With thoughts of uncertainty racing through his mind, Rodion made his way back to the main deck. He was greeted with bright sunshine and mewing seagulls above him, apathetic of the battle that had just raged below them. Aidar’s men had left the Baron’s Reply mostly bare. Broken barrels and opened crates lay scattered across the deck, and the last of the Frenchmen with a chest tucked under his arm was now boarding the Muhalif to depart in haste. He watched in silence as the polacre sailed away.

Oddly, it steered with the windage, ignoring Garlington’s instructions to sail behind the Baron’s stern. To Rodion, this was a mercy, since it would keep Garlington and his men down in the magazine for a little while longer, while he had time to think about his actions.

Rodion’s marines, tired but relieved to be at peace, were lounging about on deck with spoils of their own. One was wearing a lieutenant’s bicorne, another was fiddling with what looked like a signet ring in his hand, and others were making a meal out of choice cuts of meat they had found in the ship’s galley.

A large shadow crept up from behind the Cossack, and he turned to find himself in the shade of large sails. The Vengeance pulled up alongside the Baron’s Reply, and its sailors began to deploy their grappling hooks to board. Meanwhile, closer to the coastline by the charred remains of Cape Coast Castle, Burned Beck’s pirogues drifted towards shore, cheering in unison with their freed brethren and ready to bring them home.

Swinging in on a yard, Burned Beck leapt onto the Baron’s Reply with a loud thud. The Peregrine’s marines got to their feet and bowed to her in respect. She shook her head at them and made her way to Rodion. The Cossack doffed his hat and approached her with rare hesitation, anxious about what she was about to say.

Burned Beck’s deep, dark sockets met with Rodion’s remorseful brown eyes. She cocked her head in confusion, and put a friendly hand on the Cossack’s shoulder.

“Dis be a great victory. What be troublin’ yuh?” she said with genuine concern. “I trust yuh dealt wit de devil Garlington, did yuh not? Dis be he vessel, after all. I only wish de blade dat done pierced he heart was me own.”

Rodion shook his head, and his next words clung to his breath, for he knew not what would happen next,

“He’s here. Below us.”

“Ah,” Burned Beck chuckled, “De slaver been taken slave. Fittin’.”

“No.”

As Rodion explained how Garlington was holding himself hostage in the magazine with his officers and the ship’s entire powder reserve, Burned Beck’s fingers curled into fists, and she began to shake with rage. Behind her wooden mask, her eyes lit up with the same vengeful anger that Rodion knew too well.

“Step back, Rooshian,” she said as she shoved him aside.

Rodion furrowed his brow and grabbed Burned Beck by the arm. She looked back at him and freed her arm with a quick jerk. “Don’ yuh touch me.”

“Rebecca, please.”

Burned Beck was taken aback by the softness of his tone, and stopped to listen.

“I cannot stop you from doing what you are about to do, but if you want to fill your cup with vengeance, it will quench nothing. The people you have worked so hard to free can now breathe the sweet air of freedom.” Rodion pointed to the beach, where the newly freed ex-slaves scrambled on board Burned Beck’s pirogues. “If you step down there, you will surely die. Are you willing to abandon them just for this little act of vengeance?”

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“Of all de people dat be in me life, yuh should understand me standin’ most of all,” said Burned Beck with a crack in her voice. “Yuh were wit us when dem took me bonny John! Dem almost killed yuh as well!”

“And they took Eirene from me!” Rodion said, raising his voice. “But killing that man will only add another spoke to this wheel of death, and besides that, I remember your crew called you the Lady Moses of the Seas! Where will you be when your people need you to guide them to the land of milk and honey?”

Without another word, Burned Beck curled her fingers into a fist and punched Rodion square in the jaw.

The sound of Rodion’s body dropping onto the deck echoed into the belly of the ship. Shouting followed, loud but incomprehensible, muffled by the several decks between the magazine and the surface above.

“What the devil are they doing up there?” mumbled Garlington, looking at his pocket watch. “The hour has passed. Why are they still here?”

“Listen, Your Grace. That is the distinct sound of a scuffle. Perhaps they are fighting over some indecision regarding our fate. We should give them more time.”

Garlington exhaled, “Given the choices we have, captain, giving them more time is the only sensible thing to do.”

The shouting only continued for a few moments longer before halting abruptly. For the next several minutes, silence reigned. Captain Pauli peeked through the stern porthole and saw nothing but the immense stretch of the ocean.

“There’s bugger all out there, Your Grace,” said Pauli, wincing to see through the foggy lenses of the porthole. “Perhaps we should attempt an escape.”

“There is no way for us to know for certain. We shall have to survey the deck for danger.”

“Whomever we send forth is likely to be killed,” muttered Pauli. “Is Your Grace certain that he wants to take this chance?”

“Oh, I am not taking the slightest chance, captain,” said Garlington as he produced a pistol and jabbed the barrel into Pauli’s chest. “You shall go out there for all our sakes.”

Pauli grimaced, “Your Grace would threaten his loyal servant? We would all be dead if it were not for my quick thinking.”

“Then you will have no problem with a heroic sacrifice for the greater good. Move.”

Gritting his teeth, Pauli obliged and unbolted the heavy doors of the saferoom. The way forward was still clear, and there was still nothing but silence above deck. He crept forward with the lightest of footsteps, cringing at every little creak of the wood underneath his feet. As he approached the stairs, he was greeted by the warmth and brightness of the sun’s rays, and curiously, by the smell of smoke, like that which came from a winter fireplace, only much stronger.

He opened the hatch only to behold the sight of a roaring ship fire that was engulfing the Baron’s Reply. Fiery beams and bits of charred sail fell from the masts to the deck, and the inferno was spreading so fast that there was no hope to put it out. He ran to the gunwales to see that the pirates were sailing off into the distance. One of them, clad in a white coat and mask that made the scoundrel resemble a ghost, was raising a glass to their death. Another, clad in red, was looking on with his arms crossed in gloomy apathy.

For a moment, Pauli thought about warning Garlington, but then he thought that he would not risk his life again for the man that had just threatened him at gunpoint. His chances were better off at sea. With that final thought, he leapt into the ocean, leaving the Baron’s Reply to smolder behind him.

As the Vengeance drifted away from the burning wreckage of the Baron’s Reply, Rodion Kazansky let out a deep sigh of relief.

“Thank you for listening to me,” he said to Burned Beck. “The ship fire was a beautiful compromise, but the punch to the jaw was quite unnecessary.”

“When yuh feel so right but den someone prove yuh wrong, a pride like me own can’t take dat.”

“It’s hard to lose people we love, Rebecca. But throwing ourselves at death for their sakes would not be what they want us to do. Our best revenge would be to live our lives despite the evils that this world brings upon us. Then we are truly spitting in the devil’s face.”

“Aye,” nodded Burned Beck, “Dat be true. Dat be de beauty of freedom. An now, we can have ours. Yuh ship be yuh own now, Captain Rooshian.”

Rodion paused and looked at Burned Beck with a furrowed brow. “The Peregrine is mine to keep?”

The pirate queen placed a firm hand on his shoulder, “She ain’t me style, sir. Too much boat. Besides, yuh crew is bonded to yuh already.”

A smile crept up Rodion’s face as he peered across the Vengeance’s bow to the mighty Peregrine, just off the shore of Cape Coast’s ruins. Her mast bore no flag – blank – just as the path that lay before him.

Although he had come to love the sea and the life that came with it, he knew that he was not long for it. Even among these thieves and cutthroats like himself, he missed the cold rolling winds of the steppe, and it was there that he would return.