The crew had a former blacksmith among them—Tennant, it turned out. But before they could mend the sword, they had to see about building a makeshift forge on the deck of the Diana—without damaging the ship. They didn’t dare put into land on one of the scattered islands. Blane would reach them before they’d even brought the equipment to shore. They had to keep moving.
They managed to build a forge using the stove from the galley and cannonballs to protect the deck. Tennant lit the fire and put crew to work keeping it stoked.
Hands trembling, Jill fetched the sword from the captain’s strongbox. As the weapon came into the light, the steel seemed to gleam more brightly, light singing off the edge. She ran a finger along the flat of the blade, then along the curve of the hilt. Trying to feel any power coming off it, listening for some message. It may have been her imagination that the metal had a reddish tinge. She couldn’t help but think of the story behind the sword, and she almost dropped it back into the trunk. Maybe Cooper was right, and they should just get rid of it.
But what if it really was the key?
On deck, Captain Cooper met her near the forge, now blazing with heat, and produced the broken tip of the blade.
“I’m still not sure this is the right thing to do,” Cooper said.
Jill glanced at the sword and her heart ached. This was all she could think of. The alternative was running away, farther and farther from where she belonged with every mile.
“I’m not sure, either,” she admitted. “But we have to try.”
“Aye,” the captain said. Then her lips turned in the smile she donned before battle. “We’ll finish the ruddy bastard off once and for all. What say you, ready to give Blane’s sword back to him point first?”
The crew cheered. Jill raised the broken sword and shouted with them.
They gave the two pieces to Tennant, who seemed daunted, his lips pursed and grim. The gunnery mate used a tong to set the lengths of steel into the stove, then stripped off his shirt and tied it around his waist.
A barrel of water waited nearby, secured to the mast to keep it steady, in case a fire broke out.
Meanwhile, the rest of the crew worked to keep the ship away from Blane and the Heart’s Revenge for as long as it took to repair the sword.
Captain Cooper steered them into a network of islands, part of some ancient mountain range where only the peaks emerged from the water. Navigating around the verdant, jutting islands and reefs slowed their progress, but Blane would have a harder time following them. So Cooper hoped, and for a time the Heart’s Revenge fell behind. They hid behind islands, then changed their course, hoping to be well ahead by the time Blane realized he was going the wrong way.
“He’ll loop around the whole mess, I’ll wager, catch us as we come out of this,” Abe said, his hands tight on the wheel at the helm, watching the path carefully. Several of the crew kept watch, shouting out directions and noting obstacles, reefs and sandbars.
“Perhaps. But to do that he’s got to guess where we’ll come out,” Cooper said.
Jill wondered if Blane could sense his sword. He wouldn’t have to guess, he’d just know where it was and feel it traveling toward him.
Over a dinner of boiled stew and hard bread, sitting near the bowsprit, Jill told Henry her fears.
After considering a moment, Henry said, “If such a thing were possible, Blane could do it.”
“Then it doesn’t matter what we do. He’ll always find us, and he’ll overpower us no matter what.”
“You told the captain you could beat him using that sword,” he said.
“But I don’t know if I can,” she admitted. Saying it aloud seemed to make her losing the fight more likely, and she suddenly lost her appetite.
“Then it was a trick,” he said after a moment. “You just want the sword because you think it’ll get you out of here, and it isn’t about Blane at all.”
“No, that’s not true.” At least, she didn’t think it was true. She couldn’t look at him.
“Look, if you don’t think you can beat him, you shouldn’t fight him,” Henry said.
“You’d have to be brilliant to beat him,” she said, thinking back to the one fight, trying to pick apart his style. He’d been toying with her. It wasn’t enough for her to have a strong defense. She had to be able to counterattack. “He’s fast and smart—I tried to attack, but he always seemed to know exactly what I was doing, where I was going to put my sword, even before I knew, like he could read my mind. Henry, he’s really good.”
“I know I wouldn’t want to fight him. I couldn’t beat him. He’s never lost a duel.”
Jill had been in tournaments with fencers whose reputations preceded them, where the whispers passed through locker rooms and along team benches. She’s never been beaten, she’s never lost a bout. And if you listened to those rumors you’d already lost. This was the same, Jill thought.
As much as this was about skill and talent, this was a mind game.
The crew kept to the edges of the ship, against the sides, away from the heat and noise in the center of the deck. Tennant was still working, hammering at the sword, steel on steel. The noise of it rattled above the snapping of sails and splash of waves.
