"One would have to be a rather calloused lout to think an 'I'm sorry' is going to set any of that aright. It strikes me 'tis a matter for the powers what be, or whose god you die under," he said.

"You think there's more than one?"

"I think everyone believes theirs is the only one. Beyond that, we don't know and no one is sayin'. A well-kept secret, to be sure. I've seen more religions than there are lands to count. Hell, there's probably a score represented right here on this deck. And they all have one thing in common: they think their god is the right and only one."

Nathan fell broodingly quiet. A fiddle and hornpipe broke into a jig on the forecastle, while others clapped and whirled, their feet pounding the boards in great glee.

"A man draws his sword and sees the Devil within, and the horror what can be wrought by his own hand." Intent on his hands, he didn't look up. "The smell of the kill does things, hardens you, makes you unfit for the company of no one other than those who have smelt the same."

Such soul-searching rarely came easy for anyone. Brian battled much the same. Like Nathan, intelligent and educated, he had been compelled by circumstances to commit violence and mayhem. For Brian, it had been clan wars and French kings, but the effect had been the same: a blooded sword and haunted by the eyes of the dead staring back.

Cate recalled well Nathan's rant in St. Agua, flaring at her for suggesting he might violate the virginal daughter of the town's mayor. She understood now that his anger at St. Agua had not been aimed at her, as she had thought, but at himself.

"So, you don't think you can put the genie back in the bottle?" she asked.

Nathan's head came up at that. The gold of his smile glinted in the lamplight. "Oh, so you've heard those tales as well."

"A few, when I was a child," she said, determined not to be diverted. "There is more civilized in you than you think."

Nathan brought his face to the wind. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply. "I've killed men, many men; more than I care to list. I've hacked and bludgeoned, and shot and beaten..."

He bit his lip, shying from completing the thought.

"There is a hell, you know," he said conversationally. He glanced from the corner of his eye. "Have you ever thought about what it is?"

The question was posed as one not intended to be answered. He tapped his chest over his heart. "It's right here. It's a hell of one's own making and there is no hell like the one you can provide for yourself. Dante's Inferno held nothing compared to the tortures a man's own soul can provide. There were no flames, unless of course, burning is what you fear most."

"You don't think of Heaven?"

Nathan smiled grimly. "I've seen nothing to prove it to be no more than a pipe dream. Pirate, darling," he said gesturing toward their general surroundings. "St. Peter has no place for the likes of us. One such as yourself need not worry about Hell, for such a place would never befall one as pure as you."

"I'm hardly pure," Cate scoffed under the singing on the foredeck. "I've slashed, killed, shot-"

"Aye, and all for the purest of reasons."

He gazed at her with startling gentleness. "There is no horror in you, darling. You're not capable. One is not a monster if driven by monstrous deeds. That's survival and 'tis what we are put on this ol' Earth for."

"And you?"

"I've a list of wickedness a dozen times over and all for the worst of reasons: I exist because I must. A better man would have found another way."

"And die in the process?" She pointedly looked toward his hand and the "S" branded there. "You had few choices."

"Aye, but choices nonetheless." Nathan looked dispassionately down at his hand. "I could have cut the thing away and be done with it."

"But you said that would have been a victory for the man who put it there. That kind of resentment and hatred turned inward can be an ugly thing. I've seen it," she added to his skeptical look. "As you said, all that doesn't make you a beast; it makes you a survivor. How much of that was done because if you didn't, they were going to do it to you?" she pressed in the face of him attempting to wave her off.

The corner of his mouth tucked up grimly. "Most of it."

"And how much of it did you do because you enjoyed it?"

He snorted, looking away. "None of it."

Cate moved closer, ducking her head to catch Nathan's eye. "The savage can't recall a single face of his victims; the decent is haunted by them all. The truly wicked man wouldn't give any act a second thought. That you worry is proof you're not."

He was a man who could hide every thought, and yet a series of thoughts could be seen crossing his features. There was the flicker of discomfort at having a well-kept secret discovered, and then the wonderment of how she could have known. Next came awe of her insight. And finally acceptance, with a bit of redemption, in knowing he wasn't alone.

"Pipe down!"

She jumped at Hodder's bellow, calling the men to their hammocks. There was no pipe per se, but the effect was the same. Those on the forecastle gathered their instruments and filed past. The men on watch were about, but occupied elsewhere. The two of them were alone as could be on a ship of over a hundred.

Nathan stirred from the thoughts into which he had retreated. "Are you saying I should go back...to the real world?" he asked, with a mocking roll of his eyes toward the distant civilized world.

"No," she said evenly. "In many ways, it's more treacherous there than here. I've seen lying, cheating, betrayal, blackmail, rape, stealing, and treason, and all by civilized people, often with titles. Pirates are more civilized than many back there in their salons and parlors. All I am saying is: if you're unhappy, there are choices."

