After three long days of silence, the call finally sounded from the crow's nest.

'Land ho!'

Like rats escaping a burning barn, all hands dashed for the weatherdeck to peer over the bowside railing. Before the prow of the ship lay a low-lying island, black against the white sparkle of the sea's surface. From a distance, shielding his eyes with his hand, Martin could make out the tall masts of anchored ships in the cove, huddled like a blockade in the shallows.

'It's Nassau!' the Gunner's mate cried.

'We're home at last, boys!' the Bosun roared. The crew cheered, drumming their feet and beating the sky with their fists. They all dispersed to their bunks, preparing to go ashore. Port was something that came about as often as a religious holiday, though to sailors, it may as well have been the one.

Only two among the crew didn't join in the festivities; Emily and Black Hal. As Martin stepped towards the main hatch to retrieve his last silver peso in case of emergency, he caught a glimpse of the pair of them standing on the quarterdeck, squared up to each other like gladiators. He stopped to watch them spar.

'The deal was you'd take me to Barbados, Captain,' Emily said, the sun igniting her flaming hair, her eyes blazing, as she jabbed an accusing finger in Black Hal's face. 'We don't have time to be stopping at New Providence. The Queen is counting on me, and every second is crucial.'

'Miss Morton,' Black Hal raised his voice. He gestured over the ship. 'What do you see?'

Emily looked around, and Martin followed her gaze. The topmen were reefing the sails and binding them up to the yards, the deckhands were preparing to mount the capstan bars with cautious optimism, and the Quartermaster was busy listing down cargo and muttering to himself as he paced to and fro.

'What am I supposed to be looking for?' Emily rested her fists on her hips. 'I see a crew, and I see a ship not pointing in the right direction.'

'You see despair,' the Captain grumbled. 'You see a crew worked to the bone for a few drops of fresh water and a string of meat. You see a ship battered by waves, weather and cannon-fire. You see men stripped of all luxury until they've naught to defend themselves from the Devil but their own dry courage. The only thing keeping them from falling into insanity is a single thread of hope that this will all be worth it; when that thread snaps, bad things happen. These men need water, food and rest. This ship needs timber to keep her seaworthy. We aren't going to find any of that on the journey between here and Barbados, Miss Morton. Seeing as Nassau is the nearest friendly port, Nassau is where we shall put in to make ready.'

'Captain, time is of the essence,' Emily insisted. 'The Queen hangs on every second I-.'

'So you've said already. When we struck a bargain, it were my understanding that I was not to interfere with your business. Likewise, I expect you not to interfere with mine. You've pointed out a heading; it's my job to get you there, which I will in good time. No less time than is necessary.' Emily bit her tongue again.

The Captain's expression didn't change. Without another word, he turned on his heel and continued his rounds of the ship, the Quartermaster joining him at the steps of the quarterdeck.

'Damn the man,' Emily muttered as she clutched at her arm. Her eyes turned towards the weatherdeck and Martin ducked his head to avoid meeting her gaze. He decided it was best to leave her to her thoughts; she probably had a lot on her mind.

As he disappeared into the hold, he tried to put it all out of his mind, but as he fumbled in the dark for his silver coin, he couldn't help but ruminate on the expression Emily had worn on her face. She wasn't defeated; she was determined, but Martin tried to put it out of his head.

The Scourge limped into the bay, wheezing and moaning under its own weight, then, when finally she scraped her way across the shallows, the crew began to ready the long-boats. They anchored down beside a handful of other ships - two brigs, five sloops, three galleys and a sloop of war. All but one flew British colours; the brig flying the flag of Holland, their ally, sat slightly apart from the rest.

Money secured, Martin went looking for Emily, who had mysteriously vanished after her sparring match on the deck with Captain Percival. As he drew up the main hatch, he spotted her slipping out from the Captain's cabin. She closed the door softly behind her, then turned and let out a shrill gasp.

'Mister Hamish!' She pressed her hand to her chest. 'You scared me. You shouldn't sneak up on people like that.'

'Sorry, miss. I was looking for you. Was wondering if you were ready to-. Were... were you in the Captain's cabin?'

'The cabin?' She feigned surprise that he should even ask. 'Oh, yes. Yes, I was.'

