2

The Captain stared at her, coldly furious, his stormy blue eyes unflinching and intense.

Rinoa took a step back. She instantly regretted her saucy question but she didn't know if an apology would make it better or worse. He followed her retreat onto the deck. Every step backward was mirrored by his advance.

Earlier, she'd gotten the impression of something cat-like in his gaze, and now she saw it in the way his body moved, too.

Rinoa was aware she had nowhere to go. If she wished to escape, her only choice was to jump into the sea, but she stayed her course and continued to shuffle backward, oddly captivated by the youth in his face. He couldn't be much older than she was. A year. Maybe two at the most.

How did one so young become so notorious and accomplished? The only things Rinoa had accomplished in her short life was to master needlepoint and to utterly destroy her previously spotless reputation.

Well, she wasn't entirely to blame for the latter, but she wasn't blameless, either. Her own foolish choices were certainly a factor, something she couldn't deny no matter how hard her father tried to place blame elsewhere. He'd been conned too, after all.

The Captain lunged forward to seize her, but Rinoa jumped out of the way and changed course. She didn't take her eyes off him, didn't turn and run like prey. No matter how scary or intimidating he was, she wouldn't back down. She would not be the obedient socialite she'd been raised to be, and he was just a boy, really. A terrifying one, to be sure, but if she could stand up to a military general like her father, she was confident she could stand up to a boy playing at being a Pirate.

She stopped retreating, sure that he would back off if she refused to play his game, and placed her hands on her hips.

"If you think for one second -"

In one smooth motion, the Captain swept her up over his shoulder and stalked toward the side of the ship.

Rinoa was momentarily stunned by the shift in gravity and jarred by the unexpected upside-down view of the world, but only for a second. She shrieked, indignant, and fought his grip, but his arm locked around the back of her knees, keeping her firmly in place.

"Put me down!" she cried. "Put me down right now!"

"I don't think so."

She kicked her feet and screamed, clawed and struggled as he turned his back on the sea and leaned her head and torso over the water. Salty sea spray misted her face and arms and she felt herself begin slide out of his grip.

"NO!" she screamed. Her fingers latched onto one of his belts. "Put me down!"

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't keelhaul you."

"What?" she cried. "What does that mean?"

"Tie you to a rope and throw you overboard."

He couldn't mean that. That was positively barbaric! All she'd done was spill a little food. And maybe fall down once or twice. And maybe sass him a little. That didn't warrant being dragged behind the ship. It wasn't as if she'd poisoned his food.

"Tell me why I shouldn't."

"You shouldn't because it's mean! You meany!"

She punctuated her words with ineffective slaps and dug her nails into whatever parts of him she could reach. She would not die like this. Not when her adventure had just begun. It wasn't her fault he'd opened the door too soon, and it wasn't her fault she'd fallen down or had gotten knocked out by the boom. That was just a bit of bad luck. There was no reason to go to such extreme punishment for such small things. She imagined any rookie sailor might make the same mistakes.

"Meany," he repeated tonelessly. "That hurts my feelings."

Meany didn't have the impact here that it did among her peers back on land. She wished she had the guts to say something stronger, but the rules of decorum were so deeply ingrained in her being, the mere thought made her blush.

"Put. Me. Down."

He leaned her further over the railing and Rinoa screamed, grabbing at his coat with her free hand.

"If I go down, I'm taking you with me," she bluffed. "Don't think I won't!"

He loosened his grip on her legs a little more and she used his belt to draw her torso back to him. She managed to get a hold of his waist, wrapped both arms around his middle, and held on for dear life. No way was she letting go now. He would have to jump into the sea to dislodge her.

Being upside down was not helping her nausea any, and now all the blood was rushing to her head. She grew dizzy and her stomach rolled.

"I'm gonna be sick," she warned. "I won't hesitate to aim for your boots."

That did the trick. He pulled away from the railing and let go of her legs. She fell in an unceremonious heap on the deck, face-up, with both arms tangled around his ankles. Fearing that he wasn't done, she held on and looked up at him for any sign that he'd given up the fight.

"Let go," he said.

"Not until you promise not to throw me off the boat."

"It's not a boat."

"Whatever! Ship, boat, dinghy, I don't care what you call it, just promise, you're not going to throw me off of it!"

"Let go."

"Promise!"

