Steel

  “I don’t trust you. You’re just trying to find a way off this boat and sell us all out besides.”

  “I can’t deny it.”

  Cooper snarled at him.

  “Captain!” Abe called. “Speaking of gibbets, maybe we should let the English sharks have him?”

  Emory brightened for the first time since Jill had seen him. He made a quick nod. “That sounds very agreeable. I can raise flags to signal the Ivy and have them come alongside—”

  The captain shook her head. “We’re not talking about you, we’re talking about Blane.”

  “Captain, please, I won’t say a word against you—”

  “No.” Cooper turned to her quartermaster. “Abe. How’d you like your own ship?”

  Abe glanced over the deck of the Heart’s Revenge, her masts and sails the worse for wear after the battle but still whole, still seaworthy. If possible, his grin grew wider. “I think that would be a very fine thing. But I think she’ll need a new name.”

  Cooper regarded the captured ship, squinting into the sun, thoughtfully pursing her lips. “Aye, I think you’re right. You have a thought?”

  “I do,” he said. “Heart’s Ease. It’s a good name—and it will drive Blane mad.”

  Cooper addressed Blane’s surviving crew who’d been gathered, battered and bleeding, to face their conqueror. “All right, you scurvy lot. You’ve got a choice. You keep your old places on your old ship with one of my crew as your captain, you sign my articles and forget all the tripe that bugger fed you—you do all that, you’ll be free as you ever were on these waters. Or you can follow your captain into irons and the admiralty’s prison.”

  All of Blane’s men agreed to become part of a new crew.

  Cooper turned to the gunnery mate next. “Tennant? Prepare a boat for our friends so we can deliver our package properly.”

  “Aye, sir!”

  “The rest of you—get to your posts and ready to make sail, unless you want to hang in a gibbet tomorrow!” Abe repeated the command, and the crews of two ships rushed to action.

  Captain Cooper and most of her crew made their way back to her own ship. The captain was weakened, everyone could see it. Her face was pale and she moved slowly. But her attitude remained intact. She glared and shouted and berated her crew, same as always, which made the world feel like all was well.

  “Is she going to be all right?” Jill asked Emory when she had a chance, back on the deck of the Diana.

  “She needs to rest,” he said. “But yes, I think she will be. Curse her, I’ve got to get off this ship.” He gazed at the navy ship as if he was considering swimming for it.

  A familiar boom thudded across the water; smoke rose from the Ivy’s side—they’d fired a cannon. It seemed to be just a warning shot—nothing was hit. But if the Diana was going to run, they’d have to do it soon.

  “You don’t need to leave,” Emory said. “Once I’ve explained the situation, they’ll grant you amnesty—”

  “What exactly will you explain to them?” Cooper said. “That you’ve captured one infamous pirate captain—or two?”

  The rowboat was ready. Overhead, sails were rippling, tugging at masts, and the Diana lurched like a dog at a leash.

  “It’s time,” Cooper said. “Put Blane over and we’ll leave him for His Majesty’s friends.”

  “What about the reward money?” Emory said. “You could—”

  “We’ve got Blane’s ship, and that’s reward enough for us.”

  Blane, secured by ropes and burdened by chains—Abe had found the chains they’d broken off the Africans and used them to make him doubly secured—was dragged to the side and lowered over, like so much cargo. At the bottom of the boat he thrashed against his bindings, which caused the little boat to rock until ocean water sloshed over the sides.

  “I curse you, Marjory Cooper!” he shouted at her. “With all my blood and spit I curse you!”

  “No less than I expected, love!” she hollered back at him. Then she turned to the surgeon one more time. “Mr. Emory, your turn. You can explain to the navy all you want.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I’m sick of you. You want to talk to the navy so badly, you go with Blane and talk to them. Collect the reward money yourself if you want it. Unless you’d rather stay here?”

  The surgeon smiled wryly. “Aye, sir. I mean, no. That is—as you wish, as always.”

  Without further argument, he took hold of the line that had been used to lower Blane. Then he turned to Jill, who was leaning on the nearby shrouds, watching the proceedings like a regular sailor.