'Why?' Martin asked. 'Is there a problem?'

'Problem? No,' Emily stammered. 'No problem at all. Captain Percival and I were just talking matters over a bit further; settle our differences. I wanted to know how long we'd be ashore, how long the voyage would be, and what he'd recommend I purchase while we're in town to make the journey more comfortable. I'll need to do a bit of shopping here. You can accompany me, but I think you'd find it all rather boring. Lots of dresses, and books, and bedding...'

'Captain's put me in charge of your safety, miss.' Martin bowed, though secretly lamented being dragged through the stalls and markets. 'Nassau is dangerous. Not the sort of place where you want to be wandering about alone.'

'Really? Sounds positively charming,' Emily sighed. 'Let's not waste any more time. The sooner we get this over with, the quicker we can get where I need to go. Hop to it, there's a good man.'

As Emily marched glibly past him, Martin slowed his pace, a thought pricking the back of his mind.

Funny. I could have sworn the Captain already went ashore.

***

Emily brushed off any attempt Martin made to help her disembark the Scourge. He stubbornness almost ended with her plunging into the sea as her heel ricocheted off the damp boards of the long-boat bobbing beside the ladder. Martin caught hold of her elbow and hoisted her back on board, where she once again resumed her superior expression, and gave only an exasperated huff in thanks.

The crew rowed towards the white beach, darkened by debris and seaweed even from afar. Almost as soon as the boats touched the sand, the men threw aside their oars and staves, then scuttled into town.

Martin and Emily made their way silently up the beach, until they passed the Shipwright's workshop on the seafront, where they caught snippets of a heated conversation.

'Are you out of your damned mind? A day? I'm overworked as it is; three days is wishful thinking, but one is damn-near impossible.'

'I don't need her to look pretty, Ed.' Martin could make out the voice of Captain Percival. 'I just need her to sail; we're only making a short trip. I'll pay whatever the cost to get her shipshape by tomorrow evening.'

He did disembark. Martin thought to himself. But if the Captain was here, what was Miss Morton-.

'I just wanted some paper.' Emily broke his rolling thought. His expression must have given away more than he intended. 'Captain Percival said I could use some from his quarters so I could write a letter home.'

'I see,' Martin nodded, but her refusal to look him in the eye was suspicious. 'Did you also need a pen? I'm sure the Captain has one on him. When he's done, I'll ask him if you can-.'

'No, no,' she blurted, then relaxed into a slightly bewildered chuckle. 'There's no need. I'll find one around somewhere, I'm sure. And don't bother asking him about it either, it'll only annoy him.'

Martin watched her closely as sweat began to form on her brow. She peered at him out of the corner of her eye, then, when she realised he was still staring, darted her gaze forward again.

'And that'll be upfront, will it?' the shipwright broke the silence.

Martin could see the Captain through a gap in the workshop's planking, standing against the wall with his thumbs in his belt, chewing the inside of his cheek. He edged a little closer to the open door and saw the reddened, scrunched-up face of a stout man staring at Black Hal as he rung his grubby hands on his apron. The Scourge's carpenter, Mister Ducasse, perched himself on a stack of crates by the window, eagerly bouncing his heels like a rosy-cheeked schoolboy.

'Credit. But I promise, after this job, I'll be good for it. I'll even pay you a deposit out of my own pocket.'

'Hal, it's just too much work for too little gain, and I have customers been here longer who need to catch the wind a lot sooner than you. How can I be sure you'll have that kind of money anyway?'

'Trust me, Ed, I'll have it,' the Captain implored. 'I'll have that, and whatever interest you'd like, back here in a month; two at most. You have my word.'

The shipwright folded his arms across his chest and sighed, tapping his heel against the hollow floor.

'Fine, but I can't do it in a day; two at best, but even that's a stretch. It'll more likely be three. I have a few jobs I can push back, but those merchants need to be out of here by tomorrow night before they chew my head off; you know how merchants are. Once they're done, then I'll see what I can do about the Scourge.'

'Thank you, Ed.'

'Don't mention it. Just see I get my due. This your carpenter?' The shipwright pointed at Mister Ducasse, who suddenly sprung into life and puffed out his chest.

'I am. Ducasse is the name.'

