The galleon has been abandoned, it seems - drifting free. The smoke Ed spied is a neat brazier affixed to the main deck, stocked with slow-burning greenwood. It has been lit with the sole intention to send up smoke.

A signal. Ed feels hairs stand up on the back of his neck. Where is the crew? There's no sign of damage, of a battle or raid.

He snaps his fingers at Izzy, who leads the boarding party warily ahead. The party consists of Jim, who is very dangerous and usually in a foul temper, and Frenchie, who is usually in an excellent mood but will follow what Jim says. The rest of Ed's crew remain aboard their ship, a way off out of the cannons' aim.

Ed douses the brazier with a bucket. Why? Why send a signal, but then leave?

It could be a trap. If it were Ed, it definitely would be a trap. But there is no other ship in sight, nor land, and the galleon is silent.

"Main deck clear," Izzy calls, "foredeck, quarter deck, all of it."

"Down," says Ed, and yanks open the grating to the deck below.

His spine tingles. Ghosts , whispers his imagination. Devils . Ed's punishment at last, for the murder he committed - two murders, now. His dad - no regrets there - and also he threw Stede's onetime scribe overboard on a whim. A callous, meaningless killing. The boy had done nothing wrong except get on Ed's nerves.

He blinks and swings down the ladder into the dim space below the main deck. It is stuffy and warm. The air smells of men, and stale food, the always-smell of a ship. Ed sniffs. The smells are old, settled into the timbers. Nobody has been here today.

He draws his sword and prowls between benches and hammocks. A large iron plate set into the deck holds an iron stove. Ed touches it. Still faintly warm, the fire mere embers.

He hears footsteps and whirls around, but it is only Izzy and Frenchie.

"I don't like it," says Izzy. "It stinks of trap."

Ed agrees. "We check the hold, then we go. Whatever happened here, it's not our problem." He jerked his head at the grating. You go down. I'll keep watch here. Jim, with Izzy. Frenchie, up on deck."

Izzy nods, and strikes flint to light the nearest lantern. The party descend into the lower decks. Theirs are the only footsteps Ed hears.

He waits, poking at abandoned cups and bowls, hammocks strung between cannons. The galleon seems to be a merchant ship, but is set up like a man-of-war.

Izzy's voice, whispering hoarse commands, grows fainter. The boarding party has descended again, and again, and is below the waterline, in the hold.

Ed touches the nearest bench. It is still set with black Spanish dishes and cups. The rats have eaten any food, but the jug holds a dark wine that stinks of vinegar. Still, a drink's a drink. Ed raises the jug to his lips.

"Edward!"

Izzy's voice, urgent.

Ed leaps for the grating. Down two ladders and into the reeking hold. It is dark except for Izzy's lantern, casting shadows on the looming shapes set against the curve of the hull. Over there is the pile of grain, the spare wood for carpentry and repairs, and here-

Here, where the galleon's gold ought to be, is a big empty space. Empty, that is, except for Izzy holding the lantern, and a large group of Spanish sailors, tied and gagged and hollow-eyed in the lamplight.

"Who's the captain," barks Ed. "El Capitan?"

One man groans.

Izzy grabs him by the collar and drags him to Ed. Ed slashes through the gag with his dagger. "What happened here? Where's your gold?"

"Pirates," says the man. "Ghost." He does not look like a captain. But then, neither does Ed, probably.

"Pirates would have killed you," says Izzy. He draws his own dagger and holds it to the man's throat. "Try again."

Ed waves at Izzy to step away. "What did they look like? Their ship."

"No ship," says the man. "They come ..." he speaks in Spanish.

Jim says, "They arrived with no ship. We gave them food, water, somewhere to sleep." Jim pauses, listening to more from the bound man. "There weren't many of them. Four or five. He can't remember."

Izzy rolls his eyes.

"They must have had a ship," says Ed.

The man shakes his head, speaks more urgent Spanish. Ed loses interest until he hears a familiar word, oro , the word for gold. "What about the gold?"

"They take," says the man in English.

"Of course they did." Ed winces in irritation.

"While the crew were asleep," adds Jim.

"They arrive without a ship, have a bite to eat and a nice rest, then somehow your gold is gone and you're tied up down here?" Ed shakes his head. "What about their leader? Who was he?"

More Spanish.

"A ghost," says Jim in a bored tone.

"A name!" Ed barks, waving his pistol in the man's face.

The man shrugs, repeats his previous words.

Izzy says, "Let's go. I don't know what this is but I don't like it." He glances around suspiciously.

"One more question," says Ed, "then we're leaving." He bends towards the prisoner. "Where did you last make landfall?"

"Bridgetown," says the man. "Barbados."

Izzy groans. "Not this again."

"What news?" demands Ed.

Jim translates once more as the man speaks rapidly, growing more frantic the closer Ed's face grows to his. Ed, in Blackbeard mode, is intimidating: the wild hair, the untamed beard, the fierce eyes glinting with murder. Ed knows this and begins to toy with his dagger, twirling it an inch from the man's eyes. He likes to get his news quickly.

Jim says, "There's nothing to tell. It's a totally boring place. No treasure for you. No banks to rob that have not already been robbed. No scandal. Nothing ever happens. The last thing that happened was six months ago with the gentleman and the tiger."

Ed leans back. Gestures at Izzy.

Izzy smacks the man around a little. "Tiger," he growls.

"Or a leopard. It might have been a leopard."

"Spill it!"

"Or a jaguar. I don't know."

Ed shoulders Izzy aside to loom over the man. "A big cat. We get it. What happened?"

"A gentleman. Wealthy. Richest man in town."

Ed blinks twice. "Name."

Izzy says, "Edward-"

"Bonnet," the man gasps. "Steve Bonnet."

"Stede," corrects Ed automatically. "What of him."

"Sweet Christ," says Izzy.

Ed ignores him. "Talk!"

The man swallows, his eyes on the gleaming dagger still in Ed's hand. Jim translates. "The tiger, or leopard, escaped into town. Everyone panics. Total chaos. People running everywhere."

"And."

"Bonnet ran to pacify the beast. Chased it into a building." Jim casts their eyes briefly at Ed. They had been on Stede Bonnet's crew, a long time ago. They knew what Bonnet was to Ed.

"And."

"It ate him," says Jim.

Ed's eyes widened. "Dead."

More Spanish. "No, he ran into the street, and then a carriage came past, horses bolting, and ran him down."

"Dead," repeats Ed.

A pause, and then, "No! He survived."

Ed draws a breath. This is the first news he has had of Stede since -

Jim says, "But then a piano being hoisted into a nearby window fell on him and he was killed."

The breath goes out of Ed. He steps back, dagger dangling. "Dead."

"Yes."

"Good," says Izzy. "Glad we've cleared that up." He kicks the captive. "Can I kill him now? And what about the rest of them?"

"No," says Ed. He is backing away towards the ladder.

"What."

"Or yes. I don't care." And Ed walks away.