A/N: Look! I finally posted the chapter! ZOMG! I'm sorry that work on this has been so insanely slow... I've had writer's block something terrible, plus college started and life got insane... ahem. Yes. Anyways. I'll try to be more regular about updating this. I think we're about halfway through the story at this point, but of course that may change as I write. :D I will do my utmost to have another chapter for you next Friday. Sorry for the delay!

CHAPTER 11

In order to accommodate planning for their onslaught against the Redemption, Winslow booted out the patrons staying in the rooms around Ancelote's and gave those rooms to Mercer, Cat, and Savage. There were a few extra surrounding rooms for the more important Company officers, plus one for Winslow so he could be nearby in case of emergency. They weren't luxurious, but they were better than staying on the ship.

Catherine would have liked to go exploring around Bombay, but Mercer wouldn't hear of her leaving the inn unescorted. Generally Cat felt this was nonsense and protested vehemently on her own behalf, but Mercer would not be moved. Winslow was sympathetic, and often offered to chaperone her through the city, but Mercer usually didn't allow it.

"Don't you trust Winslow?" Cat demanded angrily of Mercer one morning after a long and profuse fit of begging.

"I don't trust anyone except myself," Mercer replied darkly. "And you, of course."

"But Winslow's loyal to the Company!" Cat protested. "Surely he wouldn't -!"

"Men do a lot of peculiar things out of greed, Cat," he said wearily. "And this position, though it certainly pays well, doesn't afford for the wealth and luxury that Winslow might have hoped for in London. I imagine he'd do just about anything to get back…"

"He seems to like it here well enough," Cat said sullenly.

"Seems," Mercer said. He glanced up at her with a concerned look. "Things are not always what the appear. Remember that."

Thus Cat was stuck inside the Wind and Sail most of the time, much though it irritated her. She spent most of her free time visiting the recuperating Jayant and telling him stories of her past life, even though he couldn't understand a word of it. He seemed to like the sound of her voice, and nodded and smiled as she talked to him. Sometimes he would talk to her in Hindi, the deep, scratchy timbre of his voice rising and falling as he told her some tale – of his life, perhaps, or of India's history.

Whatever he might have been saying, Cat counted him as a friend despite the language barrier that divided them. She also became friendly with the regulars who visited the tavern at the Wind and Sail on an almost daily basis. The sailors were amused by her, the bar wenches loved talking to her, and the Indians appreciated her genuine interest in them as people rather than as lower beings undeserving of her exalted attention. That she was boundlessly good and frighteningly innocent was quite obvious to all who met her – which only worried Mercer all the more.

Fortunately Cat had been smart enough to always introduce herself as Seraphina Welborne rather than by her true name, and so that secret, at least, remained safe. The guests at the Wind and Sail had taken to calling her Seraph, and most would have been sad to see her go.

There were advantages to Cat's enthusiasm and easily given friendship; plenty of people were willing to pass on information to her, and, better still, merchants were ready to offer her lowered rates for their wares. This came in handy whenever Mercer needed something for his planning process, and so he'd begun to send both her and Ancelote to the market daily. The combination of the two women had an interesting affect on sellers – Cat was there to charm and smile and generally be a beacon of warm friendliness, and Ancelote was there to threaten of the consequences should Cat not be given what she asked for, and at a decent price.

Cat and Ancelote were out on just such a trip that day, Cat sweating like mad in the midst of Bombay's rolling heat. Mercer still insisted that she wear a man's clothes even though it was well known by that point that she was a woman, and English clothing was certainly not made for Bombay's sweltering temperature. Neither was Catherine's porcelain pale skin made for Bombay's burning sun. Fortunately, she'd already grown tan aboard the Sea Siren, but she was growing nearly as dark as some of the lighter-skinned Indians, and that troubled her.

"What the people will say when I get back to London," she sighed to Ancelote, who was only half-listening. Ancelote didn't dislike Cat, but she didn't particularly like her, either – all she'd seen of the younger woman had made her believe she was silly and a bit stupid, and certainly not meant for a life like the one Ancelote led. "Oh, Victoria will be horrified at how much sun I've had – it'll take at least a year to return to the proper color," Cat groaned.

"That's assuming you return from this little adventure," Ancelote said darkly, eyes roving over the crowd with careful vigilance.

"Well, yes," Cat conceded, more good-naturedly than Ancelote had expected. Ancelote had thought tears, or wide-eyed horror might follow the pronouncement. "But I trust Mercer and Savage and you to keep us safe. Oh, did you know Jayant wants to come with us?"

Ancelote glanced sharply at her companion. "What?" she said in surprise.

"I know, I was rather shocked myself," Cat said, nodding in agreement. "But apparently he told Winslow as much just this morning. I'm delighted, myself."

