking on. They can be a nice pirate pair, then, is that the idea? His-and-hers pistols and cutlasses?

Will did not necessarily think this was a good plan, but he had to watch over Miranda; she would stick out like a sore thumb in the rougher districts of Nassau, as she almost never went there herself, staying to her house and the small village on the interior of the island, the last remains of genteel British society. Her association with Flint was enough to keep most people at a healthy distance, but there were plenty who would see her as easy pickings. They would be enlightened as to the idiocy of that notion promptly and fiercely, but still.

At last, just past sunset, they finally made it back, coming around the cape and into the harbor as Anne lowered the sail, and she and Will took the oars for the rest of the way in. Almost immediately, they passed what was instantly recognizable as the Imperator – but no, it had left all traces of its old allegiances behind, was completely and fully a pirate vessel now. Will grabbed Miranda's sleeve and hissed, "Oy. That one's his. Vane wasn't lying. He's here."

She went slightly pale, but nodded, lips firm. They considered rowing up and knocking at the hull, see if anyone was home, but the ship was dark, riding at anchor, without anyone visible on the deck; the crew must be ashore. So they sculled the rest of the way in, tied up, and Will offered Miranda a hand onto the crooked, swaying boards of the pier. With Anne at their side like a small and homicidal shadow, they set up into the darkening streets.

Will swiveled his head from side to side, trying to keep hold of Miranda's arm and look for possible hook-handed lunatics at the same time. It was a warm, busy night, people coming and going and laughing, drinking and shouting and playing dice, the clink and flash of coins and gems, the flick of battered cards, the clunk of tankards and pitchers with ale and wine, casks of rum. By the number of half-naked women he had already seen running past, with inebriated pirates trippingly in tow, some captain or other must just have arrived with a good score, and his crew were now enthusiastically spending it as fast as possible.

Miranda made no comment on this bacchanal, as she was far too well-mannered to do so, and Anne led them through the muddy alley, up toward a tavern Will recognized; he and the Blackbird's men came here a lot, and he could usually get a good rate on a night's roll in the hay from Arabella. They pushed open the door, entered the cauldron of heat and noise, and looked from side to side. No Hook.

They were just about to leave and go on to the next one, when the door swung open again and brought with it a rush of cooler night air. Speak of the devil, the man himself – though Will had to take a moment to be sure, as he looked absolutely nothing like his old self – entered, abstracted and clearly lost in thought, but at least not appearing as if his next move would be to go mental and murder everyone in sight. Indeed, he looked almost – well, a bit more human, really. Even had the traces of a smile pulling at his mouth, as if he had a plan in mind and was making preparations. Something not just about what port he could burn next, but purpose.

That, therefore, was when the man across the way stood up from where he had been sitting, surrounded by a dozen vigilant-looking sorts who also stood up when he did, and Will's breath shriveled in his chest. Bloody hell, he didn't – he should have known something had gone fishy in that raid on the Spanish camp – but the bastard had been stabbed, he was supposed to be dead, he was supposed to be dead, but he wasn't – and this – and that – and he –

Oh, Jesus ice-skating Christ.

Captain Hook's eyes met the newcomer's across the tavern, and at that, even though nothing else tangibly changed, Will felt it like a shock of lightning. Felt the world suddenly spin off and cease, go dreamy and slow and stupid, almost as physically as if he was in Hook's head himself, experiencing the tumble and fall alongside him. Because, really, there was nothing else to say, nothing else to do, but the word Hook's lips formed, silent in the tumult.

"You."