Steel

His feet slipped out from under him and he toppled like a cartoon character. But I didn’t do anything, came Jill’s first thought.

Then she saw the hook and rope tangled around his legs. And Henry crouched nearby, holding the other end of the line.

Jill marched forward and lay the point of her rapier on Blane’s neck, like it was the most natural, normal thing to do.

The captain of the Heart’s Revenge had been struggling to sit up, but confronted by Jill’s steel he simply lay there, breathing hard, sweating, craning his head up to try to see her without impaling himself. His expression was an ugly sneer. Jill didn’t dare look away from him.

“Finish him off!” Henry called.

She knew what he meant—a slice across his throat, a stab through his neck and spinal cord. An ugly, messy death. He’d twitch on her sword like a bug on a pin. It’d be easy to do, with him lying there. The sword itself seemed to yearn toward him, eager to slice into him. She felt the power of it in her fingers, wrist, and arm. And if she was right, this would send her home—feed the sword Blane’s life in exchange for the child’s life he’d taken with it. It ought to be easy, with so much at stake.

And she realized she couldn’t. Not even to send herself home.

“You cheated,” Jill said to Henry.

“Course I did, you weren’t going to beat him,” he said.

Henry didn’t know that. Anything could have happened. That last attack might have worked. But part of her was just as glad not to have to find out. Blane was beaten, and it didn’t matter who gave the final blow.

“I’m not going to kill dead a man who’s flat on his back,” Jill said. “That’s the kind of thing he would do.”

“A woman of honor,” Blane said with contempt. “Nice.”

Yes, she thought. I am.

“Drop your sword,” she said, flicking the point against his skin. It scraped but didn’t cut. But just a little more pressure…

Blane let go of his weapon. Jill kicked it away, and it rattled across the wooden deck.

Her arm became very tired, then. The sword she held no longer called out for blood, no longer surged with power. It was just a weight of steel. Well-made, beautiful steel. But nothing more.

Mostly, then, it was done. With their captain defeated, Blane’s men turned docile. They sat by the gunwales and didn’t make trouble. They’d been loyal to Blane’s power, which was gone now. The crew of the Diana had defeated the boarding party. The cannons were silent.

Captain Cooper got to her feet, aided by Abe and the doctor. But she walked over to Jill under her own power, limping, hand pressed to her side over the bandage wrapped around her middle.

“Come to gloat then, Marjory?” Blane said, hateful as ever.

“Henry,” she said softly. “Tie the bastard up. Good and tight.”

Henry did, tying Blane’s hands and feet with yards of rope, tying another loop around the pirate’s neck so if he tried to move too much he’d strangle himself.

Finally, Jill could lower the rapier. It was just a sword now. It had defeated its master, tasted Blane’s blood. Any mysticism she’d felt from it, any power it had given her, seemed to have dissipated. She felt weak, like she wanted to melt. Her m

uscles were loose, exhausted.

Captain Cooper stood beside her, in front of Blane, now trussed and lying by the forecastle of the ship.

“Are you all right, Tadpole?” she said.

“Aren’t I a frog yet?”

Cooper chuckled and squeezed Jill’s shoulder. Jill sighed. “I couldn’t kill him. Was that wrong?”

“No. It’s never wrong, that’s what the preachers say. But I think it means you don’t really belong out here.”

That was what Jill had known all along.

“On the other hand, a quick death’s too good for him, isn’t it? I’d like to see him hang in a gibbet,” she said. Jill just stared.