had slipped her course off to one side.
“What are they doing?”
“Going for our wind,” Chambers said with measured gravity. “He’ll come around behind us, our wind is starved…” He snapped his fingers in finality.
“Can’t you just sail faster?”
He laughed, a little derisive and a lot pained. “We’re heavy and she’s light. We’re out-sailed, out-gunned, and out-manned. We’ve uncaulked the gunports, but to what purpose? If we show one gun, she could rake us. If we surrender, I might be able to negotiate…something.” The green eyes darted guiltily toward her, and then away.
The black ship’s aftmost gun belched smoke, the retort reaching the Constancy just before the ball splashed harmlessly astern. Another was fired across her forefoot.
“Warning shots,” growled Chambers. “The next ones will find home.”
Time. It was all the Morgan required to draw closer. Looming larger and larger, her yards and sails towered over the lesser ship. As if gut-punched, the Constancy staggered and slowed. Sails sagging, her substance of life had been robbed, her wind gone.
“Helm’s a-lee! Douse the tops and lay ’er in irons!”
Sails luffing, Morgan drew up and sat like a dark huntress. Cate knew little of sailing, but could appreciate the seamanship involved as the black ship slowed at the Constancy’s exact rate, the red-crowned sails blanketing her wind. If she was to pass, the Constancy could spread her wings and fly once again, but there seemed little hope of that.
“Stay by me.” Chambers’ impassioned voice drew her attention. “They’ll take the ship, so there’s no sense in you hiding. Perhaps, if you’re with us…me…I…we might afford you protection, at least for a bit.” He gulped and added bitterly, “If I had the stomach for it, I’d end it for you now, but I’m not that much of a man.”
All hands gathered amidships. The weapons earlier dispersed were collected and displayed in full sight on the deck before them, notably still within reach, should there be treachery. Cate, as did everyone, craned her neck, searching the pirate ship, hoping for a first glimpse of her famed captain, but to little effect. Her decks teemed with men…so many, many men.
Time could indeed be an unmerciful enemy. Her heart hammering to deafening proportions, breathing was no longer a natural, unthinking thing. It now required focused effort to push the air in and out of her lungs. By the time the longboats drew alongside and hooked on, she was in a complete state. Wiping her palms on her skirt, she discovered that in spite of the tropical sun, she was swathed in a cold sweat. Every bone in her body screamed to run, but to where? She scanned the horizon, expecting to see only water and was surprised. So preoccupied with the pirate ship, she hadn’t noticed the thin line of green marking an island, the first land in over two months.
So near, and yet so far.
“’Hoy on deck?” came a baritone call from alongside.
Cate jerked at the sound of it.
“Pray pass. We are unarmed,” was Chambers’ level response.
All vows of bravery dissolved at the sight of the pirates pouring up the side of the ship. Circling like a pack of predatory wolves, they were bizarre-looking, many half naked. What set these men apart was the bristle of weapons and the ease with which they brandished them. Cate had seen her share of thieves and murderers; never had she witnessed such en masse collection of sinister depravity. Eyes glowing with the prospect of prey, they sniffed for the first weakness, restrained only by the thin leash of decorum that ruled the sea. Coiled for attack, they brought the smell of sweat, rum, and gunpowder.
How do you know if someone is a pirate? She knew now the naiveté of that query. Like a poisonous snake, you knew one when you saw it.
Cate fell back a step. Chambers squared his shoulders and sidestepped to put himself further before her. The pack leader stepped forward. He scanned the Constancies, ultimately settling on Chambers.
“My name be Ezekiel Pryce, Quartermaster and First Mate of the Carrie Morgans.”
Cate glanced about, but no one seemed to take notice of the disparity in the ship’s name.
Barrel-chested with sharp grey eyes, Pryce had a bearing that made him seem taller than his slightly above-average height. In one hand he bore a pistol nearly the length of his arm, in the other, a cutlass. Gleaming in the morning sun, its ornate basket and gold filigree played a stark contrast against his otherwise inelegance.
“Captain Nathaniel Blackthorne sends his compliments.” His