Okay, appy-polly-ologies for the amount of time it's taken me to get back to the fiction. Things have been really nasty for me, RL, as far as affording me any time to concentrate on a personal entertainment, such as exists in this fic. Please bear with me, gentle reader, and I shall endeavor to do what I can to push forward, and get more of it down on 'paper' as it were. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Of course none of these fine people belong to me, with the exception of Bess and Angus. Please don't sue me for borrowing them! All I have to my name is a Butterfinger Crisp bar.
Jack was scowling and pacing back and forth in front of the wheel as Elizabeth watched him from where she was perched on a nearby barrel. The difference between his scowling and his pout, she surmised, lay in the utter seriousness with which he approached whatever it was that held him so deeply in thought.
"What is it, Jack?" She interrupted his meandering circuit finally, attempting to cut through the rising tension before it spelled trouble for everyone aboard.
"That ship…" and he jabbed a thumb menacingly in the direction of the approaching corsair. "Is the absolute last ship I would have chosen to run across in these waters." Elizabeth could have been mistaken, but she thought he muttered something more under his breath, "Or any waters, truth be told…"
"But why, Jack? I thought you said we'd bespeak every vessel we came across, in hopes of finding someone who'd seen the Sunlight Dreamer."
"Aye, love; that we will. But that ship is the Devil's Dowry, and she may as well be captained by the devil's bride, for all the compassion that woman holds for men."
"Oh." Elizabeth paused, thinking over what little Jack had actually said. "She hates men, then?"
"Only those she has no use for, Elizabeth. However, in keeping with my word, we'll have a chat with her to see if she knows anything, though I wouldn't hold your breath were I you. She's keen to give away nothing that doesn't have a price attached to it." Jack paused, though Elizabeth sensed that his mood was picking up once more, the temporary pique having waged its course. "Come on then, let's go speak to Jimmy. He needs to stay below decks while yourself, Anamaria and I go speak to that infernal woman."
"Why just Anamaria and I? I would be more comfortable if James were with us… considering he's going to be very put out if you don't let him go." The tone of her voice suggested that she was amused by the overprotective streak that Norrington had given startling evidence of, since they'd set sail from Port Royal. Jack privately found it overdone, though certainly useful, since he could hardly spare half a moment when things were busy to make sure that Elizabeth was both safe and comfortable.
"Because we don't want her setting her cap for one of the men on my ship, and I'm not giving her a chance to meet any more of them than she must. I've run afoul of her before, and it was quite the time I had convincing her she wasn't interested in me. Trust me on this, Elizabeth, if you've never trusted me before."
Elizabeth nodded, her expression confused, but quiescent all the same. "Very well, Jack. I'll go with you to talk to this woman. And I hope that you're just exaggerating as you tend to do, surely she can't be as bad as all that!"
"Probably worse, Mrs. Turner, but you shall see for yourself soon enough. Now if you'll excuse me, I really must go and speak with your bloody friend Norrington." It wasn't the first time he'd used those words in reference to the Commodore, and Elizabeth realized with a bolt of recognition that the first time he'd ever said that, they'd been stuck on that miserable spit of an island, and she'd been contemplating even then how best to get the rum to burn, for a signal fire.
"What is this obsession with leaving me behind that you seem to have, Captain Sparrow? Every time trouble arises, you expect me to simply remain here while you resolve things on your own, and once more I'm going to be forced to refuse to follow orders to the letter. I made a promise that you swore you'd see me keep, and yet you deny me the course that must be followed if I am to keep it."
"There wasn't any trouble at Port of Spain, Commodore, if you'll recall aright, the only person that struck a blow is the selfsame female you're sworn to protect. Looks like she's doing a fine job all of her own accord." Jack would not be swayed this time… he'd given in to Norrington before, when he would rather not have done him any favors, but this was the one time that he would have his way, or there would be the devil to answer to, and that was a conversation that Jack would just as soon delay as long as possible.
"Elizabeth told me you said this woman is dangerous."
"To men, to be specific, which is why I'm taking women with me to speak with her, if you'll follow my logic? No… Elizabeth will be safe enough from the likes of Bess Burrel. You, however, she'd be very likely to kill as soon as look at. You might look like a common sailor, Commodore, but you act like a soldier, and she has a special hate in her heart for just such men. They killed her lover back in bonnie England."
