Steel

12 BEAT

Captain Cooper sent Jill and Henry with a couple others of the crew to help row back to the Diana. The returning crew relieved the crew on watch, who took the rowboat back to shore, leaving Jill stuck on the ship.

Night had fallen, but the town of Nassau was still alive, lit by lanterns and torches, a glowing golden pool nestled by the harbor. Shouts, laughter, and songs from the taverns carried over the water, drunken pirates and merchant crews wandered the streets. A dog barked.

“What’s she going to do when she finds Blane?” Jill asked Henry.

Henry sat on the bowsprit, leaning back, legs dangling high over the water. Jill sat near him on the gunwale, looking over the town. Her hand tapped nervously.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Run him through, I expect. She truly hates him.”

“Why? Because he marooned her?”

“Some folk say it’s because he broke her heart. They were once in love and he left her. In her fury she turned pirate and now roams the waves, vowing revenge.” He took on the exaggerated tones of a storyteller.

“That’s kind of melodramatic, isn’t it?”

“It does seem a bit common for the likes of them, doesn’t it? I’d guess it’s something plain. He stole the ship from her, and she holds the grudge because that’s how she is.”

Whatever Cooper planned to do to Blane, the captain didn’t much care what happened to Jill in the meantime. She stuck her on the ship to keep her out of the way. Jill frowned at the thought.

“What’s wrong?” Henry asked, shifting to see her face, turned slightly away from him.

She shrugged and changed the subject. “You didn’t have to stay here with me. I know everyone else is onshore, partying. You should have gone with them.”

“Naw, this is fine. Besides, Captain ordered me to keep an eye on you.”

Of course Henry hadn’t stayed behind just to keep her company. Of course this was about Blane, again. Looking away, she muttered. “Or to keep me from escaping?”

He laughed. “And why would you do that?”

“I want to go home,” she said, sighing.

“Do you even know where home is? We fished you out of the water, you didn’t remember a thing.”

That was the story they told themselves about her, because she hadn’t told them the unbelievable truth. But Blane—maybe he’d know. If his broken sword brought her here, then maybe he’d know how to send her back.

Henry seemed inclined to sit on the prow talking all night—keeping an eye on her—but Jill said she was tired and needed sleep. She went below, curled up in her hammock, and waited. Nervous, she didn’t worry about accidentally falling asleep. She had to wait until the ship was quiet, until she heard snoring from the handful of crew who remained aboard.

Someone would be keeping watch. One wrong step or stray noise would wake everyone. Very carefully then, very quietly, she climbed out of the hammock. Setting a bare foot on the wooden deck, then the other, she slipped to her feet, holding on to the hammock to keep it from swinging. They all went barefoot on board or on the beach, but she’d been given a pair of leather shoes to protect her feet on the dirt roads in town, and she put these on.

Sticking to the wall, she crept to the stairs, moving slowly to keep the floorboards from creaking. She checked one more time, but the two other people asleep in hammocks hadn’t stirred. Climbing without a sound, she waited at the edge of the hatch and looked out. A few more men, including Henry, stood watch on deck. Rather, they drank rum and sang songs, picking up the scatterings of tunes carrying over the water from the town. They were drunk. She could probably walk right past them and they wouldn’t notice.

Still, she remained careful and quiet.

They were on the starboard side of the ship, near the middle; so she crept to the port side, toward the bow, where the anchor was. Staying low, she kept to the shadows, easy to do in the sparse and scattered lantern light.

Using the anchor line, she climbed off the ship and into the water. The rope was thick and covered with slime; she had to practically hug it to make her way down, gritting her teeth and trying not to breathe too much. Then she swam, hoping there weren’t sharks.

She brought the rapier with her, though she hated getting it wet. But she didn’t dare go ashore unarmed. As long as she dried it off quickly, the water wouldn’t hurt it. But the length of steel weighed her down and made swimming more difficult. Especially since she was trying to be quiet. She dog-paddled, keeping her head above water, and tried not to splash.