'Don't care. Just take me to the ship and I'll give her the once over.' The shipwright then caught sight of Emily and Martin. 'Oi, who are you? Clear off.'

'It's alright, they're with me,' the Captain reassured the shipwright, then gestured at Martin. 'This is Mister Hamish, one of our deckhands who is looking after Miss Emily Morton, the passenger we're taking home out of the kindness of our blackened hearts.'

Emily's lip twisted with disgust, but she kept her tongue behind her teeth.

'A pleasure.' The shipwright bowed to Emily, then picked up a logbook from atop a barrel and stuffed it under his arm. 'I would love to stay and chat, madame, but I have pressing matters to attend to, if you'll excuse me. Mister Ducasse? Lead on.'

The shipwright and the Carpenter disappeared out the door and mounted a long-boat. Before they had even launched from the beach, the shipwright was already shaking his head and disappointedly scribbling in his book.

'I was hoping to bump into you two,' the Captain said, drawing their attention. 'I wanted to ask if you'd come with me to book two rooms at the cosiest tavern in all the Bahamas. I'll be in one, of course, and you, Miss, will have the other. All at my expense, obviously.'

For the first time since she had boarded the Scourge, Emily's eyes lit up and sparkled with delight. Her lips broke into a wide smile.

'Oh, thank you, Captain,' she exclaimed. 'Thank you, thank you! That's so kind of you! You have no idea how much-.'

'Hamish will be sharing your quarters.'

Emily's face dropped.

Martin's heart sank.

'I...I'm sorry?' Emily asked.

'Men in these parts are not above stealing from and murdering each other for a pittance. Not many would pass up the chance of robbing a woman alone, and you'd be lucky if that was all they did. The ever-vigilant Mister Hamish has proven himself a worthy warden thus far, so I have faith that he'll be able to keep you safe for three days more while we wait to sail again.'

'Th-three days?' Emily clenched her fists as her cheeks paled and her lip quivered.

'Mister Hamish.' The Captain ignored her distress. 'Any thoughts?'

Martin went rigid, once again feeling the weight of scrutiny. This time, it was from two fronts: the intense, smouldering gaze of Captain Percival, and the sharp, hateful glare of Miss Morton. A bead of sweat ran down his temple and pooled around the corner of his mouth.

'N-no thoughts, Captain. It sounds like a great idea.'

'Of course, it does,' the Captain snorted. He beckoned them to follow as he began to stride across the deck. 'Look sharp. Let's have a gander at these luxury quarters. Hopefully, they're up to scratch for you, madame.'

'If they're anything like the quarters on the ship, I shudder to find out,' Emily muttered under her breath.

The three of them walked in formation through the sandy streets of Nassau, a nest of hastily erected tents, dilapidated shacks, spent and broken cannons, and nautical equipment left to bury themselves in the beach, which itself had been turned into stinking marshland by human waste. In short, it was a shantytown of decay and chaos, the character of its inhabitants reflected in the landscape. In spite of appearances, however, those who passed in the streets wore smiles, or tortured mockeries of them. There wasn't a glum face among them, and during his youth on Nassau, Martin had been sharp enough to work out that this was for one of three reasons; one, they have their eye set on a new fortune – these were usually the most lucrative pickpocketing marks; two, they were excitably trying to climb the skirts of a woman, the regular inhabitants of New Providence Island; or three, they had swam halfway to the bottom of a rum bottle and were yet to go deep enough pass out. Either way, not a man or woman seemed to be in want of happiness, which was bizarre for an island of people who did nothing but want.

Emily's handkerchief, rinsed in a bucket of questionably-grey seawater, once again found its home under her nose, screwing up her face like parchment and gagging on the putrid air wafting from the common waste-site.

'What the Hell sort of place is this?' she spluttered between dry heaves.

'This, my dear Miss Morton, is the future,' the Captain said. 'One day, there'll be towns like this all over the world, where men are free, or at best, ruled by limp-handed kings who do naught to disturb the natural balance. The town of Nassau; the happiest little island on God's Green Earth. A true haven for men of fortune, and a shining star that has only just begun to twinkle. You mark me; however this war turns, Nassau will one day be the centre of a vast empire that defies monarchies and lets men of our cloth lead the charge arm-in-arm.'