"I'm sure he deserved it." Norrington responded churlishly, feeling rather put out by the obvious victory that Jack was now free to lord over him, if he so chose. Of course, the look on Jack's face was enough to make him feel ashamed of what he'd said. "Fine, I'll stay here in the hold, but I expect a full accounting once you come back with the ladies." The concession didn't make him feel very good about the situation, but it was the best Jack was going to get out of him. Sensing that, the pirate captain turned and… minced up on deck again. Norrington shook his head, exasperated. Maybe it wasn't an act after all.
Will tested the rope that bound his hand behind his back and kept him tied to a ring that had been embedded into the hull of the ship. They'd gagged him again, to keep him from shouting and alerting their visitors that he was locked down here. He wrenched his hands against the knots, hoping they hadn't been tied very skillfully. If he could just get one hand free, the gag would be easy enough to get rid of, but the knots were only getting tighter, to his rising dismay.
Useless, then, to try any further but he couldn't stomach the thought of just giving up. Angrily, he twisted his body and kicked against the hull. His reward was a dull, hollow thud, but he doubted it was loud enough to attract attention. When he stretched himself to gather his strength for another kick, his knee met with unforgiving metal. Further scrabbling in the chaff of the cell yielded a rusty belt buckle that he thought might be turned to his advantage.
More squirming around put the piece of metal just barely in reach of his straining fingertips and he had to lean against the ropes painfully to secure a more solid grip on it. Finally, the prize was his, and he started hacking at his bindings as sweat began running into his eyes from his prolonged efforts.
Once more, and she swore for the last time, Elizabeth found herself clad in the crimson gown that Barbossa had once forced her to wear what seemed like a lifetime ago. They had lowered a rope ladder from the side of the Devil's Dowry to make ascent easier for those who had come visiting in the long boat. However, the dress hindered Elizabeth's ability to climb, and she cursed under her breath at the inconvenience of it. The only consolation she clung to was that Jack had ordered Anamaria, despite vicious protests and another resounding slap to the face, to don a gown of similar cut and design.
Elizabeth thought the woman presented a smoldering beauty far more alluring than her own modest appeal. What she failed to appreciate was the effect they would command from Bess Burrel's crew as soon as they were properly upright on the deck. Jack had deliberately cultivated natural charm to new heights and every last man, Elizabeth counted eleven, had stopped what they were doing to stare. The unwanted attention made her skin crawl. When she looked into Bess Burrel's eyes, she witnessed a jealousy strong enough to border on outright hatred. Elizabeth caught her breath, feeling as though she were suffocating under the weight of it. Bess did not address her, after that initial assessment. She seemed content to pretend that Elizabeth didn't have the wit to carry on a decent conversation.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Captain Jack Sparrow." She purred, as though both surprised and honored to be in such august presence.
"You flatter me, Bess, really you do. I am, however, looking for information this fine afternoon, and we are in a bit of a hurry." The woman pouted, not nearly so practiced at it as Jack himself, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes in Anamaria's direction.
"That is a shame, Jack. I was hoping we could spend some time together, catching up on old times." There was a glint in Bess' eyes that spoke of some past injustice, though whether it was imagined or real was Jack's knowledge alone.
"Very sweet of you, Bess, but I don't see Angus as liking that too much."
"You always were a spoilsport, Jack. Very well, what is it you're wanting to know, and I'll see if I can help you." Anamaria was seething, Elizabeth realized, watching the dark-skinned beauty with a curious eye. Her hands were clenched into fists, and the blacksmith's wife came to the conclusion that if Jack's first love were not the Pearl, he might have found himself quite happily saddled with the spitfire pirate woman.
"Have you been to Tortuga recently?"
"Maybe I have, and maybe I haven't." the woman pursed her lips for a moment, a blown kiss that had Anamaria moving forward a step, looking as though she'd like to claw the other woman's eyes out. Elizabeth interposed her body between them, without seeming as though she were doing anything more than shifting to a different pose for the benefit of the men of the crew.
"No need to be coy, Bess. Your games won't work with Captain Jack." Elizabeth was bemused at his continuing need to refer to himself in the third person, but it seemed to work well in his favor, and Bess nodded, dropping her pretense of flirtations.
"We're looking for my husband." Elizabeth cut in, impatience winning out against her desire to not draw any further attention from Bess. She simply could not bear the continued dancing around the subject that was closest to her heart with the word play and games that Bess seemed content to draw out as long as she pleased. Bess flicked onyx eyes back in her direction with a cold chuckle.
