“A rough version of a grenadier,” said Yarrow. Seeing Zander’s blank expression, they clarified, shrugging. “A bomb. A small one, usually made with an iron ball and gunpowder, and lit with a fuse. But if you know what you’re doing—and I do—anything can be turned into a makeshift grenadier with enough gunpowder and a bit of pitch.”

“It can, if you have a partner with excellent aim,” Theo said, pulling out his pistol and twirling it playfully in circles. Yarrow winked at him in response.

“I made one shortly after we encountered the Marin vessel. I had a bad feeling.”

Zander nodded as the story started to make sense. The item Theo pulled from Yarrow’s satchel was a makeshift explosive device. Theo must have thrown it to the ground before shooting at it with his pistol, triggering the explosion. The two of them would’ve needed to jump first, then set off the bomb in midair.

Zander smirked. “That was risky.”

“Aye,” Theo said. “But it worked. We stayed out of sight in the water until Lord Prick’s men cleared out, then we climbed back on board to find you lying there.”

Zander nodded, silent. He tried not to let the fact that Theo and Yarrow were in on Ace’s plan from the beginning bother him, but it gnawed at the pit of his stomach, nonetheless. When he found Ace and rescued her, he had some serious questions to ask her about their relationship, secret husband aside.

He looked again toward the crevice in the room—his bedroom, as he’d come to think of it. It felt empty now. Through the broken wood he could see the colors of sunset painting the sky. He wanted to leave now, wanted to never sleep again until he laid eyes on Ace, but his exhaustion was bone-deep. Looking at his friends, he could see they were also at the end of their reserves.

“Algarve it is, then,” he said. “At first light we’ll tend to the sails and other necessary repairs. Then we’ll sail.” He looked between his two friends for confirmation. They both nodded.

Zander took several steps backward, plopping down onto the bed with a sigh. Yarrow moved toward him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Get some rest, dear,” they said.

“You, too,” he told them as they made their way out of the room.

When the door closed behind Theo and Yarrow, Zander let out a long sigh. He felt his body and soul sag under the weight of his sadness.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out Ace’s compass. He turned it over and over in his hands, his thumb stroking the wood appreciatively. He unfastened the hinges, opening the lid and staring at the dial inside.

“We’ll find her,” he whispered to the compass. She was his North Star. He had to find her.

He looked again at the destruction around him. The bed where Zander had held his love for so many nights was littered in debris. He couldn’t help but think of it in a poetic sense—the soft, warm cushions where he’d spent the most peaceful moments of his life, littered with the wreckage of that comfort as it was torn away from him.

He looked at the floor. Just by his foot was a green seashell Ace brought on board from Azores. A pile of crushed purple petals Zander recognized as a flower she picked in Bermuda lay just beside her desk. Small rocks and pebbles of all sizes slid or rolled back and forth with the soft waves. Her favorite book—the one she’d been reading to him—lay open on the floor, dangerously close to a puddle of water forming nearby.

Painfully, Zander hauled himself up and crossed the room to the book. He picked it up, carefully skimming through the pages, looking for damage. The dried leaf Ace used as a bookmark was still tucked securely between them.

He placed the book gently on the built-in shelf behind Ace’s desk. He stooped, retrieving a large piece of dead coral from the ground and putting it back in its place as well. He said a silent prayer of thanks that so much was left behind. Ace’s money, a few jewels, even some clothing had all been taken. But the important things—the things Ace truly loved—had been left behind, discarded as trash.

Zander spent the next hour carefully collecting Ace’s treasures and putting them back in their places. When his head finally hit the mattress, a wool blanket fastened against the hole in the wall to keep the cold at bay, he was asleep in seconds.

13

“Fuck,” Zander muttered, shaking his hand to dispel the pain that blossomed on his fingertips. He resisted the urge to plunge his burning fingers into his mouth to soothe them. They were coated in pitch.

Yarrow made a tsking noise under their breath, reaching for Zander’s hand so they could inspect it.

“I’m okay,” Zander said, shaking his head. “You warned me.”

“I did,” Yarrow agreed.

Zander took a deep breath, resolved to ignore the pain in his hand, and reached for the container of viscous liquid again. He scolded himself internally for not being more careful. He was rushing, his anxiety over getting to shore and finding Ace growing by the second.

The three of them had been awake since dawn. After hauling buckets of water from the bilge that had leaked in overnight, they began work on the sails. Zander made hasty repairs that made him cringe to look at, but the sails were functional. Still, they’d been sailing painfully slow since then. It wasn’t yet noon, but Zander felt like time was slipping away from them.

There was not but a light breeze pushing them toward shore, and a heavy fog surrounded them the closer they got to Algarve. Zander anxiously checked Ace’s compass every few minutes. Theo, who was at the helm, joked that even if they ran straight into a cliffside in the dense fog, they were moving so slowly it wouldn’t feel like much more than a tap.

