CHAPTER 13

"We need a plan," Savage declared, staggering.

"Oh really?" Mercer hissed, still pressed back against the wall. The men below were looking all around them, bored with sitting. They were ready for the slaughter. Mercer wondered vaguely how many pieces he would get chopped into if he attempted to walk into the common room.

Too many, his mind replied, and left it at that.

"Is there a back way out of this place?" Mercer whispered to Ancelote.

She frowned in response. "I don't believe so," she said. "Not one that I've ever used, at any rate."

"We could try the windows," Mercer suggested.

"From this floor?" Ancelote laughed. "That one at least would break his ankle." She nodded towards Savage, who was frowning in concentration as he tried to keep up with the conversation.

"So we leave him," Mercer snapped. "He's useless anyway."

"Not entirely," Ancelote protested. "His sailors listen to him – "

"His sailors are most likely dead," Mercer retorted, cutting her off. "If they're waiting here to kill us, I doubt they'll allow a ship full of East India Trading Company men to sail out of the harbor unharmed."

"Touché." Ancelote frowned and bit her lip. "Well, we could always try Savage's suggestion…"

"Disguising ourselves?" Mercer repeated incredulously. "As what? Barmaids?"

Ancelote grinned. "It might work."

Mercer grimaced. "I don't think I have the proper figure for a dress," he said, rubbing his chest subconsciously.

"Back stairs!" Savage blurted out.

They turned to look at him. "All right, Savage," Mercer growled, "You have thirty seconds. Talk."

"In thirty seconds? I don't know if I can. My mind, it's all wibbly…"

"Savage," Mercer said, gritting his teeth. "Talk."

Savage scratched his nose. "There's a set o' back stairs," he slurred. "Wen' down there wid a barmaid. Very pretty thing."

"We don't care about the barmaid," Ancelote said, cutting him off sharply. "The stairs?"

"You've no sense of fun," Savage said sullenly. "There's a sssecret door. Inna wall."

"What wall?" Mercer and Ancelote demanded, almost simultaneously.

Savage spun around, barely managing to catch the wall for balance. "Thattaway!" he yelled.

Ancelote jumped in surprise; Mercer groaned. "Shit," he cursed.

"They're up there!" he heard someone shout. "C'mon, lads! Let's get 'em!"

"Shit," Mercer swore again, and grabbed Ancelote's wrist. "Let's go," he ordered. "Or else we're dead."

"Wait for me!" Savage cried.

"I am," Mercer said, grabbing hold of Savage and shoving him in front. "In fact, you're leading."

"Do you think that's wise, sir?" Ancelote asked. "It seems to me that – "

There was a bang, and wood splintered next to Mercer's head. "Run!" Mercer shouted, and off they went.

Savage was a wobbling, weaving mess. The only reason he managed to stay on his feet – and managed to move with any sort of speed – was because Mercer and Ancelote were both right behind. And he knew, drunk though he was, that if he tripped and fell, they would leave him behind.

"You'd best find that wall," Mercer shouted at him. "And you'd best find it now!"

Gunfire was going off around them. Angry pirates were charging up the stairs, pouring into the hall. They carried cutlasses, rapiers – a few even had nets. There was an unhappy death awaiting them if they stayed too long in this place.

"Wait!" Savage exclaimed, stopping.

"No!" Ancelote screamed.

"Is tha' way!" Savage said, pointing towards the pirates.

"Blasted hell!" Mercer snarled, and shoved Ancelote and Savage in front of him, grabbing Savage's pistol in the process. Best to be armed with two weapons rather than trying to reload the one after its single shot. "Open that door and get us out!" he yelled. "I'm going to distract them if I can!"

"You're going to die, is what you're going to do!" Ancelote called, but Mercer wasn't listening. He aimed the first pistol and shot the nearest pirate, who fell with a heavy thud. His cutlass went skittering across the ground. Mercer dove for it and grabbed it, dodging right into the path of a stampeding pirate. He tripped his foe and ran him through, brutally kicking the man off the blade. He caught the next pirate – one of those carrying a net – with a blow to the head. He snatched up the net from the dead pirate's hands and hurled it, hard, at the oncoming collection. It was weighted at the corners, and a few of the weights hit some of the pirates in the face. It was enough of a distraction to stall them, and enough time for Mercer to dive through the now-open servants' door and slam it shut.