The ship rounded a spit of island as the sun set, turning the ocean a molten pewter color. Tennant still hammered at the sword, and Jill wished this didn’t have to take so long. It wasn’t just a matter of gluing one piece of steel to another—the tip would only break off again the first time she hit anything. Tennant had to reforge the blade. Get the steel hot enough that it became malleable, so that the two pieces could be hammered together, merged, making the molecular structure of the metal continuous. When he was finished, if he knew what he was doing, the break wouldn’t simply be mended—it would vanish, as if it had never been, and the blade would be as strong as ever.
Then she could fight with it.
Jill had been trying to sleep on deck—no one was lingering belowdecks, except the surgeon, who was still locked in his closet. No one was sleeping much, either. People kept looking over the water for the Heart’s Revenge. When the night turned still, with only the waves and sails as background noise, Jill needed a moment to notice, for the clanging of hammer on steel to fade from her ears. Tennant had finished.
She clambered to her feet and raced to the central deck. Tennant was holding the sword tip-down in the barrel of water. The fire in the forge was flickering out.
“It’s done?” she asked.
He glanced at her. Even in the cool breeze, his whole body was slick with sweat, his tan skin shining with it, his trousers soaked through. The scarf tied around his head, meant to keep sweat out of his eyes, was itself dripping. His shoulders dropped, weary, and his smile was weak. But he smiled.
“Not quite yet, lass. The blade needs an edge.”
Jill sighed. Behind them, the shadow of an island loomed, painted charcoal under the light of the stars and moon. The Heart’s Revenge was on the other side, presumably coming around to chase them down.
“There isn’t time,” she said.
“The Captain’ll keep us ahead of the dog, just you see.” Tennant left the sword cooling in the barrel, then went to sit down and take a long drink from a mug.
At dawn, she climbed the mainmast to keep the next watch. The island they’d passed in the night was a haze on the horizon; the next was approaching to starboard, and Cooper was plotting a course that would take them around the windward side of it.
Jill called down when the Heart’s Revenge came into view. All its sails were hoisted, a vast field of white gleaming in the rising sun.
“How’s it coming, Tennant?” the captain called. The smith was on deck, working to sharpen the blade, polishing the edge with a stone.
“Need more time, sir!” he called back. Their voices were distant, echoing. Jill felt removed from it all, drifting above the ships and the action. Now if she could just float away….
“Right, let’s keep the bastard running!”
The ship tipped until Jill was hanging over the water, and she tightened her grip on the rope. If she fell, she’d hit the waves instead of the Diana’s deck. The ship caught a better wind and leaped over waves. They were flying now. Despite all its masts and sails, the Heart’s Revenge was bigger, less maneuverable, less able to tack into winds and steer around the maze of islands. The Diana should have pulled ahead. They should have been able to outrun Blane.
But his ship kept coming closer.
Jill gripped one of the shroud lines and lowered herself hand over hand, balancing with her feet, fast and sure, not even thinking of it, so much more confident than she had been those first days. Almost like this was home.
“Captain!” she called, running to the helm. “He’s gaining!”
“Never!” Abe said. “Not in that lumbering monster!”
Cooper went to the side and looked through the spyglass. She studied the view for a long moment, and when she turned back to the helm, her expression was thoughtful. “Blane’s never played by the same rules as the rest of us. He expects to chase us down and have his way with us like one of his port whores. That’s it, then. We’ll have to do what he doesn’t expect.” She had a gleam in her eyes when she turned back to the deck. “Tennant!” she shouted.
“Not yet!” he called back. Jill wanted to scream.
“You’ve no more time, lad!” she said. “He wants a fight, we’ll ram it down his throat. Tadpole, you still up for it?”
“Aye,” Jill breathed.
“We’re not going to wait for him, we’re going to put ourselves in his lap before he knows we’re coming and take the wind from him,” the captain said. “Man the cannons! Not you, Tennant.”
The thunder and chaos of a ship preparing for battle began.
Even with the sword ready, Jill wouldn’t have anything to do until the real battle began. In order to fight Blane, the ships would have to draw up alongside each other. She’d have to board the Heart’s Revenge. With all the cannon fire and fighting, she might not ever reach Blane to fight him.
She climbed back into the rigging to take up the watch again as the battle approached.
“Hoist the colors!”
