Of the fifty crew that had originally signed on with the Scourge when Emily had joined the ship, only eighteen remained. They all sat on the beach and pondered their situation in almost dead silence.

Most of the men, like Ostrid, had given in to despair, content to rock back and forth on the sand and sob into their knees. Ulrich and Doctor Cotral were doing what they could to hold the ranks together. From the flotsam that had drifted to shore, they'd salvaged a few bags of jerky and hardtack, though they had hoped for wine. It was likely that the Terror had already snatched it up from the wreckage, having had first pick of the carcass.

Jacobi, being a skilled fisherman, and Jennes, volunteering as chef in place of the late Cook, began to prepare a feast consisting of raw bass that Jacobi had cornered in a reef, and the coconuts Young had foraged from the trees, broken open with the butt of his knife.

Schleckt was busy dividing up the rations as best he could between the eighteen men and one woman huddled in the dark. What had looked like a life-saving treasure hoard when they had fished it out of the sea now looked pitiful when divided out. Nonetheless, he made the most of it.

Emily was waiting in line to receive her driftwood plate of food from Schleckt, chewing her nails and shivering in the bitter evening cold.

'Here.' Schleckt pushed a morsel of jerky and a cube of hardtack into her hands. 'Eat. You'll need your strength.'

'Thank you,' Emily muttered, sheepishly. She made ready to turn away, but as she did, she hesitated. 'Um... Schleckt?'

'Yes, Miss,' he grumbled.

'I... well... I-I wanted to say... I...I'm sorry.'

'What for?' he grumbled again, his voice echoing from somewhere deeper in his throat.

'For, um... for... This is all my fault,' she sobbed. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I just wanted to save my father. This wasn't how this was supposed to be. I feel-.'

'Miss.' Schleckt cut her short by slamming down his knife onto the makeshift chopping board at his knees. 'I appreciate your apology. But even if I were to accept it, it'd mean Jack because I'm not the one you should be apologising to.' Schleckt gestured behind her.

She followed his gaze. Martin, a dark eclipse, was sat on the beach with his elbows rested on his knees and his chin on his folded arms as he stared out, with a catatonic stillness, at what remained of the Scourge.

Emily swallowed. 'I... I can't,' she stammered. 'W-what if he doesn't want to talk me? What if he wants nothing to do with me?'

'Do you want anything to do with him? He betrayed your trust, after all.'

'After I lied.' The wind whistled in the silence before Schleckt tilted his head and clicked his tongue.

'If you don't try,' Schleckt answered, 'you'll never find out. That the sort of coward you are?' Schleckt scooped a wad of jerky and a cube of hardtack with his knife, then placed them on a board and offered it up to her. 'He needs to eat at some point.'

Emily nodded and took the plank. 'Thank you, Schleckt.'

'Can't say you're welcome, Miss.'

Emily trudged through the sand, the grains scratching between her toes. As she approached Martin, she hesitated, thinking for a second she saw his head move, but it was just her own shadow in the moonlight.

'I...' She cleared her throat. 'I brought you some food.'

Martin didn't move. His eyes stayed fixed on the ship's gravesite. He gave no indication that she had been heard.

'The Doctor thinks you should eat... you know? To keep up your strength.'

'I'm not hungry,' he snarled back.

His tone froze her blood and made her breath stick in her throat. She swallowed and sniffled away tears.

'Martin... I...' She took a deep breath, then sat down beside him as close as she dared, fearing he could lash out like a wounded animal. 'I'm... I'm sorry... I didn't mean for this to happen. You know that, right? I'd never wanted anyone to get hurt, especially not you.'

Martin looked down at his feet and kicked a few pebbles limply across the sand.

'Don't be sorry. It's not your fault, really. It's mine.'

'What?' Emily gasped, shuffling a little closer. 'No, no it's not.'

'But it is, isn't it?' Martin caught her gaze.

She blushed and her heart skipped.