He carefully painted more pitch over the large canvas ball, his hands shaking. The pitch would soon harden the outer edge of canvas, protecting the store of gunpowder inside. A fuse made of yarn soaked in linseed oil stuck out at one end.

Yarrow had explained the glass bomb they’d detonated with Theo’s gun the day before was far more difficult to make. It was meant to be detonated immediately and from afar. They spoke of it as if it was made with a secret formula, and Zander wondered where else they’d used the signature device before.

For the purposes of their impending rescue—namely, making lots of noise, setting a large fire, and snatching Ace in the ensuing chaos—a more basic explosive would work fine.

Their plan had come together in bits and pieces as they worked. Theo seemed confident he could find passage to Porto using what supplies they could scavenge from the ailing sloop. They hoped that in addition to horses, medicine, and weapons, Abilio might send a few men with them as backup, as they expected the Sanz estate to be well-guarded. Ideally, they would use stealth and a well-timed distraction to find Ace, but they would be prepared for a fight, nonetheless.

Zander let out a long breath as Yarrow carefully lowered the finished grenadier to the deck. They’d stretched their supplies to make three fist-sized devices, one for each of them. Yarrow’s satchel was air drying over a piece of rigging, having been soaked in the sea, its contents emptied when they jumped overboard. All three would fit nicely in the satchel until they could secure packhorses. Theo’s gun vest was already dry and strapped to the pirate himself, though its holsters were empty. Upon asking, Zander learned the vest had been designed by Yarrow, who paid a friend to make it for Theo’s 36th birthday.

“Oy,” Theo hollered from his position on the upper deck. He had the telescope to his eye. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s land up ahead.”

Zander released a breath of relief, smiling for the first time since he woke up on deck and realized his life had imploded. He reached over to squeeze Yarrow’s shoulder gently as he stood. He retrieved Ace’s compass, which was sitting open next to them, then made for their quarters.

His black jacket—the one Ace encouraged him to buy in Porto—was spread neatly on the bed. He donned it, buttoning it tightly around his waist. He attached Ace’s ivory-handled blade to his belt. He tucked his daggers securely in his boots, one on each side. In his jacket pockets he placed a flint and steel, Ace’s compass, and a flask filled with watered-down wine.

Zander turned, catching his reflection in the small mirror Ace had attached to one wall. He barely recognized the man there. When he’d come aboard, he was every bit the poor tanner’s son—strong shoulders, rough hands, and a deep-seated sense of shame. Invisibility was a skill he’d honed well throughout his life, but he’d soon become invisible to even himself, simply floating through life, waiting for something he couldn’t quite name.

Before him now stood a pirate. He’d lost the perpetual hunch in his shoulders, the downcast look in his eyes. He stood tall now, his face looking forward at the world, his green eyes lucid and discerning. He still had the same strong shoulders and rough hands, but his body appeared more balanced, more well used. His hair was long now, long enough to tie back, but strands of it always seemed to escape and fall across his face. His face, which he’d always kept clean shaven, now sported a dark brown mustache and beard, which he kept trimmed.

He took one last hard look at himself in that mirror and prayed the man he saw was strong enough to do what needed to be done. He turned, surveying Ace’s room again, hoping he’d stand here again soon, Ace’s hand in his. Then he left.

When he emerged on deck, Theo and Yarrow had transformed as well. Yarrow’s satchel was tied around their waist, their long shirt almost covering it. Theo had a pistol attached to one hip and a sword at the other. He smiled at Zander as he walked toward them.

“You ready to get your girl back, mate?” he said.

Zander smiled, energized by the sight of land slowly coming into view behind his friends. He opened his mouth to answer, but then he saw sails emerge from the fog to the Northwest, and a black flag, and his words were swallowed by terror as a cannon shot rang out across the water.

***

The three of them hit the deck at the same time, covering their heads. Theo’s arms went around Yarrow, cradling them protectively. The cannon shot hit the water just to the side of them—too close.

Zander looked again at the ship. It was big, much larger than theirs. A cursory glance showed it was well manned; at least sixty men were gathered on deck.

“Where is the white flag?” Zander called to Theo and Yarrow.

“There!” Yarrow yelled, pointing to a corner where they’d piled debris the day before. He crawled toward it on his belly. Another shot rang out, this one closer. His hands closed over the flag, and he tore it from its place amid the rubbish. Theo was at his side now, and he took the flag roughly from his hands, holding it high above his head and waving it desperately in the air.

The ship was right in front of them now, and longboats were already being lowered into the water. They seemed to have seen the flag, as they were no longer firing, and Zander could hear laughter ringing out amongst the crew. Zander stood and walked to where Yarrow stood, warily watching the ship.

Yarrow looked up at him, their mouth set in a thin line.

“Take a deep breath, love,” they said. “Steady yourself. These are the pirates you’ve heard stories about.”