"Why, Jack… I didn't realize you'd taken to ferrying prospective brides, although I daresay she's certainly more high-toned than most of the other women it's rumored you normally keep company with." Elizabeth blushed at the insinuation that she was no better than a common whore being parceled out to the first man who'd have her.
"She's not a mail order bride." Jack snapped, losing his patience in what may have been the first time that Elizabeth had ever witnessed it. "Her husband was kidnapped from Port Royal by the crew of the Sunlight Dreamer. If you've seen them, be so kind as to tell us that we might be on our way, and off your ship?" Bess sighed, going back to that coy pouting that she'd tried in the first place.
"They were in Tortuga when we left. If you hurry, you might catch them there, still." She offered a helpless little shrug. "And if not, there are those who would be willing to tell you their normal haunts for a fee, but I don't know them."
"Thank you," Elizabeth tendered her gratitude grudgingly. She didn't care for Bess, and Bess didn't care for her, so there was no love lost between them.
"What is your husband's name, child? So that I might help in searching for him." Elizabeth, startled by the offer of assistance, answered, completely missing Jack's dark look to give nothing more away than Bess already knew.
"Will Turner."
"You love him, and that is admirable. I, too, have done a great many unpleasant things for love. Luck in your search for the Sunlight Dreamer."
Jack was frowning as he ushered Anamaria and Elizabeth back to the waiting long boat. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, and he couldn't pin it down long enough to identify what it was.
Will was nearly halfway through the rope, by his judgment, when Bess stepped around the crates and barrels that concealed the cage in the hold of the small ship from prying eyes.
"You may as well stop now. They've gone back to the Black Pearl already, none the wiser that you were here at all." Either she was attempting to be kind as well as cruel, or she didn't really care what Will might say to her, because her hands were careful in his tangled hair as she worked out the knots that held the gag in his mouth. For a moment, Will became lost, imagining that it was Elizabeth who worked to free him. He closed his eyes, clinging to that precious image.
"Why have you done this? You could have bargained for me, and come out ahead." Will's voice was hoarse from the lack of moisture in his mouth, and he attempted to work some saliva forward, to better speak
"Jack has stolen something from me before, and I wasn't about to let him do it twice, Will Turner.
"He would have paid whatever you asked." Will countered, hoping that he could change her mind before the Black Pearl sailed beyond hailing distance.
"Perhaps he would have, boy, but you see…your worth to me cannot be measured with pieces of eight." She stepped from the cage, closing and locking it behind her, leaving Will still bound to the iron ring set in the hold wall. She settled herself primly on the top of a crate, spreading her skirts around her. Will struggled painfully to his knees, keeping the rusted buckle clasped in sweat-slicked fingers.
"What do you want from me, then?" Will rasped, pondering how sweet even three drops of water would be right now. Bess ignored the question, continuing on in her self-important musings.
"Captain Sparrow surprises me. He sails with women, these days. I'd wager a lot of his old habits have changed, since that scoundrel Barbossa stole his ship from him."
"Anamaria is his first mate." Will answered warily, not sure what it was Bess was fishing for in this conversation.
"That would be the dark-skinned one, yes? He never did tell me their names." Her choice of words, and that there was more than one woman in her description tipped Will off, and his head came up sharply, eyes narrowed.
"Elizabeth!"
"Calm yourself, Mr. Turner; you honestly don't want to wear yourself out with useless fretting." Will would hear none of it. He began throwing himself against the half-sawn ropes in the vain wish that they would give way completely under his weight.
"Why? Why do you tell me this now? Do you take pleasure from tormenting me?" He let out a choked sound, anguish at his helplessness, and he could not later say whether it was sweat or tears that ran down his cheeks as he continued to throw himself against the rope, digging even more harshly into flesh already abused by chains and metal cuffs. Bess, for her part, remained silent, watching his efforts as her eyes became softer, a little more distant.
"I had considered…that if you loved her as much as she loves you…I may have let you go." The hardness returned, almost of it's own volition, making her seem cast in stone. "But it's too late now. I spoke the wrong lies to Jack Sparrow, and he would never believe my intentions were honorable if I were to turn around and tell him I had you all along."