There was Henry, running the black flag on its line up the mainmast. The skull on it seemed to grin.
“And ready the cannons!”
From on high, Jill looked back at the Heart’s Revenge. It had seemed to stall, but that may have only been because the Diana had changed direction and the two ships were now circling each other, keeping their distance. The shore of the distant island slipped by, showing that they really were moving.
Abe shouted into the rigging; Jill barely heard him. It was newly learned habits that told her what to do to put the sails in place. The ship heeled and turned, leaving off tacking and putting the wind full behind it. The Diana jumped and lurched, spray flying up past the hull and into the rigging as if the ship itself were eager.
Cooper was steering them into place for a broadside. They only needed to get within range. The slots in the sides opened; the cannons rolled forward.
The Heart’s Revenge’s cannons were more powerful, with a longer range, and they fired first. But the Diana had stayed pointed toward the enemy, offering a slender profile. The shots hit wide and splashed into the water. Abe called orders, spun the wheel, the Diana heaved over, and Cooper gave the order to fire. While the Heart’s Revenge reloaded, the Diana sailed within her own range. Explosions roared, and the air filled with the smoke of burned powder.
Jill was helpless. She could only wait and hope that the Diana wasn’t destroyed before they got close enough to board. That was Cooper’s plan, she could see: Dodge cannon fire. Get within range. Make boarding the only possibility. Ram the fight down Blane’s throat.
“Captain, it’s done!” That was Tennant’s cry. Jill raced down the lines to the deck, coughing through the smoke.
On deck, she found Cooper and Tennant standing together. Tennant held a now-whole sword in both hands. Even amidst the smoke from the cannons, it shone silver and powerful. The blacksmith set it in the captain’s waiting hands. She looked it up and down, studying it, smiling faintly. “The red in it’s gone, do you see that?”
She was right; the bloody sheen had disappeared. Maybe they’d destroyed the curse, claimed the sword for their own.
“You’ve done a very fine job,” Cooper said.
“I shouldn’t have been able to do it all,” Tennant said. “I didn’t have the right heat, the right tools—but it’s like it wanted to be whole again. It wanted to be mended.”
“Blood magic,” the captain whispered.
Jill would hold this newly made sword and know how to get home—she knew it. “Captain,” Jill said, sounding a little too desperate.
Cooper frowned; her hand moved to the grip, tightened. Thinking of the past, perhaps. Of what she could do with the power of the sword—of taking her revenge on Blane. And Jill didn’t think she could blame Cooper if the captain decided to take on Blane herself, whether or not Jill lost her way home.
But the moment passed, and Captain Cooper held the sword, grip first, to Jill. “We’re going to need every blade we have, won’t we?”
Jill took the weapon, one hand on the hilt, other hand careful of the sharpened edge. She couldn’t find where the break had been. The blade was healed, extending long and unbroken to a deadly point. The engravings were gone, hammered clean by Tennant’s work. The sword was smooth, fresh, reborn. It sat heavy in her hands, but balanced. Dangerous. Her arm felt powerful, holding it—like the tingle she’d felt when she first found the shard, but more. She couldn’t tell if the power came from the blade, or from the knowledge that she held an extraordinary sword.
But the whisper of power remained a whisper, and the only message she got from it—Blane had to be defeated.
“Thank you,” she said to Tennant, who nodded.
The ships approached each other, becoming shrouded in the clouds of smoke now hanging over the water.
Jill lost track of the explosions; she could no longer differentiate between one blast of cannon fire and the next, and couldn’t tell if a given explosion was the Diana’s cannons or Blane’s ship’s. The ship was taking damage, splinters of wood flying, sails ripping, the shrouds playing free after being torn loose. The masts creaked and swayed. Jill kept waiting for the ship to fall apart around her. It didn’t.
The Diana couldn’t fire cannons from this position. Speed was their only weapon now—in moments, the Heart’s Revenge wouldn’t be able to fire, either, because their range would be off. They’d overshoot. Jill recognized the tactic from fencing: Get inside your opponent’s reach, making their offense useless, then strike. But Cooper’s ship had to move quickly, before their enemy could find the range again.
Abe took up the command. “All hands! All hands! Let the sheets out!”
Then Captain Cooper’s voice came through during a heartbeat of calm. “We’re comin’ up on them, lads! Ready arms!”