The knotting paused as Nathan leaned an arm on the rail and gazed at the night. At one point, he glanced toward his hand, where the brand laid unseen. His gaze shifted to fingers curved around the knotwork and the images of the swallows across his knuckles, all the while glancing from time to time at her from the corner of his eye. The corner of his mouth tucked wryly and he straightened, decision made.

"If I have to face Hell itself and twice a day to have what I have now," he said, his gaze intent on her face, "then I'll keep it the way it is and say 'Thank you, very much.'"

Nathan held up the cord between his hands, the lantern light bright on his smile. "There."

The cord had been converted into a delicate necklace. A pendant-like knot anchored the center, the looping sides almost lacy. An identical, but smaller knot made the closure.

"It's exquisite. Where did you ever learn to do that?" Cate cried.

"Years on a ship, luv, several of which were spent on the spice routes. Here, turn 'round."

"It's for me?" Flattered and baffled to near speechlessness, she did so, lifting her hair out of the way.

Passing it around her neck, Nathan worked with the closure for some moments. Finished, his hand lingered at the curve of her neck.

"Let's see how it answers." Nathan turned her back to face him and re-arranged the center decoration. "It looks fine. This is a Chinese knot for good luck.

"I notice you're not wearing one."

"No need." He gave his head a quick shake to jangle his bells, and then touched the tattoo at his neck. "I've plenty of me own charms."

"I love it." Cate anxiously felt for the pendant. It hung just below the notch of her collarbone.

"Wet it a few times to tighten the knot and it will never come off-unless you desire it, of course," he quickly added.

"Never!" It was her first gift in years.

Cate kissed Nathan on the cheek, the impulsiveness embarrassing them both.

"Thank you, Nathan. You're a true friend," she said, her cheeks heating.

Nathan's smile faltered, and then faded. His reply went forgotten as he stiffened. His head came up like a hound on a scent. His hand went to his sword as he stepped before her, pushing her back against the bulwark. The space between the gun carriages was now a small fortress, Nathan poised at its entry.

Cate strained to listen, trying to fathom what it was he had heard. Nothing. Wind, water, block and canvas: only the Morganse spoke. Her humanity, however, had fallen uncommonly mum.

Pryce loomed out of the darkness. "D'ye hear it?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

Nathan nodded, his head still canted. He waved Pryce aft with his sword, a mouthful spoken in a single gesture. Pryce nodded gravely and faded away. Nathan turned for the bow, but stopped, of two minds whether to leave her there or take her with him. Decision made, he took her by the arm, a twitch of his mustache bidding her quiet.

Up to the forecastle and down, then working his way aft, Nathan cruised the deck without so much as a footfall or bell tinkle. Cate pressed her skirt against her legs, the mere rustle of the fabric seeming to shatter the stillness. The people they passed hooded their eyes, fixing their attention on whatever they were doing. They had heard it too-whatever had been-and made every effort to appear otherwise.

Aft of the capstan, they met up with Pryce. Hodder was now with him, a bludgeon in his fist, his multitude of rings as silent as Nathan's bells. Nathan angled his head ever so slightly in question, the pair's almost imperceptible shake of the head his answer.

Nothing.

Cate ventured to whisper to Nathan, "What was it?"

The corner of his eye drew down at her ignorance.

"Round shot." Spoken so lowly, it was more a matter of reading his lips than hearing.

She did recall hearing the hollow rumble of a cannonball rolling.

"'Tis the message of conspiracy," Nathan added.

"The goddamned, yellow, lurking, lump o' roguery. A scug of a beast o' the two-legged, back-biting kind what doesn't have the balls to show his face." The starlight caught the hatred that glittered in Pryce's eyes.

"'Tis meant either as warning or announcement that something's afoot," Nathan said with considerable more reserve.

"Something?"

Her puzzlement brought a sharp look from the corner of his eye. Of course, how could she be so dense?

Mutiny.

The shot garlands lining the bulwark between the guns were always full, ready to hand for battle, but also for someone who, under the cover of darkness, wished to set one on its way. The air on her arms raised and her neck prickled. The so very familiar deck suddenly became a forbidding jungle. Shadows she could have earlier named were now possible lairs for predators, every creak impending assault.

"You've a knife?" Nathan asked.

Cate nodded, touching the side of her skirt.

"Good. Go find your best," he said to Pryce and Hodder. "Arm and post them. You'll find me in me cabin."

The tone of his voice suggested he wouldn't be lounging about reading, nor playing draughts.

The three exchanged significant looks. None of this had come as unexpected. Pryce and Hodder sketched a salute and set off. Nathan guided her inside.

"Sleep well," he said urging her around the curtain and to her bed. "'Tis naught to be worried about."

It was worth noting his pistol was still in hand. Another, seized from its hiding place inside the urn at the door, was now stuffed in his belt.

Cate stood staring at the curtain, once again in stunned wonderment of Nathan's ability to understate.