He didn't wait to see if the pirates had noticed his escape route. He hurtled down the servants' steps after Ancelote and Savage, who were tripping and cursing their way down. He could hear the pirates shouting above his head, but the door stayed closed. Apparently they hadn't seen him, or if they had, they hadn't yet noticed the door through which he had run.

He hit the ground floor and burst out into an empty alley behind the Wind and Sail. Only the alley wasn't empty as it should have been – there were some pirates there, weapons drawn. Ancelote was trying to fend them off, while Savage groped in confusion for his pistol.

"Oh, hell," Mercer grumbled, and took out Savage's pistol and fired.

He hit one of the pirates in the head. The pirate went down, blood starting to spill out of his forehead. Then Mercer dove into the fray, cutlass raised. He backed Ancelote as best he could, taking on an extremely burly pirate who could easily have crushed the small French woman.

The burly pirate was an inelegant fighter, but that didn't surprise Mercer much. The man hacked and hacked, a berserker, as Mercer dodged and defended and tried to avoid getting shot by the other pirates gathered around. He tried to count; he estimated there were maybe ten pirates present. Too many for them to take down.

So this was how his life was to end: in a back alley where no one would find him, slain by pirates, his sworn enemies. He wasn't surprised. He'd always assumed his life would end in a situation like this, even as a boy. He was a killer and a poor man, and their lives never ended safely at home in bed.

What he had not expected was the anger, and the remorse. It wasn't even about his death. It was about Cat, who had been kidnapped; she would be taken somewhere horrible and would live a brief, unhappy existence. Maybe she would be ransomed. Maybe they would just kill her. But no; they were pirates. They would do terrible things to her. They would throw her in the brig, and when they grew too lonely at sea –

He cut off the thought sharply. It did not bear considering. It did not help his focus.

Still, the image kept rising. And the one persistent thought, the thing that made him angriest: he wouldn't be able to save her.

He attacked the burly pirate fiercely, snarling. If he had to die, he was going to make it a fearsome death, one this pirate would not soon forget.

It was at that moment that the pirate's head exploded.

Mercer continued driving his sword towards the pirate, giving the dead man a good slash across the chest. It took a few seconds to register that he had done nothing to his opponent's head; it had seemingly exploded of its own accord. But that was impossible. Someone else was attacking Burton's crewmembers.

The other pirates were beginning to turn, but too late: in moments they too were dead, blood starting to sprout from their bodies like bright flowers in spring. Mercer let his arm drop, fleetingly confused. How had this happened? Who was killing these bastards?

And then he was looking into the smirking face of Captain Jack Sparrow.

The Sea Siren was afire. The flames devoured the ship as sailors screamed and hurled themselves from its decks. Smoke billowed upwards to the heavens, carrying the souls of the already dead with it.

Catherine watched in mute horror from the captain's quarters aboard the pirate ship Redemption. The light from the flames danced across her face, lighting her wide eyes, catching highlights in her hair. She felt small and frail and completely useless.

She bowed her head and clasped her hands in prayer. Her fingers were locked together so tightly that her knuckles turned white, but she didn't seem to notice. She began murmuring a fervent entreaty to God: save them. Save David and Savage and Ancelote. Save them at least, if you will not spare the crew. Please, Lord. Please.

The door to the cabin creaked open, but Cat didn't turn. She continued praying, but added something new to her prayer: God, grant me the chance to live. Grant me the strength to defend myself in the face of danger. Let me see David again. Please.

"Quite a bonfire," a familiar voice observed from the doorway.

At that Catherine stopped praying. She turned to stare at her visitor with shock. "You?" she gasped. "You did this?"

Winslow stepped through the door and came to stand beside her, looking out at the burning ship. "Beckett always has undervalued everyone but himself," he said. "He was foolish to think he could leave me in this post without a chance of promotion. Do you have any idea how long I've planned to return home to England, to buy myself a country manor with the money I've saved and live a life amongst the wealthy?"

"You've thrown that dream out the window," Cat observed. "You can never return to England now – not after what you've done to Beckett's men."

"Who will report it?" Winslow questioned. "There won't be any survivors from the Sea Siren, aside from you, and you won't be seeing Beckett any time soon. Even if you wished to, I doubt you'd be permitted – you're but a street girl, and Beckett spares no time for people of your class."

Cat was briefly thankful that Winslow had no idea who she really was. "My connections with Mercer might allow me an interview," she pointed out. "And given the chance, I fully intend to take advantage of those connections."

