The sun had just barely set on St. Martin by the time I reached the prison. Pretending to act natural, I tried to meander at a leisurely pace as I circled the prison, eyeing every possible entrance. To my dismay, every option was heavily populated with guards, and some sort of shift change between afternoon and night seemed to be taking place. The only way I could possibly get in would be in the dead of night.

At first I resolved to lean casually up against a nearby stone wall, keeping my eyes peeled, but as night fell, passersby became more and more scarce, thereby opening up the opportunity for my father to find me and drag me back to the stables to carry out his plan without first completing mine.

So instead, I decided to lay in waiting at the most populated place I knew, the tavern. Neither Jack nor the crew were present tonight, doubtless in the planning stages for their proposed bank heist. I found an empty seat at a long table, uncomfortable at being on my own, but trying my best to blend in. After a moment, I felt the unmistakeable feeling of being watched. My head lifted and peered around the room, and I did a double take upon seeing my Father, his deformities cloaked and concealed as he glared at me from outside the warped glass of the tavern's one grimy window.

The barman's voice interrupted our tense stare down. "Oi, you!" he barked. "What'll it be?"

I was startled by his sudden appearance. "Oh, um," I stammered. "I'm, um…fine. I don't need anything."

"Ain't no free seats, lass," he replied. "You either buy or you leave."

My instinct was to say that I was without any money, but then I realized…I still held my father's silver pouch from the day before. I produced it, glancing up at where he stood outside peering in at me. His eyes were wide as if to say, "Don't you dare…" So I grinned, produced a piece and handed it to the barman, saying, "One bottle of rum, my good sir!"

When he came back with the bottle, placing it firmly on the table then attending to other patrons, I firmly uncorked it and looked up to the window once more. Still, my father remained there, one eyebrow raised in a clear threat, saying, "Don't do it." I smirked defiantly, knowing full well how safe I was inside, raising the bottle in a salute, then tossing back a swig of the drink.

That's when I remembered…I had never had rum before in my life. I choked at the burn as it seeped through my throat and deep into my belly, coughing at the aftertaste. Sheepishly, I dared look up again to find my father, now looking incredibly amused but still furious. Not wanting to appear weak, I kept drinking, eventually getting used to the taste.

…eventually, getting a bit too used to the taste. Swig after swig I took, which slowly caused me to grow drowsy and very giggly. I don't remember much from that night, except that I began conversing eagerly with others at my table, successfully dodged a bar fight, and would get into laughing fits that I would be sure were intentionally staged to gloat to my ever-watching father on the outside. As the night commenced, the tavern grew rowdier and rowdier, ascending into a chaotic mess of people and noise. One pair of patrons remained silent, however, sitting together on two barstools in the corner. They were out of place in nearly every regard. They wore highly ornamental clothing, though together, a man and a woman, appeared gaunt in their cheeks, her hair unkempt and wild and his face unshaven. And I wasn't sure if it was the drink or my imagination, but I could have sworn they both had dark, piercing eyes that were firmly planted on me all night. I tried searching my memory for their faces, but once again all semblance of rational thought was rather muddy by the time I finally noticed their stares, and I didn't know if I could even trust my own judgement. Therefore, I paid them little mind and continued on in my levity.

The only other thing I remember from my time in the tavern was that after having downed my second bottle of rum and being properly woozy, I was approached by a young, off-duty officer still in uniform. He had been near me for the majority of the night, inserting himself into my conversations, but I had paid him little mind until he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me towards him.

"You seem like a good-time lass," he murmured suggestively.

Even though I was very much inebriated, I was fully aware of his meaning, and I pulled away, laughing uneasily. "Well, I s'pose I'd like ta think I have good times," I slurred through a slight giggle.

He then came closer to me. "I mean to say that you're unusual," he commented. "I can tell."

I grimaced. "Thank you? I suppose?" I asked.

I then flinched when he tried to touch my hair. "You suppose? You don't think you're unusual? Unique? I'm praising you, you know."

