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A “Judas” – On a pirate vessel, any rope left hanging and unsecure. Also, a traitor.

image [https://i.imgur.com/FA5gOMS.jpeg]

ABNER PLAYED THE yellow glow of the lantern around the hammocks, each one swinging lightly as the timbers creaked, and taut ropes groaned. Something slapped against the hull. Outside the sea was becoming treacherous, a creature trying to get into their little wooden world. Placing a hand on a beam to keep his balance, he checked on Baxter and Stephens, both sick, both with red faces and harsh coughs that made their throats bleed. Mr. Cedar, the ship’s surgeon, said he was confident it was not scurvy or King’s evil, but a few of the men were afraid it might be plague. Abner knew that was unlikely, the plague was away in England and none of these men had seen her in years. And only if God is real, they shall never return. None of us shall, if God is truly, truly merciful.

Abner loved these men asleep in their hammocks, every hateful one of them, even the ones that had just been recruited from Hazard’s last visit to Port Royal. Lost souls, each of them, strewn about the sea like driftwood and none of them with one hope of a better life elsewhere. Three men found guilty of an affray in Essex, six men running from debtors, a pair of quiet lunatics who only conferred with each other in dark corners, an African who’d freed himself from slavery, a thief missing half his toes. Almost three dozen more just like them. This was what God had sent Abner Crane, and it was his job to keep them.

The weathered stumps of his two missing fingers touched the crucifix that swung from his neck, a reminder of the Almighty’s leash. Abner Crane, once of Lowestoft, was Catholic, one of the many reasons he had need to flee England, though not the worst. Not the true reason. He prayed over Baxter and Stephens as they slept, knowing they would not have allowed it were they awake. Not because they were Protestants, which they were, but because the captain did not permit any religious rituals to take place on his vessel.

“God protect the captain from his vainglory and obstinance,” he muttered. “Protect us all from his ambition.”

Abner often did his secret work at night, that was why he always volunteered for second watch. Second watch began near sunset and carried past midnight. The dark did not frighten him. Darkness had long ago saved Abner and a few of his friends from the gallows, and he’d felt an adherence to its many laudable aspects ever since, a respect such as wolves must feel when the dark hides them from their prey.

The men of first watch snored all around him, almost loud enough to drown out the dull roar of the sea, while the boots of the men of second watch thumped on the deck above. The vessel leaned to starboard, and none noticed but him and the old brown cat Rory, over in a corner, doing his best to hunt down a meal. Rory did not disturb Abner’s work, nor did Abner disturb Rory’s. Both of their work must be conducted in darkness.

“God,” he whispered. “Grant these men passage once more across Your glorious waters, and see them safely to homes and ports where their toils matter, and where their hearts may find peace amid—”

There came the quick sounds of a scuffle. Abner swung round and saw that Rory had obtained his prize, and slinked off quickly, a fat rat clutched jealously in his jaws.

“Amen.” That was enough. It had to be.

The captain did not like religious ritual aboard the Hazard, this was true, so Abner had to satisfy his prayers now while he alone was awake in the forecastle. Now was his time. Now, nothing moved besides a lone cripple and his lantern through the dark labyrinth of the ship’s innards.

Other matters needed tending to in the dark, things he did not like to do but nevertheless must be done. He played his lantern’s light slowly around the lockers, then up around the creaking rafters. Of any hijinks great or small he was not aware, yet he reached up with his left hand, the only hand with all its fingers still intact, and felt over the tops of the rafters. He was looking for anything that might be stowed secretly by a disloyal crewman. Abner did not like discovering any of his men were thieves, as quartermaster his job was to see to their safety, but it was paramount that all men be above reproach and that there was never sign of hoarding. Yes, he disliked this part of his duties most of all, mostly because he was afraid he would find something. He did not like to haul a crewman before the captain for punishment. The crew generally hated “peaching” on each other. But what is a quartermaster that doesn’t peach now and again? A co-conspirator, yes. But should I peach, I become also a Judas of another stripe. The captain had said that over dinner the first night Abner came aboard.

He checked their stores, counted the casks of water and rum, compared them with the list he’d made before leaving port and looked to see if the seals on any of the casks of salted pork had been broken. Thankfully, all was in order, and he found no men buggering one another in the shadows like last week.