Winslow turned to her with a frown. "You won't be given the chance," he said firmly. "And you won't want it, eventually. Tyris Burton is going to take us far away from here. We'll sail with him as he travels around the world, help him steal some treasure and the like, and then when we arrive in England he will leave us at port, and we will start our lives over. Together."

Catherine felt the sudden and ridiculous urge to laugh. "If I remember rightly," she said, "And I am quite certain I do – I refused you at the Wind and Sail."

"That was when Mercer was still alive."

"So you killed him too, did you?" Cat's voice sounded remarkably calm – much calmer than she was feeling.

"At this moment, Mercer is in the midst of the pirates in Burton's crew," Winslow told her, smirking. "And when they are through with him, there won't be much left of him."

"And this is supposed to please me, is it?" Cat spat. She had never been so angry in her life. She had never felt such a swell of bitterness and loathing for anyone, not even Lawless. "I suppose you expect me to say, 'Oh, well then, that's done, let's marry and live happily ever after, shall we?' Is that how this scene played in your head?"

Winslow stared at her, disconcerted by her tone. "Well, I expected you to be upset – "

"Upset?" Now Cat really did laugh, a hysterical laugh. "Upset? Well, you were wrong. I am beyond upset. I am beyond angry. I – I – I don't even know what I am right now, but it's certainly not in your plan." She crossed her arms over her chest and leveled a furious glare at Winslow. Somehow, despite how small she was, Winslow cowered back. "I have been through hell this past year," she hissed. "I have loved, and learned that love is apparently not reason enough for marriage; I have been betrothed to a horrible man and escaped that betrothal only after injury and the loss of a child; and then I have come here, and seen and learned horrible things about the man I love, and I have persisted anyway. And you think you can stroll in, kill him, and eventually win me over?" She paused and looked over Winslow's stunned face. "Idiot," she said disdainfully, and turned away.

"Seraph – " Winslow protested.

She ignored him, marching out onto the deck, where she immediately encountered several very tall and very large pirates. "You have a brig on this barnacle-encrusted chunk of wood, don't you?" she snapped at them. "Best take me to it."

The pirates exchanged amused glances. "We've been told to leave you wif 'im, miss," one of them said, nodding to Winslow. "Captain's orders."

"I honestly don't give a damn what your captain ordered," Cat growled. "I will not remain in Winslow's company for this journey – not for a single second. So you can either try to chase me after I jump over the edge of the ship, or you can throw me in the brig. Your choice."

The pirates stared at her, taken by surprise. "Well – " said the first one.

Before he could finish his sentence, Cat dove for the edge of the ship, prepared to leap over the edge. Unfortunately, Winslow was faster than the pirates, and leapt after her, grabbing her back onto the ship. "Don't you dare!" he snarled, dragging her back down.

She kicked ferociously. "Let me go!" she screamed. "Let me go!"

She heard someone behind her laughing. Furious, she wrenched herself out of Winslow's grip and turned to glare at the man.

He was dark haired, tanned, and good-looking, muscular from all his years on the sea. A dark-haired, exotic looking woman was draped over his arm, a black eyebrow arched at Cat. Cat stared sullenly back at both of them.

"And you said she would be simple to catch," the man said, spitting on the deck. "'Perfectly docile', you said. 'Wouldn't hurt a fly,' you said. From this display, I'd half think we caught the wrong girl."

"No, this is Seraph," Winslow said, disgruntled. "She's just upset."

"What a surprise," the man said. "I warned you, didn't I? Hell hath no fury, they say." He tipped his captain's hat in Cat's direction. "How do you do, Miss Welborne," he said. "I be captain of this vessel. Burton's the name – Tyris Burton."

Cat looked him over with a sniff of disapproval. "Mercer could have taken you," she said.

He laughed. "I like this wench," he said.

"You like all wenches," another pirate said.

The woman on Tyris's arm was glaring at Cat now, a possessive hand on Tyris's arm. "She don't look like much to me, captain," she said.

"Books and their proverbial covers, Zaida m'love," Tyris said, patting the woman on her rump. "Best to play on the side of caution." He studied Cat for a few moments, and finally waved a hand. "You want a place in the brig?" he said to her. "Then have a place. Gents?"

Several pirates swarmed up on either side of Cat and led her towards the lower decks. She followed mostly without resistance.

She paused just long enough to stare at the still-burning Sea Siren before descending.

Victoria was extremely ready for her baby to be born.

