CHAPTER 2

The morning dawned clear, bright, and warmer than expected – a good sign for the start of a voyage. Mercer felt pleased as he stood in front of his house on Beckett's property, watching the sunrise with an inscrutable expression. Through his dealings with Beckett and their regular dabbling in the world of the occult, Mercer had adopted some small superstitions – and he took the good weather as a promise of his success on his mission.

Not that he had expected to fail to begin with…

Mercer stared a few moments longer at the sunrise, then began to stride swiftly across the lawn towards the house. Chances were that Lieutenant Savage was waiting at the doors – or, worse yet, that he'd already been let in and Oscar Boddie was now spying on him through the keyhole in the parlor doors. That seemed the most likely option, and the thought made Mercer quicken his pace.

Anything he required had already been packed up and sent down to the docks; his weapons were securely hidden on his person, and he was wearing his favorite weather-beaten suit. Mercer didn't own many suits – he had about three to change in and out of when he felt like wearing a different dark color, or when one had a tear, and one suit for special occasions that he kept in Beckett's rooms for fear of damaging it. The black dress clothes almost never came out; the last occasion he had worn them for had been Beckett's wedding, and before that – he couldn't even recall. That suit was still safely tucked away in his employer's room, as he was more than certain he wouldn't be needing it on his mission.

The servants were already stirring about the house when Mercer entered; there were two cooks, and both of them were bustling about the kitchens ordering other servants about. Maids were busy making sure all the rooms were in order, a few busily setting the table for breakfast. Mercer caught sight of one servant girl carrying a tray with a pot of tea and a cup out of the kitchen, and he pushed his way through the rushing servants to follow her. As he had suspected, she was heading in the direction of the parlor; Savage must already have arrived.

Lieutenant Ralston Savage was a personal favorite of Beckett's, and if he hadn't come from a family wealthier than Mercer's, he probably would have taken Mercer's job a long time before. Savage, however, wasn't interested in playing the role of clerk; he had higher aspirations for himself. Savage was unusually fond of blood and war, and so at his father's request Beckett had found the younger man a position in the Royal Navy – specifically, the rather large section of the Royal Navy assigned to protect the Company's ships. Beckett had also orchestrated the young man's rapid promotion to Lieutenant, a promotion that had caused much resentment. Everyone knew that his rank was given solely due to Beckett's caprice and not Savage's personal merit, and so the older, more experienced lieutenants and admirals despised him and tended to look down on him.

Savage made few friends because of this obvious favoritism on Beckett's part, but there were other reasons Savage was less than admired. He was blunt, coarse, and rude, ignoring every standard of decency and offending virtually everyone he met. The only person in the aristocracy whom he hadn't offended at one point or another was Rosemary Wellington, soon to be Rosemary Presbery, and that was because she could be equally coarse and rude herself.

Still, Mercer looked forward to working with Savage. The black-haired, scar-faced youth was as hardhearted as Mercer himself, and Mercer believed they would get along nicely – at least, most of the time.

When Mercer arrived at the parlor doors, Oscar Boddie was staring into the keyhole, just as Mercer had suspected he would be. "Well?" Mercer asked the butler.

"He's a brute," Oscar said, a great deal of dislike in his tone. "An uncouth, miserable, loutish brute."

"I could have told you that," Mercer snorted, shoving Oscar out of the way. "He'll be gone in a few minutes, so you needn't look so disgruntled. Let me deal with him."

Oscar willingly stepped back from the door as Mercer threw it open. The clerk strode into the room and paused just behind the servant girl who had entered before him with tea.

"Is this tea?" Savage was saying, staring at the tray as though it were a loathsome insect. "What the hell makes you think I want tea at this ungodly hour of the morning? If you really gave a damn about me you'd bring me a real drink, like port."

The servant girl looked bewildered, but murmured some placating apologies and turned to rush out with the tray of tea, almost running directly into Mercer. Fortunately he caught the tray before she could drop it. "Bring it up to Lord and Lady Beckett," Mercer advised her. "Beckett will want tea; he might as well take it now."

The servant, who normally would have run as fast as she could in the opposite direction from Mercer, smiled gratefully at him and then hurried out.

When she was gone, Mercer turned to Lieutenant Savage with a smile. "Good morning, Lieutenant," he said amiably, holding out his hand to shake.