Amidst the smoke and splinters, then, the dozen or so crew above decks swarmed to the rigging. Jill took her place at the fore mainsail. She looked out, trying to see the Heart’s Revenge through the haze. The ship heeled as Abe turned her hard to starboard. Jill had become used to the rolling lurch of a ship making a turn like this, and balanced on loose knees, ready to haul line. Henry had the same position opposite her, on the port side, grinning, like always.
The schooner was now headed directly toward the Heart’s Revenge.
Cooper had picked the right moment in the two ships’ circling. Because the Diana had the wind behind her, she had the speed. Blane’s ship was sluggish to react.
At the captain’s command, most of the crew had gathered on the deck with an array of weapons: muskets, braces of pistols crossed over their chests, some combination of swords and daggers in both hands, and then spears and pikes—they’d probably started out as boat hooks.
Jill felt Blane’s sword sing. She turned it in her hand, testing a movement, a disengage and attack, and marveled at how well balanced it was. It didn’t seem to weigh anything, as if it really was an extension of her arm. Maybe she could fight Blane.
The crew didn’t shout, didn’t stand at the rail, carrying on in order to intimidate the other crew. There was no point to that. This time, they stood silent and ready.
Shouting carried from the deck of the other ship—maneuvering orders, commands to adjust the sails. Calls to arms, to battle.
The Diana was going to ram the other ship head on, out of reach of cannon fire. Jill couldn’t believe it, but what else could happen? The ship sailed forward, strong and sure, her bowsprit leading like a sword. The Heart’s Revenge seemed to bob, stationary, trying to turn but having no wind to move her.
“Hard to starboard! Hard over!” Cooper shouted at the last minute, and the ship lurched, turning in as sharp an arc as Jill had yet seen. When the Diana did collide with the Heart’s Revenge, instead of shattering into her hull, piercing her with her bowsprit and becoming hopelessly tangled, the two ships came together bow to bow, hulls pressing together. Wood groaned.
The Diana seemed tiny next to Blane’s three-masted monster of a ship. The other ship’s deck rose above the Diana’s to the height of a person. A mass of the other crew crowded to the edge, shouting in fury. Then they started jumping over.
The crew of the Diana backed away and let them come; they’d have been cut down if they’d tried to throw ropes up and climb aboard the Heart’s Revenge. So the enemy crew piled down to the deck of the Diana, where the Diana’s crew met them head-on.
The madness had a method to it: Those with muskets and pistols took up positions in the front and let loose a volley, cannon in miniature, that took out the first of those who’d boarded. That left the stragglers for the swords and daggers, while the next round of muskets and pistols came forward. Jill didn’t know if there was another round after that, and there wasn’t time to reload.
She fought. No time for precision here, no time for planning or elegance. Nobody was watching to admire her stance or judge her skill. She’d only win if she came through this alive. It was much more focused incentive than a medal or championship qualification.
Letting her vision go soft, she could take in action on the whole deck, at least in abstract. People moved all around; the enemy was in front, and her friends were around her. But the enemy was trying to cut through the line. She cut back. Once the muskets and pistols had all fired, the battle became a tangle of blades.
Fencing is easy, the joke went. You just put the pointy end in the other person.
Jill tried. She blocked with the dagger Henry had given her and slashed with her rapier, half knowing that the slashing was distracting her enemy at best. Then the line ahead of her broke and a target presented itself.
A scroungy man with an angry snarl, broken teeth, and a chipped sword in each hand. He might even have been one of the ones who would have thrown her over the cliff back on New Providence. He was slashing at one of her crewmates, shouting, beating him down—the man only had a pair of daggers. A spent musket lay at his feet. The attacker didn’t see Jill at all, right beside him.
This was how it went, then.
She thrust, stabbing him under the ribs, twisting her sword, then lunging back and out of the way. It was easier than she thought it would be—took barely any effort at all. Flesh was fragile. The blood came far too easily. She didn’t have time to think of it.
Screeching, he arched his back, flailing at nothing. Blood poured out, turning his unwashed tunic red. She slashed at his arm; he dropped the sword. The Diana crewman lunged next, dagger straight out, and put it in the man’s gut. He, too, made a wrenching move and turned away, keeping hold of the weapon—you didn’t want to lose your weapon here. The attacker doubled over, groaning wretchedly. He wasn’t dead, but he was done.
The man she’d helped—Matthews—nodded at her and plunged back in the fight.