She avoided the pier, since people would be watching there, and swam to the beach instead. Once onshore, at the edge of Nassau proper, she only had to worry about running into anyone from the Diana. Especially Captain Cooper.

She hid behind a stack of crates waiting to be loaded onto a merchant ship in the morning. A scrap of canvas she found wasn’t much good for drying anything off, but she was able to scrape most of the water off her rapier. The rest of her had to wait for the cool breeze coming in off the water. She started shivering; the sooner she got moving, the sooner she’d get warm. She couldn’t worry about the cold.

The real trouble was, she only had one idea about where to start looking for Edmund Blane, and that was back at the pirate tavern.

She tied her hair up with a scarf and stuck a soft cap over it. The rest of her clothing was plain, nondescript: the loose shirt and trousers that everyone working on a crew at sea seemed to wear. She didn’t think she could really pass as a boy. But she could hope that maybe people wouldn’t look too closely at her. Maybe no one from the tavern that afternoon would recognize her as the girl who was with Captain Cooper.

The town wasn’t large, the streets weren’t complicated, so she found her way back to the alley and the sprawling house with its painted sign. Instead of going in, though, she slipped into the shadow of a nearby building, crouching at its corner and watching for Cooper and her crew. Some of them were surely here, but she wanted information and was willing to take the risk. The tavern seemed even more loud and boisterous—she could hear shouting and singing from the street. Those people who’d spent all day drinking were still at it. The settings had reversed: This time, the outdoors were dark, lit only with sparse lanterns, while the inside blazed with light.

Jill crept around the building, looking for a back entrance, to avoid drawing too much attention. She discovered the back door by the smell of the latrine. The rough, square shed stood only a few yards away from the house, nestled among the trees, and reeked about as sourly as she’d have expected a latrine outside of a bar where people had been drinking all day to smell. After she’d been watching a moment, a man stumbled from the shed, to the back of the tavern, and through the door.

She sneaked to the doorway and ducked inside.

For a moment, she lingered at the door, searching the room for anyone she recognized, for any reason to duck back outside and flee. No one seemed to notice her, which was good. This time, there wasn’t just singing in the tavern, there was music played on fiddles and pipes, even dancing. And lots more women than she’d seen before, and with their bright dresses, low-cut bodices, curled hair, and made-up faces, it was pretty clear that they were working. Yet another reason for shore leave. Jill just wanted to stay out of the way.

Staying against the wall as much as she could with all the tables and chairs taking up spaces, and people using the walls to prop themselves up when they were on the edge of passing out, she moved through the first room and into the next, searching for someone who looked like they might be Edmund Blane. She imagined a towering villain with a scraggly beard and glaring eyes. And a broken sword at his hip. It was a haphazard way to search. But it was a start.

Then she saw someone she recognized, a woman sitting in the corner, smiling wryly, like she was also trying to keep out of the way but still enjoying the view. Mary Read.

Jill took a deep breath and approached. If she was too chicken to talk to the pirate, she should never have come here.

Read spotted her before Jill was ready to be spotted. She’d hoped to sneak up on her, come obliquely along the wall, maybe clear her throat to startle her, or tap her shoulder—though that might have gotten her punched, in hindsight. Instead, Read looked over, as if she spotted Jill from the corner of her eye. As if she’d been waiting.

“Hey now, what have we got here?” Read announced, drawing the attention of the ragged, drunken bunch of pirates around her. Jill glanced at them, daring them to laugh at her, which they did. She glared.

“You’re Marjory’s new little pet, ain’t you?” Read said. Her accent was thick, some brand of English Jill couldn’t identify. “Has she sent you on some errand then?”

“No,” Jill said. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

Read raised a brow, as if surprised—maybe even impressed. Jill could hope. Read waved to a man, who handed over his mug of beer, and she passed it to Jill. Jill didn’t want to drink; she didn’t want to get muzzy headed. But she took it to be polite.

Here it went, then.

“I’m looking for Edmund Blane,” she said.

“You and everyone else,” Read said, looking away, taking a drink.

“I want to meet him.”

