The blindfold was the last piece of the scene James fully processed. His mind had noticed everything else first, then circled back to it, the way a man might leave the worst letter unopened while he dealt with all the others.

James stood in the doorway and forced himself to take stock of what was actually in front of him.

The situation was somehow even worse than he’d first assumed.

A French naval captain. Completely naked. In the middle of ’disciplining’ a woman tied and blindfolded across his own desk.

The ship was under attack. Pirates were boarding. Men were dying outside. Yet the captain had apparently decided that was the prime time to indulge in degeneracy.

James had already drowned once tonight. He’d thought that would be enough strangeness for a single evening.

Apparently the universe disagreed.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the voice had gone silent.

It seemed satisfied with its commentary.

"Henri?" the woman called from behind the blindfold.

Her voice sounded mildly annoyed rather than frightened, as though she were waiting for a delayed carriage instead of lying bound on a warship.

"Why’s it suddenly so draughty in here? And what in God’s name is all that noise?"

The captain didn’t answer.

Instead, his attention shifted toward the pistol stand near the edge of the desk. The movement was slow and cautious.

The man had already chosen his next action.

That gave James only one option.

He crossed the cabin before the captain’s fingers closed around the grip. James caught the man’s wrist at the same moment the captain seized the pistol.

For one ridiculous instant they both held the weapon.

The pistol discharged into the panelling.

The crack filled the small cabin, loud enough to feel like a cannon firing in a closet. Wood splintered from the wall.

The woman screamed.

It wasn’t fear alone. It was the furious shock of hearing a gunshot explode nearby while blindfolded and completely helpless.

The captain reacted immediately.

His free hand struck James’s wrist hard enough to tear the cutlass loose. The weapon skidded across the floorboards and disappeared beneath the desk.

A heartbeat later the Frenchman drove into him.

They crashed to the floor together.

The corner of the desk slammed into James’s hip. Then the deck hit his back. The captain landed on top of him and kept coming, giving him no chance to recover.

Both men fought for leverage, and James immediately discovered a problem.

A naked opponent was very uncomfortable to wrestle against.

Sweat made the situation even worse.

A knee slammed into his ribs.

James twisted through the pain, got an arm beneath the captain’s chin, and drove him sideways into a desk leg hard enough to shake the furniture.

During the struggle, with one of the man’s legs pinning his own, James became aware of something pressing against his hip.

For a brief, hopeful moment he assumed it was a belt buckle.

It was not a belt buckle.

The realization sent a shudder through him.

He used that moment to drive an elbow into the captain’s jaw.

Bone cracked against bone.

The Frenchman recoiled just enough.

James shoved hard and tore himself free.

They scrambled apart and lurched to their feet almost simultaneously, both breathing hard.

Somehow the captain regained his feet faster than a naked, unarmed man had any right to.

He attacked first, throwing a wild overhand strike.

James slipped beneath it and hammered a punch into the man’s ribs.

The captain doubled over with a harsh grunt.

Then he came back up swinging.

The return blow caught James squarely on the jaw, precisely where another Frenchman had already battered it earlier.

White light flashed across his vision.

For half a second the world vanished.

When it returned, he was angrier than before.

James spotted his cutlass near the wall.

The captain saw him notice it.

That instantly turned the weapon into the objective for both of them.

The Frenchman lunged.

James reached it first by less than a step.

He scooped the cutlass up and slashed as he turned.

Steel opened the captain from hip to ribs.

Blood burst across the cabin wall.

The Frenchman made a harsh choking noise and staggered two steps before his legs gave way beneath him.

He collapsed in a spreading pool of red.

This time he didn’t get back up.

James stood over the body, breathing hard.

Warm blood ran down his forearm where the marine’s cut had opened again.

"Christ."

He looked around the cabin, addressing the room, the voice, and anything else that might have been listening.

"Wrestlin’ a naked Frenchman. Add that to the list of things I never wanted to my soul."

He crossed to the desk and cut the ropes binding the woman’s wrists. Then he removed the blindfold.

She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted.

James gave her a moment.

Finding oneself suddenly untied in a room containing a dead man seemed the sort of situation that deserved at least a little patience.

Her gaze moved across the cabin.

First the blood.

There was rather a lot of it.

Then the cutlass in his hand.

Then the body itself.

Finally him.

James watched the pieces come together behind her eyes.

He’d expected questions. Perhaps panic. Possibly accusations.

Instead she simply looked him over as though deciding whether he represented a new problem.

Apparently reaching a conclusion, she nodded once.

"Well."

James waited.

"That’s the last time I take work off a Frenchman."

He bent, retrieved the captain’s coat from the floor, and draped it around her shoulders.

"Seems like a sensible policy. What’s yer name, lass?"

"Meg."

She pulled the coat closed and rose to her feet.

"Margaret, if you’re asking proper. Out of Port Royal, though God knows how I ended here."

"James."

He grinned despite the protest from his bruised jaw.

"Whores and pirates, eh? Been keeping each other employed since the world started."

"Charming."

She didn’t sound offended.

Outside, the shouting changed.

It was closer now and considerably louder. A French officer barked somewhere beyond the cabin wall.

James didn’t understand the words.

He didn’t need to.

The tone told him everything important.

"Right."

Then he hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack. The captain’s borrowed coat did what it could, but James suspected it still left a great deal of her rear exposed to the evening breeze, which likely explained the indignant noise that followed.

He walked through the cabin door.

Rain, wind, and noise crashed into them at once. The warmth of the cabin vanished instantly.

Ahead of him, the steps from the quarterdeck led down to a situation that had deteriorated significantly since he’d gone below.

His crew had been forced back toward the rail.

French sailors now outnumbered them.

Steel flashed through the rain as both sides struggled for position.

"Oi! Cap’n found himself a lady friend!"

"Bloody hell, where’d ye get her?"

"Is she part of the prize, or do we have tae return her?"

"Shut yer mouths, all of ye!"

Cudjoe’s voice cut through the noise without needing to rise.

Somehow that made it more effective.

He stood near the rail, soaked through, weapon in hand.

"Trail’s lit, Captain. We’ve maybe two minutes before this whole ship blows to smithereens."

"Ye magnificent bastard."

James pointed at him.

"Remind me to promote ye if we survive the next five minutes."

"I’m already the quartermaster. What are ye promotin’ me tae, guardian angel?"

Then James spun toward the rest of the crew.

"Everyone, over! Now!"

The retreat began immediately.

Pirates peeled away toward the rail in groups of two and three, dropping or swinging back toward their own ship. French sailors surged forward to try and stop them.

James searched for the route he wanted and found it.

One rope of the frigate’s rigging still hung slack between the vessels.

He grabbed it and launched himself over the rail.

Meg’s grip tightened hard around his neck.

The rope carried them out over the dark water between the hulls.

Rain struck his face.

For a single long moment both ships seemed distant.

Then the deck of the Bloody Rose rushed up beneath them.

They landed hard.

James absorbed most of the impact. He rolled across the deck, and Meg landed partly on top of him with a grunt that probably cursed his entire extended family.

He coughed, soaked and bleeding.

Across the gap, the French frigate still glowed with warm light spilling from her stern windows.

Somewhere below, a burning fuse was running out of time.