A sheen of blood marred the upper third of Blane’s rapier, fresh and glaring.
A mass battle changed more quickly, was more frenetic, than a duel. Jill decided she liked dueling better. Here, people fought in groups, three and four of them, watching each other’s backs. A crowd of them would bunch together, then suddenly the area where they’d been would clear as the groups split and reformed somewhere else, and so the fighting ranged all over the ship. Jill lunged and slashed at anyone who approached. She did it more to keep the space around her clear than she did to hurt or kill anyone. If she could just keep a clear space around herself, she’d be safe.
Then, for a brief moment, no one else came for her. The battle hadn’t stopped; crashing weapons and shouted curses still dominated, drowning even the splash of waves against hulls and the rippling of sails. Jill came to rest against the foremast, leaning against the stout pole to catch her breath.
Across the ship, she caught sight of Captain Cooper. The captain was staring toward the deck of the Heart’s Revenge with murder in the set of her jaw. The woman sheathed her sword.
Captain Cooper hauled herself up the shroud, as skilled and nimble as any of her crew, and hacked at a line, one of the ropes hanging off the yard of the mainsail. Then she climbed it, pushed off the mast, and swung to the deck of the Heart’s Revenge. She actually swung—just like in the movies, after all.
When the captain reached the enemy’s deck, she drew her sword and looked around, urgent. She was on the hunt and out for blood.
Jill put her sword in its hanger and dagger in her belt and followed.
She climbed the shrouds to reach the level of the other deck and hesitated. It must have been ten feet from here to there—a long space, with a fall on hard wood when she missed. Captain Cooper had made it look easy, had known exactly which rope to slice to carry her over the space. Jill looked around, stricken, unable to figure out the trick of it. She could see it now: She’d try to swing over and end up hanging there like a caught fish, swinging crazily and wondering how to get down.
Jill didn’t want to mess with it. She jumped.
Arms out, she grabbed for the side of Blane’s ship, hooked her elbows over, which left her feet dangling. But she didn’t fall. Hoping no one decided to attack her while she flailed, she pulled herself up, swinging and hooking her leg over and finally rolling onto the deck of the Heart’s Revenge.
She glanced below, to the deck of the Diana. The battle there was a mob, a tangle of bodies, weapons, shouting, and blood. She’d never get the blood off the deck.
But she was on enemy territory now. Pressing her back to the side, she took in the deck of the Heart’s Revenge.
There in the center, swords drawn, Marjory Cooper and Edmund Blane circled each other. A few of Blane’s crew remained on the ship, but they held back, watching with a mix of anticipation and fear—jaws clenched, hands on hilts, but swords left in hangers. Like they wanted to help Blane, but they didn’t dare. They didn’t dare cross Cooper.
Jill drew her sword. Blane’s sword; hers now that it was whole. Sunlight gleamed along its length and turned it to silver.
Blane’s men saw it, recognized it, and began to whisper among themselves. She moved forward, and Blane’s crew backed away—calmly enough, but with trepidation in their gazes. Jill didn’t think she was all that scary—but if they saw her as the apprentice of Captain Marjory Cooper, the fearsome pirate queen? And if they feared Blane’s sword? Maybe she was scarier than she thought. That made her straighten and put a wicked curl in her lips.
Then, his attention drawn by the commotion, Blane saw her. He glanced at Cooper and chuckled.
“What have you done, Marjory? Mended the rapier?”
“Never you mind, you bastard. Fight me, will you!”
But Blane circled around Cooper, creeping past her in order to get closer to Jill. “No,” he murmured. “I’m going to take back what’s mine. Perhaps a second sacrifice would make me even more powerful.”
Jill squeezed her hand around the hilt, rearranging her grip. She could fight him. This was what she’d come here to do.
“Keep away from her,” Cooper said, and put herself between Blane and Jill. “She’s just a child. Be a man and fight me!”
No, Jill wanted to shout. They’d agreed on it. This was her fight—she would face Blane. But that wasn’t what Cooper had in mind. The captain of the Diana launched an attack, sword raised, lunging at Blane as she roared in anger. Blane smoothly raised his sword to parry and knocked the attack out of the way.
Cooper didn’t stop. She swung the blade around for another attack, hunting for the next opening, pressing as she did so that Blane had to scurry backward to maintain distance between them. She had him on the defensive, delivering blow after blow. Jill had to focus to work out all the movements. But none of the attacks got through. Blane repelled them all. In her fury, Cooper was less careful of her own defense.