A feeling of dread started to arise inside me at that point. I had heard lore of my mother and Elizabeth fending off against unwanted suitors and had witnessed my fair share of both of them retaliating against several brutes in my youth, but I myself had never expected this. I didn't feel mentally equipped in my present state to successfully maneuver my way away from him. I had to talk myself out of this one. "W-well," I stuttered. "I would return the praise, 'cept I don't find you particularly unique."

His eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"How can I in that uniform?" I asked, poking him in the chest. "I can't really tell a thing 'bout ya, n'so I think you aren't quite the one for me."

He was undeterred, grinning a toothy, shark grin. "You could perhaps persuade me from this uniform, and you could see how unique I really am."

The games were over. "Alright, no," I said, edging away from him. "I believe I'm done with this encounter."

He was persistent, however. "No? You're really denying me? Are you not interested me in the slightest?"

I let out a guffaw. "Sir, I don't think you realize just how uninterested in you I am," I chuckled.

"Hey, mate!" a voice called from across the bar, drawing our attention. It was the man who had been staring at me earlier with his female companion. He remained seated, but looked extremely stern. "I believe she's made her point perfectly clear. Please desist."

"You mind your own business!" he called back. He then proceeded to grab me firmly by the arm, digging his nails into the skin and causing me to audibly wince.

"Are you really in a position to say no to me?" he whispered threateningly, unheard amidst the rest of the noise of the bar. "Do you know who I am?"

"I know exactly who you are!" I spat, stamping hard on his foot. He yelped in pain, releasing me, causing all activity in the tavern to stop entirely. Now free, I fumbled sloppily for my belt, reaching for gun, sword, anything, then to my horror remembering that they were both gone. In a panic, I looked to the window, but to my utter horror, my father was nowhere to be found.

With my head turned, this left me vulnerable to attack, and the ruffian therefore had the chance to grab me by the short hair at the nape of my neck and force me to freeze, face motionless in pain. "I knew it from the moment I clapped eyes on you," he growled in my ear. "You're one of those perverted he-shes, aren't you? Women with dangerous ideas of masculinity? You know I can try you as a witch if I so please, don't you?"

The panic only continued to grow. How could I have been so stupid to have gone out without a weapon, or allowed myself to drink so much that I was physically weaker than I had ever been? My bigger question was why wasn't anyone helping me? And then it occurred to me… "Do you know who I am?" he had asked. Of course. He was a man of the crown. Most of these patrons were his inferiors as simple townsfolk. They wouldn't dare oppose him.

It was at that moment that I saw a tarnished, finely shaped blade land on the left shoulder of my attacker. "I'd step away if I were you," a familiar dulcet voice rang out. Father!

The tavern patrons instinctively stepped back at the first sign of a drawn weapon, clearly accustomed to these sorts of bar tousles. The officer released his grip on me and spun around, pulling his own sword to parry against Father. His cloak was fully pulled down so that his face was entirely immersed in shadows. "Get away from her and leave this place," he warned again.

As though it was rehearsed, two other officers in the tavern emerged from the crowd of awestruck patrons, drawing their own swords and rushing towards him. "Father! Watch out!" I cried. He turned his head in just enough time for one of them to yank the hood of the cloak down, revealing his disturbing visage.

The patrons, barman included, all shrieked in horror and dispersed, pushing past me to flee as quickly as they could. The three officers remained put, utterly shocked but tied to duty. "What is this monstrosity?" my attacker cried out, making a hard swing towards my father's neck that he blessedly ducked to avoid. Then, it became a full on war between the three of them versus Father, and I had nothing to help him with. Panicked, I ran my hands through my hair, desperately searching for something to chuck to distract at least one of them.

