Over Nathan's shoulder, Cate could see that the Sybilla's bow had swung around. There was an advantage, however, in being sideways to the Morganse'sbow and she took it. She fired. The six-gunned broadside was meant to rake, but had limited effect. Three balls splashed into the sea. Two landed on the deck spent and rolled about like 18-pound marbles. One dashed from bow to aft, its path marked by trail of spurting shards of wood. Nathan spun in round-eyed horror as it streaked for the Great Cabin's door. Cate stood in an odd fascination, as if entranced by the ball as it hurtled toward her. Her mind screamed for her to duck-she thought she heard Nathan shout-but her feet refused to move, as if stuck in tar. She had the impression of it aiming squarely at her nose and felt her eyes wanting to cross. Then the ball careened off the mainmast and shot over the rail with a heavy whirring sound, the splinters tugging at her skirts.

Nathan glared and swiped a gesture bidding her to get down, back...anything! He wheeled around and cried, "Full aback! Lay 'er in irons!" Pryce and Hodder echoed the command fore and aft.

The Morganse's bow-chasers fired again. The guns must have been elevated and on the rise, for this time the Sybilla's sails took the worst. The Sybilla's own gunsmoke clogged her decks; the Morganse's filling the space between the ships. The Morganse seized the moment and swept in. A shrieking grind and a lurch, which sent Cate scrambling for a handhold, marked the two hulls meeting. Grapnels were flung and the Morgansers poured over the bow. Strips of red flapping, brandishing pistols, cutlasses, boarding axes, and the like, they shrieked like Tartars as they charged and disappeared onto the Sybilla's smoke-choked deck.

The clash of battle drifted from the Sybilla: the roar and cry of men, the scrape of metal against metal, the sporadic pop of a pistol. The deeper cough of muskets came from high above, the sharpshooters hanging like murderous monkeys in the rigging of both ships. The breeze pushed away the lingering great gun smoke, leaving only the thinner curls from the small arms remained. Cate stood on tiptoe straining to see forward through the tumult, and by some miracle, onto the Sybilla's deck, hoping for a glimpse of Nathan. She thought she caught snatches of his voice. It would have required the force of a great gun, if it was to be heard over her heart hammering in her ears.

Damn him! Damn him!

Damn him for putting himself in danger, for being who he was.

"I'll never forgive the bastard, if he gets himself killed." Cate spoke aloud without meaning to, and apparently louder than she thought, for Chin, Hughes, and Cameron gave her a startled look.

Cate looked down at her shaking hands-when did that start?-and worried that in this condition she might not be able to do what was necessary if Nathan came back injured. She buried her hands deep in the folds of her apron, not only to stop the shaking, but to prevent her nails from digging so deeply into her palms.

And then it was quiet, with no more than the clank! and thunk! of weapons dropped.

It was over.

Cate gasped a choking sob of relief at seeing Nathan's head bobbing among his cheering crew. Then he stepped clear of the crowd and into a band of sun breaking through the smoke. Shirt darkened with circles of sweat, sword in one hand, pistol in the other, the whites of his eyes gleamed against his smoke-blackened face. The eyes narrowed as Nathan peered toward her. A flash of white and gold broke the soot when he smiled at seeing that she was well. A tap to his forehead in salute and he disappeared into the jubilant throng of men.

The ships were shifted and secured, the yards triced up lest they tangle. Gangplanks, derrick yards, and whips were rigged, so that the prize might be ridded of her valuables. Judging by the net-load after net-load, passed down through the hatches next to where Cate had set up the makeshift sick berth, most of it was stores: spars, yards, canvas, cordage, blocks, and tar, or victuals.

Tradition held that the defeated captain was to pay his respects to the victor straightaway. After some time and no captain, word was passed. Still no one showed. Incensed by the slight, Pryce was on the verge of apoplexy, threatening to send a detail to drag the "double-poxed, worm-boweled, ill-beseen prick" aboard.

Cate had finished with the wounded. The maindeck being in such chaos, she returned by way of the 'tween deck to the Great Cabin. Nathan was there at the table. She had seen him safe at the end of the battle, but hadn't seen him since. Seeing him now, unbloodied, was better than any tonic.

His face lit at seeing her top the galley steps. "A Butcher's Bill?"

She had hoped for a remark a bit more personal, but after all, this was Nathan.

"The Sybillas must be better sailors than warriors," Cate sighed. "A good number are bashed or broken, but barring something festering, all should survive." She touched wood at the same time. Festering wounds was nothing to take lightly.

The air was pierced by a coxswain's whistle, the Sibylla's, for the Morganse had none. With the pomp befitting visiting royalty, Captain Samuels was piped aboard. The forewarning still did not forearm Cate for the visage which appeared at the door.

