“A pirate who aimed to kill me first.” Jack opened the door and paused but didn’t look back. “My father.”
The Black Otter was already alongside the unsuspecting ship when I crept onto the foggy deck. It has only taken me a moment to find the scabbard for my new sword, but it was in that moment that I lost sight of my husband.
“Jack,” I whispered into the silence. “Jack? Where are you?”
I stood there, ignorant of how to proceed and feeling strangely lost. From the fog came a sudden sense terror turned my blood to ice. My breath hitched in my throat.
Something was happening. But what? Where? And to whom? I shook off the cloak of chilly fear and opened my mouth to call out to my husband.
An ironlike hand fell onto my shoulder and my words died on my tongue.
Jack.
I closed my eyes and exhaled in a huff as I reached to grasp the hand that had found me. “Thank G—” My eyes flew open, hard and fast. This skin was much too rough. I swiveled my head slightly and squinted into the fog.
The Poison Lightning’s face appeared before mine like an apparition. His grip tightened on my shoulder as he placed a finger over his lips. Eyes, black like boiled coffee, stared into mine as his tell-tale finger melted away from his taut lips and disappeared into the fog that surrounded us.
I started to nod, to show him that I understood his message of utter silence. Before I could, the hand that disappeared exploded forth and met my stomach. Palm open, The Poison Lightning’s sinewy hand patted and grabbed across my stomach in awkward pats until it reached my hip. The fingers that gripped my shoulder tightened.
Oh God. Words swirled in my mind and crashed together like gulls in a gale. This man is going to have his way with me.
My fingers tightened around the grip of Jack’s sword as I prepared for my first kill.
The Poison Lightning’s experienced hand brushed my fingers aside as easily as one would brush flies from a pie. Quicker than I could comprehend, he yanked my new sword free of its scabbard and pushed me down. Hard.
My knees met the boat deck with a crack and The Poison Lightning let go of my throbbing shoulder.
My sword glinted in the dim light. I made a dive for it, but The Poison Lightning lifted it high.
“Arggh,” a voice shouted from above.
The metallic clang of swords tolled above me.
“Umph,” someone grunted. A gush of warm rain wet my face as a lifeless body fell to the deck beside me.
I swiped at my cheek. Blood.
Curls of fog wisped away from the dead man. With wide eyes, I searched his face. A long black beard elongated his golden-brown face, and the white turban that curled around his head was dotted with red. I glanced up.
The Poison Lightning extended his hand to me. I took it.
When I was safely to my feet, he pressed the handle of my blade into my trembling fist.
“You saved my life.” The words were a whisper on my lips. Did he know that I thought he was going to rape me? I thought briefly about apologizing but decided against it. If I was going to lead these men, I couldn’t be weak. At least not in their eyes. I gripped the sword’s handle but didn’t sheath it. “Thank you.”
The Poison Lightning didn’t acknowledge my thanks. Instead, he made a V with his fingers and pointed to his eyes. Then, he swiveled his hand to all the area around us.
Yes, I understand, I wanted to say. Keep a sharp eye, because danger is near. But I knew better than to talk.
The sun’s rays breached the cool fog as I crept along behind The Poison Lightning with my blade held at ready. I thought about all I’d been taught over the last month. Between Jack’s teachings and Solo’s helpful tricks, I’d learned much. Apparently not enough yet to keep my sword in my own sheath. If the situation had been less sinister, I would have shaken my head, but be it as it was, I didn’t. An odd feeling washed over me from nowhere. I furrowed my brows. The top of my head was beginning to burn when I felt it.
I stopped. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose like hackles on a cur. For a moment, I strained to see into the fog, but it was useless. The sun hadn’t been out long enough to burn it off yet. I closed my eyes.
Solo had described this very thing to me. The none-too-distant memory of his harshly-accented Polish words sang in my head.
“It’s called the sixth sense, Red,” he offered as he clanged his sword against mine. I lifted my blade and attacked again as Jack looked on, offering pointers on footwork and posture from where he sat on an overturned box.
“Mrs. Rackham, remember your balance. Hold your arm like I showed you.” Jack demonstrated by curling his arm behind him at shoulder level.
“Like a masquerade dance,” I agreed without looking directly at him. Still, I lifted my arm as he did.
Solo’s piercing stare never left my face. “When a man—or woman—means to kill you or do you harm, something in your body senses it before they even make their first move.”
I drew my breath in slowly through my nose as my sword flew on its own. “Is that so?”
“Be aware of your surroundings. Know what is what and what is where—” Solo jabbed at me. I stepped to the side, behind a curtain of rigging. Solo’s lips tilted into some semblance of a smile. “So that everything around you, boxes, rigging, masts, cannons—they become your ally.”
I tilted my chin.
“But never forget to feel for your sixth sense.”
I froze as the icy steel of Jack’s blade pressed into my neck from behind.
My recent memory fizzled as I took in my environment. This was real, this was now. I tuned out the fear and the heat and let the creaking boards and slapping of the sea water against the helm soak into my senses. Then, there it was.
The sound of someone’s baited breath.
The infinitesimal scuff of a boot, creeping along the deck.