With an inarticulate cry of rage, Will flung himself forward a final time and the rope frayed and snapped, pitching him to the floor. Rising painstakingly back to his hands and knees, surprised at the amount of blood he'd drawn in breaking the hempen ropes, Will shook his head, trying to clear his ears of the sound of the sea roaring ever closer. It was deafening, and he couldn't hear whatever it was Bess was saying, though he knew she spoke because her lips were moving. He was tired…so tired, and he barely had time to register the floor rushing up to catch him, before everything went dark again.
Bill Teague had made it his habit not to venture out on deck any more than he absolutely had to. As an initial suspicion, Elizabeth surmised he was going out of his way to avoid her, until the night she couldn't sleep, and found herself poking around the ship in search of something new to occupy her attention, because she didn't want to think on what danger Will might be in. It made her stomach turn with anxiety, and she couldn't bear it.
It was the whimpering which drew her further into the hold. At first, Elizabeth thought a stowaway must have come aboard at Port of Spain which would account for the piteous sounds coming from the sleeping section of the rest of the crew, where hammocks swayed gently with the rolling of the sea. Most of the men were still on deck, carousing with Jack, and surprisingly, James. It was Bill, who she realized she hadn't seen all afternoon, easily identified in the dimly lit room as she drew closer. He was sleeping, which made the sounds of distress that much more terrible to her ears.
"Bill, wake up." Elizabeth whispered, not wanting to get too close, or startle him into sudden violence. He didn't respond right away, so she repeated her directive, hoping that words alone could rouse him from the nightmare which held him in its unforgiving grip. "Bill…please, wake up?"
With a choked cry, Bill launched himself out of the hammock, clutching at his throat as he gasped and coughed. To Elizabeth, it seemed as though he'd been suffocating, but she didn't know by what.
"Elizabeth…what…what are you doing here, lass?" He was so miserable, that she let the matter of formality and first names go, intending to get straight to the bottom of this new puzzle.
"You were dreaming, a bad one. I could hear you even from the stairs." She felt that it was best to be honest with him, though his pride might not like to admit that he had, indeed, been near to crying in his sleep.
"Aye, it comes to me a lot, whether I will it or no." Bill didn't seem to feel the need to dissemble in front of his son's choice of a wife, though, even if he did color slightly in the close lighting. He closed his eyes for a moment, and drew a deep breath, before letting it go again in a shuddering sigh.
"Bill…what were you dreaming?" Curiosity got the better of her, and she reasoned that when they found Will, she'd have to get to know his father sooner or later anyway, it was probably better to get a head start.
"Best not to ask, I have no wish to speak of it, leastwise. Some of the worst memories we do better to bury, but they always haunt us in our sleep, you know." He seemed grim, lost in the past, and she couldn't think of any good way to return him to the present. She doubted a good kick in the shin would be very effective, and besides, she was barefoot, having taken a great liking to walking the deck without the benefit of footwear, despite Jack's repeated warnings on splinters.
"Will told me that Barbossa and his crew dumped you into the ocean to be rid of you, when you told them they deserved to be cursed. Is that what you were dreaming, that you were drowning?" Bill had to admit that she was quite a clever girl, and surely that was part of her appeal to Will, even setting aside her beauty.
"Yes, that was it. Now could we please change the subject, it's not one I have any wish to dwell on, right now." But she pressed on, despite his blatant request for a different topic, and later he found he was glad that she was as hard-headed as she was pretty.
"Will was certain that he'd killed you, when he shed his blood to break the curse. He used to dream about it too, you know, about how horrible it must have been for you to be stuck at the bottom of the ocean until all of the gold was returned, and the blood repaid."
"And I felt I had been his death, when I knew the curse was broken." Bill whispered, looking everywhere but at her eyes, and the accusations that must have sprung forth in her expression. "I sent it to him, because of what Barbossa and the others had done, we were cursed, and every man jack of us deserved it. It took me a long time to get free of the cannon…a long time, but when I returned to shore, I stayed hidden, because rumors were flying around Tortuga about the only way to break the curse. I never thought they'd find it, or Will. I thought he'd be safe, and he's been here in the Caribbean nearly the whole time. I should have found him; I should have been with him, like a real father. Instead he got an orphan's upbringing at the hands of a drunken blacksmith."
"Don't. You have no idea how good it's been for Will. He takes a great deal of pride in his work, and if he heard you talking like this, he'd be angry with you." And finally, she gave him the opening he'd been searching for since the day they spotted the Devil's Dowry and bespoke Bess Burrel.