Blane sidestepped, removing himself from her line of attack and countering with his own thrust at her face. She retreated a wide step, nearly falling into a couple of watching crewmen who scrambled out of the way. This broke her rhythm. Now Blane had the advantage. Now he was the one who pressed.
Captain Cooper swung out of the corner that Blane was trying to trap her in and ranged back to the center of the deck. Blades struck in earnest now, steel smacking and scraping against steel. Cooper met each of Blane’s attacks with a strong parry and each time delivered a counterattack. But Blane never let an opening stay open for long. They were both good, really good. Jill could have just watched them, in awe of their skill and effort. It was because they fought for blood. They fought with everything they had. That made the fight different. Made it terrifying.
Sweat soaked Cooper’s long hair, making it stick to her cheeks and back; her shirt grew damp with it. Blane’s expression was grim, his face flushed. He still wore his coat and must have been roasting in it; at one point he rubbed the sleeve across his face and the velvet came away dark with sweat. But their movements never slowed, their intensity never faded. By her snarl, Cooper clearly wanted to kill him. By his grimness, Blane clearly wasn’t about to let her.
Noises thumped on the side of the Heart’s Revenge—hooks coming over the side and people climbing up the ropes attached to them. Jill leaned over, uncertain, fearful—were they Blane’s crew, returning after a slaughter, or Cooper’s crew, victorious? If the Heart’s Revenge crew had slaughtered the crew of the Diana, they might as well let Blane win the duel—they were all dead then anyway.
It was Henry who appeared over the side of the Heart’s Revenge first. He had blood smeared across one cheek.
He saw Jill and grinned. “What’s going—” But he saw, and his mouth opened in shock.
Apart from the constant background noises of waves and wind always present on a ship at sea, they only heard the beat of boot steps on the deck as Cooper and Blane moved back and forth, their gasps for breath and huffs of effort. The sounds of fighting had faded, and even the fog of gunpowder had blown away. Everyone else just watched.
There came a hiccup in the rhythm of swords crossing and bodies moving. The fighters closed for what seemed just a moment, their blades caught against each other as the two crashed together in a failed attack. With a cry of rage Blane disentangled himself with a slash of his blade. Cooper shouted back, right in his face, and her own weapon turned.
Jill thought it was done, that it was all over for him. But it was Captain Cooper who fell away, a slash of red marring her side.
Shouts of anger cried out from the side of the ship. The Diana’s crew, reacting. Some of them ran forward to reach their captain—Henry, Abe, Tennant. The members of Blane’s crew remaining on deck surged, growling, weapons out, ready to do battle.
Jill ran forward, screaming her own cry of battle. She swept Blane’s rapier around her, defending a space.
“Get back!” she shouted, putting herself between Blane’s men and Captain Cooper. “Get away, all of you!”
Jill spared a glance back, dreading what she would see. But Cooper was alive. A grimace creased her face, and she snarled at her crewmen. “I’m fine, it’s only a cut, let go of me!” But her voice was strained, and she was hugging her arms around her middle, holding in a flow of blood.
“Henry! Get that surgeon up here! Go now!” Abe shouted. Henry jumped back to the Diana and ran belowdecks.
Abe and Tennant finished dragging Cooper out of the way, toward the side and back toward the Diana. Matthews guarded their escape with a pair of pistols. Jill kept herself in front of Blane.
Edmund Blane was using a handkerchief to wipe blood off his sword. He stepped slowly around her; she moved to keep him in view. Holding her sword at him, she stared at him down its length. The tip of the sword shook because her arm was trembling.
“How do you like it? It’s got a good weight to it, doesn’t it?” he said casually, unconcerned. “Now that you’ve got it in one piece, do you know what to do with it?”
She remained silent, repeating old fencing lessons in her mind. Point your toe, keep your knees bent, keep the blade on line, never attack on a bent arm. Advance, retreat, lunge, recover. She liked to think she knew what to do with a rapier.
“I’ll make a bargain with you,” Blane said, stuffing the bloodied handkerchief up one sleeve. He kept his rapier out and ready. “Give me my sword, and the Diana and all her crew can go free. You can tend to Marjory—it isn’t a deep wound, I’ll wager. If you can stop the bleeding, she should live. You can all live—if you give me my sword.” He spoke this loud enough to carry to the crew of the Diana who were watching.