His eyes were dark and glassy, his lips thin and his skin pale, all except for the scar which shone pink on his cheek.

'I could have saved him.'

'Martin...' Emily raised a hand, ready to place it on his, but thought better of it. 'Martin, you did all you could. All he wanted was for you and the crew to get out safely.'

'That's not what I wanted. I wanted him safe too,' Martin sniffled and sighed, the cold breeze of the sea filling his lungs. 'I just... I can't believe he's gone. He seemed like he was going to last forever. I suppose deep down, I always knew he wouldn't... but like this...' he swallowed and bit his lip to stop it trembling. 'He fought so hard and lost so much. You'd think if there was a God, he would've shown him a little mercy.'

Emily sighed, finally biting her lip and taking the plunge, putting a hand on Martin's arm and caressing it with her thumb.

'If there's something I've learned, Martin, it's that it's not up to God to show us mercy, it's up to us to show mercy to ourselves. Captain Per... Hal knew what he was doing. He was protecting his crew... he was protecting you. If we give up now, everything he's sacrificed will be in vain. He'll live on in you. You can keep his memory alive by making him proud and fighting as hard as he did.'

Her hand slipped down his forearm and nuzzled itself into his open palm. He squeezed her fingers gently and smiled a weak, but warm, smile.

'I guess the "live on" part of the mission is going to be difficult. Even if we find enough food and water to keep us going, it's only a matter of time before Toros finds us.'

'Then, what do we do?' Emily shuffled up close until her leg touched his. She welcomed his warmth against her thigh. She hadn't even realised how cold she was until now. 'You're the man with all the ideas. We need a way off this island, right? Build a raft, maybe?' Click.

'It'll take too long.' click, click. Martin shook his head and chewed his thumbnail, lost in thought. 'For a raft to hold nineteen people, it'd have to be sizeable. That involves cutting down a lot of trees. They'll be on us before we've felled,' click, click... click. 'Even a quarter of what we need.'

'Well...' click. Emily also bit her nail. 'What about hiding up in those hills? There might be some food and water up there for,' Click, click. 'Us to hold out with.'

'Possibly.' Martin nodded. 'But it's a,' click... click, click... click. 'Risk. It'll take us a while to get up there, and even then,' Click, click. 'We don't know if there's decent coverage, or vantage points, or even the promised food and water. We'd probably just be doing them a favour in tiring ourselves out.' click, click. 'I'm sorry, I would be able to think a lot clearer if I knew where that damned noise was coming from.'

'You hear it too?' Emily raised her eyebrows. 'I-I thought it was water in my ear or something.'

Martin spun around, looking for the source of the noise, when another click, click, click sounded, and sparks lit up the area around Ostrid, who was striking his knife with a piece of flint over a bed of dry leaves and twigs.

'Woah, woah! Ostrid, stop!' Martin leapt to his feet and sprinted over. 'What the Hell do you think you're doing?' He snatched the stone out of Ostrid's hand just before he could take another swing.

'Oi! What's it look like I'm doing?' Ostrid grumbled. 'Making a fire. I'm cold, I'm sleepy, and I'll be damned before I eat that fish still wriggling. I want something hot.'

'You idiot!' Schleckt, who had heard the commotion, stumbled over some outgrowing tree roots as he charged over, his face glowing red in the pitch darkness. 'A fire will lead them right to us! You might as well build a lighthouse and guide them in! You complete and utter-!'

'What's your problem with me, Hans?' Ostrid raised his hands in surrender. 'Don't know why you're getting so shirty with me; someone's already beaten me to it.' He pointed at the tops of the trees. Somewhere deep behind the wall of jungle, a few thin columns of smoke were rising into the clouds, just visible against the blue-black sky.

Schleckt spun around and did a quick headcount of their crewmen on the beach.

'Seventeen, eighteen... nineteen. Everyone's accounted for. Those aren't our fires.'

Emily watched as an expression of ambitious curiosity crept across Martin's face.

'We should go and check it out. Who knows? They could be friendly. They could be survivors!'