Compared to the other women of the aristocracy, she felt like a great whalte. There they stood at every social function with their tiny cinched waists and their huge skirts – and here Victoria lay, draped on a couch in the parlor, minus the huge skirts and plus a huge belly. No undergarments or contraptions in the world could make her waist look thinner.

She had been staying home for the past few months. Rosemary visited her frequently as wedding plans were made. Catherine's father was also fond of stopping by, just to talk about his missing daughter. Victoria tried to assure him that Cat was probably fine, but it was difficult to be certain. She understood how dangerous Mercer's mission was, and it had been a very long time since Beckett had heard from his clerk.

When Rose and Cat weren't there, Victoria spent most of her time alone, sewing baby clothes and trying to oversee household affairs as best she could with her swollen belly. She had thought Beckett would be present more often, but she had hardly seen him since he had chosen to stay home. He told her that the Company was giving him a heavy workload, but she suspected he was on a personal mission.

The others in the aristocracy shared her opinion, and they told her their opinions quite frequently.

"Your husband was never really one for gambling," Varinia Webb observed to Victoria one day at tea. Varinia had already given birth to her baby – a boy. "But I've noticed him spending far too much time with some of the major gamblers – including Lawless." She waved her fan more rapidly. "Lawless is quite the handsome one," she continued, smiling. "Didn't he court Rose for awhile?"

"I suppose some might have thought of it that way," Victoria said grudgingly.

"Well, he's apparently courting Charlotta now, quite fervently," Varinia said. "A wasted match, if you ask me. Why didn't Rose pursue him?"

"Personal reasons," Victoria said shortly. "But believe you me, Varinia, Will Presbery is a much better choice. And she's so happy with him. It's not often a woman finds a man she truly cares about for her husband."

"That's hardly the point of a marriage," Varinia said with a disdainful sniff. "A marriage is a business contract. But you know that better than anyone else. You made the ultimate match, marrying Beckett."

Victoria smiled. "Just good business," she replied. She paused, frowning. "Gambling, you say?" she asked.

"Oh yes," Varinia said. "Almost every night." She put a hand to her mouth, eyes widening. "Oh, no. Are the pair of you fighting? You're not, are you? If so, I didn't mean to pry."

Victoria tried to think of things she might have done to irritate Beckett, but nothing came to mind. "No, I don't believe we've fought," she said. "But I suppose I might have offended him somehow without knowing." She shook her head. "But I expect I would have heard about it by now."

"Well, I can't think of many reasons why a man of his stature would gamble so frequently, unless he wishes to escape his wife," Varinia said. She looked thoughtful. "Of course, with Beckett you can never be sure. Maybe he's planning something. He's the type that does those sorts of things, isn't he?"

"Oh yes," Victoria said sourly. "Cutler's always plotting." She lifted a biscuit and took a bite. "Maybe he's looking to blackmail someone," she said. "He likes knowing everything he can about everyone."

"Does he really?" Varinia said.

Victoria nodded, sighing. "He's worse than Emma and Charlotta combined," she said. "He grills me for gossip. I honestly don't believe he cares; I think he only wants to be prepared in case he ever needs to force someone's cooperation."

"Terrible," Varinia said, shaking her head. "But intelligent, I suppose."

"And irritating," Victoria replied. "But I can promise you that that's what he's doing at those gambling tables."

Despite that promise, and despite the consensus of many other aristocrats, Victoria worried. Was he angry with her? Had she done something wrong? Why was he never home? Was he concerned about their child?

She fretted too much over it. And when she realized that she was fretting too much over it, she became determined to numb herself. If he didn't want to be with her, then she didn't want to be with him, either.

She talked to him but seldom at meals, and avoided him on those occasions when he was at home. It didn't take him long to notice.

"You're late," he said to her, the fourth time she appeared at the table nearly a half hour later than she'd been directed to.

"Am I?" Victoria asked mildly, sitting down and beginning her meal. She refused to look at him.

"It's the fourth time," Beckett said. She could feel him glaring at her.

Victoria took a bite of her meat. "Been keeping count, have you?" She stared at the slice of bread on her plate.

"Oh, yes." Beckett leaned forward to glare at her in earnest. "It has to stop, Victoria. When I'm home, I expect you to be here with me."

"When you're home," Victoria said. "Which, I note, isn't very often these days. Why should I be on time to dinner when half the time you aren't even present to eat it?"