“Why would you want to do that? Do you know what he’s like?”

“No, not really. Just that Captain Cooper hates him. But he may be the only one who can help me.”

“And why do you need help? Other than the fact that you’re a wee lass who’s fallen in with pirates. And how did that happen?”

It would take too long to explain, and Read wouldn’t believe her anyway, so Jill just shook her head.

“Ah yes, that’s what I thought. Too complicated, it always is. Which ought to make it simple but it doesn’t.”

“How did you fall in with pirates?” Jill asked, wary, ready to run if the question made Read angry and she drew the short, stout cutlass at her belt, or one of the three pistols slung in a brace across her chest. Not that Jill was getting paranoid.

Read smiled into her beer. “It starts with putting on breeches and cutting your hair. Then you run away and join the army in secret. Then you think maybe you’ll try a normal life—get married, find a respectable trade. And then your husband dies on you, so you go back to what you know best. You sign on to a ship and get captured by pirates and decide you like that best of all. Pirates are more forgiving than fathers, ain’t they?”

Not her father, Jill thought with a pang, sure that he thought that she’d drowned long ago. Her parents and siblings surely thought her long gone. And there were all those times she’d been so wrapped up in the rest of her life she’d barely paid attention to them. She shouldn’t have argued about going to the beach.

Jill couldn’t tell if Read was drunk or not. She smelled of beer, but that may have been the rest of the room. The pirate studied her surroundings with a wary gaze, ready for action in a moment.

“But look at you,” Read said. “You can’t be all that green. You’ve seen action, eh?” She pointed to the bandage, still damp and stained from her swim, wrapped around Jill’s bicep.

“It’s just a cut.”

“A battle scar’s good enough to get you respect in this crowd,” Read said. “Ah, but lose a leg, that’ll really put folks in awe of you.”

“I’d rather not.”

Read chuckled.

Jill looked around, she hoped without seeming like she was, which probably didn’t help at all with the attitude that she was supposed to be projecting. She tried to follow Henry’s advice, to carry herself like she deserved to hold a rapier, but she was afraid she only appeared awkward.

Some of the crowd she recognized from the afternoon, which meant they’d been here most of the day. There were new faces as well. It was hard to keep them all straight.

“Where are your friends?” Jill asked Read.

“Who, Jack and Anne? Don’t tell me I have to explain that to you?” Read said.

“Ah. No,” Jill said quickly.

“You didn’t actually think you’d find Blane here, did you?” Read asked.

“No,” Jill said, frowning. “But I don’t know where else to start looking for him.”

Read leaned close, and the conversation turned hushed. “You really want to see Edmund Blane? You know what you’re doing?”

“Yes, I do,” Jill said, earnest, bluffing. She wasn’t sure Read really believed her.

“I’ll tell you what we told Marjory. Blane’s up to something. Well, he’s always up to something, but this is more than usual. He’s not like the rest of us. Most of us who go on the account do it ’cause we’re sick of taking orders from wicked captains who get rich off our labor. Out here, we have our code and our articles because that’s what’s fair. We’re not so lawless, we have some honor, and most of all that means treating each other right. Blane’s different, and if you want dealings with him you should know that. That rotten dog would be the king of all pirates if he could. Turn the Caribbean into his own empire. He ain’t out here to live his life, he’s in it for power.”

And Jill knew: the power of a sword that called out to a broken piece of itself across the whole ocean. That drove Captain Cooper to such a rage.

“That’s why Captain Cooper hates him so much?”

“For her it’s personal,” Read said.

“Why doesn’t anyone else stop him?”

“Because a lot of men think like Blane, and they’ll join up with him, happy for just a scrap of the power he promises. He’s building an army that way. That lots of men are willing to sell themselves for a scrap of power is why the world’s in the state it’s in, isn’t it?”

“Where can I find him?” Jill said

“Let me ask you something first. Cooper says you had a piece of his old rapier—how did you get it?”

“I told her—I just found it. Washed up in the sand.”

