Dedicated to -DairyQueens- ( AKA -Jewels- and -gabyy- ) Because Canada, eh? :P plus, you guys are pretty awesome. Robin thanks you for being his biggest fans.

XXX

Dear James,

Olivia sucks at being captain. I'm just saying. Like, she came back to The Fina this morning, and she's like, "Hey guys, we're going to Canada." And because your crew is comprised of battle-happy morons, they were all for it.

We're totally not prepared to leave port right now, yet here we are, out on the open sea.

Robin called me a few hours ago. He thought Liv was lying about the voyage, but nope. This is really happening. God, some people are stupid.

I'm still teaching her to sword fight. She's not horrible, I guess, but she's stubborn. Wants to do things her own way. I just figure, one day, when she's in a real fight, she'll learn that I was right.

She acts like a man, James. She leaves her clothes all over the floor, sleeps with a knife under her pillow, and swears like an Irish sailor being attacked by sharks. And guess what? She cut her hair about an hour ago. With a knife.

I think I'm coming down with something. My throat's all scratchy and I can't stop coughing. That's why I'm down here in my room instead of eating dinner with everybody else. I'm sneezing, too. It's gross.

Why Canada, anyway? There's nothing in Canada but maple syrup and bagged milk.

I can't stop thinking about The Encantador. My days and nights aboard the Cuban ship are among my worst memories, at this point. I have never been that hungry before.

Can you imagine what prison would be like? I wouldn't be able to cope. I need fresh air. I can't deal with people ordering me around -- you know that. And I would probably end up killing my cellmate. I've almost killed Olivia several times, already. The only reason I haven't is because you would be mad.

But then again, it'd reunite you two, wouldn't it. So maybe you wouldn't mind.

I think I'm gonna throw up. Yep, definitely coming down with something.

       -Heather

XXX

Amelia wandered down the hall, holding her stomach as the ship rocked her back and forth. Her candle flickered, casting shadows across the walls.

She began to walk faster. Sea sickness had begun to set in. She needed to get above deck before she vomited right here in the dark hallway. Holding the candle out in front of her, she found her way to the stairs. They didn't creak, nor did the door make a sound. The Aceituna was still in perfect condition, even after however many years.

Blowing out her candle, Amelia shut the door behind her. Now, the stars would light her way.

She had left her shoes in the infirmary, at the foot of Peter's bed. He'd fallen asleep again, undisturbed by the lurching of the ship as it made its way across the choppy Gulf of Mexico. Amelia took slow steps, forbidding herself to throw up until she reached the railing.

When she reached her goal, she found someone else there as well.

Heather watched as Amelia threw herself toward the railing, leaning over as far as she could before releasing herself. Mel closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to see her sick hurtling down into the deep blue waves. She did, however, hear a faint plop.

"Landlubber, huh?"

Mel kept herself bent over the rail, swallowing back another round of bile. "What?"

Heather gave a wry smile. "I get it. The first time I sailed, I was pregnant. Damn, was it bad."

Amelia remembered Heather's son, burying his face in her shirt back at Ship In A Bottle. "Pregnant with Oliver?" She asked, biting her lip in a futile attempt to battle the nausea. Another rocket of vomit shot down into the sea.

"Stand up straight. Look at the horizon line," Heather advised. When she did, Heather said, "And no. It wasn't Ollie."

She fixed her eyes on the horizon line, dragging the back of her hand over her mouth. She felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment. Getting seasick in front of a pirate didn't seem socially acceptable. "You have another kid?"

Heather winced. "I did." She was quiet for a minute, staring up at the stars. "I had Jesse when I was . . . eighteen, I think. Almost nineteen. She, uh. She died when she was just a baby. Araya? The guy that killed Peter's aunt?"

She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "He killed her too?"

Heather nodded. She leaned her elbows against the railing, hiding her face in her hands. "She'd be around your age now, if she was alive."

"Jesse." Amelia repeated the deceased child's name, letting it sit on her tongue for a moment. Feeling another wave of nausea, she looked back to the horizon. "That's really sad."

Heather nodded. "Yeah it is . . ." She trailed off, squinting at something far off. She leaned forward, frowning. "Hey, d'you happen to have a spyglass on you?" Amelia shook her head. Heather grumbled something she didn't catch and jogged up to the quarterdeck. Mel watched her dig through the chest that rested beside the helm, coming up victorious a moment later.

The woman brought the spyglass to her eye, ignoring Amelia who asked, "What is it? I don't see anything."

"Speak of the freakin devil," Heather muttered. "It's the goddamn Encantador."

They stood in silence for a moment. Then Heather threw the spyglass down and began screaming, "Wake up! Wake up, we're under attack!" She zipped across the deck, flying through the door before Amelia could react. She could still hear Heather's yelling -- she was banging on the walls as well, making as much racket as possible.

This felt unreal. Amelia swallowed hard, bending down to pick up the spyglass. She felt sick again. She raised the cylinder to her face, trying to stop her hand from shaking.

Sure enough, there was a pirate ship, fast approaching.

The sails rippled black and shiny in the sky, a mere patch of starless night among the billions of fireballs. The glossy ebony wood of The Encantador sliced through the water, pushing it aside as it sped toward The Aceituna. She could only see outlines, but outlines were enough to terrify her. Pirates. Dozens of them, all piled onto the deck and ready to attack.

Amelia dropped the spyglass, listening to it clatter to the deck. More noise followed: that of Robin's crew awakening, clambering up the stairs. Before she knew it, she was surrounded by pirates. Peter, she thought, glancing at the dark figure of The Encantador over her shoulder. She pushed through the groggy yet violent pirates, avoiding unsheathed swords and knives as she darted back downstairs.

She sprinted down the hall, bumping into several of the slower pirates on her way. In the pitch blackness of the hallway, she hoped they couldn't see who it was. She felt along the wall for the infirmary door.

When she burst into the room, Peter was already awake. "What's going on?" He asked.

"Lay down, lay down," she said. He ignored her, pushing himself to his feet. She dove to the ground, her legs cushioning his fall just before he crashed into the wooden floor. "Peter, you're just hurting yourself."

But he pushed away from her again, this time grabbing the bedpost to keep himself upright. "What's happening? I heard Heath say we're under attack."

"We need to hide," she whispered. "Don't look at me like that. You know you're in no state to be fighting, and I'll be damned if I can use a sword, okay? So we need to hide."

But it was too late.