Cate had assumed pirates to all be of much the same cloth. Roughly the same age and height as Nathan, Samuels was diametrically opposed to him in more ways than he was alike. He was pale of eye and skin, the latter remarkably so for one who presumably spent the bulk of his life out-of-doors. Thick of nose and lips, his skin, no amount of squinting could have rendered him good-looking. He sported the paunch and jowl that came with good living, puffy and soft. He wore a curled wig, brocade coat, gold embroidered weskit, velvet cape, and breeches with jeweled buckles at the knee. Gleaming Hessian boots, a massive, ornate silver belt buckle, gilt-and-jeweled sword and a pair of carved, ivory-handled pistols completed his ensemble. His crowning glory was a vast-brimmed cocked hat, its purple plume curling nearly to his waist, and a gold-orbed walking staff. Any of those appointments taken individually could have made the man.

Samuels and his contingency filed into the cabin. Hodder, Pryce, MacQuarrie, and the Morganse's equivalence to officers were present, the impressive figures of Chin and Mute Maori at the forefront. No introductions were made. Judging by the mood, all present were familiar, too familiar. Pryce's glare froze his features. His disapproval must have been contagious, for it had infected all Morgansers present.

With a flare of cape, Samuels posed in his seat as if at court. Nathan slouched in his chair, one leg slung over the arm. The two bristled like two terriers, circling and sniffing, the table between them more a barrier than a formality. The air snapped with a charge. St. Elmo's fire leaping about the room wouldn't have come as a surprise.

"It would appear roguery agrees with you," Samuels said, regarding Nathan imperiously.

"It would appear selling your soul to the Devil agrees with you."

"Few clouds fail to produce silver linings." Samuels wore a fixed smile. If it was meant to assure, it didn't. If it was to ingratiate, it didn't. If it was meant to obfuscate, it didn't.

Nathan angled his head toward the rum and two glasses, squarely before Samuels. "The bottle stands by you."

Samuels winced. Clearly, he would have preferred to have been paid the honor of having someone pour for him. He filled one and shoved the rest across. A lift of the glass and a nod was the only toast offered.

Rolling the drink in his mouth, Samuels nodded in reluctant approval. "Jamaican."

"Only the best for our guests," Nathan said without a hint of hospitality.

"His Lordship begs I inform you that he doesn't appreciate your little escapades: burning his flag, defacing his ships," Samuels began. He fondled a lace-edged sleeve. "He takes it personal."

"Good, because it 'tis."

Samuels looked up from under his brow. "You can't escape him. His influence reaches around the world."

"Pray tell him I aim to take that sacred influence, stretch it 'round his little empire and strangle him with it."

They locked stares.

"I'll give him the message," Samuels said in a low tone.

"I know you will," Nathan replied evenly.

Cate wasn't quite sure how Nathan managed it: a barely perceptible slide of his eye propelled her around the table, until she was behind and off to the side of Samuels. It was unclear if it was to move her out of Samuels' sight or where Nathan could see her.

Samuels took another drink. "Do you plan to take my ship?"

"Do you plan to give me cause?" Nathan asked, examining his fingernails.

The corner of the privateer's mouth quirked. "I've always come prepared to barter when you're involved, Nathan."

"Ah, the tar pot calling the loggerhead black. Very well, on the table with it."

Samuels gestured to his men, bidding them outside. Once they had filed out, Nathan drew out a leather pouch and tossed it on the table. It landed with the heavy clank of coins.

"Not entering this on the prize book, I'll wager," Nathan mused.

Samuels smile was unwavering.

Nathan tilted his head and squinted one eye. "I knew once of a captain found guilty of that: his crew fed him his balls...roasted."

Samuels smile faltered, and then tightened. "My price has gone up."

"How is it that the man with the noose around his neck is always the one to desire to bargain? And now, he demands to be paid."

"Double."

His drink spewed across the table was Nathan's answer.

"Then triple," Samuels said, his ire rising.

"I could have sworn those were sharks I saw lurking under the counter," Nathan said, with a roll of the eyes.

Samuels' eyes were in constant motion, like a pickpocket darting through a crowd seeking his next victim, taking notice of every aspect of the room, looking for his next means of manipulation, an edge, information to sell next.

Samuels rolled the glass between his hands as he said, "I would have thought you would have had your fill of women aboard."

It was miniscule, but there was a slight crack in Nathan's facade, clearly preferring she hadn't been there. He made a reproving noise, and then darkened. "I would have though you would have a stronger appreciation for your tongue. Another word and I'll cut it out."

"Parlay." Samuels' reminder came as a sneer befitting a play yard.

Nathan was unabashed. "Very well. I'll put it in your lapel and you can take it with you."

Samuels' first impulse was to dismiss the warning. He sobered and eyed Nathan, second thoughts prevailing.

Samuels scoffed. "Empty threats."

Nathan went so very solemn, hardening to a deadly coldness that had been alluded to, but Cate had never witnessed. If it didn't make Samuels nervous, it certainly did her.

"Try me. Name one thing I would have to lose," Nathan said.