Read studied her in earnest, as if trying to decide if she was lying. Jill glared, because she could tell the truth all she wanted, but what good did it do if no one believed her?

“He’ll be wanting it back,” the pirate said. “If he thinks you have it, he’ll come looking for you.”

“Maybe I should find him first then, right?” That was always a good fencing strategy—take the offensive.

“He’s got a camp,” Read said, lowering her voice even more. “Somewhere on the coast, no one really knows where. He doesn’t even come into town for supplies. But walk straight east of here until you find the shore again. Then go south. But chances are you won’t find anything at all.”

“Thank you,” Jill said, though when Read scowled she wished she hadn’t.

“If I see Marjory, I’m telling her where you’ve gone.”

Jill turned and slipped out of the tavern quickly. Heads turned, following her progress. So much for being secretive.

Outside, away from the lights and noise, she looked into the trees behind the tavern, and up at the sky. She may not have had the stars worked out after spending weeks on a sailing ship at sea, but she could judge direction by the position of the waning moon overhead. She knew which way east was, and started heading that way.

She held her rapier close to her leg to keep it from knocking and getting tangled up in vegetation. Progress was slow—without a path, she had to pick her way around tangled shrubs and crawling vines.

She couldn’t get lost, she told herself. This was an island—if she walked long enough she’d simply reach ocean again. But she felt like she was walking far too long, past when she should have reached Blane’s camp. Read hadn’t said how far away it was.

All this assumed she continued walking in a straight line. She couldn’t navigate by the moon and stars anymore—the sky was hidden by the tall, reaching canopy of the forest. After what felt like an hour of thinking the trees all looked the same, she wondered. She studied a grove where three trunks grew close together, surrounded by a dense thicket, tiny white flowers growing over it on vines. When she set off again, she made sure to walk in a straight line—how hard could it be? She fenced, which meant training on straight lines, fighting on straight lines. If nothing else, she knew how to walk in a straight line.

Except there was the grove again, and she was sure now it was the third or fourth time she’d seen it, the trees, thicket, and flowers together.

Nothing seemed fantastic to her anymore, and a horrible idea occurred to her. She’d stepped out of one strange time loop, the one that had brought her to the historical Bahamas and the land of pirates, and into another—a loop of endless wandering in this cool nighttime forest.

Instead of continuing forward this time, she turned around and started walking back the way she’d come—the way she thought she’d come. She could get back to Nassau, back to the pirate tavern, ask Mary Read what she’d done wrong or find someone who could really help her and not lead her astray. If anyone in this world could really help her, and that was the trouble, wasn’t it? How did you trust a pack of pirates? Henry wasn’t around to ask—and he’d always been happy to answer her questions. She missed having someone to trust. And yes, she realized. She trusted him. Maybe she should have asked him to come along.

She walked faster, determined to get out of the trap.

However focused she was on the way ahead, she saw it when a man stepped out of the undergrowth to her left. He loomed forward, arms outstretched as he lunged for her, and she skittered away, putting her hand on the hilt of her sword.

A pair of men appeared behind her, another pair in front of her, and she was surrounded. They leered at her as if this was a game, as if she was an animal they had hunted down and cornered, and now the real fun began. She could try to dart away, try to run and duck out of their reach, but they had placed themselves with just enough space for her to think she could escape. To encourage her to escape so they could have the pleasure of capturing her. It was a feint to try to draw her into a stupid move, like she’d done in fencing a hundred times. She didn’t fall for it, but kept her place, circling, trying to keep the half dozen of them in view at the same time. She was too tense to be frightened, too ready to fight her way out. Time enough to be scared later.

Then they looked away from her, and that made her even more nervous, because they’d turned their attention to a new figure who’d stopped outside their circle.

This man was tall. He carried a lantern, the light of which emphasized the lines and crags of his face, his trimmed beard, and his grinning eyes. His tailored coat looked soft and rich, like velvet, and his breeches were leather. He might have seemed rich, but instead he seemed complicated, the richness of his clothes and the shining gold rings in his ears and chains on his neck contrasting with the worn leather of his gloves and boots. His thick, straight hair was tied in a tail with a red ribbon. He had a worn, well-used sword on a hanger at his belt—but the sword was missing the tip, the last six inches or so.