"Mercer," Savage said with a short nod. He didn't take Mercer's hand. "The servants around this place could use a little work. I expected Beckett to have the best, you know – him being as wealthy as he is…"

"They are the best," Mercer said, a little perturbed that Savage had ignored the attempted handshake. "They're simply trained to Beckett's taste, not yours."

"Hmmph," Savage said, standing and brushing off the coat marking his station with irritation. "Someday I'll have servants who know exactly what to do for me."

"I'm sure," Mercer drawled. He knew Savage had aspirations to become a second Beckett, but he doubted that such hopes would ever be achieved. Beckett, for one, would never allow it; and Beckett was the only one helping Savage attain any sort of rank. Savage also wasn't nearly clever enough to rise to the heights that Beckett had.

Savage didn't seem to notice Mercer's disdain. "Well, are you ready to set off then?" he asked, glancing about the room, taking in all the rich furnishings and expensive artwork from all over the world.

"Whenever you are, Lieutenant," Mercer said with a short nod.

Savage turned to him and looked him over for a moment. Mercer also took Savage in; he would have appeared young, Mercer was sure, if it hadn't been for the enormous amount of scars crisscrossing his skin. All of them were from tavern brawls and fights with the scum living around the wharves; Savage had even boasted to Mercer when they'd first met that he had a very personal scar from a whore. Whether or not this was true, Mercer did not know, nor did he want to know.

Besides his scars, Savage also had a mane of dark black hair that he pulled back into a ponytail. Today he wore a powdered wig over it to represent his rank, but tufts of his black locks could still be seen. His uniform was dirty and patched up; he didn't take care of it at all. In fact, it almost seemed that he disdained everything that represented his rank, even though rank was all he desired. Apparently he believed he could obtain higher and higher statuses without having to wear the trappings.

"Right," Savage said abruptly. "The carriage is waiting. Best not let the horses get too impatient."

Mercer inclined his head in agreement, then watched as Savage strode quickly past him. Mercer waited a few moments before following the Lieutenant out the door.

Almost as soon as he'd stepped out from the parlor, he heard two sharp exclamations, and then Savage began to curse. "Watch where you're going, you bloody chittiface!" he swore.

"Sorry, sir," a familiar voice murmured softly. A small figure hurriedly started to make its way past Savage, but before it could slip by Mercer, he blocked the way.

The small figure looked up at him, blinked, and colored. "'Morning, Mr. Mercer," the figure said politely.

He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. "Victoria," he said in a very, very low voice. "Mr. Thorne," he said more loudly. "What are you doing up so early?"

Victoria flushed, her scars turning very white. "I… I went for a ride on one of the horses," she said, biting her lip. "I couldn't sleep. I thought it might get my mind off things. If that explains the clothes any." She motioned to man's suit she was wearing, a raggedy and patched up thing probably borrowed from one of the servants' wardrobes. Beckett owned nothing nearly so plain or tattered as what she was wearing.

Mercer didn't look as though he believed her. "Is that so?" he said, eyes boring into her. "Does Lord Beckett know about this?"

She stared petulantly up at him. "I suppose he'll be finding out soon enough, won't he?" she said.

Almost on cue, Beckett's voice echoed from upstairs. "Mercer!"

Mercer growled slightly and glanced up the stairs. Beckett was hurrying down them, dressed in his undershirt, breeches, and a loose silk banyan. "Mercer, Tori's -!" Beckett started, but Mercer shot him a severe glance.

"If you're looking for Victor Thorne, sir, he's right here," he said, turning Victoria around to face Beckett. Victoria flushed and stared up at him, wearing her most innocent look.

Beckett's eyes darted over Victoria, taking in her unusual garb and her attempt at an angelic expression, and said flatly, "Upstairs, Thorne."

"But I was just on my way to -!" Victoria started to protest.

"Now, Thorne," Beckett snapped.

Victoria huffed and stomped away from Mercer, heading up the stairs and pausing only to glare briefly at her husband before continuing on her way.

Beckett glanced at Savage and nodded shortly. "Lieutenant," he said.

"My Lord," Savage said with a bow. "Good morning, sir."

"I trust you'll forgive me if I leave you now," Beckett said, turning away. "I have someone that needs to be dealt with."

"Plainly," Savage agreed. "Don't let him off, sir."

"Oh, I won't," Beckett said darkly. He looked at Mercer and added, "Good-bye, Mercer. Good journey."

"Thank you, sir," Mercer said. "I'll see you upon my return."

Beckett waved a hand, but didn't seem to have heard; he was already in the hall and moving towards his quarters.

