Chapter 46
Anne circled the narrow deck near the helm. She hated the way her skirt swished around her ankles when she moved. She envied Mary’s canvas trousers.
“If I struck you from the left?” Mary said, slicing a hand toward Anne’s arm.
“Then dodge and stab.”
“From what angle?”
Anne paused and lowered her knife. “What do you mean?”
Mary tapped her chin. “Brown!” she called up to Thomas, who was working overhead as a topman. “Can you come down here for a moment?”
It was odd hearing Mary call Thomas by his last name. But the rest of the crew called him “Brown,” and Mary refused to give away her position. He was twenty feet in the air and finished trimming the mainsail before descending. Feet clapping the main deck, he approached Anne and Mary.
“I’m demonstrating short-range blows.”
“I see that,” Thomas said, eyes shifting to the dirk in Anne’s grip.
A roar of laughs emerged from the port side. “Take care, Brown!”
“Would hate to see you bested by a woman.”
Anne’s face flushed. She didn’t see what was so humorous about this. Maybe she—the de facto sailmaker on the crew—should return to patching the rat-eaten canvas or to weatherproofing the leech line that sorely needed it. Thomas pursed his lips, his dark eyes pleading for this to be over already.
“Stand here,” Mary said, moving him in front of Anne.
“Sorry,” Anne mouthed.
“It takes an enormous amount of effort to stab someone. I recommend running and avoiding a knife attack, if you can. This isn’t a duel or a cross of swords. It’s a fight to the death, reserved for desperate circumstances. To be effective with a knife, you have to know where to push the blade.”
From the corner of Anne’s mind, she saw herself standing in the drawing room. The door being pushed open. Nathaniel leering, his lips tearing into hers. Her protests. His force.
The paper knife.
Her pathetic use of it.
You got away, Anne chided herself. That was all you needed.
Anne swallowed. “Show me.”
“You have to avoid bone,” Mary said. She surveyed Anne. “Muscle can be that dense, too. Rely on accuracy over brute strength. It’s just as deadly.”
Anne saw the red pooling from Nathaniel’s abdomen. The crimson stamping her hands.
Good Lord, she didn’t want to kill anyone.
She also didn’t want anyone to kill her. Nathaniel, and others like him, were out there. And so was James Bonny.
Mary pointed at Thomas’s tanned neck. He rolled his eyes. “Go for the jugular,” she said. “See this vein?”
Anne nodded.
“The throat is tough. You won’t get through the cartilage with a dull edge.” She repositioned her hand. “Use the blade to stab your opponent’s Adam’s apple, angling toward the back of the neck, then retreat. No cutting.”
“No cutting or slashing. Got it,” Anne repeated.
“Yes, please none of that,” Thomas mumbled.
Mary smiled. Anne noticed she smiled more and more now that they were out of Nassau—her face more relaxed.
“Can you put your arms out, Brown? Yes, like that.” She pointed.
“The ribs are risky, as the steel is likely to hit bone. But if you angle here, with the blade flat, you might strike the liver of your attacker.”
Anne must have blanched, because Mary paused. “It’s unpleasant business, Anne, causing someone to bleed out. Like I said, run if you can. But if you strike, don’t hesitate. You can’t afford it.”
“I understand.” Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she understood.
“Another lethal move …” Mary said before jabbing Thomas in the armpit.
He recoiled. “What was that for?”
“Had to keep you humble,” Mary said before patting him on the shoulder. Then, in a whisper, “Better not let the rest of them know you’re ticklish.”
Thomas huffed and tried to leave, but Mary held onto his elbow.
She spun on Anne. “No one is ever expecting the armpit, so few people defend it. But that close to the heart?” Mary tsked.
She grabbed the knife. “It’s best if your opponent isn’t wearing a thick coat or armor—but we are, fortunately, in the Caribbean.
” She demonstrated what to do over Thomas’s white shirt.
“Thrust up, with the blade parallel to your face.” When no one else was watching, Mary tickled Thomas one last time, and he squirmed away.
It was a risk, this playful behavior. Anne wondered if she missed Thomas’s affections.
“I’m done,” he said with a wave before sulking off to resume his position.
“Thanks, Thomas!” Anne shouted after him.
Mary returned the blade, and Anne felt its weight in her palms.
“Now, you try—”
“Ship on the horizon!” Featherstone shouted from the wheel. “Port side.”
All attention snapped to the shipmaster. From the captain’s quarters, Jack flung open the door and ran toward the sighting. He gripped a brass spyglass in his hand.
Mary bolted, leaving Anne standing alone with her knife. She scurried after the party and squinted at the blurry dot causing all the commotion.
“What is it?” Jack asked, tossing Featherstone the spyglass.
“Hard to make it out.”
“Corner? What say you?” Jack said, turning to his quartermaster as Featherstone passed Corner the instrument.
Corner, standing a solid foot above the rest of them, clicked his tongue. “Could be a merchant vessel. A nice prize.”
Anne felt her stomach squeeze. She’d engaged in illegal activities with the Swallow’s crew. But nothing like this. Would this be her first time participating in an attack?
Mary held out a hand, and Corner placed the spyglass in her grip. “It’s a pink,” Mary said. “Square-rigging, two masts, and a narrow stern. Likely fishermen or modest merchants.”