'That'll be the day,' Emily snorted, then raised her eyebrows at the Captain. 'I always understood Nassau to be a place of black hearted villainy; a corruption started by Captain Avery; a place where all rogues indulge their disgusting perversions without recourse or reprimand.'

The Captain spun on his heel, causing the pair to skid to a halt.

'And what makes you think those two aren't one and the same?' Captain Percival smirked, then turned. They continued to follow the winding path through the tents until the soft sand beneath their feet hardened into dirt, and then into chipped cobblestones, and the tents turned to rugged townhouses. 'What Captain Avery started here has grown into something special, and there's no sign of it ever stopping. I can see it now; one day, this island will be a place that all men will either revere or fear. The outcome is the same either way.'

'But... what about... stability?' Emily said. Martin followed her gaze over to a pile of rotten timbers that may once have been a house. 'Prosperity?' she said as they passed a motley crew of beggars. 'Safety?' The sound of gunfire followed by animalistic roaring forced her to huddle closer to Martin. 'Civilization? This surely isn't anywhere you can build something that will last?'

'Who said anything about lasting? Only has to last as long as I sail these seas. After I'm dead or I've turned in my sails, I don't much care what happens. Besides, who wants anything to last, eh?' The trio approached a building that was surprisingly well-kept considering its surroundings. 'Ah, here she is. Finest tavern anywhere between the New World and the Old One.'

As Captain Percival shouldered open the door, Martin glanced up at the sign that hung above his head. The bright paint had been chipped or blown off, but what remained depicted a faded painting of a ram with a golden coat, his head held aloft as he looked pridefully over his green pasture, whilst a ship sailed the waters behind it. Below were printed red letters embossed with gold. Martin smiled as a fleck of sunlight bounced off them and caught his eye.

Emily halted beside him and tilted her head.

'Something the matter?' she asked.

'No, nothing,' Martin replied, shrugging but not taking his eyes off the sign. 'Just a pretty sign.'

Emily crept out from the doorway of the tavern and joined him in staring up at it.

'Yes, I suppose it is.' She nodded. Martin was slightly surprised by how underwhelmed she was. 'The Golden Fleece. A funny name, but fitting really.'

'Is that what it says?' Martin asked, amused by the strange phrase and Emily's remarkable familiarity to it.

'Of course, it does.' Emily furrowed her brow as she studied the dumfounded expression over Martin's face. 'It says it right there.'

Martin's smile faded and he looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling very exposed.

'I, um... wouldn't know about that.' Emily's brow furrowed again, then relaxed as realisation dawned on her.

'Oh. You can't read.'

Martin shook his head.

'Well, I must say, you sailors really are all birds of a feather.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Martin's stare stabbed into her, which was woefully inefficient.

'It means,' Emily started with a gleeful self-satisfaction, 'that if you want the civilized people of the world to stop seeing you pirates as a bunch of drunken, violent, illiterate lunatics, you could start by reading a few more books, rather than using the pages to wipe your-.'

'Hamish.' The pair jumped as Captain Percival appeared at the door again. 'Any reason you're both just standing there? You're blocking the doorway. Hop to it, get inside.'

***

The pair stumbled through the short door. The change in light from the blistering sun to the cool shadows would have been enough to convince any man, drunk or sober, that he had suddenly been struck blind, saved only by the glowing embers spitting up at a kettle in the hearth. The half-silence was a blessed relief from the bombardment of laughing seagulls and the rushing tides outside. Chatter, jovial and hearty, warmed their welcome, the only irritation to Martin's ears being the coarse giggles fake laughter from a girl sat across the lap of a leather-faced sailor.

'Three ales, if you please, Maggie,' the Captain asked the woman behind the bar. She cast him a dark look, then spat unapologetically into a tankard and wiped it around with a stained cloth.

'We're out of ale. Haven't had any for a month or more.'

'Didn't think so,' Captain Percival knocked impatiently against the counter. 'So be it. You have rum?'

'You tryna be funny? O' course we have rum. What do you think this is? A bleeding nunnery?'

'Rum, then. Three bottles.'

'Not for me, thank you,' Emily said just as the barmaid set the tankard down and reached under the counter.