Jill didn’t know what to do. Her first impulse, her first instinct, was to toss the sword at his feet and run back to her friends. This shocked her. That shouldn’t have been what she wanted to do at all. After everything she’d done to get it, after all the worry she’d spent over it, she’d get rid of it so easily, without a fight? She’d give up her way home without a fight? And she realized if she had to choose between going home and the lives of her friends, she couldn’t. If she could save them, she had to.
She looked over her shoulder. Cooper was propped against the side. Abe was with her, and Emory had arrived. The surgeon was packing a bandage into the wound at her side. Henry and Tennant stood guard, even though Tennant only had a dagger with him. They were all watching her.
Marjory Cooper shook her head. No, don’t do it. And Henry shook his head. Abe smiled. She knew they were right because Blane would never keep his word. They would all back her up, whatever happened.
Jill looked at Edmund Blane and shook her head.
His lip curled in a sneer. Then he struck.
It was a textbook feint—straight arm, forward thrust. He expected to catch her off guard, expected her to parry wide, flailing, leaving her defenseless while he disengaged to another line of attack and skewered her. Her fencer’s brain mapped it out a quarter of a second before it happened because she’d seen it before, she’d practiced against a move like that a million times. And lately, she’d been practicing with pirates. When he attacked, she didn’t have to stand there waiting for him.
She sidestepped out of his way and beat his blade off line, giving him nothing to counterattack against and no opening. But he was fast and smart and recovered quickly, attacking again.
She let her fears go, her anxieties fade, bringing all her attention to the flashing steel before her. Her body knew what to do, and the rapier fit neatly in her hand, comfortable and deadly. The world focused in on his blade and her own, and how the two interacted. He didn’t let her rest; every moment was taken up with attack and counterattack, parries and ripostes, trying to hit while avoiding getting hit herself. Sweat gathered in her hair and trickled down her back, under her shirt. An annoyance she could do nothing about, it made her aware of her whole body and how close the edged steel was coming to it.
He flicked his weapon at her, she parried—and was striking at an opening before her higher brain even knew it was there. A length of forearm behind his glove. She thrust at it, heard ripping as the point caught the shirt, felt resistance of flesh. He shouted, and she scurried back as his sword swung toward her again.
Blood stained the sleeve of his right arm. Not a lot. But enough to show the man was mortal.
And she remained standing, sword in her hand, watching him. So it would take more than a little blood for the power of the sword to send her home. They’d have to finish this, and she frowned, daunted.
His fury was controlled as he came at her again, his attacks even more powerful, so that each parry she made rattled her arm. Her muscles were turning to rubber. If he was at all tired after fighting Cooper, he hid it well.
On the other hand, Jill wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep this up. In competition, a tournament might last all day, but a single bout might last only a few minutes. Even with dozens of bouts in a day, she’d have lots of rests in between. She was missing the rests, now. She only wanted a chance to catch her breath. But she had to keep going. If she slowed, Blane would see it and cut her down.
Her heart was beating in her throat, her temples were pounding. If she could only cut him again, and then a dozen more times—
With a renewed bout of strength, he pressed, and she retreated, hoping for a spare breath and a chance to recover. She felt the cut on her left arm without seeing exactly how he had made it—he growled, frowning, which made her think that he’d missed and meant to hit something more vital. The stinging wound seemed distant.
Instead of pulling back a moment and reassessing—as she had done after she struck him—he drove even harder. She couldn’t even counter now, only move her sword in a constant parry and hope her defensive wall was enough to keep him out. She jumped sideways, hoping to duck out from under his onslaught, but he stayed right with her.
All she needed was an opening, a moment when he let his guard down, a chance for her to strike. But then, that was all he needed, too.
She gathered another burst of strength, hoping to make one last attack, a last concerted exchange that would give her the opening she needed and finish this. She beat his blade, attacked. He made a hurried retreat, and she thought, This is it.
Then Blane fell.
His feet slipped out from under him and he toppled like a cartoon character. But I didn’t do anything, came Jill’s first thought.
Then she saw the hook and rope tangled around his legs. And Henry crouched nearby, holding the other end of the line.
Jill marched forward and lay the point of her rapier on Blane’s neck, like it was the most natural, normal thing to do.