At the far end of the deck, he lifted the trapdoor and descended into a much greater darkness, into a miasmic stench that, after a few gulps, he made himself accustomed. His left knee smarted a bit with each step, but it barely manifested a reaction more than the occasional wince. The knee was like the missing fingers, or like the constant fear of the gallows—Abner had learned to live with all of them.

A faint glow came up from the stinking darkness. Someone else toiled down here in the dark, another keeper of secrets. LaCroix stood in knee-deep bilgewater with a single lantern hanging over him. The water swirled lightly around the Frenchman as he worked the pump, humming a tune only the Frenchman knew.

“How goes the work, young man?” Abner called down.

LaCroix looked up as if startled. Surely, he had seen the light of the old man’s lantern before hearing his voice, just as he had surely heard the old man’s footsteps—Abner’s days of creeping up on people were far behind him—yet the Frenchman still had the perturbed look of a man interrupted. “It is well, Mr. Crane.” LaCroix’s English was strained but passable. Abner did not know the man’s story, no one did, but he was a gifted mechanic and carpenter that the captain had picked up in Nassau six months ago, and the fellow had so far proven almost indispensable, a genius at repairs and inventing quick fixes on the fly. A mind like his was invaluable at sea.

LaCroix had also proved himself completely capable of speaking English without an accent, though he only did this in his sleep. Abner alone had heard him do this, but had told no one.

“Do you need me to send Dobbs or one of the other nippers to help?” Abner asked. “It’s easier with two. And safer.”

He gestured to the huge nets of barrels swinging from the ceiling, each one weighing in excess of three hundred pounds and fastened by tight rigging. Still, such a light storm as this had been known to shake loose the fastenings put in place by a weary and inattentive sailor, which would send those three-hundred-pound crates all about the room. One is all it would take to crush a man.

Typically, barrels such as these would be nowhere near the bilge, but the men of the Hazard were just coming off two successful raids with sizable prizes of spice, clothing, and some pearls of uneven quality. Coupled with the extra provisions they had picked up at port, the Hazard’s belly was stuffed to the rafters. The Hazard was a sloop-of-war, and she was not truly meant for so much plunder, so it had to be stored wherever there was space. As it happened, the extra added weight was likely helping them weather the storm.

“I do fine on my own, Mr. Abner, but thank you,” said LaCroix, wiping his brow. The Frenchman managed to say it without any true affection or appreciation.

“Are you sure?”

The ship heeled slowly to port, then back to starboard, sloshing the filthy water momentarily up to LaCroix’s waist. The Frenchman returned to his singing and worked the pump.

“You should have someone to help—”

“I said I am fine, monsieur.” LaCroix turned back to Abner, and they eyed one another. They had never been on even terms. Not enemies, exactly, just not on even terms. Abner pledged to find the source of the enmity before long. It was his job to root out malcontents, the captain entrusted him with this sacred duty, and it was critical to keeping a crew of disparate men from turning on one another. It happened. Abner knew it happened. Had seen it himself.

“I will send someone to help,” Abner said resolutely, and turned back up the ladder. LaCroix could argue all he wanted, but as quartermaster Abner’s word was final on all matters of crew safety and work assignments. If he said the bilge needed another set of hands, it would get another set of hands. Before he closed the trapdoor, though, Abner looked down into the bilge and saw the Frenchman’s baleful gaze in the wavering light.

God, watch over them all. Even the fucking Frenchman.

As he started to leave the lower deck, Abner froze on the steps and turned back to take one last look at the fellows of first watch. Thirty-one men sagged in their hammocks, snoring loudly. He heard Baxter and Stephens coughing up blood in the back. He kissed his crucifix to underscore his earlier prayer, then headed out of the forecastle.

Halfway up the stairs, a small waterfall of seawater splashed onto his head, followed by a salty spray. He was utterly drenched as he faced the storm, which came towards the Hazard like a black, twisting mass of evil incarnate, stepped straight out of a priest’s dark tales.