"Why shouldn't I toss you into the sea?"

"I can't swim."

"Not my problem."

Rinoa released his legs as a wave of nausea flooded up through her stomach and chest and she pressed her face into her hands. A cold sweat broke out on her skin and she felt light headed. She really was going to be sick.

As he walked away, she jumped to her feet and stumbled over to the railing. She vomited over the side and then sank back down in a heap of fabric, feeling cold and shaky. She used the hem of her dress to wipe her mouth and sat there, eyes closed, until her stomach settled and the chill passed.

Once she'd gotten a hold of herself, she stood carefully. She was still nauseous and unsteady and the ship beneath her swayed and rocked and threatened to make it worse. She grabbed a nearby rope to steady herself, only to release it as a man appeared out of nowhere.

He wasn't there a second ago. She was sure of it.

The man's long, dark hair was tied back in a pony tail, and he wore a black tri-corn hat trimmed in gold. His knee length black coat, faded to a charcoal gray by time and salty air, had wide cuffs and tarnished brass buttons. Underneath, he wore a light blue tunic which was torn in places, and a frayed scarf tied around his waist to secure a long, thin blade.

He looked just like the Pirates in the storybooks. Friendlier, but he had the costume down to perfection.

"You'll be fine once you get your boat legs," he promised with a wink and a broad grin. "I fell down a lot my first time on a ship. 'Corse, fallin' down's what landed me on a ship in the first place."

Rinoa decided she must be hallucinating. She could swear on her mother's grave she could see through the man. He was there, but she could see the masts and sails and ropes through the shape he made in front of her. She shook her head and closed her eyes to clear her vision, but when she opened them, the man was still there, and she could still see straight through him.

"He means sea legs."

A woman appeared a few paces away from the man. She, too, was dressed like something out of a story. Pirate wench crossed with carnival fortune-teller, Rinoa decided. Her split-front skirt was ragged and torn at hem and wrapped tight around her waist was a thick brown leather belt with a tarnished brass buckles that secured a ring of keys on one side, and a long curved sword on the other.

She was pretty, with a calm and confident air. A second look told Rinoa her clothing, though worn and weathered, was of good, perhaps even fine, quality. Not a wench, then. Someone of a higher station than that.

Though ever detail of this woman's clothing and features were crystal clear, Rinoa could see the last remnants of the setting sun through her body. She could see the masts and the sails and the forecastle and men going about their work on deck.

Rinoa didn't believe in ghosts, though as a girl, she and her friends had delighted in a good, scary story or two. But standing there, looking the pair over, she suddenly wondered if maybe there really was such a thing.

Or perhaps she'd bumped her head harder than she'd thought and nausea was making her vision blur. That was a more realistic explanation than seeing ghosts.

Unable to help her curiosity, Rinoa reached out and poked the man's shoulder. Her finger passed through with only a little resistance and was enveloped in a cold, thick, syrup-like substance. She was equally repulsed as she was fascinated.

He let out a scream of pain. Rinoa withdrew her fingertip and screamed along with him as she stumbled back until she hit something solid.

"I'm sorry!" she cried. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

The man burst into laughter then gave her a pat on the arm that she didn't feel, unless she counted the sensation of a cool breeze passing over her skin and the goosebumps that raised on her arms. She shivered and blinked at him, unsure of what was happening.

"Just kiddin'," he said. "It's always fun doin' that to the virgins."

Rinoa frowned at the word. She knew by now it didn't necessarily mean the same thing it did back home, where a woman's virtue was carefully guarded and considered ruined if one so much as spoke to a man in private. Virginity was highly prized by potential suitors, though theirs was never a factor in making a match. She'd once wondered aloud why that was while in the company of her peers and they'd all stared at her like she was speaking in tongues.

Here, it seemed to mean something less taboo. That would take some getting used to.

"What's the fun of being trapped on this immoral plain if I can't make people scream from time to time?"

The woman sent the man a scathing glare

"The only thing immoral is the way ye butcher language, Laguna Loire," she said.

She turned her stormy eyes on Rinoa.

"Rather pretty, aren't you?" she said. Her expression was troubled. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"Um, thanks?" Rinoa said.

She didn't know what the woman meant, but she didn't think she should ask.

"Don't mind the Captain," the woman said gently. "He's a good boy at heart. He just hasn't found himself yet."