  “Miss Jill? How’s your arm? Is it hot to the touch?”

  Jill checked the stitched-up wound on her left arm. It was healing, pink flesh bound up with dark threads. It itched and was tender when she touched it, but it wasn’t hot, it didn’t hurt.

  “No,” she said. “It’s all right, I think. Thank you.”

  “Good. And—I meant what I said. If you want to come with me, I can get you a pardon and take you away from here. Take you back to wherever you came from.”

  But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t understand the explanation. More so, because there was more than that reason not to go with him. He couldn’t take her home. And she didn’t want to leave Captain Cooper and Henry and the rest to go with him.

  “Thank you, but no,” she said. “I’ll be all right here.”

  Emory nodded to her, then went over the side. When he reached the rowboat, Tennant cut it loose from the Diana. By then, the schooner was already under sail. Canvas filled with wind on both ships. Within moments, sailing side by side, a tiny fleet of their own, they left the rowboat behind.

  More explosions boomed; more cannon fire from the Ivy. This time, water splashed nearby—they were finding the range.

  Cooper and her crew, and Abe and his, watched as the navy ship sent out launches of its own after the rowboat that had been set adrift, until they were too far away and the boats were no more than specks. The Ivy stopped firing, and seemed more interested in what had been left behind.

  “Best of luck to them,” Cooper said lightly. The air seemed brighter now that Blane was gone.

  Jill sat down on the deck, back to the gunwale on the port side, watching it all with a sense of calm, of satisfaction that was strange to her. She was exhausted. She’d won, she supposed. She may not have struck down Blane, she may not have fenced brilliantly with dazzling skill. Nevertheless, she felt like she’d won. She should be happy. All was right with the world, which at the moment was entirely encompassed by this little ship, her crew, and her captain.

  But she still didn’t know how to get home.

  A shadow fell across her; Henry stood over her, scowling, arms crossed.

  “That was bloody stupid,” he said. “Bloodiest stupid thing I ever saw. You should have run him through. Killed him dead. It’s what he deserved, an’ he’d a done the same to you without thinking.”

  Maybe that was the sense of calm that had settled heavily into her limbs, making her blood flow thickly, warmly: relief that she was alive. She’d survived. She’d never felt so relieved after a fencing bout—those were just for points, after all. This was brilliant.

  Not that she ever wanted to fight for her life again. She’d be happy enough to go back to the strip and just have fun. After today, competitive fencing couldn’t be anything but fun.

  She smiled up at Henry, which must have infuriated him. “It’s okay. It’s all okay. I did exactly the right thing.”

  “You’re loony is what. Heat’s got to you.” He slumped to the deck beside her and studied her. “You could have been killed, Jill. Then what would I have done?”

  “Aren’t you the one who’s always saying we’re all going to die young? Then what does it matter?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he said.

  She took his hand, squeezed it. He continued to look grim.

  “All right, you stinking loafers, get off your bums, we’ve a schoone
r to clean up, and we’ll be following Abe to make sure he’s set to right with his crew. Lots of work and not many hours of light left, so move!”

  Jill and Henry pulled each other to their feet and scrambled to follow orders.

  Cannonballs had taken chunks out of the Diana’s mainmast, which needed to be shored up. Decks were split, pocked with musket shot, and spattered with blood. Lines had broken, rigging swung loose, tackle was lost, and some of the sails hung in useless tatters. Crewmembers climbed to bring down the damaged pieces. Jill was one of those who sat on deck, mending sail, splicing rope, knotting and reknotting until her hands grew raw and blistered.

  The Heart’s Ease sailed several hundred feet larboard of the Diana. They could send supplies back and forth and help each other with repairs. And Cooper could keep an eye on Blane’s old crew. But they actually seemed relieved to have Blane gone.

  By dusk, much of the work was done. Food and rum came out, and the party began.