'Knowing our luck,' Schleckt's grumbled. 'they'll be cannibal villages, and'll probably have a nice bath of potatoes and carrots waiting for us.'

'You got any better ideas?' Martin scoulded Schleckt, though he himself was beginning to worry.

Schleckt paused, opened mouthed, then closed his jaw and shrugged.

'Right,' Martin declared. 'I'll go and have a look. Everyone else stay here-.'

'No way!' Emily stepped to his side. 'You're not going anywhere without me. Someone's got to look after you.'

'I'm tagging along, too,' Schleckt announced, patting the axe on his belt. 'Least I can watch your back in case you run into trouble.' He turned and whistled. 'Jennes. Jacobi. Get over here, we're going cannibal hunting, unless you'd rather spend the night knee-deep in fish guts?'

Jennes and Jacobi glanced at each other, then leapt to their feet.

Martin looked at his four companions and nodded with a smile.

'Doctor, watch things here for a while. We'll be back soon.'

'Oh, right...' the Doctor drew his brow down into a frown. 'S-sure.'

'If there's any sign of trouble, send us a signal or follow us into the woods.'

'That's easier said than done,' the Doctor tutted as the five disappeared into the grove.

'And what exactly makes you think we'll take your orders?' Ostrid grumbled.

Martin considered for a moment, then looked Ostrid in the eye. 'Because I'm the one that's going to get us off this rock. You got a problem with that?'

***

Led by Martin, the five crept through the thickets, scaling banks of sand and dirt and leaping over narrow ravines. The smell of burning wood singing their nostrils and stung their eyes told them they were drawing close. Their march slowed as they heard voices, low but piercing. They dropped to their haunches and practically crawled across the forest floor. They reached a dense hedge of berry bushes, with plump purple bunches hanging from their branches, and stopped.

Martin glanced back at his four companions, who collectively held their breath, then put out his hand and parted the bush to one side.

They had misjudged how large the island actually was, realising they had traversed its width as the bush opened onto another white-sand beach. Across its surface, crawling like crabs in the dirt, were a handful of men dressed in golden garbs and powdered wigs; Spanish merchants, Martin knew for he'd seen plenty of them before.

These men were pale. Some of them had a sickly green pallor, while the others appeared to be blue even in the golden-orange light of the flickering fire. The faces of the healthier among them still held their pink hue, and they were the ones who forwent blankets in favour of a musket over their laps. They barked orders out into the dark.

Martin squinted and could just make out shapes, which he had taken for swaying trees, at the edges of the grove and digging among the bushes.

One of the figures ambled close to the fire to place a bundle of logs beside the Merchants. The man's dark skin shone in the light of the dancing flames. He staggered as he walked. The manacles he wore around his neck were hitched to a pair around his ankles by a long chain.

'Slavers,' Schleckt spat.

While they all noticed these things, what captivated them the most - what inspired a gasp of awe among them all - was what was sitting on the shoreline rolling on the calm waves.

She was around ninety-four feet in length and rode the water as if she were made of air. Her broadsides boasted a single row of gunports; twelve hatches a side, twenty-four in total, as well as a short row of cannonades on her weather deck. Her sails lay curled like sleeping cats on the yards of the three masts, which were taller than any oak or pine that Martin could even imagine. In the light of her lanterns, her heavily armoured hull, as trim as a canoe, glowed like bronze.

'By all that's Holy,' Schleckt drawled with a whisper. 'It's a slaving frigate. She must have blown here on the storm.

'Wouldn't surprise me,' Jacobi sniggered. 'Those men look worse for wear. Must have been tossed about like a barrel of grapes inside that thing.'

'Though, the ship... she's in incredible nick, by the look of it.' Jennes noted. 'Thick armour, heavy guns, lightweight hull...'

'She's got to be two-hundred and fifty tonnes, at best.' Jacobi led on. 'She'd go like the Devil in a broad reach.'