Rinoa doubted that very much. He seemed positively awful. And terrifying and mean and really, really horrible. He was certainly handsome, but a handsome face didn't make up for almost throwing her overboard. Or for being terrible. Or for laughing at her. Well, he hadn't actually laughed, but she remembered the look on his face when she'd tripped on the docks. He might as well have laughed.

Laguna climbed up on the rail and walked along it as though the ship wasn't rocking from side to side, his arms held out for balance. With a flourish and a grin, he offered his hand to the woman to take.

"Get down from there before ye fall off the ship again."

"Aww, live a little, Raine," he said with a grin. "Have a little fun for once!"

"Live a little!" Raine cried. "We've been dead for seventeen years, and ye say live a little!"

"Swim with me, my darling," Laguna said.

He crooked his finger, beckoning Raine to join him. His smile was adoring and playful, like he had eyes for nothing else in the world but her. Raine frowned and put her hands on her hips.

Rinoa noticed a simple gold ring on Raine's left hand and her eyes immediately went to Laguna. He wore a similar ring.

Well. Now she knew she was hallucinating. This whole thing was so ridiculous, like a adolescent fantasy borne from reading too many romance novels. She wondered if the ship had a doctor. She'd obviously hit her head so hard, she'd lost her grip on reality.

"You silly fool," Raine said. "Get down from there."

"If I fall, will you save me?" he asked playfully.

"I'll leave ye to drown," she said back, "like I should've the first time. How in the world I fell in love with such a landlubber is beyond me."

"I'm such a lucky man," he said dreamily and pressed a hand to his heart.

"You're a stupid man."

"But you love me."

"Aye."

"If you love with me, you'll swim with me," he singsonged.

"Ye know it's not the same."

"Then we'll pretend!" he said throwing his arms out. Then, he jumped over the side, crying, "Man overboard!"

There was no splash, but when Rinoa looked over the side, Laguna was doing a lazy backstroke through the water beside the moving ship. An involuntary laugh escaped her lips and she covered her smile with her hand.

"Come down, Cap'n! The water's great!" he called up to her.

"Aye Cap'n," she called back. "I don't take orders, I give them."

"Get in the water, Raine!" he said, "Or I swear, you'll get the cuchi-cuchi treatment later."

"I'll cuchi-cuchi you, ya silly man!"

They seemed awfully real, in spite of being see-through. Perhaps the Captain had thrown her overboard and she was having a very strange near-death experience. Perhaps, they were welcoming her to the other side. If that was the case, she supposed it wasn't so bad. There were worse ways to be sent off, and at least the company was entertaining.

"Rainy me darlin', Rainy me sweetheart," Laguna sang, loud and tunelessly. "Let's go swimin' in the moooon-light."

Raine made a face and pressed a hand to her forehead. She muttered something Rinoa didn't hear as Laguna sang louder.

"My Rainy lies over the ocean, my Rainy lies over the seaaaaaa!"

Rinoa giggled as Laguna waved his arms like he was conducting an orchestra. The man was decidedly fun, even if he was dead. She suspected that though Raine seemed irritated by Laguna's antics, she was secretly enjoying it. All her insults had been laced with a bit of affection and now, as she looked down at her husband, there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

"If I come down, will ye stop singing?"

"Cross my heart."

Raine stepped up onto the railing, swung her legs over and jumped. Wide eyed, Rinoa looked down to see the two frolicking in the water beside the ship as though it was moored in calm waters. They splashed and play-fought and swam through the churning sea, laughing as if they hadn't a care in the world.

How romantic. To be so in love, they'd stuck with one another, even in death. And they were obviously still very much in love. So incredible, to see a love that endured, even after death.

Rinoa had been raised in a society where love didn't matter as much as status. Marriages were more or less arranged, the goal to bring wealth or power to a family. There was little room or opportunity for love and attraction. And if the marriage wasn't arranged, the match had to at least meet the approval of the family. To see love, real love, made her heart swell.

When the two down below began to exchange kisses, Rinoa turned away. She would let them have their privacy, though she wondered if it even mattered. They were dead, after all. Laguna, at least, was past the point of caring what was proper and what wasn't.