This was Edmund Blane.

You could lose a fencing bout before ever stepping onto the strip if you let your opponent intimidate you. If he had a reputation, and you let the reputation daunt you before the fight, you’d most likely lose. Fencing was as much a mind game as it was about physical skill.

She felt herself being daunted and tried to tell herself it was reputation, the stories she’d heard about him and fear left over from the battle at sea.

“Come along, then,” he said in a soft, calm voice—a tone that surprised her, and made her even more wary. “We’ll go where we can talk.”

He turned and walked away, not waiting for her response, not caring if she had one. His men fell in around her, an obvious escort for a prisoner.

Well. This was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it?

In silence, they continued. Blane and his crew didn’t seem to have the problem of not being able to walk in the straight line that Jill had struggled with. In moments, they left the forest and entered a rocky clearing.

Something crazy was going on, then. This was why no one could find them—unless Blane wanted to be found. Not that it made her feel any better.

In some ways, this seemed like a typical pirate camp, like the one that the Diana’s crew had made when they careened the ship on Jamaica. A pair of cook fires burned and formed the center of the camp; men were working repairing ropes, sails, tackle, any number of items; the smell of rum on the air was evident. But the atmosphere was subdued, taut. No one sang, no one laughed. They talked in low, anxious voices, and when Blane appeared they all fell silent and looked at him. Cooper’s crew looked on her with respect when she passed by, maybe with fondness, maybe even some love, but always respect. Blane’s crew turned wide and hungry eyes on him; they respected him and his power, but they obeyed him because they were afraid of him.

They were preparing weapons, sharpening blades on a whetstone, cleaning muskets and lining them up in a long, dark row.

Jill kept her back straight and reminded herself that she could use the sword she carried, that none of them had thought to take away from her. At least, she was pretty sure she could.

The clearing overlooked a cove, a sheltered inlet on the coast. The Heart’s Revenge was anchored a little ways off, a fearsome ship lit by lanterns and flickering shadows, its masts naked and skeletal. Blane stopped at the edge of the camp, before the overhang dropped off, a steep slope to the narrow, sandy beach below, and looked out at his ship for a moment. Jill waited.

“Where is it?” Blane asked, still looking outward.

Jill swallowed; she hadn’t had any water to drink in hours, and her throat was sticky. If she asked for a drink, they’d only give her something with rum in it. She wasn’t going to drink any rum here.

“Where is what?” she said, knowing what he was asking about.

“The sword. You’re here because you found the missing piece of my sword.”

“How do you know that?”

“I made that sword. I know everything about it, and you’re connected to it. Now, where’s the shard?”

Even broken and useless, he still carried the sword because it was important. Because he needed it, and he needed it whole, because it had power. And if the broken piece of steel had brought her here, maybe the sword it had come from could send her home. Somehow.

Before she lost her nerve, she said quickly, “If you know everything, then you know how I got here, and you know I don’t belong here. I need—I want to go back home. Can you help me? Can you send me back?”

“Perhaps. If you can tell me where the piece is.”

It wasn’t like he didn’t already know so much, or that he could do anything differently if she told him. But saying where it was—telling him directly—would be betraying Captain Cooper. Jill couldn’t do it.

“If you know everything about it, then you already know,” she said, her voice shaking a little. She wasn’t a very good liar. “Why ask me?”

He paced, hand hooked over the hilt of his sword, wry smile on his lips, polished boots crunching dirt underneath. “You could have lost it. You could have thrown it back into the sea. You could still have it. You could have given it to someone.” He stopped and looked at her, eyebrows lifted. “Marjory Cooper?”

Jill didn’t say anything.

“And she still has it? I’d have expected her to throw it back to the sea, as she did the last time. Can you tell me: Did she? Or did she keep it?”

