Martin's vision began to darken as the belt cut further and further into his neck. Bald-head tightened his grip and lifted the tails of the twisted belt over his shoulder, stretching Martin like a rack as he kept his boot pressed firmly against the boy's knee, pinning him to the deck and ringing every last drop of air from his lungs. Martin tried to dig his fingers underneath the belt to relieve the pressure on his throat, but the bind was too tight. He wriggled and writhed as he tried to free himself.

'Hold still, you little brat!' Bald-head growled. 'You're only making it harder for your-.'

'Let him go,' a light voice quivered. Were it not for the sound of a pistol hammer being cocked, Martin wasn't sure he would have noticed it.

Emily stood at the mouth of the gangway, the pistol Martin had given her raised, rattling as her arm trembled.

'I said let him go!'

Bald-head laughed. 'You're not going to be shooting anyone with that, love. You haven't even set the frizzen pan.'

Emily's expression wavered and her eyes flicked to the pistol in her hand.

This lapse was all the bald sailor needed.

'Emily, no!' Martin gasped as the belt around his neck loosened and he collapsed limp to the deck.

Before Emily had time to react, Bald-head lunged forward and lashed her across the cheek with the back of his hand. She fell and the pistol slipped from her grasp, skittering over the deck. Her head ricocheted off the boards and she yelped; the wind snatched from her lungs. Before she could even scream, Bald-head was on top of her, clamping his hands around her neck, squeezing until Martin could hear the rasping of his rough skin tearing into her soft flesh.

Martin choked and heaved out a staggered breath as he tore the belt from his neck. His head was spinning in a whirlpool of rushing blood, and his heart, though weak, jumped into his throat then sank to his boots as he saw the Bald sailor choking the life out of Emily.

'Yer know,' Bald-head remarked as Emily let out a desperate wheeze and scratched at his meaty arms, even as her face turned purple, 'I think if I squeeze a little harder, I might just pop that pretty head of yours off your shoulders. Wouldn't that be a sight?' The muscles in his arms bulged as his hands almost seemed to mould Emily's throat like wet clay. She sobbed a dry, retching wheeze and she tried to claw at the Bald-head's eyes, but her arms were too short to reach.

Even with so little strength, Martin's head throbbed with rage. He drew the knife he kept in his boot and lunged at Bald-head. Though he had meant to stab him in the throat or in the side of his shiny head, at the last moment his focus waned, and he buried the blade up to the hilt in his shoulder.

Bald-head screamed and Emily, freed from his grip, gasped breath back into her lungs. Bald-head reached for the knife and whimpered as his finger pushed the blade deeper into the wound. When he saw Martin's look of awe-struck terror in his boyish-face, Bald-head exploded with rage, grabbing Martin by his collar and throwing him like a log of wood across the quarterdeck. He very nearly crashed through the balustrade, saved only when he put out his hand and caught the wheel.

Bald-head cried out as he pulled the dull-steel knife from his shoulder. Trembling, he tightened his grip on the handle, a look of murder in his eye as Martin's chest pulsed with fear.

'You...' Bald-head snarled. 'You... miserable... little... fu-!'

BANG!

A red mist burst from his eye-socket. At first, he just stood there, the knife in his hand still dripping with blood, a look of white shock pasted across his face. Then, he toppled forward, not even reaching out an arm to catch himself or break his fall. From behind him appeared the pale face of Emily, Martin's pistol in her hand, through a cloud of smoke billowing from the barrel.

She dropped the pistol. Putting her hands to her mouth, she began to cry uncontrollably, her sapphire eyes darkening.

Martin shook with residual fear. In spite of which he wanted so desperately to go over and take her in his arms, stroke her hair and tell her everything was over now, he remembered that it wasn't. Feeling returned to his hands, and he felt the cold, varnished wood under his grasp,

With the last of his strength, he hauled himself to his feet and took the wheel, then wrenched it hard to starboard. The Scourge moaned as grappling ropes pulled tight and bit harder into the hull, dragging the Welsh Dragon behind them.

'Schleckt!' Martin wheezed, trying to shake the cough that clawed at the inside of his throat. 'Schleckt! Now!'

'Cut them loose!' the Captain roared as Schleckt nodded to him. All at once, members of the crew pushed passed the bewildered boarders and dug their hatchets, swords and knives into the ropes, hacking at them until they snapped.

The Scourge peeled away from the Dragon with a yawn and pitched slightly as her keel nudged one of the shallow rocks. She was only grazed and broke clean away into open water.

The Dragon tried to turn, but by the time anyone on her deck made a dash for the helm, it was too late. One of the sharp rocks jutting out from the cliff pierced her bow and came out at the main deck, sending the crewmen spinning and wailing overboard as the Dragon breached the water. She gave a groan and rasping tick. The waves battered her left and right, snapping more of the well-oiled planks.

The crew of the Scourge, bloody, exhausted, and broken, stood at the gunwale together.

Martin stood as tall as he could to see in full how the single mast of the sloop was lifted free from the hull like a tooth from scurvy gums.