She nearly forgot about the Captain and his spilled dinner until she saw him standing in the darkened doorway of his quarters watching her. How long had he been there? Had he seen her watching Raine and Laguna, or had she appeared a complete ditz, standing there alone, interacting with thin air?

A blush colored her cheeks and she hurried over to gather the scattered dishes. She avoided making eye contact as he continued to stand there, his eyes following her every move. It made her nervous, and the dishes clattered together as she stacked them on the tray.

"I'll be right back," she promised.

She chanced a look at his face and couldn't tell if he was still angry or not. His arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow hitched up as she got to her feet.

"Try not to bathe me in it this time."

Her blush deepened. She felt like crying, but she would be damned if she cried in front of him. She was on a Pirate ship. That meant she was sort-of a Pirate too, and Pirates didn't cry.

She lifted her chin and met his eyes. There was something in his expression that made her want to do her worst. It offered up a challenge she couldn't resist accepting.

Before she could stop herself, she said:

"You're lucky I'm bringing you anything," she snapped. "You did try to kill me."

He snorted softly and turned away without a word.

Squall Leonhart sat in his quarters, looking over a map of Centra's coastline. It was said that the legendary pirate ship Griever had met its end somewhere in the shallow waters along those rocky crags, taking a treasure greater than any before it straight to the bottom of the sea. Squall might have passed it off as a mere legend, if not for the set of keys Cid had given him as a boy.

There were six of them on a big iron ring, each one cast in the shape of a lion's head. Each was rumored to open a chest full of gold and jewels.

The Griever had been undersea for so long, Squall was certain the chests had rotted away decades ago and the keys would be unnecessary if they ever found the remains of the great ship. For all anyone knew, the treasure was long gone. At best, he expected if they did find the wreckage, the tide might have scattered whatever there was to be had along the ocean floor. At worst, someone beat them to it long ago and there was nothing to be had.

Or, perhaps, it was just a legend, as so many now believed.

The keys were less important than where they'd come from, or why they belonged to Squall. Squall wasn't even sure if they mattered.

Some days, he was tempted to throw them into the sea. He didn't want or need the constant reminder of the legacy he'd inherited. He had enough of a reminder in the pair of ghosts that didn't want to vacate the ship, even after meeting their own untimely end seventeen years ago.

He was haunted, in more ways than one. Haunted by the looming specters of two pirates far greater than himself. The first was quite possibly a myth, but the second had been very real, and at present, she sat across from him at the table watching him toy with the keys on the ring. Blue eyes exactly like his own watched him wordlessly as he counted the keys and ran his thumb over the ornate face of each lion head carved in iron.

She spoke to him all the time, but he rarely responded. What was the point? She was dead and she pointedly refused to move on. There was nothing she could say to him now that would change that or make a difference in his trajectory. He was Captain now, in spite of his reservations.

Raine Leonhart had gotten what she wanted. Her son had followed her footsteps and now he was Captain of her ship. She'd gotten her wish.

Well, not everything she wanted. She was dead, and she'd never found the treasure that had claimed her life too soon, leaving Squall to grow up orphaned and on a collision-course with a fate he had no choice but to accept. Now it was on him to find it and to live up to her legacy. Until then, he was a boy captain, standing in her notorious shadow.

"You're not eating," Raine said.

Squall ignored her. Even in death, she was still a mother and oh-so concerned about his eating habits and his health and his relative happiness. He wondered, if she had lived to see him grow up, if he would resent her mothering as much. The woman was always there, always looking over his shoulder, looking after him, but she'd never been able to be his mother. Not in the ways that really counted.

Perhaps that wasn't her fault, but he still resented her constant presence and her concern, following him no matter where he went.

"You have a long journey ahead of you, Squall. You need to eat. You know as well as I do, food will be scarce later."

On the table, his dinner had grown cold. He had no interest in eating, though the second delivery had come without incident, and without the girl's sass. Strange that he was almost disappointed when she said nothing the second time around.

Squall clipped the key ring to his belt and returned his attention to the map. He took a long, pointed sip of his wine and let his eyes follow the ragged Centran coastline in search of the best place to drop anchor once they arrived. He thought of Seifer and his head start instead.

The other Captain had at least a day on him, but the Lionheart was a larger and faster vessel with twice as many crew and the best navigator there was. He was confident they could make up the time and overtake the Hyperion, but in truth, that wasn't what he wanted.