The captain of the Heart’s Revenge had been struggling to sit up, but confronted by Jill’s steel he simply lay there, breathing hard, sweating, craning his head up to try to see her without impaling himself. His expression was an ugly sneer. Jill didn’t dare look away from him.
“Finish him off!” Henry called.
She knew what he meant—a slice across his throat, a stab through his neck and spinal cord. An ugly, messy death. He’d twitch on her sword like a bug on a pin. It’d be easy to do, with him lying there. The sword itself seemed to yearn toward him, eager to slice into him. She felt the power of it in her fingers, wrist, and arm. And if she was right, this would send her home—feed the sword Blane’s life in exchange for the child’s life he’d taken with it. It ought to be easy, with so much at stake.
And she realized she couldn’t. Not even to send herself home.
“You cheated,” Jill said to Henry.
“Course I did, you weren’t going to beat him,” he said.
Henry didn’t know that. Anything could have happened. That last attack might have worked. But part of her was just as glad not to have to find out. Blane was beaten, and it didn’t matter who gave the final blow.
“I’m not going to kill dead a man who’s flat on his back,” Jill said. “That’s the kind of thing he would do.”
“A woman of honor,” Blane said with contempt. “Nice.”
Yes, she thought. I am.
“Drop your sword,” she said, flicking the point against his skin. It scraped but didn’t cut. But just a little more pressure…
Blane let go of his weapon. Jill kicked it away, and it rattled across the wooden deck.
Her arm became very tired, then. The sword she held no longer called out for blood, no longer surged with power. It was just a weight of steel. Well-made, beautiful steel. But nothing more.
Mostly, then, it was done. With their captain defeated, Blane’s men turned docile. They sat by the gunwales and didn’t make trouble. They’d been loyal to Blane’s power, which was gone now. The crew of the Diana had defeated the boarding party. The cannons were silent.
Captain Cooper got to her feet, aided by Abe and the doctor. But she walked over to Jill under her own power, limping, hand pressed to her side over the bandage wrapped around her middle.
“Come to gloat then, Marjory?” Blane said, hateful as ever.
“Henry,” she said softly. “Tie the bastard up. Good and tight.”
Henry did, tying Blane’s hands and feet with yards of rope, tying another loop around the pirate’s neck so if he tried to move too much he’d strangle himself.
Finally, Jill could lower the rapier. It was just a sword now. It had defeated its master, tasted Blane’s blood. Any mysticism she’d felt from it, any power it had given her, seemed to have dissipated. She felt weak, like she wanted to melt. Her muscles were loose, exhausted.
Captain Cooper stood beside her, in front of Blane, now trussed and lying by the forecastle of the ship.
“Are you all right, Tadpole?” she said.
“Aren’t I a frog yet?”
Cooper chuckled and squeezed Jill’s shoulder. Jill sighed. “I couldn’t kill him. Was that wrong?”
“No. It’s never wrong, that’s what the preachers say. But I think it means you don’t really belong out here.”
That was what Jill had known all along.
“On the other hand, a quick death’s too good for him, isn’t it? I’d like to see him hang in a gibbet,” she said. Jill just stared.
“Ahoy! Ship ahoy!” The call came from the Diana. No lookout had been posted during the battle, but one of the sailors leaned over the prow of the smaller ship and shouted. Everyone looked.
Beyond the spit of shore that marked the end of the island, an incongruous shape emerged, a bright glint against the water. Jill squinted, trying to bring the spot into focus, wishing for the captain’s spyglass. Then the spot moved, gliding upon the water, coming into full view. Another ship, three-masted, under full sail, moving fast. A spot of color flashed amidst the sails—the red and white of the British navy.
“It’s the bloody navy, just what we need right now,” Cooper muttered. She marched to Emory and grabbed his collar, curling it in her fist—then wincing and pressing a hand to her bandaged side. But her voice was no less fierce. “One of your friends, then?”
Emory glanced out at the navy ship, circling the area like a predator.
“She’s the HMS Ivy. I believe she’s been tracking you since Jamaica.”
“With your help?”
Emory wouldn’t look at her. “I imagine they were waiting for the battle to end.”
“So they could sail in pretty as birds to clean up the scraps? I ought to hang you from the bowsprit and ram you through their hull!”
“Captain,” Emory said. “Let me signal them. I’m sure we can work out a deal. The reward for Blane is considerable—”
“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 schooner 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.
“You seem awfully happy for having almost drowned,” Mom said.
Jill had to agree.