Mercer chuckled to himself as he turned back to Savage, who was frowning. "Something amusing, Mr. Mercer?" Savage inquired.

"Thorne, Lieutenant, has quite a way of getting himself in trouble with Beckett," Mercer said with a secretive smile. "That's all."

Savage started out the door, looking thoughtful. "Thorne," he said slowly. "Isn't that Lady Beckett's maiden name?"

"Yes," Mercer said, quashing another laugh. "It's her… second cousin. Three times removed. Or something like that."

Savage frowned. "Seems odd that Beckett would keep him around," he said.

"Oh, yes," Mercer said seriously. "It's more due to his wife, you see…"

"Ah, yes," Savage said with a knowing nod. "If I ever marry, I won't let my wife have hold of me like that. In fact I'm rather surprised that Beckett has let his wife go to his head that way. He seems so in control most of the time."

"You'd understand if you knew her," Mercer said shortly.

Savage snorted. "It doesn't matter," he said, climbing into the carriage. Mercer followed him, closing the door, and they started off. "Beckett should be able to control her no matter what she's like."

Mercer chuckled. "Think what you will, Lieutenant," he said with a shake of his head. "But I'd like to see you try and take on Lady Beckett."

"I'd beat her down in a matter of moments," he boasted.

"Ha!" Mercer laughed. "You're in for a surprise if you think she's that docile." Savage looked ready to retort, but Mercer interrupted. "You were going to share with me a few details about the ship."

"Ah, yes," Savage said, his eyes lighting. "The Sea Siren. She's my one true love, I swear it, Mercer; she runs swift through the water. Cuts through it like a knife. She's armed to the teeth and a beauty to look at. No pirate ship can match her for excellence."

"So I've heard," Mercer said. "Any cargo aboard her?"

"Some items for trade," Savage said, waving a hand idly in the air. "Mostly weapons and the like, since we're to be fighting with pirates; but the hold has enough trade items in it to make a goodly profit. I'll need you to check and make certain all the cargo's there when the ship takes off."

Mercer's eyes narrowed; he was in command of the mission by Beckett's orders, and tasks like checking the cargo were meant for lower officers. "You can give the duty to one of your crew," he said coldly. "I'll be busy with preparations."

"So will my crew," Savage replied. "Most of your preparations can wait until we're further out to sea; the crew itself will be busy preparing the ship. Besides, I don't know that I can trust any of them not to steal some of the cargo."

Mercer cocked a brow at him. "And you trust me, Lieutenant?"

"I trust Beckett, and he trusts you," Savage answered. "Though I admit I'm not sure why. But your loyalty to Beckett is so total that you'd probably chop your own head off for him – don't bother denying it, everyone can see it – so I doubt you'll steal anything from him."

Mercer glowered at him from the opposite side of the carriage, but said nothing to protest. He had better things he could be doing when the ship set out to sea, but checking the cargo in the hold would give him some time alone – which would likely be a rarity along the journey. At the moment, Mercer felt like brooding, anyway, and checking the cargo would allow him to do that unhindered. "Very well," he said finally, glancing out the window as they passed through London. His eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of the home outside the window; it was the Whitlock mansion, standing tall and forbidding a good distance from the road.

"The Whitlocks are a wealthy bunch," Savage said, noting Mercer's stare. "Do you know, I proposed to their daughter after they found out she was ruined? But then Lawless stepped in and proposed. The clinker's got more of a fortune than I, so of course he won the bawd. She's a bloody whore. Do you know, her nickname's Cat? Oddly appropriate, since the poor like to call prostitutes 'cats.'"

It took more willpower than Mercer was aware he possessed to keep from removing his pistol from its safe place in his belt and shooting the man sitting across from him. "Does anyone know the situation with her?" he asked, somehow managing to keep his voice entirely neutral.

"You mean who the father of the whore's kitling is? No," Savage said with a cruel laugh. "No, nobody knows. And she won't say, neither. Somebody shut her up, and shut her up well…"

Mercer fleetingly wondered if Beckett had threatened Cat if she breathed a word of the child's father to anyone, but he pushed the thought from his mind. He knew that it was likely Beckett had done exactly that, but he didn't want to consider it at the moment. "Lawless probably just wants her for the fortune," he said finally, offhandedly.

"'Course he does," Savage said, removing a flask from his coat and taking a long drink from it. "Why else would anyone marry the chit?"

Mercer could name any number of reasons why he would want to marry Cat, but he remained obstinately silent. Finally, he mentioned, "She's a friend of Lady Beckett, you know."