Seifer Almasy believed himself the better Captain, but he allowed his heart to rule his head. On the high seas, that was dangerous. All the heart in the world couldn't make up for lack of knowledge or practice and ambition meant nothing if one lacked the experience to back it up.

Unlike Squall, Seifer had not been groomed from birth to Captain a ship. At least, not to the extent Squall had been. Squall had the benefit of not one, but two experienced Captains looking over his shoulder all his life.

Someday, Almasy would be a good Captain. He was a natural leader, and he was as skilled as Squall at navigating the sea and her many moods, but he was too hot-headed and too ambitious to be sensible. Time and experience would temper his fire, but at present, he was a menace with something to prove after watching Squall succeed Cid as Captain of the Lionheart. And Squall was not fond of being thwarted by a small-time scoundrel with a grudge, an unwarranted sense of entitlement, and grandiose visions of fortune.

Squall would much rather be Almasy's ally, rather than his enemy, but Seifer's own actions made him a foe. He might have been First Mate if not for his subsequent tantrum and exit following Squall's appointment as Captain.

If the Lionheart were to encounter the Hyperion in open waters, Squall would have no choice but to ensure it was the last time Almasy sailed. By Seifer's own declaration, Squall was no longer family. He was competition.

Well. So be it.

"I wish you'd eat something," Raine said.

This was the voice of a mother and not the fierce, ruthless Captain Raine Leonhart. She'd learned that Squall might be guilted into doing as she wished if she appealed to him as his mother rather than ordering him to do something. Neither held much sway over him anymore, though sometimes, giving in was the best way to make her leave.

He took another swallow of his wine and finally looked up at the specter of the woman who had given birth to him. In her day, she'd been the most vicious, most dangerous, and most successful pirate on the seas. She'd been known for being smart, calculating, and calm, in even the worst of situations. She'd lived hard and died young, leaving behind a two-year old son, an adopted daughter, and a ship that had run aground in a storm.

"Go haunt Ellone," he said.

"You need me more than she does."

Squall gave a soft snort and fiddled with the keys on his belt.

"I've become everything you wanted me to be," he said tonelessly. "Why are you still here?"

"Because this is my ship. I'll stay as long as I please," she said.

A stubborn air lifted her chin and Squall saw the fierce Captain in her tenacious expression. Her calm defiance was familiar to him. It was a trait he'd inherited from her, along with countless other qualities, both good and bad. No one commanded Raine Leonhart, even in death.

But, she was lying to him. There was another reason she was still here, and Squall had long wondered if she wasn't waiting for him to find the treasure she wasted her life searching for.

All the more reason to claim it himself so his mother could finally rest and let him live in peace.

He refilled his glass and took another swallow of the drink, scrutinizing her steely countenance.

"It's not your ship anymore," he said, more to provoke her than anything. "It's mine."

"This will always be my ship," she said. "Even if it winds up on the bottom of the sea."

"Fine. You Captain it."

He got to his feet, swallowed down the rest of his wine, and walked out, leaving his mother behind.

Out on deck, the night was cool and he took a long, deep breath of salty air. Nida, his Navigator, was at the helm. Squall excused him so he could go eat, and took control of the ship. The view of the wide night sky and the dark ocean calmed him. Reluctant Captain or not, the sea and this ship was his home.

The winds were in their favor. A good omen, he hoped, but he knew better than to expect their luck to hold. Southeastern Galbadia was notorious for sudden, violent storms, and more than one experienced Captain had met his maker in the rough waters between Galbadia and Northern Centra. For now, fortune was on his side. The sea was calm, the wind held steady, and they were making good time.

"If I could Captain this ship, I would, you know," his mother's voice said behind him. "Dying wasn't exactly the plan."

"When is it ever?" he asked.

At the bow, his father stood with his feet planted on each side of the rail, flapping his arms like a bird. His imitation of a seagull's caw carried back to Squall on the wind, and Squall shook his head in irritation.

"Was he this much of an idiot when he was alive?"

Raine's soft laugh was full of affection and amusement.

"He wasn't this reckless, just clumsy, but yes. He was an idiot."

Squall knew the story of how they'd met, and of how that silly fool of a man fell off a cliff somewhere near Esthar. Raine and crew had found him floating face-down without a stitch on. Laguna was nearly dead by the time Raine fished him out of the sea, and he'd slept for almost three full days before he woke with no memory of what had happened to him.