Like a godsend, I heard a voice call, "Miss!" It was the same couple, who had remained stationary amidst all the chaos. The man opened his long cloak to reveal a cane leaning up against his leg. He threw it to me. I hadn't the time to question why on Earth he or his companion were unwilling to help us themselves, so I unquestioningly caught the cane and thwacked it over one of the crony's backs. He turned his attention on me, so I sloppily clamored over the bar, finding a rogue empty bottle behind it and darting back up, where I managed to crack it over his skull. The arm that held his sword went limp, and he swayed for a moment before collapsing on the bar, unconscious.

Father was still hard at work fighting in perfect form against the attacker and the other crony. Stumbling back on top of the bar, I hurled myself at Crony #2, latching onto his back like a frightened cat and clawing accordingly at his face. This allowed my father enough time to disarm my attacker and slam his head against the table I had initially been sitting at. Meanwhile, #2 quickly regained his bearings and began to slam his body, and therefore my back, against the wall in attempts to free himself.

"Anna!" Father cried, producing the cane I had dropped and tossing it at me. Now that I was pinned against the wall, I was able to reach my left hand up to catch the cane, holding it taught against the brute's throat and cutting off his breath just long enough for him to also slump to the floor unconscious.

I stood up, my sides heaving as I struggled for breath. My dizzy vision finally focused on the concerned expression of my father, who asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yes. If it wasn't for those two over there…" I said, drawing his attention to the couple who still sat warily in the corner, concerned but unmoving as though nothing had transpired.

Father defensively raised his sword towards them. "Leave," he warned. "We thank you for your aid, but—"

"Look out!" the woman cried out.

But it was too late. With my father's and my back turned, we didn't see my attacker regain his consciousness and run my father clean through with his sword.

"NO!" I screamed, my hands flying to my face in horror.

Father was motionless in shock for a moment, then made a sharp turn and pointed the tip of his sword at his neck, pressing it into the skin so that it drew blood. With his free hand, he wrenched the sword from his own stomach, as though it was nothing, pointing it as well at his neck.

Father sneered as he growled,"Leave here, and speak often of what you witnessed here today. Understood?" The man became a blithering wreck, trembling and whimpering a slight "Yes." Father pressed harder, drawing more blood and causing another whimper from the officer. "And if you ever treat a woman that way again, know that I will be back for you. And I won't be quite as merciful." He released his grip, lowering his weapons, and ordering, "Now go!" The coward then nearly fell over his own feet to rush out of the room, leaving his two unconscious comrades behind.

I was frozen in shock from what I had just witnessed, but father seemed unfazed. He tossed me my attacker's sword. "There," he said, "Now you've got a sword you can perhaps defend yourself with the next time you do something stupid." Obediently, I sheathed it in the empty holster on my belt without a word.

Then he turned to the man and woman. "You as well," he said sternly, picking up the man's cane and handing it back to him. "Leave. Forget my face."

The man bowed his head and struggled to stand, leaning heavily on his cane. What was curious was that he was a rather young man…there should have been little reason for his reliance on it for balance. "Understood, sir," he said dutifully, offering an arm for his partner.

She, however, remained seated, her eyes distrusting of my father. "Will the girl be safe with you?" she said in a thick, unrecognizable accent.

"Darling, please…" the man warned.

She turned her head sharply towards him, silencing him with a glare, then returned her gaze expectantly to my father.

"She's my daughter," he explained deliberately.

She was still expressionless. "Will the girl be safe with you?" she repeated emphatically.

Father took a deep breath and said, "Yes. Now go."

"Come, my love," the man said, offering his arm to her. She reluctantly took it, but when she did she stood on even weaker legs than her companion, clinging to him with all her might as they stumbled unsteadily out of the bar.

Once they were gone, Father turned to me. He opened his mouth to say something, but I swiftly interrupted him to it but opening my mouth and vomiting the contents of my stomach onto the tavern floor.


I have since had several drunken escapades that I haven't been particularly proud of, but the first time you face the consequences of having too much to drink is an experience one can never forget. Because despite what little of the evening I recall, the one thing that will forever remain with me very vividly was throwing up over a bridge, my father by my side.

