30. Strange Waters
STRANGE WATERS
Weeks passed without incident, though Cecily woke each day expecting something to go wrong, either because of Fiero, the captain, or some other force she’d managed to piss off. Nothing ever did, and she settled into a routine that left her nearly happy enough to ignore her lingering unease.
They weren’t yet halfway to England, but the air cooled as they left the tropics.
Each morning, she woke early with Jack, tended the livestock with Hester, then retreated to the galley where she spent the majority of her time with Stede.
With his kindness and endless trove of tales, he treated her like a grandfather might, and he was the latest on the growing list of people she considered her family.
Jack reigned at the top of that list, and she only fell more in love with him as their life together fell into normalcy. She had always known him to be consistent, and in the weeks that passed, he did not change. She only got to know him better, love him more, and be loved more by him in return.
During any free time they had, they would abscond to a corner of the main deck where she’d read whatever book she managed to scrounge up while Jack sat with a pencil and parchment, drawing the ship, the sky, or English landscapes.
He was a rather talented artist, and he seemed pleased when she told him so.
“It’s really just an amusement,” he’d said.
“I’m only good at maps.” But then he’d surprised her with a sketched portrait of herself reading a book.
He’d drawn her as content, her face relaxed and her hair blowing in soft tendrils around her face.
She thought it was so perfect that she’d smiled to herself for nearly an hour.
Most evenings they spent in their quarters, talking until the lantern burned out or tangling in each other if sleep remained far off.
Life was calm enough to pretend the worst was behind them, and she told herself Fay’s warning to take heart and have courage for all that is to come had only been for Morgyn’s final offense.
Then came the raid.
It was early morning when they spotted the ship. It was smaller than the Fortuna Royale and immediately hoisted a white flag. When they drew parallel, its passengers stood in the middle of the deck, their hands raised in surrender.
Copson boarded first, followed by Jack and Greyson, their weapons out and ready for battle on the chance that the passengers would take them by surprise or reject Copson’s terms of survival.
Cecily crossed with a group of twenty armed pirates who surrounded those on board. It was a smaller vessel, and the addition of Copson’s crew made the deck feel cramped.
She tried to keep herself from nervously tapping the naked blade of her knife against her thigh as she prowled to the far side of the ship.
This was their third raid since leaving Tortuga, and usually she and Jack moved as a team, protecting each other’s flank as the deadliest pair on the Fortuna Royale, but she’d been especially ill at ease all morning—more so than usual—and sought a corner where she could watch everyone else without worry of anyone coming behind her.
Across the ship, Jack met her gaze. His brows creased, silently asking, Are you alright?
No amount of ignoring the gut feeling had made it abate, but she said nothing because she didn’t want to alarm anyone. Sailors were famously superstitious, and for good reason—Stede had warned her with all of his stories, and by now she knew well to listen to her gut.
But Jack could tell when she was bothered, and she gave a small nod to assure him it was nothing to worry about.
Hester stood near the back of the group, huddled among the pirates. Beyond her, Fiero stood a head taller than anyone else. Though he hadn’t threatened her again, Cecily had taken to noting his position regardless of time or place.
His gaze roved like he was looking for something. She gripped her knife tighter as she stepped a few inches to the left, placing herself behind several passengers to hide from Fiero’s view.
“We don’t want any fight with you,” the other captain said to Copson, trembling as he faced the legendary pirate. “We only desire safe passage.”
Copson considered the man and his crew. Beside him, Jack did the same, his watchful gaze taking in everything.
“I’m a reasonable man,” Copson finally said. “What will you offer me to let you go in peace?”
The other captain’s throat bobbed. “What we can give to satisfy you while leaving these good people enough to build lives in the New World?”
Cecily studied the passengers. While the previous raids had come with some kind of military presence or guards, the people here were not merchants or sailors. They were civilians, families who clung to one another in fear.
If Copson refused to spare them, he was truly heartless. Unfortunately, Cecily didn’t know him well enough yet to say for sure what he would do, for evidence of his heart was rare and unreliable at best.