He didn’t know where it was. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have fled the battle at sea last week. He’d have smashed the Diana to pieces, boarded her, and taken it. On some level, he must have been afraid of Cooper. Captain Cooper had stopped him last time by getting rid of the rapier shard. He was being careful because he didn’t want her to do something like that again.

But he thought he could use Jill to get it.

“I don’t know. Why would she tell me anything?” She tried to sound surly instead of scared.

“Because you’re her protégé, I gather. Her apprentice. Why wouldn’t she tell you?”

“I’m not anything to her,” Jill said, and she wasn’t entirely certain that was a lie.

“Oh, but you are, and you don’t even know why, do you? She didn’t tell you why you’re so important, did she?” He laughed softly. “I know her. She’s too soft. Her reputation says otherwise, but I know her.”

Jill thought of Jenks and knew that Cooper wasn’t soft. Blane didn’t know her; he only thought he did. He was arrogant. “She hates you. She’s looking for you.”

“And you must not think much of her if you’ve come looking for me instead of keeping your lot in with her.”

“I just want to go home,” she said.

“My dear, what happened to you was a mistake and I’m sure I’m sorry for it. But I need that sword.”

Maybe, she thought, Captain Cooper and the Diana hadn’t been meant to fish her out of the ocean at all. Maybe, if Blane had been behind the bizarre time warp, he was supposed to find her first. Or if he hadn’t caused it, he’d known that the shard had returned to his world. She’d emerged with it in that exact spot, where Blane had destroyed the Newark—had he been looking for her? Was she supposed to have been on the Heart’s Revenge the whole time? As if there was a reason that all this was happening in the first place. She thought of what those first chaotic, confusing days had been like, and imagined herself among these men instead, without Abe’s smile and Henry’s joking. Blane’s crew didn’t seem to have any women among them at all.

She was glad that hadn’t happened. She was glad the Diana had found her.

So what did she do now? She needed a moment to think.

“Why did you bring me here? Can you send me back or not?” she said. Tried to say with some authority, as if she could persuade him.

“I didn’t bring you here,” he said, amused. “I was simply looking for the piece of my sword.”

But he couldn’t have brought it back without someone hanging on to it—didn’t he see that? It had been lying buried at the edge of the ocean for centuries without being washed back to him. He could have just brought it back—but someone had to carry it, and she was the one unlucky enough to pick it up. And now she was bound to it. She felt it like a touch in the back of her skull.

“I don’t belong here,” she said.

He looked at her askance, curious for the first time rather than just annoyed. “Just how far away did it land when Marjory threw it?”

“A long way away,” Jill said quietly.

He wasn’t going to help her. This had all been an accident, and she didn’t have a part to play at all.

He studied his ship for another moment, then turned to her, donning a bright tone. Bright, but false. “Tell me—what is your name?”

“Jill,” she said.

“Tell me, Jill—do you think Marjory will give me the piece in exchange for you? Would she do that to keep you safe?”

She didn’t have to think about it. “No. I don’t think she cares about me at all.”

“Then I think we’re done here,” he said, and waved a gesture at her two guards.

They grabbed her arms and held tight. One of them held a rope he didn’t have before, while the other wrenched her hands back. They bound her wrists behind her while she thrashed like a beached fish, uselessly.

They dragged her to the edge of the overlook, their intentions clear. With her hands free, able to reach out and brace herself or slow her fall, she might survive being thrown over the edge. Tied up, she’d tumble down until she broke.

She screamed, threw her weight back to try to anchor herself, but her two captors were stronger. Don’t parry, she thought. Don’t fall into a battle of strength—use your brain.

“Fight me!” she shouted, twisting to direct the words to Blane. “I challenge you to a duel! Fight me!”

Blane raised his hand, and the two men stopped their progress toward the edge. Jill slumped in their grasps and sighed. She’d bought herself a few more minutes, then. Maybe.

“You fight?” he said. “With a sword?”

“I’m not just wearing it for decoration,” she said. “And I’m pretty good.” That part was pure bluster.

But Blane took the bait, because he was arrogant. Jill read him right.