"I'm sorry for what I done, Elizabeth. I didn't know what I was mucking up when I hired that crew to bring my Will back. From now on, I'm going to do everything I can to make it up to you, and to him." She was silent for a long time, her thoughts far from this place, probably with Will.
"If anything happens to him, I'll never forgive you, Bill. I just thought you should know that going into this. You began this and it's up to the rest of us to clean up after your mistake. Pray, if you ever pray, that he's safe and whole, and that we'll find him soon."
Will tasted the bitter tang of betrayal when he opened his eyes in the dimly lit captain's cabin, still aboard the Devil's Dowry. Anger began to seethe just below the surface of his skin, until he was certain that if he were to cut himself and peel back the flesh, he would be made of nothing but that hateful, raw emotion. The rage lent him new strength as he sat up in the bed and took stock of his surroundings.
His clothes, the hodge-podge of beggar's rags he'd been stuck with since Bess traded his freedom for gold were lying off to the side, spread out over the carved top of a wooden sea chest. He knew then, with stark clarity, that what he had considered a vivid dream had come to pass, and was reality. He rose slowly from the bed, prepared to feel the disorientation that had plagued him for nearly a month, but he remained clear-headed, in spite of expectations.
Will pulled the pile of meager clothing to him and began to dress with methodical slowness. Skewed logic dictated that if he moved with enough care and took his time, the dizziness would not return and he could keep his wits about him enough to act with speed if the opportunity should arise. His wrists were wrapped with clean linen, though he could not remember the cause; but he knew that they ached, so he left them as they were for the moment. He must not have been alone for very long, because a leather-bound book lay open on the small desk set against the hull, with a candle still burning nearby. A short perusal of the exposed page was enough to identify it as a journal, and decency argued that he had no business prying into her personal accounts.
Reason, however, dictated that he might find more answers between the vellum pages of the book than Bess herself might willingly be forthcoming with. He skimmed the passages, then; leafing back through several years of her innermost thoughts and his blood ran cold, before he closed the diary with a hand that trembled.
She had already taken advantage of him while he was helpless against her. He would be twice damned if he would be the sacrifice she needed to keep her lover alive for another year. As he turned toward the door, the cold glint of metal caught his eye, and he knew what he needed to do. He knew with a grim certainty which could not be shaken what must be done. Reason had cruelly deserted him, and he didn't even miss its passing. He took up the sword.
Will stood by the door for several minutes, listening for the sound of speech, or footsteps or anything that would indicate someone was nearby, yet there was nothing but the creaking of the ship as it rocked on gentle waves. Carefully, he eased the door open and looked out, seeing not a single person on the deck, but from his vantage, he could see a dark mass, perhaps an island off the leeward side of the vessel. Perhaps they were all ashore, he surmised, before edging around and out of the cabin. All the better to make good his escape. He wracked his brain, trying to think of where they might have stowed extra weapons, and determined that they must be in the main crew quarters, below decks.
Finally, quiet voices alerted him to the fact that he wasn't quite as alone as he'd first suspected, and he realized that it was Bess and her lover, Angus.
"I left him still asleep, but at least the fever has broken." She was saying to the red-haired man, as he leaned against the rail. Will kept them in wary sight as he skirted from shadow to shadow, moving around them. He had every intention of saving them for last, as the rage pricked at his senses, urging him to move on.
"You're sure he's going to last long enough to finish what we've begun?" the words were quiet, and Will thought he heard a hint of regret in the Scot's voice, but surely not…the pair of them didn't have even one heart between them, let alone two.
"I cannot begin to guess what keeps him so ill, but he seems hale enough, despite the fever. It was touch and go there, wasn't it? Good thing I thought to drench him with water to cool him down, or we may have lost him."
Will crept past them, with neither the wiser for his passage; down and below decks until he was halted yet again by the crew sleeping in the belly of the ship. His stomach twisted with revulsion as he considered what he meant to do. It was wrong…it was wrong and it was too easy, but his freedom, his very life hung in the balance and he couldn't afford to be honorable and give fair warning to any of them.