"I've been working," Beckett said.

"Have you?" Victoria snapped. She wanted to look up, but she couldn't quite stand to meet his gaze. "Because that's certainly not what I've been hearing."

Beckett sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'm not having an affair, if that's what you mean."

"That is not at all what I mean," Victoria said. "I'm not concerned about that."

"So confident in your ability to keep me interested?" Beckett asked, arching an eyebrow.

Victoria wasn't in the mood for banter. "I don't care who shares your bed, Cutler," Victoria said icily. "When I give birth I'll be busy with the child, and I'm sure that will irritate you. Being as demanding as you are, I'm sure you'll need a paramour to satisfy you."

Beckett was immediately suspicious, and not at all pleased. "First of all, you do care whom I take my pleasure with," he said. "I know you care, because you're always overreacting when the mere suggestion of the idea arises. Secondly, I have been searching for several prospective nurses who will help raise the children. They will have many of the primary duties that you seem to think will take up most of your time, so you needn't be concerned about that. Why the tone?"

"If you're not having an affair – which, by the way, I'm certain you aren't – then where have you been all these nights?" Victoria questioned. She finally trusted herself to glare at him. She had to be confident she could hold her own in response to his glare.

Beckett sighed. "I've been… researching."

Victoria arched a brow. "Researching?"

"Yes. Something that matters to us both."

"Then why haven't you spoken of it before?"

"I'm sure I have," Beckett said, "But only covertly. I don't want to tell you all the details until I'm certain. Is that enough for you?"

"No," Victoria said sullenly. "You've been gambling."

"Yes. And?"

"I disapprove."

Beckett took a sip of wine. "It is not your place to disapprove of my activities."

Victoria bristled. "If it's anyone's place, it's your wife's!" she exclaimed. "I was under the impression that you actually trusted me a little."

"I never trust anyone totally, Tori – you know that."

Victoria threw down her napkin. "Don't call me Tori," she said, standing and turning to leave. She wished she could make a dramatic exit, but her full belly prevented her from doing anything but waddling.

Beckett stood too, his chair scraping across the floor. "Tori…" he said.

"What did I just say?" she questioned irritably, grabbing hold of the doorframe. She was feeling a little unsteady.

"Victoria," he said through gritted teeth. "I understand why you disapprove of gambling, but I assure you it's not going to cause trouble. It's not even a hobby I enjoy."

"Then why are you at the tables every single night?" Victoria demanded, still not turning to face him. She was feeling peculiar, a little sick. Perhaps the food was bad.

"It's… part of my research. I can't really explain until I've gathered my evidence. Is it really that hard to understand?"

"It wouldn't be under different circumstances," Victoria said, turning to face him. "But I'm carrying your child, Cutler. It's difficult – in fact, damn near impossible – for me to go out in public at this stage, and no one really wants to visit an invalid. I'm starved for company. And I'm bored out of my skull trying to find things I'm still capable of doing. The servants fret over me and have me lying in the parlor all day. All I do is sew and sew and occasionally read. I feel ugly and unwanted and incredibly alone, and not even my husband wants to sit with me anymore. What project is more important than your child and wife?"

Beckett winced. "It isn't like that," he said.

"Isn't it?"

"No!" He started towards her. "This is for your good, and Mercer's, and mine, and Rose's. All of us. Trust me. You do trust me, don't you?"

"As far as I can thr – "

Victoria gasped. There was a rush of water down her legs, and she stumbled, clutching her belly. Beckett caught her.

"The baby?" he asked, sounding panic-stricken for what was perhaps the first time in his acquaintance with Victoria.

"Yes," she gasped out. "The baby. Get a midwife."

"But you need to get to a bed, or – "

"I'll at least get to the parlor," Victoria said. "Cutler, go! Run!"

"Right. Yes. Of course. I'm sorry, love." He cupped her face in his hands and quickly kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry, I'll explain everything as soon as I can, I promise. I just – "

"Cutler," Victoria said, "The baby."

"Yes, of course… I'm going. I… be well." He cast her a fierce stare. "You're sure you'll be fine?"

Victoria looked up at him and smiled. "Just go," she said.

"All right," he said, face pale. "I'll be back very soon. Just – Oscar!"

And even though she was terrified, even though she knew she had a long hard night ahead of her, even though panic was beginning to well inside her at the thought of being a mother, it seemed to Victoria that things, disjointed though they had been, were about to fall back into place.