The woman shot her a sharp stare. 'Pardon?'

'No rum for me, thanks,' Emily smiled her most charming smile, 'but a bottle of wine instead would be lovely. Do you have any in?'

The barmaid raised her eyebrow, then shot an inquisitive glance at Captain Percival, whose expression and posture didn't change.

'The princess one of yours, Hal?'

'No, I am not,' Emily snapped, sticking her nose in the air. 'Captain Percival is escorting me, that's all. I will thank you kindly not to-.'

'Alright, settle down, precious. I'll get your wine.' The barmaid once again shot a glance at Black Hal. He only shrugged. 'Now, we've got red or white. What's your fancy?'

Emily cleared her throat, shook off her agitation, which was so pungent that it had surrounded her like a fog, then resumed her charismatic smile. 'What types do you have?'

'You deaf? Red or white, I said.'

'S-she'll take the red,' Martin interrupted, just as Emily's jaw snapped open to strike.

'I can speak for myself, thank you, Mister Hamish.' Emily hissed as the barmaid disappeared beneath the counter.

'That may be,' Martin whispered back, as delicately as he could, 'but remember what the Doctor said. You should pick your fights more carefully. Same goes for picking your lies, too.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'What were you doing in the Captain's cabin?' Martin lowered his voice, wary of the Captain only a few feet away. 'I know for damned certain it wasn't to get paper. If you tell me now, whatever it is, we can work it out quiet-.'

'I'm sorry, you're talking down to me?' she scoffed. 'Yes, alright, I didn't go in to get paper, not that it's any of your business. My private affairs are my own, and I will not have them questioned, and I will also not tolerate being talked down to in this way. You may be my chauffeur, Mister Hamish, but you are not my keeper, and I refuse to be ordered about by some... illiterate deck-rat.' She snatched up the bottle that appeared and slammed down a coin without breaking eye contact with Martin, pumping as much hate through her gaze as she could.

'Oi, that's the rum, you daft cow,' the barmaid grunted, bottles clinking like prison chains between her grasp as she lifted herself to her feet again. 'This is your wine.' Emily still didn't break eye-contact, but a faint tremor in the dark surface of her eye betrayed her discomfort.

'I knew that. I was going to pay for the gentlemen's drinks.' She held out the rum to Martin, which he took more to relieve the second-hand embarrassment, as she took the wine and uncorked it. The fragrant smell of summer berries and sweet grapes hit Martin, a wave of warmth that soothed him. All Heaven was stored in that bottle, and he was dumfounded by the way Emily casually swigged it and wrinkled her nose.

'It'll do,' she muttered to herself, watching the dark fluid swish around its glass cage.

Martin uncorked his own bottle. The aroma that hit him was like a wall of death; blunt, rotting, with only hatred and woe inside like opening a bottle of plague and sin.

'And could you prepare two rooms, Mag?' The Captain leaned over the bar until he almost dipped his beard in the cup the barmaid was cleaning, in the loosest possible terms.

'That I can. How many nights?'

'Pay you up front for one. If we need more, I'll let you know.'

'Good-o.' She set down the tankard and weighed the handful of coin palmed into her hand. 'Make yourselves comfortable, I guess.'

'Thank you, Maggie. You're too kind.'

'Get off it.' She whipped him with her dishcloth as she picked up her skirts and disappeared up the stairway in the corner of the hall.

The room fell slightly quieter as one of the voices died down. The change pricked at Martin's ears, and the hairs on his neck stood on end, more-so with the smell of pure rum in his nostrils. A few seconds later, a roar rattled the walls of the tavern.

'Captain Percival! Hal!' All heads spun around. A red-faced sailor with slicked, blonde hair and wild, ice-blue eyes grinned at them with a smile like a castle's rampart. 'Old friend, I thought that was you!' He threw up his arms and darted over, stumbling over stools, tables and outstretched legs, and all without spilling a drop from his tankard. Unsteadily, he arrived before the company, bursting a few stitches up the side of his blue coat as he raised himself to attention. He stood before the devilish figure of Black Hal, still grinning like an idiot, his glazed eyes blind to his peer's burning gaze.

'Captain Leddhart,' Captain Percival sighed as he rested his elbow against the bar. 'What a small world. How goes it?'