"I suppose he could be useful," Ancelote said with a frown. "But he might slow us down."

"Oh, I don't think so," Cat said quickly, shaking her head. "He's been healing quite nicely, really, and even for his age he's quite spry. I have faith in him. Although we'll have to keep him away from Savage."

"Why?" Ancelote asked curiously.

Cat turned to her with an incredulous expression. "Did you miss the ruckus the day we arrived?" she asked in disbelief. "Savage is the one who shot Jayant. I insisted that Dav – beg your pardon, Mercer – find help for him, so we brought him to Winslow."

"I didn't realize," Ancelote said shortly. She turned and glanced over her shoulder – and saw at once that they were being followed through the market. Or, at least, she was. She decided to say nothing about to it to Cat, lest she upset the girl unnecessarily.

"He's really a very nice man," Cat said, pausing briefly by a jeweler's stall and admiring a necklace before moving forward again.

"Savage?" Ancelote asked scornfully.

"No!" Cat exclaimed, with such vehemence and horror that Ancelote had to laugh. "No, Savage is a bloody bastard, and I hope he – " Here she paused, as though uncertain about what she hoped.

"Dies?" Ancelote suggested helpfully.

"Suffers something nasty, at any rate," Cat admitted. She was hesitant to wish death upon anyone, even someone she disliked as much as Savage. "I meant that Jayant is very nice. I'm fond of him."

"How can you be?" Ancelote asked in disbelief. "You don't even know what he's saying to you!"

"You can tell by the tone of voice when someone is being unkind, even if they're speaking a foreign tongue," Cat said with conviction.

"If they're unguarded or unaware that you don't speak the same language," Ancelote said. "But if they know you don't -!"

She was silenced when someone laid a firm hand on her shoulder. "Miss Bussiere?" a distinctly English voice said.

Ancelote turned, her expression cool and calm, but her body tensed and prepared to reach for the nearest weapon. "Yes?" she said coldly.

The man before her was tall, broad, and very tanned, and dressed much like a sailor. A cutlass swung at his side, an ominous threat to anyone looking in his direction. Ancelote glanced downwards as he lifted a hand for her to see.

There was a tattoo of a guinea there, outlined perfectly in ink.

Cat peered out from behind Ancelote, studying the tattoo with an inquisitive gaze. Fortunately, she remained silent, allowing Ancelote to be the speaking part of their duo.

Ancelote glanced up at the weathered face of the man before her. "Burton sent you, then," she said, her posture relaxing as she gave a short nod.

The pirate grinned. "He did," he said. "He's back in town, and glad to hear that you're here, too. He'd like to make arrangements for the… information exchange."

Ancelote inclined her head briefly. "Of course," she said in brusque, professional tones. "I am sure he will want the information as soon as possible?"

The pirate nodded. "Of course."

Ancelote looked thoughtful. "Let us say that I meet you at the Wind and Sail around ten o'clock tonight," she said. "Does this arrangement sound suitable?"

"Perfect," the pirate said with a grin. The sun glinted off a gold tooth as his lips pulled back over it. "He will meet you with a small band of his men. Is there a private room in which to make arrangements?"

"Of course," Ancelote said. "I will be certain to have Winslow Robertson, the proprietor, reserve the room for us. He will direct Burton to it when he arrives."

The pirate gave another curt nod. "Then all's settled," he said. "We'll be there at ten o'clock sharp."

"Good," Ancelote said, turning on her heel and motioning for Catherine to follow. Catherine did so, forcing herself not to glance over her shoulder as the pirate was swallowed up by the crowd. "Does that mean the attack will be tonight?" she whispered quietly to Ancelote.

Ancelote didn't bother nodding. "Yes," she said flatly. "Tonight."

Mercer was in his room at the inn, enjoying a well-deserved nap, when Cat burst in, words tumbling out of her mouth faster than she should technically have been able to say them.

"TyrisishereAncelote'smadethearrangementesWAKEUPyouhavetostarttheplannningWAKEKUP!" she exclaimed, shaking him violently.

"I'm awake," Mercer grumbled, in a completely sleep-free voice. "Slow down and don't shout at me this time."

"Tyris and his crew are here!" Cat said excitedly, though slower. "And Ancelote's made all the arrangements – he and some of his men are coming her tonight for the information about the Hand! So you have to start planning right away!"

"Buggery," Mercer growled, leaping out of bed and storming past Catherine towards the door of his room.

"Buggery?" Catherine repeated in disbelief. "That's all you can at a time like this?!"

"Catie," Mercer said in exasperation, "It's just another onslaught against pirates. I've done it dozens of times before. It's really not very exciting any more."