Raine had a mind to dump him off at the nearest port once he was well, convinced he was bad luck, and sure he'd be the death of them all. A landlubber if there ever was one, Laguna vomited in a rain barrel, set a fire in the kitchen, got seasick in calm seas, fell overboard more than once, and got the crew all riled up with his jokes and asinine proclamations.

But somehow, Laguna Loire had swept his smart, practical mother off her feet. She loved him, regardless of his stupidity.

Hard to imagine how she had fallen for someone like Laguna. He took nothing seriously, distracted Squall's crew, and delighted in making a spectacle of himself. It made no sense. It wasn't reasonable.

"And yet you married him."

"Aye," she said.

"Why?"

Squall had never discussed Laguna with his mother before. He supposed it was the wine drawing out his own odd fascination with Laguna's carefree attitude. As a boy, he'd enjoyed the free-spirited Laguna and all his jokes and rhymes and funny sayings that made no sense, but as he'd grown, his amusement had turned to disdain. The older he got, the less he believed there was more to the man than met the eye.

"The heart wants what it wants," Raine said. "No sense in denying it."

"Doesn't answer my question."

"He made me laugh," Raine said. "He was unpredictable. And he wasn't afraid of me."

"I would have keelhauled him."

"I almost did. Twice."

Squall glanced over at her and saw the soft, gentle smile on her lips.

"You can't help who you love, Squall," she said softly. "Nor your reasons for loving them."

By the time Rinoa sat down to eat, most of the crew was finished. She was still a little nauseous, but she two slices of bread and some potatoes anyway, while sharing her misfortune with the Captain with Zell and Selphie.

"Cap'n doesn't joke around about stuff like that," Selphie said. "Usually, he'd just toss ya over the side and walk away."

"Could be that I threatened to get sick on him..." Rinoa murmured.

"You what?" Zell asked. "Oh, Rin. That was a bad idea."

"What was I supposed to do? Let him kill me?"

"I'm surprised he didn't," Zell said. "Leonhart doesn't play around. Ye better mind your tongue from now on or else yer fish food."

The tall, purple hatted Pirate Rinoa had seen on deck joined them, carrying four mugs. He pushed one at Rinoa with a smarmy smile and lifted one eyebrow, inviting her to take his offering.

"This is Irvine," Selphie said, hitching a thumb at the man. "Better known as Scurvy Irvy."

"No one calls me that but you, me darlin'," Irvine said.

"Not true," Selphie said. "Everyone knows what a scurvy dog ya are. Do not trust him, Rinny. His ego's bigger than his hat."

Irvine pressed a hand to his chest like she'd wounded him.

"Yer breakin' me heart, lass," he said, laying it on thick. To Rinoa, he said, "Yer the girl that ran into the boom."

"That would be me. Though, it hit me and not the other way around."

Rinoa eyed the contents of the mug Irvine had given her with suspicion. It was filled with a cloudy, brownish liquid and smelled of spices and strong alcohol.

"What is this?"

"Grog," Zell supplied. "Don't worry. It's just a little rum mixed with sugar and spices."

Rinoa didn't know if her stomach could handle rum yet. Though a little food had settled it, she still had that uneasy, sick feeling that came from the constant rocking motion beneath her. She now knew it was seasickness, and she was doing her best to fight it back.

She took a small sip and found that it wasn't so bad. She tasted vanilla, orange peel, clove and allspice mixed with honey, followed by a powerful punch of liquor. The second sip was even better.

"Um, so... maybe this is a strange question, but... Is this ship haunted?"

All three of them laughed and Rinoa felt dumb for asking.

"I take it ye met Laguna," Zell said.

"And a woman named Raine," she said.

"She actually talked to ya?" Selphie asked.

Rinoa nodded.

"She doesn't talk to anyone but the Cap'n," Selphie said doubtfully.

"Who are they?"

They all exchanged glances as though they weren't sure if they should tell her or not. Zell finally shrugged and took a long swallow of his grog before turning to Rinoa.

"Cap'n Raine Leonhart was the baddest pirate on the seas in 'er time," Zell said. "A real tough broad. Didn't mess around and was pretty much feared by everyone. This was her ship and the Cap'n's her son."