  Henry brought Jill a drink and sat with her. Jill could drink watered rum now without choking on it. She’d gotten used to the burn of it. Still, she’d have done just about anything for a cold soda right then. She leaned on the side, watching the celebration as the fiddles and drums came out and the singing and dancing started. She might have fought in a real sword fight, she might be able to climb the rigging like a monkey, like any seasoned sailor, and she could drink rum. But could she stay here? Could she be happy? She didn’t know much about the history, but she knew where Marjory Cooper, Henry, and all the crew were likely to end up: killed in a battle, taken down by cannon fire or musket shot, sunk and drowned; or captured and dragged to Port Royal, to be hanged and left in a cage for crows.

  And they’d all tell her that they’d be proud and happy to meet such an end.

  This time, it was Captain Cooper who blocked the light from the lanterns that blazed across the deck, when she came up and leaned on the side next to Jill and regarded the scene.

  “That sword should go back to the sea. The whole thing this time. Send it to the bottom and be done with it,” Cooper said. She left the command behind the statement unspoken: that if Jill didn’t throw the thing over, Cooper would take it from her and do it.

  She was right, Jill thought. Maybe Blane was gone, maybe the sword wasn’t dangerous without him. But why take the chance? Then she had another thought: The shard on its own had been her key here, and she was sure the whole sword was her key home, she just wasn’t sure how. How to find the way home when she’d come here by accident, and no one understood the magic of it, not even Blane?

  But now, she thought she had an idea. Ruby slippers.

  “What if it comes back again? What if someone like Blane finds it?” Jill held her breath a moment, thinking, hoping the faint idea didn’t fade. She straightened, gripping the hilt, tilting it so it flickered in the lantern light. If it didn’t work, she could swim. But she had a feeling.

  “No one’ll find it,” Henry said. “The sea keeps its own.”

  Except for me, Jill thought.

  The captain stood, tossing back a drink from her flask. “Let’s do it and have done with it, then toast it to hell. You do the honors, Tadpole?”

  Jill held the rapier close, point down and to her side. “Okay.”

  She looked around one more time. Caught a few of her crewmate’s gazes—Tennant, Matthews, Bessie, Jane. They smiled at her, raising their mugs to her. She wished she could say good-bye to Abe. Beside her, Henry smiled, then frowned, because he guessed what she was thinking. She touched his arm.

  She wouldn’t stay to watch them all die young, as pirates did.

  Jill sat on the rail, swung a leg over, and remained astride it for a moment, looking over the place that had been her home for the last few weeks. She still wasn’t sure she understood this life. She was pretty sure it would all turn out to be a dream. Strange, though, how the smell of pitch, canvas, and salt water had become so comforting.

  “Jill, no, have you gone barmy?” Henry reached for her.

  “Henry, what’re you on about?” Cooper said. “Tadpole? Jill?”

  They must have seen the farewell in her expression.

  “Thank you,” she said to them both.

  She swung her other leg over and took only a brief look down to the black water and waves chopping against Diana’s hull. Then she slid off, clutching the sword to her chest with both hands.

  The water was cold and shocked the breath out of her; she thought she’d been ready, but she flailed, kicking and swinging with her arms, hoping to find the surface. Her lungs burned, her chest tightened. But she kept a fierce grip on the sword. She couldn’t let it go.

  For a terrible moment, she wondered if she wasn’t swimming up but down. She couldn’t see anything and felt herself tossed by waves. Then, the world turned bright. Sunlight. The water went from black to turquoise. Her face broke the surface and she gasped, swallowing air like a fish gulps water. Hands grabbed her, just like they had before. There were people clinging to her, shouting.

  “Oh my God, is she okay? Is she all right?”

  Jill recognized her mother’s voice.

  Then she was hanging over the side of a modern fiberglass boat with a big motor, the kind that ferried tourists around the Bahamas. The kind of boat she’d fallen out of at the start. The sun was high in the sky, just as it had been, the storm clouds were off in the distance, but not threatening. Her father and the tour guide held her, gripping her shirt and arms, making sure she didn’t slide back into the water. The guide also held a ring-style life preserver, and a couple more of the boat tour people stood to the side. The boat’s engine grumbled, keeping them steady and in one place.