As far as their relationship went, he’d hardly spoken to her unless it was to address her as one of his crew—no better or worse than anyone else beneath him.
It drove Jack mad to the point of imploring his father to relent, to no avail.
But if Copson could be generous to these people, she’d take it as a sign that he wasn’t always a complete ass.
Copson adjusted his grip on his sword, purposefully drawing attention to it as a silent threat. “What do you have?”
Cecily kept tapping her blade, watching and waiting. Something still felt wrong, but she didn’t know where or how or why—
Jack met her gaze again. His jaw tightened, this time seeming to ask, What’s wrong?
She shook her head once, moving her attention to the silent passengers who traded glances as they waited for someone to offer their wealth. Her knife tapped faster.
Then a woman parted from the gathered civilians, removing the hood of her cloak to reveal a pretty, middle-aged face and a long, black braid shot through with strands of gray. Her eyes were kind but wise in a way that spoke to a lifetime of both happiness and pain.
“Madam,” said the other captain. “You don’t have to—”
She set her hand on his arm with a smile. “It’s alright,” she said, then she turned to Copson. Not one bit of that kindness left her eyes as she told him firmly, “Grant us safe passage and I can assure you the favor of the sea.”
Copson tilted his head. “Who are you to grant such a thing?”
She kept her smile as she answered, “Ann Lovibond.”
Many of the crew caught their breath. Some crossed themselves, but even with their muttered blessings, the air grew heavier.
Cecily wracked her brain as to why the name sounded so familiar, and if it was any reason to reach for her sword.
Copson smiled—and then sheathed his cutlass. Jack shoved his gun in its holster, and since it was no small gesture for the captain and his first mate to put away their weapons. The pirates did the same, stowing their guns and swords to leave their hands free. Cecily did not.
And then Copson bowed to the woman. “An honor, my lady.”
Ann looked pleased. “You’ve heard of me?”
The pirate was still smiling when he straightened, but his friendly expression was stiff. “I met Jonah before he made his deal with Davy Jones.”
It struck her then—Lovibond. It was the captain from Stede’s story months ago, the one who had traded his soul to Davy Jones to save the lives of his family and crew.
And this woman, Ann, must have been his wife.
If she was offering Copson favor, it was a rare moment indeed that he was not the most powerful person on board.
“He was a good man,” Copson said, and now Cecily could see worry in the set of his shoulders. “I doubt there are many souls Davy Jones would accept for the sake of so many.”
“You are kind to say such things,” Ann said. “And you must know that I, too, am eager to protect these good people.”
Copson inclined his head, his movements slow and calm, like he was at risk of calling down Jonah’s fury at any moment. “Indeed, madam.”
Again, warning pricked at the back of her neck. She wanted off this ship, away from mentions of the nigh-immortal, inescapable captain whose reputation made Copson look like a saint.
But then a small hand slipped into Cecily’s. She startled and looked down to find a boy, no older than four, looking up at her with wide, terrified eyes.
“Vanetta,” he whispered, and he tugged her arm to pull her closer.
There had been plenty of children in Cecily’s village growing up, and it had always been easy to be kind to them. And though it had been a long while since she’d been around a child, she quickly sank into a crouch so he could mutter into her ear, “I’m scared.”
Her first inclination was to sheath her blade, which she finally did. Her second was to tell him that she wasn’t Vanetta, but as tears welled in his eyes, she decided to let him think she was whoever he damn well wanted her to be.
She hoped Vanetta was a kind woman as she whispered back, “Don’t be afraid.”
He pressed into her side, gripping her hand tighter as Ann’s voice reached them from over the other passengers, still cordial but heavy with authority.
“I travel with these people as good luck because they fear situations such as these,” she said. “My husband may be in service to Davy Jones, but he watches over me. This ship is under his protection, so anything you do will be known.”
“Very well,” Copson said, sounding eager to agree with whatever she proposed. “Consider my payment the honor of meeting you. I hope I’ve gained your goodwill.”
Ann replied, “For peace, Captain, you have.”
“See?” Cecily whispered to the boy, trying to find some relief that there would be no battle today. “Copson won’t hurt anyone here.”