The squall had moved in fast, but it was no tempest, not yet. Bruise-black clouds piled high on the ceiling of the world and darkened every horizon, as though a colossal black halo encircled Hazard, demarcating the borders between this world and Hell. The waves were not high, but neither were they amenable. Hazard would have to stand her ground to keep course. A constant drizzle from the clouds and a soft, near-continuous spray coming from over the railing kept every man soaked to the bone.

Abner hung his lantern on a hook by the capstan and stood a moment on the top deck, watching God’s fiercest brushstrokes painting some of His more severe scenery. The squall had grown into something powerful, but these were not the cyclonic winds of a hurricane. Fourteen-knot winds were still enough to threaten every moment of a boat’s existence, but as he watched the men of second watch, Abner saw experience guide them. Many were once men of the Royal Navy, who then turned privateer before some catastrophe made them only suitable for pirate vessels. They were all able seamen and sailors, and they moved like organized ants in a colony.

Hazard had been running free before an easterly wind when the call came from the captain to head into deeper waters and then reef most of her sails. The captain had been clever enough to surmise the storm’s mind, and had seen its intentions even while Mr. Kepler, Hazard’s sailing master, had suggested they make for one of the islands and shelter in a cove.

But the captain had known they would not have time—he’d seen the storm’s plan for them, and knew it was going to move in quickly, encircle them, entrap them, the strange black clouds converging like lions on unsuspecting prey. But he’d known something else, too. He’d known that the storm would culminate in a brief rage, then dissipate, as it was doing now.

Abner had heard the argument between the captain and his sailing master earlier. “We are safe enough now, but our vessel…she’s only a sloop, Captain,” Kepler had pointed out. “And if this storm intensifies, then so much the worse. If we were in a heavier galleon, perhaps—”

“You forget what we are hauling, Kepler,” the captain had said evenly, his icy-blue eyes set on the coming storm. Abner had happened to be passing by on his way to wake the second watch and send them off to their work, when he found this occasion to eavesdrop. He was not usually an eavesdropper, mind, but how could one miss this encounter between captain and helmsman? Kepler and the captain had been standing in the companionway, just outside the latter’s cabin, speaking sotto voce. “Hazard has considerably more in her belly than when she left port. Our prizes make us heavier.”

“I shouldn’t think by too much, Captain.”

“Enough to satisfy these waves,” the captain had said, gesturing outward.

“But these waves could easily change to—”

“I understand your concern, Kepler. I know you’ve been stranded before, I know you and only one other man survived when Sally’s Kiss went down. Mr. Crane has told me everything. But I can’t have a sailing master who lets that rattle him and affect his judgment moving forward. I need a sailing master who moves where I say, when I say. Do I have such a sailing master or no?”

Abner had seen Kepler pale slightly, then nod. “Aye, Cap’n. You have one.”

The captain put salve on the wound by patting Kepler’s shoulder, and smiling his amiable smile. “There’s a lad. And don’t worry. You see this storm as an evil, Mr. Kepler, but I see it as an omen. A fair one.”

“An omen, sir?”

“Yes. The waters are just choppy enough to aid us. We shall catch that galleon, and either capture her or sink her.”

“But how, Captain? That is…no disrespect meant, but…she’s a three-master, with all sails free. And even if we did catch her—which we can’t, not at this rate—but if we caught her, her cannons are nearly triple ours. She has speed and guns on us, sir. Speed and guns.”

Before Abner slipped below, he’d seen the fiendish smile on the captain’s lips, an all-too-familiar expression for those who knew him well. “The storm,” he said, “shall take care of both of those for us.”

That conversation had been hours ago.

That three-masted galleon now appeared directly ahead of them in the east, bobbing up and down like a child’s toy in a tub, occasionally vanishing behind a tall, black wave before reappearing again, often much closer, framed by flashes of lightning. Abner smiled as he headed fore. The captain knew his trade, he had timed it all so well, and now the galleon was running from them.

But how? How did he know it would run? She’s a far bigger ship, three times our size, which means more guns, as Kepler said. She could’ve spun ’round and attacked us, but she ran. Why did she run, and how did the captain know that she would?

And there was another mystery. It made no sense when you were looking at it, but how was Hazard, a smaller vessel with fewer free sails, catching up to a more powerful ship with all sails free?