Rinoa didn't know what to address first. The fact that the woman had given birth to such a hateful, horrible man, or the fact that she'd been a famous Captain.

"She didn't seem that fearsome," Rinoa said.

"Trust me, she can be," Irvine said.

"How did they die?"

"Terrible storm one night," Irvine said. "Washed most of the crew overboard, including Raine and her husband Laguna. Ship was found on a sandbar near the Island Closest to Hell a few days later. The Cap'n and his sister were the only survivors."

"That's sad," Rinoa said. "And kind of romantic. At least they went together."

"Nothin' romantic about drowning," Zell said. "And they're still here, so something musta gone wrong."

"They're looking out for their boy is what they're doing," Irvine said, giving Zell a knowing glance. "Now, Laguna, he talks to anyone who'll pay attention, but that Raine, she don't talk to no one but the Cap'n."

"But she did talk to me," Rinoa said. "At least, I think she was talking to me."

"What did she say?" Selphie asked.

"That the Captain needed to find himself."

"Huh," Selphie said. "I've been trying for years to get 'er to talk to me and nothin'. Not a word," Selphie said, and her expression softened. "Laguna's handsome, don't you think?"

"Laguna's dead, Sef. Doesn't matter if he's handsome or not," Irvine said.

"Does so," Selphie insisted. To Rinoa, she said: "He's a lot of fun. And as long as ya stay out of Raine's way and aren't a threat to her boy, yer fine."

"Yeah, even though she's dead, she's pretty damn scary," Zell said. "I remember this one time, back before the Cap'n was a Cap'n, these Mutineers tried to board the ship. He took a pretty bad hit in the shoulder, cut him wide open. Well, Raine, she got pissed and chased them right off the ship. It was like she was going into battle with us, swinging her cutlass and barking orders. Craziest thing I ever saw."

"She's been known to make people disappear," Selphie said. "If ya get my drift."

"It's not nice to talk about people behind their backs, you know," Laguna said and plopped down at the table beside Irvine.

"You're dead, so what's it matter?" Irvine asked.

Selphie flashed Laguna an adoring smile. Irvine dropped an arm around Selphie's shoulders, frowning down at the way Selphie was looking at Laguna. Rinoa didn't know what was weirder. Selphie having an obvious crush on a ghost or Irvine's reaction to it.

"Still have feelings," Laguna said. "And none of you can prove that my Raine made anyone disappear."

"Maybe not, but seems like anyone who messes with him winds up shark bait."

"Could be they were just clumsy."

"Should I be worried?" Rinoa asked. "I did kick him."

"Naw," Laguna said, a ghostly hand reaching over to pat hers. She felt nothing except an icy breeze on her skin. "I think she's rather fond of you. Hasn't stopped talking about you!"

"Why would she be fond of me?" Rinoa asked. "We don't even know each other."

"Sparks, my dear. Sparks! Like all the stars in the sky..." Laguna began to sing and he got up to dance away from the table, kicking up his heels and spinning in circles. "Yo, ho, ho..."

Rinoa shivered and took another swallow of grog. Now that she knew Raine was the Captain's mother, she saw the resemblance, but where Raine had a bit of warmth behind her sternness, the Captain was icy cold and cruel. Still, he hadn't thrown her overboard, so perhaps there was a little humanity in him. Maybe. Just a little.

Across the table, Selphie snatched Irvine's hat off his head and dropped it on her own. It swallowed her whole face and Rinoa could only see her big grin beneath it. Irvine made a bid to retrieve it, but Selphie darted away from the table after Laguna with a giggle. Irvine shrugged and returned his attention to Rinoa.

"I heard you called the Cap'n a meany."

"I did," Rinoa said.

"Strong words," he teased.

Rinoa shrugged, and lifted her chin a little.

"What would you have called him?"

"I wouldn't have called him anything," Irvine said. "You're lucky he didn't give ya a short drop and a quick stop."

Rinoa didn't know what that meant, but she assumed it was not pleasant. She obviously had a lot to learn if she was going to survive this adventure.

"What does that mean?" Rinoa asked.

"Hanging," Zell supplied.

Rinoa did not want to be hanged, keelhauled or anything else that involved dying. She would have to make sure not to anger the Captain any more than she already had. From the sound of it, she was lucky he hadn't carried through on his threat.