Samuels posed with smugness. "What I know."

"Information then is the name of the game," Nathan mused, settling back in his chair.

Samuels winced at having tipped his hand so readily. "Triple."

"Do the words 'hock and heave' carry significance for you?" Nathan fixed him with a stare. "Same as before."

The shoulders under the velvet cape slumped. "Agreed."

Samuels had incrementally sunk lower in his chair with each foray. The exchanges had been a fencing match: lunge, parry, ripost. He now tended to flinch and start at any sudden move on Nathan's part. It hadn't gone unnoticed by Nathan, and he now taunted the man. An overt jerk of his shoulders and Samuels nearly dropped his glass. Cate had the impression that, if Nathan were to go a bit more forceful, the man would launch from the room.

Beads of sweat shone on the bridge of Samuels' nose, when Cate's was met with the sharp smell of fresh paint. A great deal of it would have to have been employed somewhere to account for the strength which wafted through the cabin just then. Merriment of the scheming, mischievous sort could be heard outside, and snickering, like lads tipping privies.

A lizard tongue flicked at a droplet of either rum or sweat on Samuels' upper lip. "This is a parlay. I'm under the flag of truce."

Nathan tented his fingers and shrugged. "Very well. How long do you desire to be aboard under said flag? An hour? A week? I could throw you in the bilges and put you out of mind until the body began to stink."

Another flick of his fingers and Samuels flinched.

"That's against the Code," said Samuels, more dogged.

"So is going back on your word, which is exactly what you plan to do at the first opportunity what presents itself," Nathan said coldly.

A murmur of appreciation came from the heretofore silent audience.

Nathan flashed a smile equal to Samuels' in falseness. "'Tis all a matter of interpretation, and since 'tis my ship, 'tis my pleasure. The same price as before."

Nathan picked up the coin purse and began to casually toss it from one hand to the other, the coins making a tempting clink at every pass. "On to it, then."

Samuels went as alert as a hound on a scent. Nathan's foot came down under the table with a force that brought Samuels an inch or to up from his chair.

"A drink. Information makes me thirsty." Samuels seized the bottle.

Samuels' hand tremored slightly as he poured. He swirled the glass's contents, taking great relish in making Nathan wait. "There's to be a grand celebration," he finally said.

Nathan benignly stared.

"A wedding."

A brow twitched in interest.

"Creswicke's wedding."

Each piece of information came in measured drams.

"To marry Creswicke, a woman would have to be either crazed, soulless or...sold," Nathan said.

Samuels winced. Nathan's acuity was leverage lost.

"Business deal, in the cold light of day," Samuels sniffed disinterestedly. "A rich father, a very rich father."

"Where is this virginous saint now?"

"On her way from Boston."

"When?"

Samuels ducked his head defensively. "No one has all the answers." He took another drink. "She's coming and soon; on her way already, for all I know."

A polite clearing of the throat drew everyone's attention to the door and Mr. Towers standing there. He knuckled his forehead in a particularly seaman-like fashion before the visitors.

"Mr. Sombers' compliments and duty, sir. He desires me to tell you..." He rolled his eyes with the effort of recalling the exact words: "All squared away."

"Very well." Nathan sprang up with the eagerness of someone who had just heard long-awaited news.

"C'mon, c'mon! Show a leg there," he said, urging Samuels up. "I desire you to bless me with your opinion of our handiwork."

Nathan pressed Samuels outside, and then stood back in anticipation. Samuels hesitated, raced several steps forward, and then slowed as he gaped at his ship. The Sybilla'sdeck and every soul present was now bright pink-red and white did indeed make a very festive color. The paint dripped from her scuppers like frosting on a French confection. The giggling from the Morgansers grew louder, amid the muffled thuds as they elbowed each other into silence.

Samuels whirled around. "You gallowsy, false-tongued bastard. We had a deal."

"Which would have only held water until the next person slushed your palm. Don't play righteous indignation with me. Mr. Towers?"

"Aye, sir! Solvents and paints taken n' tossed, as desired, sir. 'Twill be hell to pay a-gettin' it off," he added, unable to curtail his smile.

A paint bucket, pink drooling from its lip, and a brush was delivered to Nathan's outstretched hand. A piece of old canvas was used as a doormat for those pink-footed men, giddy as school children, returning from the Sibylla. Samuels was guided to it. With great care not to spatter, Nathan smeared the rigid Samuels with pink, from the brim of his cocked hat to his Hessian-booted toes. After a few flourishing strokes across the chest for a finish, Nathan dropped the brush into the bucket with two-fingered delicacy.

Grinning, he tossed the money bag to the sputtering Samuels. "Worth every farthing."

Nathan took a step back, cautious of the wet paint. "I deserve a great thanks for saving your ass. How else are to return with credibility without some show of defeat? You're the one what declared no quarter; wanted to blow me out of the water and take me head for the reward."