The Scourge's crew let loose a rip-roaring cheer. They cheered loud and merrily, embracing each other, pounding their chests mockingly and drumming the railing with their fists. Some of the better sportsmen among them even raised themselves up to the ratlines and showed their bare arses to the Dragon as they sailed away.

Martin centred the wheel, then pressed his burning forehead against the handle. When his brain stopped spinning and the strength returned to his legs, he turned to look at Emily. Her sobs had petered off into sniffles as she stared into nothing.

He staggered over and thumped down beside her, leaning his back against the balustrade. Sighing, he closed his eyes and let the ship rock him gently from side to side. He could almost hear the Scourge moaning a lullaby.

'Are...' His tongue felt swollen, but the words were even more ill-fitting for his mouth. 'Are... you alright?'

'What do you think?' Emily sniffled. Her tone wasn't derisive or abrasive. It was surprisingly deadpan, but then the answer was obvious. 'There was nothing wrong with the frizzen pan, was there?'

Martin shook his head.

'I didn't think so,' Emily sighed, exhausted more than anything else.

'I'm... sorry.'

'It's not your fault,' Emily said. 'You have nothing to apologise for. You saved my life... again.'

'If anything,' Martin chuckled weakly, 'you're the one who saved my life.'

Emily turned to him, her sapphire blue eyes no longer shining with innocent wonder. They were dark and shimmering like pearls at the bottom of the sea. She strained a half smile and tucked her frazzled hair over her ear.

'Call it even?'

Martin smiled back and nodded.

They both looked out at the deck to see the men jumping for joy and shaking their fists at their vanquished enemies. Their eyes were eventually drawn to the two bodies and a severed arm that lay at their feet.

'I killed someone,' Emily swallowed, the dryness of her throat stinging Martin's ears.

'He... deserved it,' Martin muttered, too tired to do anything else. 'He was going to kill us first.'

'I still killed someone,' Emily dashed at her cheeks as tears bulged up behind them. 'I took a life. No matter the circumstances, I broke my Christian vows. I'll have to answer for that to a higher power.'

'To God, you mean?'

Emily nodded slowly.

'Emily... I can't say I'm the best person to talk to about it; no sailor really believes that kind of thing anyway, but the way I see it, out here, there is no God.'

'Is that supposed to make me feel better?'

Martin shrugged. 'When you spend enough time sailing it, you realise that God doesn't care what happens on the water. This plain is the playground of the Devil, and any who trespass here are either moronic, or incredibly brave. And if it helps, you proved today that you're no moron.' Martin put his hand on hers, but couldn't find the strength to hold it. 'You went up against a Godless buccaneer and won. Don't you go forgetting that. You're stronger than you think, and you did the right thing, even if it doesn't feel that way.'

Emily smiled, but still dashed at the tears rolling down her face. 'Would if that were true, Martin. Any of it.'

***

'Well done, lads,' the Captain leapt up onto a crate to address the crew. 'Every single one of you went above and beyond today. But there are some among you who stood out for their tremendous deeds of bravery and skill. To that end, I'd like to thank three people. Mister Ulrich, our beloved bosun.'

A few of the crew jeered with comradeship and patted the Bosun on the shoulder as he leant against the butt of a musket.

'For saving my life. Were it not for him, I wouldn't be here to give this speech. And he's a damned better shot than the rest of us, even with only one good eye, so the rest of you better up your game. Ulrich, I hope you'll accept a reward from my own pocket as a token of my gratitude.'

The Bosun's eye glittered at Black Hal, a child-like smile of glee creeping across his aged face.

'You honour me greatly, sir.'

Black Hal nodded and gave him a half smile.

'I'd also like to thank Miss Morton,' Emily sat up from her perch on the quarterdeck gangway with a bemused expression. 'For going above her duty as a passenger. She joined in the battle and even killed an enemy in defence of the ship and her crew. I commend her for her bravery. You've proven you're as capable a sailor as any man aboard this vessel. You have my thanks.' the Captain tipped his hat to Emily, but she only flushed with embarrassment and looked away to chew her thumb.

'I'd also like to thank Mister Hamish.'

Martin stood straighter from his crumpled position against the doorframe of the cabin.

'Were it not for his cunning and ingenuity, none of us would have made it out. When you look at Mister Hamish, you won't just be looking into the face of a man; you'll be looking into the face of your saviour. Each of you owes his life to Hamish, and I hope that he will do us all the great honour of accepting a promotion and stepping into our late Mister Stigs', God rest his soul, role as helmsman.' Black Hal turned his dark eyes on Martin and smiled a warm, appreciative smile. 'Make us all proud, Mister Hamish. We trust you to get us home safe.'

'But most importantly,' the Captain continued. 'I want to thank each and every one of you, my loyal crew. You have all earned more than your share today, and each of you deserves the chance to celebrate this victory.'

The crew gave an answering cheer, cut short by the Captain stamping his foot like a judge's gavel on the hollow crate.

'However, celebrationswill have to wait, because as fate would have it,' Black Hal said as he pointedout to sea. The crew looked to where the two masts of the mysterious ship hadgrown into a twenty-gunned brigantine flying the Dutch flag. 'It appears ourtroubles are only just beginning.'