Abner nearly slipped in a slosh of foaming water that had crept over the side. The water was being drained through the scuppers, but not nearly fast enough. He picked up another lantern and moved forward, then doused it and hung it from a stanchion, and placed both hands on the starboard rail. Kissing his crucifix again, he looked to Hazard’s needle-sharp bowsprit, to the person standing at the front, wrapped in corset and long black skirt and blue scarf snapping in the wind. A single delicate, gloved hand reached out from the jacket sleeve and grabbed hold of the forestay to keep balance. That person’s eyes were undoubtedly fixed on the galleon, so close within their reach. It was just as the captain had said, the storm was working in their favour. How, exactly, Abner did not know. It was all a mystery.

But then the captain always knows the mind of a storm, doesn’t he? He ought, he’s seen enough of them. But this time, Abner wanted to know how he knew—for there must be a method—and so, carefully, he made his way to the bowsprit. Over the side, he saw the waterline suddenly drop away, creating a massive, curved ditch of black water before once again it rose and splashed over the railing and drenched him. He stood for a moment, mesmerized by the watery chasms that had opened up before him one second, and then closed the next. If a man fell in, he would never be rescued, he would simply vanish into black waters and then lie at the bottom forever.

Sixteen crewmen were currently working the deck, two up in the rigging, and one high up in the crow’s nest. Some of them had tied themselves to the railing in case a rogue wave washed them overboard. Abner found Dobbs coiling rope. He clapped the fourteen-year-old boy on the shoulder and said, “Get down to the bilge and help LaCroix with the pump.”

The boy’s moppy brown hair was plastered to his face, soaked in seawater. The cavity of his missing eye looked like a shadowy cave in the pale grey light. “But Kepler said to make sure the deck was cleared—”

“Captain wants speed, boy, the deck can wait. We cannot let ourselves get any heavier. Go. I’ll finish the rope myself if it becomes an issue.”

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“The Frenchman won’t like me being down there—”

“I’ll handle the Frenchman later! Go, now!”

Dobbs nodded and ran off.

Abner moved along the gunwale, clutching the railing, shouting orders. “Folemann, grab a bucket if you’ve nothing else to do! Kendrick, secure that Judas! For God’s sake, do you want to lose all our barrels of powder? Nils, Brogan, help him—”

“Make way, Abner!” someone shouted.

Abner turned just in time to jump out of the way of Tomlinson and a team of three others running with large coils of rope around their shoulders. They swayed as they started the climb up the mainmast.

“Where are you lot going?” he called after them.

Tomlinson, who moved fast for a round and short-legged man, paused only to say, “A stay has snapped, needs splicing! Cap’n also says may need to unreef an’ let the sails fly!”

“Unreef? Now?!” Feeling a small panic, Abner gauged the wind, and looked up at the mizzenmast, its sails tied off but still whipping in the wind. “Unless I’m dreaming this storm, you shouldn’t be climbing anything right now, or unreefing any—”

“Cap’n’s orders!”

Tomlinson climbed as though he needed no other excuse, because he didn’t. The captain’s orders were sacred, even on a pirate vessel.

Abner thought this peculiar. And now that he looked around, he noted several other crewmen scrambling up the ratlines or moving to the capstan and the winches, as though preparing for maneuvers.

What in hells?

There was only one person that could answer all the questions now pestering him.

Abner continued towards the bowsprit. When he came beside the person dressed in corset and skirt, he at first had no words. The figure standing next to and slightly above him was a vision, an imposing creature stepped right from the fever dream he’d had ages ago when he was stranded on Cat Island, chased by natives and sleeping in trees to keep away from the coral snakes that dominated the jungle floor. He could still recall that nightmare with the same clarity as he recalled his mother’s perfume. Mosquitoes had buzzed in his ears at all hours, keeping him from sleep. That, and his near starvation, had led his mind down many black avenues, one of which had a burning cross rising from the earth with Christ himself upon it, with many dogs barking and slavering at the Saviour. In that particular vision, as Abner had chewed off his own fingers, he saw a woman seated on a throne, yet speaking to him in a man’s voice. Abner could not recall what she said, but years later when he met the figure standing at the bowsprit, he knew either the Devil or the Lord Himself had provided him that dream; a means to either damnation or salvation.