  Jill gasped for breath, but she wanted to laugh. She was in her clamdiggers and tank top, just like before. Everything was just like before, like none of it had happened. Like she’d fallen overboard and been fished out in her own world, her own time, in a matter of seconds. Except that her other arm, the one not hooked over the side of the boat, still held Edmund Blane’s sword.

  She swung her leg over to climb fully aboard. Everyone looked so scared. Her father hugged her and pulled her up—and didn’t let her go. She hugged him back, one-armed, tight as she could. She was home.

  “Jill, are you all right? What happened? Are you hurt?” Dad said, over and over. She’d never heard him sound so worried.

  Before she could answer, her brother pointed at her and exclaimed. “Jeez, where’d you get that?”

  Everyone stared as Jill pulled away from her father’s grip and regarded the weapon in her hand. It was definitely Edmund Blane’s, with the same sleek blade and graceful swept hilt. But the whole thing was covered with rust—rough, dark black, soaked with slime and seawater. It was ancient, corroded; it might have been sitting on the ocean floor for, oh—three hundred years?

  And how did she explain it all? How did she tell them what had happened to her? They’d never believe it, any more than Cooper’s crew would believe where she’d come from. They’d think she was crazy. They’d check her for a head injury. And maybe they’d be right to think she was crazy. Surely it couldn’t have happened.

  But she remembered it so clearly. All of it. The smell of the Diana, the sails rippling overhead, the noise of cannon fire, battling with Edmund Blane, kissing Henry—

  She could never tell them about it.

  “It was on the bottom,” Jill said, still catching her breath. “I saw it and just reached for it.”

  She held the sword in both hands, so they all could see. Her mother and father were at her sides, and her siblings pressed closed. The rest of the tourists on the cruise gathered around wonderingly, and the grizzled tour guide studied the artifact admiringly.

  “That’s amazing,” someone said. “How long do you think it’s been down there?”

  “Look how rusted it is.”

  “Where do you think it came from?”

  “It’s from a pirate ship, I bet,” her brother said.


  Jill glanced at her brother and hid a smile.

  “I suppose we ought to take it to a museum,” her mother said.

  Reflexively, Jill took a tighter grip on the sword. She could see it, this piece of history sitting in a display case in a museum somewhere, right where it belonged, next to a placard explaining its date and place of origin and what it said about the seafaring world of the eighteenth-century Bahamas, locked away from people and no one watching over it once the museum closed—and Blane somehow finding a way to steal it back. She told Captain Cooper she’d keep it safe. A museum, with its guards and alarms, ought to be safe. But Jill didn’t want to let it go.

  “Do we have to?” Jill said, trying to explain. “I mean, this is like my own history. I’m a fencer. The weapons I use, my épées—they evolved from this, the kind of fighting I do came from this. It’s like I was meant to find it. You know? Like I fell overboard just to find this.” She turned hopefully to the tour guide. If anyone would know what should legally happen to the sword, it was him.

  After a moment of thought, he smiled at her. “Law of salvage, kid. As far as I’m concerned, it’s yours. But let’s get it in a cooler, it needs to stay in water until we can get it to someone who can do some restoration on it.” He emptied out the long cooler of its ice and sodas—cold sodas. Jill almost lunged for one. But there’d be time for that soon enough. After filling the cooler with ocean water, Jill set the sword inside. It barely fit diagonally.

  “Mom, Dad, it’s okay if I keep this, right?”

  They both had their hands on her shoulders, unwilling to let go, as if reassuring themselves that she was safe. Her mother ran a hand over her wet hair. Jill didn’t mind.

  “I suppose any museums we could show it to have a lot better-looking rapiers than this,” her father said. “It’s pretty rusted over.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” Jill said.

  She started shivering, because she was still wet through, and a cool wind was blowing over the water. The kind of wind that would catch sails and drive a well-rigged schooner across the sea. One of the crew found a blanket for her, and she sat huddled in the cabin to dry off and get warm. Her parents still kept to her side. And Jill still couldn’t stop smiling.