“Untie her.”

One of the thugs drew a knife and sliced through the rope that bound her. She hissed when he nicked a piece of her skin; he didn’t seem to notice.

They let her go. She backed away, trying to find a clear space, and drew her rapier. She spared a quick moment to wipe away blood from the heel of her left hand, where the knife had caught her.

Edmund Blane unfastened his belt, removing from his hip the broken sword that he wouldn’t let out of his sight. Another of his men—they were all servants, interchangeable—was on hand to take the broken rapier and hand him another one. A whole, functional rapier with a worn grip and a sharp, gleaming blade. He held it up to his face, pointed outward, so he could gaze down the length of it, as if he didn’t already know it was perfect. From the edge of her vision she watched the man who held the broken sword; he stood a little ways off but didn’t leave the clearing, keeping the treasured rapier where Blane could see it.

The camp had fallen quiet. The men who had been working set aside their tools and gathered closer, to watch their captain fight the scrawny girl who’d appeared in their camp.

Jill was in something of a panic—she hadn’t thought this through, she knew nothing about how Blane fought, it was dark, hard to see by wavering firelight, the ground was rocky, all of it about the worst conditions for a fight she could imagine. But at least she recognized that she was panicking. She might be able to at least stave it off before Blane ran her through—

No, he wasn’t going to run her through; she wasn’t going to let him. She breathed slowly, filling her lungs, set her body in a correct position, held her sword in a proper en garde. Habit and ritual steadied her. She shook out her legs, gave a little bounce to loosen her muscles, and looked toward Blane.

He watched her going through the motions, point of his rapier resting on the earth, opposite hand on his hip. His lips curled in a half smile.

She saluted him, bringing her sword straight up and flicking it away. He raised an eyebrow, and didn’t salute her back.

For the first five heartbeats, neither of them moved. The tips of their rapiers barely crossed, which meant they were too far apart for either of them to make a real attack. This was just to size each other up. She made a beat—quickly tapping her blade against his. He didn’t respond, merely letting his blade give to the pressure, then bringing it back on line. She tried again; this time, he disengaged, scooping his sword out of the way. She quickly responded by starting a parry—but he was only testing her, and he didn’t take the opening. He didn’t attack.

She couldn’t believe how her heart was racing. She knew better than this; she didn’t get nervous and sloppy before fights. He wasn’t even doing anything to scare her—she was doing it all on her own. If she stayed scared, if she didn’t do anything but stand here deciding what to do next, he’d pounce and she’d be dead.

Here and now, that wasn’t just a figure of speech. The edge of his blade was sharp, and ended in a gleaming point.

He beat her blade, she beat back, and the fight was on. Attacking and counterattacking, he tested her. He was careful, calculating, his movements simple and precise. Textbook, which she wasn’t sure she’d expected from someone who by all accounts was a hardened villain. Maybe she’d expected the sweeping, flailing attacks of a movie swashbuckler. But Edmund Blane had had training, and he practiced. He drew her responses, and she fell into the expected pattern, as if they were drilling. She was dancing to the tune he played.

She stumbled back, out of his reach, to break out of the pattern and reassess. She circled, aware of Blane’s followers around the torch-lit clearing where they fought. They could strike at any moment as well.

So she brought the fight to him, lunging in a feint, countering the parry she expected. He matched her, with a bare smile and a gleam in his eyes. Good fencing wasn’t just hitting; it was a conversation, move and countermove, anticipating three or more movements along until each exchange was comprised of a dozen moves or more, steel on steel ringing out. The familiar fire lit in her veins, flowed through her limbs, and her muscles found their rhythm. This was a good fight. She just wished the swords weren’t real. Her mind felt electric, otherworldly—she’d rather be watching this from the outside.

After two or three complex exchanges, she decided she could hold her own against him—for a time. If she played a purely defensive game, concentrated on blocking, didn’t take risks. But if she did that, she’d never stop him. He’d wear her out, eventually she would make a mistake, and he would finish her.

She had to get out of this. So she turned and ran.