Sleep came...finally, in fitful bursts. Cate jerked awake at every creak of a block or plank, slap of a wave, or heavy tread. Daylight came at last by way of the port overhead distinguishing itself from the bulkhead. Its square of light on the floor progressed from a thin grey to lavender, to pink, to coral, and then finally the glow of full day.

Gray and grave, Pryce and Hodder gave their Captain their morning reports while she and Nathan were at the table. Nothing notable. Nothing remarkable. Nothing to portend. The round shot, however, had not set itself rolling.

The tension was palpable. The hands smiled, but not as readily, their laughter sounding forced. There were no robust hails from the tops or forecastle. Everyone suffered a tendency to jump at routine noises: a rigging knife or marlinspike dropped, a bucket kicked over, or the scuttlebutt dipper hitting the deck. As Nathan, Hodder, and Pryce went about their duties, their voices were louder and more imposing, Hodder's reaching bone-rattling proportion. The trio moved in an ever-shifting triangulation. If one was aft, the other was forward, another amidship. It couldn't be missed that this orchestration included one of them always within a few paces of wherever she happened to be.

Feigning interest in anything, Cate found herself examining each face from the corner of her eye, in search of clues as to who the conspirators might be. It was altogether disquieting to think the ones now smiling and knuckling their foreheads as they passed could have been the perpetrators. The ship suddenly became a very small space.

No accusations were made, but neither were there inquiries, for Nathan knew the effort would be wasted. Behind every carefully blank face could lie the truth, but only a lie would be his answer. Nathan was eloquently familiar with the watch lists and duty rosters. He knew who would have been on deck, who would have had the opportunity. She had the impression he strongly suspected who the conspirators were, but was disinclined to act...yet.

Cate watched Nathan go through his paces, the Master of Denial on stage once more. There was a secondary discomposure, however, another burden that Nathan carried. It was most evident when she was in close proximity, but it wasn't until that night that she was to discover its nature.

Cate woke with a start.

After Bullock's comments, she was prone toward waking at the least noise. She wasn't sure how long she had been sleeping. It was late enough for the moon to have risen, its icy-blue shaft slicing the cavernous dark.

She heard again what had wakened her: footsteps and rustling in the salon. She rolled on her side to see a thin band of light squeezing underneath the curtain. The noise was perplexing; at that hour, Nathan was usually much more discreet. It could have been Pryce. The Captain's cabin was public domain on a pirate ship, but it was rare for anyone to avail themselves of the privilege. A swish of bells, nearly obliterated by the commotion, announced it was Nathan, although the cadence of his step was unrecognizable. His boots scuffed to a stop. There was the soft pop! of a cork being dislodged from a bottle, followed by the slosh of liquid and an enthusiastic gulp. Whoever it was needed a drink badly.

The pacing resumed. Growing more animated, it spiraled until its orbit centered before the curtain. Cate wondered if the performance was meant to draw her out or if Nathan was too preoccupied to realize where he was. Finally, the boots stopped, the toes protruding under the velvet.

There was the canvas-like rip of a throat clearing, as if there was a chance she would have slept through the preceding performance.

"Madam, I desire an audience, if you please," called Nathan in uncommon formality.

Her curiosity dampened by trepidation, Cate rose, shrugged the quilt over her shoulders, and went to meet her summons.

Nathan fell back a step, apparently surprised that she had done as he bid. He ducked a rigid bow and beckoned her to the table to sit. With little reason to decline, she did. The fact that he was disturbed by something, and that something had to do with her was eloquently clear. If he had been a cat, his hair would have been standing on end. As it was, it roiled about his shoulders like a tangle of snakes.

He took another drink from the bottle clutched in his fist, then, as an afterthought, thrust it toward her. "Drink?"

She eyed the proffered bottle warily. "Am I going to need it?"

"Mebbe." For as expressive as Nathan could be, he also could be maddeningly opaque.

Heeding the less than subtle warning, she took the bottle. Hesitating-God! She hated the stuff-she braced and took a sip. He took pleasure at her ensuing shudder. Jerking a terse nod, he set to pacing once again.

"Madam, there has been a calculated attack on me character, a scurrilous and grievous affront of which I cannot abide."

Cate had seen magistrates conduct business with less officiousness. His formality was wholly uncharacteristic and not a little disquieting, but she kept her features carefully arranged as unobtrusive and attentive as possible.

"There have been a number of matters that have come to me attention which demand being addressed. Firstly, there was the unfortunate scene with me bunk."

Now frowning slightly, Cate strained to follow his train of thought. It finally came to her: a few days after her arrival, Nathan had caught her dragging it outside. In her own defense, it had looked suspect and smelled worse; she had only wished to air it. It hadn't occurred to her at the time, but in retrospect, she could see how he might have taken offense.

Her attempt at an apology was cut off.

"And then, there was the matter of the decks, in me own cabin, I might add."