After a silence, Jack faced the full crew.
He straightened and put on the captain’s face that Anne had seen a thousand times: severe, flexed jaw, amplified voice.
She preferred the soft expressions he wore when it was just the two of them in the captain’s quarters.
The sweetness of his sleepy countenance when he awoke, nuzzling into her until she laughed and he threw her on top of him, her legs straddling his hips. The restless sea of white sheets.
Her skin flushed with hunger. Focus, Anne. If she ever wanted the crew to take her more seriously, she needed to work hard—no, she did work hard. But she would need to work even harder than the rest of them.
“If it’s a small vessel, I vote we give chase. If not, we clear these waters at first opportunity.”
“What do you mean, Captain?” Earl, eager to prove himself, interjected. “What of the biggest prizes?”
Anne could see a vein ticking in Jack’s throat. “Corner and I have discussed our options. We need to keep our heads down, especially after our illustrious escape. Taking smaller ships for the time being will be in our favor.”
Anne thought she heard a sigh of nostalgia from Howell at her right. He reeked of alcohol, though she preferred that smell to his rank breath and the scowl he wore when sober.
“No vote?” Mary asked. “Wouldn’t a quick succession of windfalls allow us to go into hiding sooner?”
“That’s the captain’s call,” Featherstone growled.
“No, Read is right,” Jack said. “We can vote. But I assure you all, my strategy is best. We can’t rendezvous in a big way in these waters. We need to keep northwest of Jamaica. Small ships pass through frequently. There will be prey aplenty.”
They held a vote about whether or not to pursue the pink in question. Anne’s nerves held her back; she’d only raise her hand if a tie required it.
A clear majority was in favor of pursuit.
Anne swallowed and felt her knife at her side. She knew what that meant, and she wished she had a few more lessons from Mary before this day arrived. She had a child to protect now in addition to her own hide.
“We make chase, then,” Jack said. “Everyone, to your positions.”
They flew into action without further directives, half the crew racing belowdecks to put out the oars.
Anne sprinted for the mainmast to help furl the sail as Corner ordered them to tack.
The Revenge swung, pivoting with a needlelike bowsprit aimed at the pink on the horizon like a rapier. They gained the advantage, closing in.
“Run up the Jolly Roger!” Jack shouted to Fenwick, whose wrinkled hands fumbled to bring down the white pennant and switch flags. “They’ll know they’re outmatched,” Jack added. “Give them a chance to surrender.”
The black flag rose. Anne held her head high and let the wind rip at her hair. Her courage flapped like a trapped bird in her rib cage. She imagined Queen Maeve battling Furbaide. Queen Maeve would never have turned down a fight, even if it meant the end of her. Mam made that clear.
Bloody hell, Queen Maeve was probably a myth. Mam swore it was true, but it was just a foolish bedtime story.
This, however, was real—very, very real.
“Fire a warning shot over the bow,” Jack shouted when they got within cannon range.
Earl sprang for the nine-iron cannon, manned by four other gunners, and Anne ran after him. She handed Earl a cartridge of powder, which he stuffed into the muzzle. On the next upswell, he lowered the smoking slow match to the touchhole. Everyone dove out of the way before the kickback.
A deafening blast made Anne’s bones rattle and inner ear ring. Her nostrils flared with the acrid scent. Black powder dusted her dress.
The crew stared at the pink’s slack sails, unmoving, like a deer shot through the heart.
“Lower your damn sails,” Jack said. “Surrender quick.” It would be a grace to both sides.
“We’re heading for their broadside,” Corner said.
“Ready the boarding pikes,” Jack said as he darted between the crew manning the lines. “Bon,” he said, his voice half as loud. “Come with me.”
She left Featherstone and Earl to take in the line and followed Jack to the hatch. He flung it open. “All hands on deck!” he bellowed to the others manning the oars. “Arm yourselves to the teeth.”
He turned to Anne, his brown eyes blazing with intent. “You’ll stay below.”
Anne gawked. “I’ll what?”
“Stay safe,” he said, placing a hand on hers.
She snatched it away. “I’m part of this crew.” The Articles demanded equality. How could they respect her as an equal if she abandoned them? If anything happened while she hid like a coward?
“A worthy part, to be sure. My favorite part. But unsuited for battle.”
Whose fault is that? “I understand the risks.” But even as she said it, she thought of her quivering fingers on the knife. Her baby. The terror in her heart.
All the same, if others were risking their lives, she must as well. Mary certainly would. Last she saw, Mary and Corner were leading the charge.
“I swore I’d protect you!” Jack said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Do you know what might happen if someone snatched you? If they used you as leverage? What a bunch of scared sailors do to females in their possession?”
“Making contact in thirty seconds, Rackham!” Corner yelled. “Boarding party is ready.”
Jack turned, desperate. “Bon, please. You must do this.” He clutched her head in his hands. “For me.”
She scowled but said no more. She was a worthless liability. As the others poured out the hatch to stage the attack, Jack all but threw Anne down the ladder. She froze. Mother of God, she froze, hands white-knuckling the rungs.
Act.
But what of the child in her womb? The danger her inexperience posed to the crew?
“Stay out of sight,” Jack ordered before slamming the hatch closed, leaving her in darkness.