'"How goes it?", he says. Come here, you.' The drunken captain clumsily wrapped his arms around Captain Percival's shoulders, a gesture that to Martin resembled a bear wrestling with a tree. 'It's been too long, old friend. How fair ye, Hal? How fair ye? The war hasn't claimed you, at any rate, but then there never was a cannonball or cutlass that dared put a mark on Black Hal, eh?'

'The war has been hard, Joseph. Though it doesn't seem to be keeping you in low spirits.' Captain Percival shrugged him off and straightened his coat. The drunk staggered back, seeming to forget where he was, then on seeing Black Hal, that idiotic grin reappeared.

'Quite right, too. Never shall a dark day plague my spirits; not so long as there's a bottle in my hand,' the drunk chuckled, then hiccupped. He tottered around like a spinning top, finally steadying himself at his apex. When he was upright, he took a hearty swig from his tankard, the contents of which began to dribble out of the corners of his mouth.

'So I can see,' Black Hal groaned. 'Well, it was good seeing you again, Leddhart, but we must-.'

'Yes, we must catch up, I quite agree,' Leddhart staggered as he lowered the bottle from his lips. 'I have to tell you of my adventures. Please, come join me and my friends for a drink.' He gestured widely in the direction of a round table set slightly to the side of the smouldering fireplace, around which sat five men. 'Your companions are welcome to join us, also.' His hazy gaze fell on Martin and Emily. Emily tensed, but Martin held firm as the drunk stumbled over and clasped hold of Emily's hand. 'I don't believe I've had the pleasure, miss.' He curtsied and his knee buckled. Had it not been for a Martin catching his arm just in time, he would have brought Emily toppling head-over-heels down with him.

'This is Miss Morton,' Captain Percival said.

'It's a pleasure. A pleasure.' He curtsied again, but this time Martin was ready and held him up by his elbow. 'And who might you be, young man?'

'I'm Martin. Martin Hamish.' Martin peered over at Black Hal, who rolled his eyes and didn't seem to be paying the slightest bit of attention to anything except the hall ceiling, where droplets of water were splashing into a well-filled bucket. 'I'm a deckhand on Captain Percival's ship.'

'Deckhand?' the drunk roared in outrage. 'Only a deckhand? Dear me. Hal, I'm ashamed of you.' The drunkard kept an iron-tight grip on Martin's hand as he wheeled around to address Captain Percival. 'How could you keep such a strapping young lad like Martin-Martin Hamish here as a mere deckhand? He should be quartermaster at his age.'

'Mister Ratchett is doing fine, by the way,' Captain Percival replied, then nodded at Martin. 'The boy still has some learning to do, but he's coming along nicely. We'll make a man of him yet.'

'Boy or man, if he's tall enough to stand a full head-and-shoulders above me, he's old enough to share a tankard with the lads and I.' Martin, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and was tempted to correct the drunk by reminding him that he was all of twenty years old, not a mere boy, but before he could answer, the captain's face flushed with hazy happiness again. 'What'll you say? Will you join us, Hal?'

Captain Percival looked from Leddhart to Emily to Martin, then over at the shadowy figures at the hearthside. Finally, he stretched an ill-fitting grin over his teeth, pushed himself off the bar and took off his hat, letting his anthracite-black curls fall and coil around his ears. 'Why not? We have some time to kill.'

'Excellent, excellent. Uh, Miss Morton? Could you take my arm please and guide me to the table? The floor's gone a bit wobbly of a sudden.'

'Of course, captain.' Emily shoved her bottle into Martin's hands without sparing him a glance, then took the drunkard's arm and snaked her way around the tables and chairs. He still managed to trip.

As they followed, Captain Percival leaned into Martin's ear so close that the sharp needles of his beard prickled his earlobe.

'Don't say a word about why that girl's travelling with us, you hear? And make sure she bites her tongue too. You leave the talking to me, understood?'

Martin turned to look the Captain in the eye. His irises were as red as the Devil's skin in the light of the fire, and his pupils were narrow but deep, like the centre of a maelstrom that pulls everything towards it and swallows it whole.

'A-aye, Captain,' Martin stammered.

'Good lad.'