"But we'll be going to find the Hand!" Cat squealed. "We'll be going on an adventure!"

Mercer sighed, but didn't bother to correct her. "Well, you can start packing for the… er… adventure, then," he advised. "We'll be leaving before sunup tomorrow, at the latest."

Catherine looked surprised. "You mean we might leave tonight?"

"If we've got the time, yes," Mercer said with a short nod. "And if we're not too exhausted after the fight. Otherwise we're leaving before dawn. An early start is probably best." He paused in the door and cast her a severe glance. "And please, try to contain yourself, will you?" he asked, a little imploring. "Someone will know that important things are happening if you keep squealing and giggling like a little school girl."

Cat hung her head abashedly. "Sorry, David," she murmured, chewing her lip.

Mercer sighed again. "I didn't say you had to look depressed," he said, relenting a little. "Just… don't be too happy. All right?"

She brightened. "Yes, sir," she said, saluting crisply.

Mercer snorted and hurried out of the room, his mind already turning to the attack that was to happen that evening.

As Cat had no expertise in battle or in pirates, she was not included in the planning process. In fact, when she'd slipped in to see how they were faring, Savage had very firmly escorted her out. "Can't have you distracting our fearless leader, can we?" he'd sneered as he'd closed the door in her face.

It rankled a bit that Mercer hadn't done anything about Savage's rudeness, but Catherine knew he had a lot on his mind. She would have to settle for being a secondary concern today.

That being the case, Cat had the remainder of the day to herself – an unguarded day. If it had been earlier in their visit Catherine would have taken the opportunity to slip out into the markets by herself to shop and to mingle with the people, but all the time she'd been spending with Mercer, Savage, and Ancelote had made her cautious. Although she wasn't nearly as careful as they were, she was more aware of the dangers that laid within a foreign city – and better able to recognize that she was not well-equipped to deal with those dangers. So although she would have greatly enjoyed the prospect of roaming the streets by herself, she instead went to visit Jayant.

Jayant was doing much better these days. His health amazed even Catherine, who had almost been sure that he would survive the bullet wound. It was almost a miracle that he had survived the bleeding and the potential disease that could have overtaken him if the wound had not stayed clean. But to all appearances, Jayant was going to escape Savage's shot with only a scar and some shoulder pain every now and again – amazing when one considered that it might well have taken his life.

Jayant was well aware that he had come terrifyingly close to death, and he credited his survival entirely to Cat. So he was clearly quite happy to see her when she slipped into his room that afternoon. He smiled and said something to her in Hindi – a greeting, she presumed.

"Hello, Jayant," she said cheerfully, dropping onto the floor in front of his bed. "How are you doing today?" She didn't expect him to answer, and he didn't. He merely smiled at her. "It's a very good day today," she told him, smiling back. "We're finally going to catch those pirates I've been telling you about. They're a nasty lot, pirates – I don't like them one whit. I imagine they'll go straight to the gallows once we've rounded them up." She frowned a little. "I suppose it's sad that they have to die," she sighed, "But justice must be served." She reached up and patted Jayant on the knee. "If I had my way Savage would be hanged for shooting you," she said. "Or, at the very least, shot in his shoulder. See how well he likes it."

"That sounds quite fair, Miss Welborne. I'll carry out the punishment, if you'd like."

Cat turned in surprise and saw Winslow Robertson standing the doorway. Winslow gave her a friendly smile. "If you wouldn't mind getting some of the beer in the cellar for me?" he requested politely. "Jayant's not had much to drink today and I imagine he's very thirsty."

"Oh, of course!" Cat said, leaping to her feet. She turned back to Jayant and promised, "I'll be right back." Then she hurried out of the room, vaulting down the stairs two at a time.

She walked swiftly across the main floor of the tavern, smiling and waving at a few of her favorite customers as she went, though she didn't pause to talk as she normally would have. She was in a hurry to get back to Jayant, as she usually tried to keep him company for at least one hour a day and she'd hardly been talking to him for two minutes.

If she had been more aware, she would have felt the gaze of the three newcomers watching her back as she flounced down the stairs to the cellar. But she was Catherine Whitlock; she was innocent to the bone and suspected no one.

"That her, then?" one of the three newcomers said to his companions.

"Must be," said the second. "Pretty little thing. Seraph, did 'e say?"

"Suits her," the third sniggered. "She's quite the little angel, from the rumors. Even rescued one of the natives."

"Bloody stupid, is what she is," said the first sourly. "Leapin' around and wavin' as if she hadn't a care in the world. Don't see what 'e wants 'er for."

"What's any man want a pretty little wench like that for?" the third said, in the same nasty tone. "Can't say I blame 'im. She can't be older'n eighteen."