Of the figure little was known. The evidence of his ancestry was in his speech, together with his usual bearing and posture. It had always indicated to Abner upper crust, a man born to wealth but somehow brought low. Low enough that pirates were the only satisfying company. A man whose fortunes were extinguished by some calamity or mishap. And yet the mind of this figure was sharp, frighteningly so, with steely eyes and an alternating grimace and smile that worried his crew.

“How did you know, Captain?” Abner asked presently, having to shout above the wind and waves.

The Ladyman didn’t move. Captain John Laurier turned his head slightly towards his quartermaster, though his eyes remained fixed to the north—not east towards the targeted galleon, but north of all places, where there was naught but angry waves—and he winced, as though his thoughts caused him pain. His lips, lightly coated in red paint, were pursed. Lipstick was outlawed in England, on the basis that women were using such cosmetics to seduce men. A sensible law, Abner felt. But lipstick had been outlawed on women, Captain Laurier always noted to any new seaman that came aboard Hazard with questions about it. As for the corset and skirt, many sailors brought women’s clothes with them on long journeys, so that they might put on plays to entertain one another on long hauls. But usually they took them off after each play. Usually. Some kept wearing them for a while as a joke.

That wasn’t Captain Laurier’s case. And none of those dresses were ever as finely tailored as Captain Laurier’s dresses were to him.

The captain was known to have both a seamstress and a tailor back in Port Royal, a married couple, who he paid good coin to give him the best lace and latest fashions from London and Paris. The tall, black cavalier boots were made out of reconstituted Spanish leather, and had a rather dainty look to them, especially with such tall heels. His grey britches, which he wore underneath the skirt, had seen wear, and the dark-green jacket was tight, and not very broad-shouldered, almost like a woman’s going-out coat. From his coat sleeves the lace-trimmed ruffles frothed like seafoam.

Yet, Abner often observed, Laurier retained an undeniable masculine physique. Strong arms and hands were evident, even though the hands were wrapped in black lace gloves with only the fingertips sticking out. And each fingernail was painted a different colour. The tattoos on his neck, arms, and torso were also not very effeminate, but you rarely saw them for his ladylike attire, which he changed almost daily into a new costume. And the sword at his hip was Toledo steel, the guard and pommel chased with gold and silver.

Why he dressed this way was anyone’s guess. Some sailors believed having a woman on board brought a ship bad luck. Others thought it brought good fortune. Was the captain trying to trick the spirits of the sea into sending them some luck? Others thought that since their main targets at sea were Spanish ships, Captain Laurier was merely trying to taunt the Spaniards, or make them underestimate Hazard’s crew because, when seen through a spyglass, it would appear as though a woman was in charge.

But if that is the case, why not wear a wig? Abner wondered, looking at the captain’s short-cropped blond hair. Why does he not complete the disguise?

It was a question Abner had heard some of the crewmen ask each other after shifts, when there was naught to do but drink and sleep and talk idly of home and spin a few tales around the scuttlebutt. They asked about the captain’s embroidered dresses, the silk skirts he’d obtained after plundering a Spanish sloop and now wore on some nights under moonlight, and the elegant gowns with high, colourful collars he wore when going ashore.

Captain Laurier often hid his short golden hair beneath a tricorne hat. He had piercings, but they were large, bulbous things, not attractive at all. He wore thick bracelets and silver necklaces, most of them encrusted with rubies or other gems. His chin was sometimes clean-shaven and sometimes scruffed. It was as though he was making only half an effort to disguise himself as the fairer sex.

From his sleeves to his heels, the Ladyman struck a contradictory form that, Abner ventured, no artist could hope to capture. There was no defining him. May as well name the colour of dust.

Abner was curious, and desperately wanted to ask the captain why he did what he did, why he dressed so scandalously (which was an affront to God but wouldn’t matter to him since he found talk of God deplorable, religion being “the slowest way to form insight” he’d said once). But one question at a time. “How did you know we would gain on her, Captain?” Abner asked again.