"Is she?" Savage said. "I'd heard as much. I hope Beckett discontinued the acquaintance. It's hardly suitable for the wife of such a prominent member of the Company to be fraternizing with filth like that coming-woman."

Mercer was quickly beginning to realize that if he continued this line of conversation, someone would end up with a bullet hole through his skull, and it wouldn't be him. "What sort of cargo is the Vengeance carrying?" he asked.

Savage looked disappointed at the change in topics. "Nothing very exciting," he said with a shrug. "Some fabric, some precious stones and metalwork and pretty jewelry. I think there are a few carpets from elsewhere in the world going on board. Not that the Indians want them, of course, but the wealthier ones will buy up in spades. They so want to be like us, you know."

Mercer ignored Savage as he continued on about the Indian people and their various faults as he saw them. Mercer's mind was rather preoccupied with other things – namely, a certain sixteen-year-old brunette and the child she was carrying…

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't notice they'd reached the wharves until Savage had already gotten out of the carriage, still making rude remarks on Indians and foreigners in general. Mercer blinked, shook his head briefly to clear his hazy head, and then leapt out after Savage, striding down the docks towards a large and very impressive ship. "And there's my love," Savage said with a tender smile. "The Sea Siren. She's a beauty, isn't she?"

"A remarkable vessel, to be sure," Mercer said, and he meant it. The Sea Siren was huge, well armed, and swarming with well-trained Royal Navy crewman. Mercer noted a few of the Company's merchants also boarding her; apparently Beckett planned to make other profits besides those that the Hand would bring him. "Is she almost ready to leave?"

"Whenever I – you give the order," Savage said, only catching himself when he saw Mercer's nasty glare. He cringed slightly as he spoke, as though the thought of someone else being in charge made him physically ill.

Mercer pushed his way past the Lieutenant, thoroughly irritated. "Then gather everyone you need, and we'll start off at once," he said. He paused, then turned back to Savage with narrowed eyes. "And give me the list of the cargo, so I can check it for you," he added.

Savage smirked. "Of course," he said, pulling the list from his coat pocket. "Enjoy yourself, Mr. Mercer."

"I will," Mercer said a bit petulantly. He turned and stormed up the ramp, soon disappearing into the dark hold of the ship.

Beckett threw open the door to his bedroom, thoroughly prepared to beat his wife to death with the cane he occasionally carried for fashionable purposes. He was, therefore, simultaneously furious and delighted to be greeted by the sight of Victoria perched primly on the edge of their bed, wearing only an almost see-through undershirt and nothing else. She smiled pleasantly at him and said, "Good morning, my Lord."

Damn. She'd even used his title. He loved it when she used his title. "Don't think you're going to escape punishment by behaving like that," he warned her, eyes narrowing.

Victoria's eyes widened slightly, and she blinked innocently at him. "Am I in some sort of trouble, my Lord?" she inquired, standing and folding her hands behind her back.

Beckett's eyes started to travel downward, towards the sharp v-neck of the undershirt that plunged far lower than any gown Victoria owned and afforded him a most excellent view. Forcefully (and reluctantly) he jerked them back up to meet her gaze. "Oh, yes," he said nastily. "Yes, you little harridan, you are in trouble!"

"But what have I done?" Victoria cried, pressing a hand to her bosom as though to proclaim her blamelessness.

"Oh, stop it," Beckett snapped. "You know perfectly well what you've done."

Victoria dropped her act and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't see anything wrong with my behavior this morning," she said airily.

"I suppose you think slipping off at any ungodly hour of the morning is acceptable?" Beckett said sardonically.

"I don't see how it should bother you, no."

"If you weren't carrying my son, I might beat you senseless right now," Beckett growled. "All right, fine. Imagine this for me: imagine that you wake up in the morning and find that the one person to whom you have pledged your soul, your entire life, has mysteriously disappeared, and your child, your own flesh and blood, is gone with that person. You have no idea exactly to where they have disappeared; all you know is that they've gone. Now tell me if you see nothing wrong with your actions."

To his surprise, Victoria actually looked a little ashamed. "I'm sorry," she said softly, padding quietly over to him and embracing him. "I didn't mean to worry you. I just… needed to slip away for a bit, to clear my head."

Beckett wasn't ready to forgive her just yet. "And the men's clothes?" he asked dryly.