"If you ask me, the man could use a good tumble in the sheets," Irvine said. "Always works for me when I get a little cranky."

Rinoa blushed and Irvine's face lit up. He hitched up an eyebrow and took a swallow from his cup.

"You're not some sheltered princess who ran away from home, are ye?" he asked.

Rinoa's blush deepened and she stammered, unable to find words to deny his extremely accurate accusation. That was exactly what she was and she was disappointed that it showed.

"Relax," he said offering a friendly smile. "Ye wouldn't be the first, though most of yer lot run away screaming as soon as we make port."

"I won't," she promised. "I'm tougher than that."

"Ye must be if you mouthed off to the captain before we were barely out of the harbor," Irvine said. "Tell me, what makes a sheltered girl run away from home, anyway?"

While Rinoa didn't want to get into the particulars of her situation, she felt an honest answer was due. She wasn't stupid enough to tell them who she really was, in case that made her more valuable as a prisoner than as a member of the crew. Not that her father had the funds to pay ransom, but most people didn't know just how far in debt the man had gotten himself, and it wouldn't stop anyone from making demands on him.

"Obligation."

"You were obligated to run away?"

"Something like that," she said. "It was run or... become someone I don't want to be. I felt like I'd die if I didn't get away."

"Well, fortune favors the bold," Irvine said with a crooked smile. "And the foolhardy."

His smile was not directed at Rinoa, but at Selphie, who had climbed up on a table to dance a jig with Laguna. Shouts of anger arose as Selphie's boot knocked over someone's mug of grog but Selphie danced on, laughing gleefully as Laguna whipped off his hat and bowed to her.

Beside Rinoa, Zell shook his head at the girl and downed the rest of his drink.

"She's as bad as he is," Zell commented.

"Don't I know it," Irvine said with a resigned sigh.

"Psh, don't even pretend ye don't enjoy every second of it."

Irvine finished his own drink and got to his feet.

"Suppose I should go get me hat back," he said. "And remind me woman a dead man won't keep her warm at night."

Rinoa blushed again and tried not to picture Irvine and Selphie curled up in a hammock together. She wasn't used to people being so open about private things, but she supposed in time, she would get used to it.

"Come on," Zell said. "We should get some sleep. We're up before everyone but the Cap'n and the night watch."

Back in the Galley, Rinoa sifted through her bag for her nightgown, then crawled into the bunk and pulled the curtain. Blank and Cinna were busy hauling in dishes as she changed. She hoped they weren't watching her through the gap in the curtain. She might just have to use that frying pan as a weapon if they were.

She was about to close her eyes when she decided that maybe she did need a weapon, just in case. She was one of about six women on the entire ship, and she didn't want to take any chances. Ignoring the looks she got from Blank and Cinna, she opened the cabinet and retrieved a heavy, cast iron frying pan, clutched it to her chest, then returned to her bunk. Snorts of laughter filled the room as she pulled the curtain and lay down to wait for them to stop making noise.

It was a while before they were done, but the ship was not quiet when they finally retired. Voices and laughter echoed from beyond the galley. The ship ticked and popped and banged as it rocked in the waves. Every sound conjured fear the ship was sinking, that it had sprung a leak, and she was going to drown. Every peal of laughter was some vile man plotting against her virtue.

She slept fitfully, tossing and turning on the hard, thin mattress and she dreamed of going overboard. Sometimes the Captain threw her. Sometimes she fell on her own.

A scrape and a bump woke her from her light doze and she sat up, listening carefully for any indication that someone was up to no good. Nothing. And then, the distinct sound of a boot against the wood floor. Her fingers curled around the handle of the frying pan as she heard a second footstep and a soft clank.

Zell had told her no one was allowed in the galley outside of meals. If she were to bet on it, she'd place her coins on someone foraging for a midnight snack. She clutched the frying pan tighter and crept out of bed.

The wood stove was almost out, but it cast enough light that she could very clearly see the shape of someone digging through a crate on the other side of the room. On light feet, she crept up behind them, brandishing the pan as if it were a sword.

"Oh no you don't," she said.

The forager turned just as she swung the pan with all her strength. It collided with his head with a hard, solid clang and as the man fell, she saw his stunned face staring back at her. Her stomach dropped as his eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped to the floor.

It was the Captain.

And she'd knocked him unconscious.