'Probably deflects shot like garden peas thrown at a cliff face.'

'It's beautiful.' A warm smile trickled across Emily's quivering lips.

A devious grin cracked Martin's scarred cheek as he once again cast his eye over her sickly crew.

'She's ours.'

'You what?' Schleckt gasped.

Everyone turned to stare at Martin as if he had just dropped from the sky.

'You want to steal her? Are you out of your damned mind?!'

'Why not?' Martin smirked. 'You have a better way off this rock?'

'That's it, you've lost it. You're mad,' Schleckt chuckled in disbelief.

'Mad,' Emily noted with awe. 'But brilliant. It could work, right?'

There was a rustling above them as they were showered by leaves and berries.

'There are forty slavers, by my count, and God knows how many on the ship.' Jennes hissed down from his perch. 'And there's around twenty slaves on the beach to back them up.'

'They must have been hit pretty bad by the storm, though.' Jacobi peered out of the bush with his spyglass. 'Most of them look sick or wounded. They've had to get some of the slaves out of the hold to do their work for them. That means they're weak.'

'Weak, but armed,' Schleckt snatched the glass and put it to his own eye. 'Those are some pretty sleek muskets, and they're geared out like a fortress on that beach. Practically sleeping on an arsenal. Getting past them is the first difficulty. Besides which, even if we can somehow steal their ship, how are eighteen men and a woman going to fly her with a crew of Spanish privateers at our heels?'

'¿D-discúlpame?' a dark voice whispered.

The five held their breath and froze, only their hearts thundering in their chests giving away the slightest noise.

'¿Discúlpame? ¿Quién está ahí?'

'No one make a sound,' Martin drawled, his eyes wide with fright, mirroring everyone else.

'Sé que hay alguien ahí fuera.'

Schleckt sighed with despair.

'What? What is it?' Martin hissed, as quietly as he could. 'What did they say?'

'They know someone's here,' Schleckt groaned, his head cupped in his hands.

Martin's heart was racing.

'Well... answer him? You speak Spanish, right? Tell them... tell them we're just going for a piss or something.'

'What? All of us? Together?!' Schleckt hissed back in outrage.

'Just do it.'

Schleckt cleared his throat, then called back.

'Lo sentimos. Solo estamos aliviando nosotro-.'

'Shhh!' the voice hissed. 'Not so loud, English. They'll hear you.'

'Who the-?' Schleckt clapped a hand over his mouth.

'Who are you?' Martin whispered. 'Where are you?'

'I'm over here. Come closer but be careful,' Martin nodded to Schleckt.

Schleckt put a hand on his axe and crept forward as low as he could. The soft soil shifted under their weight as they inched one foot in front of the other. They snuck into a pitch-black clearing, the centre of which appeared so dense that it almost looked like a hole in the world.

Schleckt stepped into the clearing.

'I said watch out!' the voice hissed as Schleckt stumbled forward.

Martin leapt out and caught hold of his shirt, saving him from plunging down into a giant square hole in the Earth beneath them.

'Jesus Holy Christ!' Schleckt panted as he stared wide-eyed into the dark pit. 'That's a hole... that's a deep... deep hole.'

'Quiet.' The voice wavered at the bottom of the pit. 'I'm down here.'

Sckleckt was pulled to safety, then grappled hold of the nearest tree, where he began to shiver. Martin edged his toes to the opening of the pit, then, anchoring his back foot behind the root of a tree, leant forward and peered inside.

The hole was almost pitch-black, but the dull light of the moon cast a shadow at an angle. Curled up in the corner, wearing the shadow like a cloak, only the milky whites of his amber eyes betraying his existence, was a man. His manacles jingled as he shuffled closer into the corner. Martin peered closer and saw that his skin was the colour of coffee beans and was marked with numerous, badly healed wounds across his back, chest, arms and legs. The letter "E" with a feathered cross running through it had been branded on the left side of his toned, but skinny chest.

'What the Hell are you doing down there?!' Schleckt called down.