Laurier nodded east, finally tearing his gaze away from the north and planting it squarely on the Spanish galleon. “Do you see, Abner? She’s changed course ever so slightly. That makes three times now. Three times she’s tacked. She’s trying to catch a break before the shoals ahead.” A smile touched the edges of the captain’s bright red lips. He turned his head slightly and shielded his eyes from a spray that came up from the prow. Abner looked and saw that the galleon had indeed changed course again, her sails tilting as she wore leeward. “Changing course always means a temporary loss in speed.”

Well, yes, Captain, everyone knows that, he thought, but did not say. The galleon is losing speed now because of course corrections, because we’re following her, because we’ve hounded her into the shoals, even after she fired warning shots and any sensible crew would’ve dashed for the opposite horizon. But how did you know, Captain Laurier, that she would slow down enough for us to run her into the shoals in the first place?

Abner stood uncomfortably at the bowsprit, the only sounds that of the sea in turmoil and men calling from the netting and masts. He noticed the sails had all been unreefed and were now blooming in the wind, which, if he was not mistaken, had just picked up a notch.

Hazard puffed up her chest and surged forward, taking on speed, the cut-water ploughing hard into the waves.

“Six fathoms, Captain!” cried Okoa. The skinny African was ten feet away, clinging to the larboard rail with his thighs and reeling in his knotted plumb line. The young man’s legs clamped tight to the rail, which was a feat, considering one of them ended at a stump just below the knee; a punishment for his attempt at escaping the sugar fields on Antigua, where Captain Laurier found him three years ago, after he escaped a second time.

“Six fathoms, aye,” the captain replied calmly, never taking his eyes off the galleon.

Thirty-six feet ’tween us and the seafloor. That’s already getting shallow. With shoals nearby, that’ll creep up fast.

“You’re really going to try and close in on them? In this?” Abner said, gesturing to the waves and the sky.

Captain Laurier ignored him, looking north again, then sweeping east.

From the wheel, Kepler bellowed, “She’s fighting me now, Cap’n! The wind’s persuaded her north!” He wouldn’t have been entirely heard if other crewmen weren’t repeating his words up and down the deck so the captain could hear. “Kepler says she’s persuaded north, Cap’n!” they yelled.

Laurier spun and called to the short little Dutch man who had joined them in Port Royal. “Lucas! Bear up and set the square mainsail! North by west, a half north!”

“Aye, sir! Double-reefed, sir?”

“Not till I say. Jaime, set up the cross cat-harpings as I bloody well told you before—”

“Aye aye, sir! A thousand pardons, sir!” said the Scotsman.

“Relay to Kepler my commands: hold this course and put her almost before the wind. Once Lucas is done, that ought to bring her home!”

“Aye, sir!”

Abner wondered if the captain had heard his question. Then another doubt crept to mind, one that had been gnawing at Abner’s belly for three turns of the glass now. “Can we even be sure she’s Spanish, Captain? She’s not flying any flag.” That wasn’t totally unusual. Flags wore out at sea, due to sun and salty sea air. But by now a chased ship ought to be flying any flag as a warning.

Laurier produced a long glass from inside his coat, extended it, and looked through it for a moment before passing it to Abner. “Tell me what you see.”

Abner tried. He first had to wipe the rainwater off the lens before viewing the galleon. She was still difficult to spot, even through the glass’s magnification, for the sun was low behind the clouds. It also did not help that the two ships were bobbing.

Eventually, though, he locked onto the galleon. She had turned slightly starboard, trying to run at broad reach—no longer running directly before the wind, but slightly off of it—and was heeling hard, which meant she was pulling a speedy turn. Abner could almost make out her whole profile.

“Spanish ships will have those blunter tumblehomes, more so than English or Dutch ships,” Laurier said instructively. “And the sail formations are those of a nao, or I’m no judge.”

Abner nodded. Yes, he saw tumblehomes. But something naggled at him, something his eyes caught but that his mind could not name. Something odd about her profile…

When he lowered the glass, he saw Laurier’s broad, lipstick’d grin beneath the brim of his hat. “She’s too low in the water, Abner. You see it now, don’t you? You understand it?”

“Captain?”

“Heavy ships do have the advantage in a storm in terms of balance and steadiness, my friend, but that ship has two decks of guns, not one. Look again.”