"There, there," he said with a sign. "Get it all up." After a bit, he chuckled to himself. "Glad to see that you've inherited my poor tolerance for alcohol."

I coughed, brushing my matted, sweaty hair out of my face. "What happens now?" I slurred. "They all…saw you."

He shrugged. "Yes, but most of them were heavily intoxicated. They'll either never remember me, or think it was just a hallucination. I doubt anything will come of it."

"But…the couple…"

"If they cause trouble, they clearly can't get far."

"And the officer?"

He raised an eyebrow and looked at me skeptically. "Do you honestly think Scarfield's going to believe three men screaming about stabbing an undead fish?"

I considered this, then nodded, realizing the truth in his words. "About that," I said, changing the subject. "You were stabbed!" I couldn't finish my exclamation of utter shock, as another sudden urge to heave took over me.

Father merely blinked at my regurgitation, calmly replying, "That I was."

I spat and coughed, "But you're alright?" I croaked.

"If you'd call it that," he said casually. After giving him a worried glance, he clarified, "Yes, I'm fine. We can get injured, but never die. We heal. Slowly." His expression changed. "Are you alright?" he asked.

I threw up again, and with my face turned downwards towards the bottom of the ravine, I weakly mumbled, "I'm great."

He shifted his position so that he was beside me. Earnestly, he asked, "So what is there for you at the prison, hmm? You thought I wouldn't follow you?"

I wiped my mouth, groaning, "A girl."

Father snorted. "It's always a girl, isn't it? Story, pray tell?"

"I…barreled into her and caused her to be arrested. She'll be executed, and she's an innocent."

"Oh, wonderful," he said sardonically. "And you are of course planning a last-minute gallows rescue? Yes, between Jack and your mother, of those I've witnessed my fair share."

I shot him a look to take this seriously. "She'll be dead in two days if I don't do something!"

"What is she guilty of?" he asked sincerely.

"Reading," I replied, before heaving once more.

"And what was this grand plan of yours, eh? You weren't going to wait for the execution, so…what was the strategy?"

My regurgitation continued, so I weakly pulled a pin from my hair and held it up for him to see.

"A lock pick?" he asked. He then sighed resignedly. "Alright. Seems simple enough. I can afford one more night, I suppose. Tomorrow we'll arrange something to get you inside and to her. Then we depart at dawn the following morning. Understood?"

I agreed, and then he put an arm around me to help me stumble back to the stables. He helped me settle into my makeshift bed, and before he turned to go keep watch, as he never slept, I caught his sleeve in my right hand. "Father?" I said. "I'm…I'm sorry I said…what I said.

He only looked directly into my eyes with sincerity. "Never apologize for the truth."

I shook my head. "It was cruel."

"Perhaps," he said, "But it was also honest. And deserved." A shiver came over me then, but I didn't let go of his sleeve as my eyes closed. So he sat by my side for a time, just staying near me until I fell asleep. To this day, I believe that he heard my breathing settle, and supposed that I was asleep, for I'm uncertain that he would have been this candid with me when I was entirely lucid. For in that time, I heard him murmur, "For the record, I never stopped fighting to get back to you. Not one moment did either Turner or I stop trying to find a way home, or become complicit. We finally agreed that so much time had passed, that any attempts from our families on land to free us would never come to fruition. As such, we decided that it was better to destroy all ties with all of you to keep you away and safe, so you could go on with your lives. We vowed to keep fighting as long as it took, but that way the only clock we would be on would be our own, not yours. It was enough to know that the four of you were safe. And as for your mothers, they did what they saw fit on their own to keep you and Henry safe. Every decision was made with the utmost concern for your well-being, but I'm afraid it caused more harm than help."

My eyes still shut, I whispered, "What is the harm in having us try and save your lives?"

I heard him exhale slowly, as though he was exhausted from the weight of an entire planet. "Because my life's not worth saving, my darling."

And that was my final memory of that insane night. It ended with such a harrowing phrase, and yet an acknowledgement at last that I was his daughter, and I was loved.