It was quick work, and bloody work, to use the sword he'd taken from Bess' cabin as he robbed the men of life, cutting their throats as he passed between the hammocks toward the end of the sleeping area. A mental tally had the count at eleven, and he was fairly certain that was all of them aboard, save for Bess and Angus, and he still didn't know what they were doing off the shore of the night-darkened island, but it was his last chance. Unreasoning fear lay just beneath the anger of being helpless, and both had pushed him past the brink of sanity with a little help from a cursed ring. These were not the fair young men Bess had crewed her small ship with, but Barbossa's men, every last one of them. There lay Pintel, easily dispatched, and Ragetti beyond him, oblivious to his fate.
Will gathered two pistols from the far wall and shoved them into his belt before he turned to walk back up to the stairs that led to the main deck and was brought up short as he stared at the widening lake of blood that was overtaking the rough planking of the floor. Like a child hopping over mud puddles after a spring rain, Will leapt from clean spot to clean spot, loathe to get any of the blood on his feet. He didn't know what he was going to do about shoes, but that would come to him, he was sure. Perhaps Angus and he were of a size, and the man could prove useful in that regard.
Checking to make sure the pistols were loaded, he slipped, wraithlike, back to the main deck, and listened for the sound of the two still talking. It was silent, too silent, but he saw a silhouette still sitting where Angus had been reclining against the rail, and he used his bare feet to his advantage, making no noise at all as he crept ever closer, until he had a good angle with which to shoot the man straight on. The last thing he wrestled with was whether or not to give his enemy any warning at all, before he pulled the trigger. Wherever Bess had gone, she was returning now, and she was running, even as Will's finger tightened on the trigger.
"NO!" she flung herself in front of the startled redhead as the deafening report of the pistol firing filled up the silence of the night. Will's ears rang, and he waited…he waited for the smoke of the shot to clear so that he might see what he had accomplished.
Angus was leaning over the railing of the ship, desperately searching the waters for some sign of where Bess had fallen; the impact of the bullet had flung her over the balustrade and into the sea. He rounded on Will, who had calmly pulled the other pistol from his belt. Without a second thought, he cocked it, prepared to use it if the man tried to engage him in a fight.
"Damn you to hell, what have you done!"
"If you want to live, I suggest you get off the ship. I'm taking it back to a safe port and I'm going home." Will answered reasonably. He was chilled to the bone with what he'd done, and he was doing his best not to think about it overly much. Angus stood there, clearly agonizing over what he should do, even going so far as to lean out over the rail to spot the woman that he loved, still vainly searching. Something occurred to Will, and he tilted his head, considering.
"Which way is Port Royal from here." Angus pointed mutely in the right direction, and Will nodded, making a mental note to put the ship on the proper heading as soon as he was out to sea. "Good, I've changed my mind. You stay with me until the ship is sea-worthy, then you get off."
"I won't leave her!"
"Why are you being so difficult? She's dead, what does she care if you stay or go?" Will was losing what shreds of self-control he had as his temper flared another notch. He determined he would be better off arranging the sails himself and made a sharp motion to the hapless man with the pistol. "Get off then, the jolly boat is just down the deck." Angus moved woodenly to the boat and worked to lower it into the water, before dropping a rope ladder and scampering down the side of the ship, all of it in silence.
Will was certain that there wasn't any other way to be free of this wretched ship and crew, or he would have been more compassionate, even though he'd just shot the ship's captain. She had been planning to kill him. Of that he held no doubts at all. Still…the violence was something new to him, and it still churned in his gut, making him uneasy as he watched Angus push the long boat away from the ship's side, and begin rowing toward the island, which was not far off.
Will made sure he was some distance away, without a chance to surprise the beleaguered blacksmith before setting to work at hoisting the anchor and tacking the sails so that he might catch the wind. It was a long laborious process made worse by constantly checking to make sure that Angus had not returned to exact his revenge for Bess' murder. Finally, the ship began to pick up speed as the sails filled, and Will felt some small measure of relief. Soon enough, he could abandon this ship, filled with death as it was, below decks, and he'd be able to go home to Elizabeth. He missed her so much. He knew he'd made the right choice, no matter the means.
Two days later, when the corsair ran itself onto some shoals hidden by the driving rain that turned the sea and sky the same shade of gunmetal gray, Will realized he'd made a mistake. The ship shuddered, breaking apart on the reef that skewered her belly, and Will thought to himself that at least the blood was going to be cleaned off the boards, finally. He hadn't had the stomach to go back down there after he'd taken possession of the ship. A surging wave swept over his head as the ship pitched sideways, throwing him into the water.