'Them, my masters, caught me trying to run away. I heard that there were some rebel slaves hiding out on this island, so I hoped to find them. When the slavers found me trying to sneak away, they made me dig this hole and told me to sit in it without food or water until they decide to show mercy.'

'Rebel slaves?!' Schleckt chuckled. 'Here? On this island? What a load of-!'

'Quiet, I said,' the slave snapped, pressing a finger to his lips and staring daggers at Schleckt. 'Do you want them to find you?

'W-what makes you think we don't want to be found?' Martin whispered.

'You think I am stupid, English?' the slave grinned, revealing a brilliant set of ivory teeth. 'I'm a runaway at heart. I can spot one of my own. But if you want to stay hidden, I suggest not speaking so loudly. Now, tell me why I shouldn't call my masters to come and deal with you trespassers.'

Martin furrowed his brow and scratched his chin, then a wave of inspiration washed over him, and it was all he could do to not leap into the air with excitement.

'Hold that thought for a second.' Martin turned to Schleckt, who was just beginning to calm down. 'Remember what you said about eighteen men not being enough to sail a frigate?'

'Yes. What of it?' Schleckt stammered.

'Well, what if we had a little recruitment drive?' Martin nodded towards the pit.

'What do you mean? How is one slave a recruitment-.' Schleckt's face flooded with realisation, and he suddenly looked a thousand pounds lighter. 'Ah, aye, I follow you.'

Martin leaned back over the pit.

'I've just had a chinwag with my mate, and we think we'd like to work something out that may benefit us all.'

There was a pause as the man considered, then he slowly shuffled out of the shadow and into the light of the moon.

'What do you mean?'

'Firstly, what's your name?' Martin asked. There was an even longer pause as the man in the pit opened his mouth, then hesitated, his eyebrows drawing down like shutters over his eyes. 'Do you understand?' The man didn't answer. Martin sighed, then hissed up: 'Schleckt? Do you know what the Spanish is for-?'

'I understood the question,' the slave's dark voice seemed even darker. 'No one has asked me that in a very long time. Slavers don't tend to name their livestock. You can just call me Mosi.'

'It's a pleasure to meet you, Mosi,' Martin smiled down, but Mosi just stared blankly up at him. 'I can tell you're a one for trouble, Mosi. You've caused your owners a lot of grief. The scars tell me the whole story. They put you in this pit to try and beat you back in line, didn't they? But you're not someone who goes down easy, and I'm willing to bet you still have some of that fight left in you. That true? You still up to being a rebel?'

Mosi's posture suddenly shifted, becoming more rigid. He folded his arms across his chest, his jaw sharpened, and he balled himself up even tighter.

'You speak of freedom, English? You offer me freedom? Lies. Your people are just as bad as the masters. I have been slave to Englishmen before, and I have been offered freedom before, but always it is poison spat from vipers. Why should I trust you?'

Martin was ready to say: Well, fine. Stay here in this hole and rot, and good luck to you, when Schleckt put a hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear.

'I don't think your talking down to him is helping much, Hamish. If you want to get him on side, you need to get down on his level.'

Martin turned to Schleckt, then nodded. He handed Schleckt his cutlass and pistol, then slowly lowered himself down into the pit. He hung from the edge, his feet dangling in mid-air. His heart pounded in his chest, then he held his breath and let go. The drop was much shorter than he had expected, and the sudden shock took the legs from under him, flattening him on his back.

When the dust settled, he saw Schleckt's face peering down at him.

'I didn't mean that quite so literally, but it works just the same, I suppose.'

'Why did you do that?' Mosi's face loomed overhead.

Martin sat up with a groan, a few crags in his back clicking painfully, then he swung round to face the slave and sat cross legged beneath him.

'I'm not here to make hollow promises, Mosi. I'm here to make a deal. We're in just as much trouble as you are, maybe even more so, and I am asking... begging for your help. Will you hear me out?'

