Steel

“Aren’t you the one who’s always saying we’re all going to die young? Then what does it matter?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said.

She took his hand, squeezed it. He continued to look grim.

“All right, you stinking loafers, get off your bums, we’ve a schoone

r to clean up, and we’ll be following Abe to make sure he’s set to right with his crew. Lots of work and not many hours of light left, so move!”

Jill and Henry pulled each other to their feet and scrambled to follow orders.

Cannonballs had taken chunks out of the Diana’s mainmast, which needed to be shored up. Decks were split, pocked with musket shot, and spattered with blood. Lines had broken, rigging swung loose, tackle was lost, and some of the sails hung in useless tatters. Crewmembers climbed to bring down the damaged pieces. Jill was one of those who sat on deck, mending sail, splicing rope, knotting and reknotting until her hands grew raw and blistered.

The Heart’s Ease sailed several hundred feet larboard of the Diana. They could send supplies back and forth and help each other with repairs. And Cooper could keep an eye on Blane’s old crew. But they actually seemed relieved to have Blane gone.

By dusk, much of the work was done. Food and rum came out, and the party began.

Henry brought Jill a drink and sat with her. Jill could drink watered rum now without choking on it. She’d gotten used to the burn of it. Still, she’d have done just about anything for a cold soda right then. She leaned on the side, watching the celebration as the fiddles and drums came out and the singing and dancing started. She might have fought in a real sword fight, she might be able to climb the rigging like a monkey, like any seasoned sailor, and she could drink rum. But could she stay here? Could she be happy? She didn’t know much about the history, but she knew where Marjory Cooper, Henry, and all the crew were likely to end up: killed in a battle, taken down by cannon fire or musket shot, sunk and drowned; or captured and dragged to Port Royal, to be hanged and left in a cage for crows.

And they’d all tell her that they’d be proud and happy to meet such an end.

This time, it was Captain Cooper who blocked the light from the lanterns that blazed across the deck, when she came up and leaned on the side next to Jill and regarded the scene.

“That sword should go back to the sea. The whole thing this time. Send it to the bottom and be done with it,” Cooper said. She left the command behind the statement unspoken: that if Jill didn’t throw the thing over, Cooper would take it from her and do it.

She was right, Jill thought. Maybe Blane was gone, maybe the sword wasn’t dangerous without him. But why take the chance? Then she had another thought: The shard on its own had been her key here, and she was sure the whole sword was her key home, she just wasn’t sure how. How to find the way home when she’d come here by accident, and no one understood the magic of it, not even Blane?

But now, she thought she had an idea. Ruby slippers.

“What if it comes back again? What if someone like Blane finds it?” Jill held her breath a moment, thinking, hoping the faint idea didn’t fade. She straightened, gripping the hilt, tilting it so it flickered in the lantern light. If it didn’t work, she could swim. But she had a feeling.

“No one’ll find it,” Henry said. “The sea keeps its own.”

Except for me, Jill thought.

The captain stood, tossing back a drink from her flask. “Let’s do it and have done with it, then toast it to hell. You do the honors, Tadpole?”

Jill held the rapier close, point down and to her side. “Okay.”

She looked around one more time. Caught a few of her crewmate’s gazes—Tennant, Matthews, Bessie, Jane. They smiled at her, raising their mugs to her. She wished she could say good-bye to Abe. Beside her, Henry smiled, then frowned, because he guessed what she was thinking. She touched his arm.

She wouldn’t stay to watch them all die young, as pirates did.

Jill sat on the rail, swung a leg over, and remained astride it for a moment, looking over the place that had been her home for the last few weeks. She still wasn’t sure she understood this life. She was pretty sure it would all turn out to be a dream. Strange, though, how the smell of pitch, canvas, and salt water had become so comforting.

“Jill, no, have you gone barmy?” Henry reached for her.

“Henry, what’re you on about?” Cooper said. “Tadpole? Jill?”

They must have seen the farewell in her expression.

“Thank you,” she said to them both.

She swung her other leg over and took only a brief look down to the black water and waves chopping against Diana’s hull. Then she slid off, clutching the sword to her chest with both hands.

The water was cold and shocked the breath out of her; she thought she’d been ready, but she flailed, kicking and swinging with her arms, hoping to find the surface. Her lungs burned, her chest tightened. But she kept a fierce grip on the sword. She couldn’t let it go.

For a terrible moment, she wondered if she wasn’t swimming up but down. She couldn’t see anything and felt herself tossed by waves. Then, the world turned bright. Sunlight. The water went from black to turquoise. Her face broke the surface and she gasped, swallowing air like a fish gulps water. Hands grabbed her, just like they had before. There were people clinging to her, shouting.