"Don't matter," the first growled. "Women onboard a ship's bad bloody luck. Everybody knows that."

"We'll chop off 'er hair, say she's a boy and call it square," the third laughed.

"Didn't know you liked that sort of thing," the second said mildly. "Little boys and all that. That's a bit wrong, you know."

"That ain't what I meant, and you know it," the third snapped.

There was a pause. Then, as Cat reappeared from the cellar, the second said, "So what're we supposed to do with 'er, then?"

"They gets out of here at half past nine," the first revealed. "We gots to make sure they gets out before the attack. Otherwise there'll be hell to pay – so 'e says."

"Be difficult to raise hell when 'e's dead," the second remarked.

"But 'e ain't gonna die, is 'e?" the third said in confusion.

The first grinned. "That," he said, "Depends on the captain."

When Catherine returned, Winslow was speaking rapidly in Hindi to Jayant. Jayant was staring stonily at Winslow, eyes narrowed into disconcertingly angry slits. Winslow sounded angry, too – the words flowing out of his mouth were spoken with an unpleasant amount of force.

Catherine set down the mug of beer on the lone table in the room. "What's going on?" she asked concernedly. "You're not fighting, are you?"

Winslow looked back at her, startled. "Oh," he said, coloring noticeably. "Oh, Miss Welborne, I didn't realize…" He stood up and said in embarrassment, "I was just explaining to Jayant that you'll have to leave tomorrow. He's not very pleased." He paused; then, hesitantly, he said, "Really, I'm not very pleased either, myself. You've done such a lovely job with all the customers and… well…" He shrugged helplessly.

Cat smiled softly. "I'm sure you'll find someone far more interesting to entertain your customers, Winslow," she said kindly. "Did you tell him that he could come with us?"

Winslow shifted from foot to foot. "I thought it best to wait until that was approved by Mercer," he said apologetically. "I don't want anything… untoward to happen if Jayant tries to join you when you leave."

"Oh," Cat said, images of Savage pointing his pistol at Jayant flashing through her head. "That seems quite reasonable."

Winslow hesitated; then, he crossed the room and took her hands in his, looking into her eyes intently. "Look, Miss Welborne – Seraph," he said earnestly. "I don't know what brought you and Mr. Mercer together, but you have to trust me when I say that he's not the sort for a wonderful girl like you. He meddles in dark places and with bad people, and you'll only get mixed in with that lot if you stay with him. You're so completely different from him, I can't imagine that's what you want – to always live life running Beckett's errands country to country, sailing around with Mercer and waiting for him to slay his next target."

Cat looked away, ugly visions of that future blossoming before her eyes. She knew what Mercer did for a living; she knew that most claimed he had no heart and no soul, that even he believed himself damned. She had looked into the face of every single dark layer of his soul, and she had emerged poorer, sadder, but stronger and more certain of herself and the morals in which she believed. In a peculiar way, she had chosen to follow Mercer because he needed protecting – from himself. And there was the child, buried before it could even be born; the fortune lost, the family disowned; blood had been spilled and tears had been shed, and all of it had created a link between them that was, she felt, impossible to destroy. "I can't leave him," she said finally, with conviction.

"You can," Winslow insisted. "You can let him go on this quest, let him destroy these pirates… and you can stay here. With me."

She looked back at him sharply; he was looking hopefully at her. "I'm… sorry?" she said in shock, incredulous.

"Stay here, Seraph. With me," Winslow pleaded. "I've got nobody here – the British never stay, they all go home to London, and nobody else could every be as warm and friendly with all my guests as you are. It'd suit you, speaking with the guests. You could shop in the markets every day. It's a better life than what Mercer offers you."

Cat stared at him blankly for a moment; then, she gently extricated her hands from his. "Mercer never wanted this life for me," she said quietly. "But here we are; I've come this far with him, and I'll not turn back now. But thank you for your generous proposal – I am honored that my company has meant so much to you. Truly." She smiled comfortingly at him and reached across the space between them to squeeze his hand. "I suppose I'd best check on David," she said, turning away quickly. "Thank you for speaking to Jayant. I'll let you know what we decide about bringing him."

She hurried out the door and fled to the end of the hall, throwing the door to Mercer's room open and rushing inside, slamming the door closed again.

The slam reverberated in Jayant's room. Within, Winslow grimaced at the sound, hands clenching into fists. "Damn!" he swore, kicking the table and watching as the mug atop it crashed to the floor and shattered.

Jayant ventured to say something in Hindi, his voice reproachful. Angrily, Winslow spat a Hindi curse back, grabbed a shattered bit of mug, hurled it at the old man, and stormed from the room, an unpleasant glower on his face.