Mosi raised an eyebrow at Martin, then put one leg in front of the other and crossed his legs in one motion.

'I will hear what you have to say.'

'Thank you,' Martin nodded.

'First, what is your name? It's only polite that I should know yours now you know mine.'

'I'm Martin. Martin Hamish,' Martin swallowed. 'And I'm in trouble; We're all in trouble, me and my crew. There's a band of men just off the coast, they attacked us and sank our ship. Now, they're looking for us, and if they find us, we're dead.'

'Why do they want you dead?' Mosi raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

'Mosi, I'd love to explain, but there isn't time.'

'Then talk quickly,' he folded his arms across his chest. 'I have time. You do not.'

Martin chewed the inside of his cheek, air hissed between his teeth.

'There's a woman travelling with us. She carries the key to ending this conflict; a peace treaty. If we can get her to England, we can end this war, but with it their livelihoods... well... our livelihoods.'

'You are also privateers?' Mosi furrowed his brow. 'Why would you want to help? You are the last to want peace. You are merchants in death, so I've heard. War brings profit. Peace brings famine.'

'Because...' Martin stopped himself.

He had wanted to say something like: Because it's the right thing to do. Or: Because ending the war will save countless lives. But the words stuck in his throat like tree sap and tasted rotten on his tongue. Mosi had asked him to be truthful, and in truth, he didn't give a toss about any of that. In his mind, he recalled the image of the Captain Toros looming like an executioner over Black Hal. The sword raised in his greasy hand, the wild look in his eye like a rabid mongrel.

'Because... Because they killed someone in cold blood that I cared about; because they wish death on me and my crew for not giving them what they want; because they turned our own against us. All of that so they could get their hands on a stupid piece of paper; and I'm not going to let them have it. I will defy them, just to see the smug smiles wiped off their faces.'

Mosi raised an eyebrow again, and seemed to freeze solid for a few moments. He held his posture for so long that Martin was half convinced he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. Then, he started to chuckle.

'So, you want to stop a war, save your crew, and kick some Spanish ass at the same time? Those I can get behind, Captain Hamish. But under a few terms of my own.'

'It's... just Hamish,' Martin corrected. 'But I'm listening. What are these terms?'

'If I can get my brothers to side with you, I want my freedom and theirs secured. And I want an equal share of the pay for all, as I believe is custom among privateers, is it not?'

Martin turned and squinted up at Schleckt, who shrugged.

'Those seem like fair terms to me.'

'I'm not finished yet,' Mosi corrected. 'I have one final term, and it's a personal one.'

'Go on?'

Mosi's chains clinked as he ran his hands through the stubble on his chin.

'I... have a daughter. Her name is Freya. We were separated at a slave market in Jamaica three years ago. She is everything to me, and that I cannot tell her I love her and put my arms around her kills me a little more with each day that passes. If I can help you take control of that ship, I want you to help me find her. Promise me this, and you shall have all the men you need to fly from here.'

Martin rubbed the back of his neck, then stole a glance up at Schleckt. He nodded sharply.

'You drive a hard bargain, Mosi,' Martin tutted. 'I can't promise you we will find her, but I can promise you I will help you look,' He put out his hand. 'Do we have a deal?'

Mosi's face remained straight as he considered, then he smiled. He took Martin's hand with a powerful grip and shook it.

'That is all I ask. We have a deal.'

'Fantastic.' Martin couldn't help but break into a smile, with Mosi's grip on his hand being the only thing that stopped him from floating away. 'Welcome on board, Mister Mosi. First things first, let's get out of this pit and get those shackles off. Then, we'll start making preparations.'

'I'll go fetch a rope.' Schleckt groaned from above as he disappeared from view.

'Have you thought about how you will get past the camps?' Mosi asked, weighing the shackles as he rose to his feet. 'You know they will not let you anywhere near that ship if they can help it.'

Martin caught his amber eyes, and then grinned back.

'Actually, I have. That thing you said about the rebel slaves. Why don't we have them make an appearance?'