Victoria giggled. "I just wanted to be comfortable," she said. "Have you ever tried riding sidesaddle? And anyway, if I had planned to go out dressed properly as a woman, it would have taken me all morning, and by then something would have happened to prevent me from going on a ride."

"All right, fine," Beckett conceded with a sigh. "That makes some shred of sense, I suppose." He studied her carefully, then said, "But I'm not certain I believe you."

She stepped back from him, looking insulted. "Why not?" she demanded. "I have a good deal to think about at the moment – the baby, the book, Cat and Rosemary's marriages that I can't attend due to your command, Mercer's mission, Sparrow's whereabouts…"

Beckett tilted his head to the side, studying her penetratingly. Finally, he nodded. "I suppose you do have a good deal to mull over," he murmured, stepping towards her. She glared coolly at him, tapping her fingers against her folded arms. He sighed again and said, very reluctantly, "Maybe… I overreacted."

"Maybe?"

"Fine," he snapped, "I did overreact, and I'm sorry. Happy now?"

Her face broke into a radiant smile. "Why, yes, actually, I am," she said, her arms dropping to her sides again. "You never apologize to me."

"Don't expect it to happen again anytime soon," Beckett warned, finally allowing his gaze to drop downwards. "And I think you owe me an apology for standing here this entire time in nothing but that flimsy little top."

She smirked. "Distraction is as good a negotiating tactic as any," she said.

"I taught you too bloody well," he growled, reaching out to grab her wrist and jerking her into his arms. "I suggest you make up for this morning's momentary panic very thoroughly, Tori, if you want me to be any sort of generous to you today."

"And how, exactly, would I do that?" Victoria asked in amusement. She leaned forward, kissed him rather intensely, then pulled back and breathed, "Will that do for a start?"

"For a start," Beckett replied, leaning forward to capture her lips again.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. "Message for you, sir," Oscar Boddie's voice said from behind the heavy wood.

Beckett snarled in displeasure, turning away from Victoria and throwing open the door. "And I don't suppose it can wait, can it?" he demanded.

Oscar blinked at his master. "Maybe it has already waited, sir," he suggested.

"Oscar Boddie, if you have been spying through the keyhole this entire time, I will personally take a dagger and stab out both your eyes," Beckett threatened.

The blood drained from Oscar's face. "No spying," he said, his voice cracking in fear. He practically threw an envelope at Beckett and cried, "Must go, duties to attend to, call if you need me!" With that he charged out of the rooms and down the stairs, clomping loudly about the house in his desperation to get away.

Beckett snorted and slammed the door shut. "Miserable little mole," he muttered. He threw the message onto Victoria's dressing table and stepped towards her again, a grin blossoming on his face. "Now, where were we?" he purred, catching her around the waist and planting a kiss on her throat.

Victoria, however, had moved on already. "Is that – is that Rose's handwriting?" she exclaimed, pulling away from Beckett and hurrying over to her dresser.

"I don't know," Beckett said irritably, glaring after her. "But if it is, then it's certainly not important."

"It is from Rose!" Victoria cried, staring at the envelope. She tore it open and dropped into her chair, eyes rapidly scanning the page.

Beckett tapped his fingers impatiently against the bedpost, waiting for her to finish. "Well?" he demanded when he thought she'd stopped.

She looked up at him, blinked, then handed him the letter. "I think you ought to read this," she said.

He snatched it from her, reading hurriedly through the note. What it said made his blood boil:

Lord Cutler Beckett:

Whether or not you realize it, Victoria and I have been friends since we were only girls. We've always been there for each other, regularly spending weeks at a time in each other's company and always together at social occasions. The separation you are putting us through, therefore, is all the more unbearable for me.

Whether or not you are possessed of a heart, I know you care about Victoria, inasmuch as you could ever care for a pet. Yet this isn't even enough to sway you into letting me visit her. So, I must warn you: I refuse to marry Lord Presbery until you have let me see Victoria. I will wait any length of time, years, if I have to; and believe me, that is no small sacrifice on my part. I love Will Presbery, but I love Tori too, and I won't let you keep her confined and hidden away from everyone she loves due to your own selfish whims.

I am ready to see her any time you will permit it. I am sure Lord Presbery will soon be about to make his case to you; as you can imagine he is none too pleased with the situation. If you do not listen to either him or me, my father will be sure to follow; and Tori, no doubt, will hear of this even if you don't show her the letter and will beg and plead with you. Eventually you will wear down and give in, so you might as well let me see her now.

I remain your obedient servant.

Rosemary Wellington