Abner looked through the glass, and after a few minutes he noted that the galleon’s entire lower gun deck was near the waterline, and, by flash of distant lightning, he saw that all those square-shaped gunports appeared to be closed.

“You see it now?”

“Five fathoms, Captain!” Okoa cried.

“Five fathoms, aye. Thank you, Okoa. Do you see it, Abner?”

“Her guns are nearly in the water,” he said. “The waves are reaching up to the lower deck.”

“And so?”

Abner saw it, and he marveled at the simplicity of it. “Sink me. She has no choice but to keep them closed, or else she gets swamped. She cannot use those lower guns at all. It—it should’ve been so obvious to me before.”

“But it wasn’t. Because how often have you chased a galleon into a storm to see how she moves?”

“Never.”

“And so there you have it.” Laurier paused to let a massive wave splash over them. Thunder rolled all around, and he had to shout to be heard. “And these winds have given them no choice but to run at broad reach. That takes them southeast. They’ll have to reel in some canvas to slow themselves down, if they don’t want to hit some of the shifting sandbars out here.”

Laurier looked down at him.

“You heard our Mr. Kepler say she had speed on us, and cannons, did you not? I saw you eavesdropping, old man. You don’t fool me.” Laurier laughed.

“I—Captain, I never meant to—”

“It’s all right, old friend. You’ll recall I told him the storm would take care of both for us—speed and the cannons—did I not? Well, there you have it. She’s stuck with only half her guns, you see, and she’s having to cut her speed by a quarter. Add to that,” he laughed, “Spaniards are notoriously bad seamen, and the scales begin to tip our way.” He nodded east. “You believe God favours our ship, Abner. You’ve always said so, and I’ve always given you grief for it. But now I fear I’ve given you all the proof you need to win our ongoing debate. God may indeed be on our side, despite my best efforts to spurn Him.”

The strategy was more than sound, it was done with an artist’s stroke. Abner no longer had any doubts about it. Where before he’d harboured doubts, he now saw only a part in the heavens. Fortune and seacraft in equal parts, the recipe Laurier’s alone.

And that was the Ladyman’s power, to leave mysterious what ought to be, and reveal secrets when they had flowered. “It is well done, sir.” But he did have one more question. “However, our ship is already overburdened by plunder. Will we be able to carry much more? That is, even if we succeed, is it really worth it to go after a galleon her size?” He added, “Unless your only goal is to scuttle her.”

Laurier turned his smile north. “That’s what she’s for.”

Abner winced in consternation, and then looked north. It took a moment, but only just. Another flash of lightning illuminated the rolling waves, and then another, and a small shape began to appear in the distance, perhaps half a mile out, her dark hull and tar-black sails making her almost indecipherable against that greater darkness that haloed the fringes of the horizon.

Another ship! Where did she come from? For a heartrending moment Abner panicked. Are we being stalked?

Then he heard Laurier’s soft laughter. “Not to worry, Abner. She’s a friend. I’m sure the Spaniards have seen her by now, too, and on her current course, they’ll have no choice but to change tack, head to Belcher’s Cove, both to find safety from the waves and to look for a means of keeping themselves from becoming surrounded by enemies.”

“A friend?” Abner breathed, looking at the new ship. It appeared to be mid-sized. It was a brig, a bit larger than their sloop, with double the guns. “What friend, Captain?”

“She’s the Lively.”

Abner was incredulous. “The Lively!” The stumps of his fingers went instinctively to his crucifix. “The privateer! We’re working alongside them again? But…how…that is, where did she—?”

“Four fathoms, Captain!” cried Okoa, reeling in the plumb line.

Abner now looked mistrustfully at the sea. Four fathoms—twenty-four feet—was dangerously shallow water. It made him nervous. And now they were being followed by a privateer—a pirate-hunter, no less. But Captain Laurier only nodded into the rain and said, “Just about right.”

“Sail ho!” Jenkins called from high up in the crow’s nest. His voice was dim over the rain and thunder and rushing waves. He pointed excitedly north, and seemed as surprised as Abner was to see the brig materialize out there, like a ghost ship from the black depths.