No one ran after her, probably because they were shocked. Even Blane stood and stared. Jill planned—however much she planned any of this—to just keep running, to plunge into the forest and escape. But the man charged with holding Blane’s broken rapier stood in her path. If she stopped, if she lost her momentum, Blane would have her thrown over the cliff—nothing would change. This wasn’t a feint; she was committed. She kept going, arms bent, still holding her rapier, charging forward.

The man in front of her flinched. And maybe that brief show of fear inspired Jill. She felt a surge, the flicker of a smile on her lips—she recognized the feeling, that moment when she saw an opening, recognizing an opponent’s weakness. The broken sword was Edmund Blane’s weakness.

She ran into the pirate, shouldering him out of the way, and grabbed the sword out of his hands. The sword caught; she felt it drag through flesh. The man screamed as a wound opened on his hand where the blade cut, and he stumbled away from her. She kept running, never slowing, keeping her eyes where she wanted to go—the shadows in the forest beyond.

Other pirates were running now, moving to intercept her and capture her. Blane might even have been yelling. Jill had her task and didn’t waver; all she had to do was run. So she did, a sword in each hand, and let the shadows of the forest devour her.

The noise she made—the breaking of branches, the crashing of foliage—sounded immense to her ears. She’d never be able to hide or escape, because the whole forest knew she was here. She only had one chance at this. The voices shouting after her seemed close, echoing all around her—surely surrounding her. But the pirates didn’t catch her.

When she traveled this path previously, she felt she’d been walking in circles. Now the way seemed clear. It was as if she’d walked in a fog before, but now the fog had lifted. Whatever Blane had done to keep wanderers from finding his camp was gone. Or maybe—she was the one who held his sword now. Maybe it was the sword.

And now it was Jill’s, and maybe it really could help her get home.

Whatever had happened to the metaphysical fog that made her lose her way when she passed through here last time, she still had to contend with the forest itself, its tangle of vegetation, crawling vines, and jutting branches. She couldn’t pick her way and choose her path; she just ran and shoved her way past obstacles, letting them claw and scratch at her. The wounds stung, a sheen of sweat covered her, and her whole body felt sticky. It was too hot to breathe. She expected that at any moment she’d hear a musket fire, and that Blane would be standing behind her, shooting her dead. She ran as if she could outrun the sound of gunfire.

“Hey! Oy there!” The shout came from off to her left; the speaker was hidden in shadow and foliage. Jill automatically veered away.

“Get her! She’s here!” another voice said, this one right in front of her, and she realized too late that she’d fallen for a trick, and the voices meant to steer her where they could best capture her. It probably didn’t matter where she ran now.

She kept on, shoving her way past shrubs and branches that seemed intent on catching her and holding her.

Suddenly, so quickly she stumbled at the freedom of it, she left the forest and entered open country near the edge of Nassau. And standing before her were Henry, Abe, and Captain Cooper. Jill stared, gasping for breath, disbelieving. Behind her, two more of the crew tore out of the trees. They looked hot and sweaty and were brushing dirt and debris off themselves. Jill, holding back a sob of relief, wondered how long they’d been chasing after her.

Henry looked like he’d been running, trying to catch his breath. He had his sword drawn and grasped it like he was anxious for a fight.

“God, Jill!” he said. “You’re all right! You an’t hurt!”

She wasn’t sure that was entirely true, but she was here and alive. She nodded, sheepish at the panic. He went on, still desperate. “When I’d heard you were after Blane, I thought—you were gone, we’d find you hacked to pieces and that would be the end of it. Are you barmy, are you trying to get yourself killed?”

He was truly worried about her. All his joking had disappeared, and if he really had found her dead, he would have gone after Blane himself, and Blane would have thrown him over the cliff, too.

Jill stared at him. If they’d been alone, if they hadn’t both been holding swords, she would have flung herself at him and kissed him.

Instead, before Jill could do anything, Captain Cooper smiled and let out a sigh. She said, “Bloody hell, you’ve got his sword.”