Abner shook his head. “Captain, how have you done all this?” It was not the first time he had stood amazed at the captain’s reckonings and planning. “How did you coordinate with the Lively to be here, now, converging on a Spanish nao?”

Part of him wanted to know how it was done, but there was a dimmer part of his mind where a troubled voice told him he did not want to know. There were funny tales, told in the galley at night, that said the captain was the spawn of a siren and a drowned seaman. It was absurd; sirens were of Greek myth, but some said it would explain the Ladyman’s manner of dress and ability to lure ships to their doom.

The funny tales were sometimes told without laughter, which made them not just stories at all, but myth, legend. Normally Abner did not put stock in those stories. Normally, he didn’t. And while he loved all the crew of Hazard, the captain was more of an enigma, by turns worthy of love, scorn, cheer, hope, fear, and mistrust. Like all leaders of men do.

But what man forbids God from stepping aboard his ship?

Abner found himself suddenly wary. Afraid for his soul? Perhaps.

“The explanations will come later.” The Ladyman’s smile lingered, as though he savoured a bit of wine. Then the smile faded, and he looked at Abner. And in that moment Abner felt all fears he had about the Ladyman evaporate again, like early morning dew. “Prepare for boarding action. Wake every man. Have Owens open the lockers and get out the swords and pistols. Make sure the latter are loaded. Have Isaacson help pass them out to every man. Get a powder monkey ready with the cartridges, the gunners will need them.”

“Aye aye, sir. Eh, sir?”

“Yes.”

“It’ll be full dark soon. Full dark, proper.”

“Yes.”

Abner wanted to say more, but the captain had gotten them this far and proved his seamanship. Boarding actions were an absurd notion at night, it was hard enough keeping two ships side by side in calm waters, but in a storm? At night? He wanted to ask about it, but instead put his faith in God and the Ladyman, which for all he knew at the moment were the same thing. Or else God has only led me to him. Led us all. God, or the other one.

Laurier continued issuing commands unabated. “We’ll need everyone, even Baxter and Stephens, even if they can only hold a pistol and fire a single shot each. I want Oliver on the tiller, and put the Scottish boy in the crow’s nest with a musket.”

“Scottish boy?”

“Dobbs.”

“Dobbs isn’t Scottish, sir,” Abner reminded. “I keep telling you that.”

“I know. But it helps if he thinks I think he is.” He shrugged. “And I suppose we ought raise the black. Our quarry won’t see it till we’re close, and by now they’ll have gotten the point, but let us at least give them the chance to surrender before the work turns bloody. And wake Anne, if you can find her. Tell her what’s about to happen. Hopefully she deigns to join us.”

Abner scratched at his scraggly grey beard, still fretting. “Aye, sir.”

“And have someone help LaCroix with the pump. He’s been down there by himself for hours.”

“Already did that, sir.”

Laurier graced Abner with another of his smiles. “God’s favour,” he scoffed. “Why does Hazard need His favour, Abner, when she has yours?” The Ladyman’s laughter could be heard above the thunder.

Abner shivered inwardly at the sound, but was only troubled for a moment. Then he nodded and turned away to his work, practically soaring. He headed to the forecastle, to wake the sleeping first-watchers and ready them for action. And as he went about his work, Abner felt ages younger, the captain’s words warming his soul as no Scripture ever had. Mind, those words did not vanquish all concerns about a nighttime boarding action. In all his years at sea, Abner had never heard of such a thing, at least not when both ships were still mobile. No, those fears were still there, unassuaged and real, but the fact that the captain’s words had tucked them nice and delicately beneath the silken sheets of fervour and loyalty was a testament to his power.

That fervour was lava in his veins as he made his way to the mainmast and hoisted the black flag. But there was a moment—just a moment—when he looked back to the prow and saw the man-woman figure framed against the darkling sky, waves crashing at his feet, and he felt something. A darkness. And Abner feared a time he would have to choose: God’s way or the Ladyman’s. When the moment was over, the fervour returned.

Then he drew the whistle from his pocket and blew the two-note alarm.

“All hands!” he bellowed. “All hands on deck! All hands on deck! Move you bloody scallywags! The captain’s got him a live one and I won’t be the one to tell him why we let her slip!”