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   "Then you have my permission to slaughter us should we one day turn into raging monsters," said Hartwell, staring Nani down. "Now, why exactly did you lead us to this God-forsaken spot, Madrigal? And this time, I want the truth."

   Madrigal fidgeted under Hartwell's glare, saw the same expression on most of the crew and decided to tell the truth. "I needed to rescue my brother," he said, nodding toward Anatole.

   "And for that you risked us all?" demanded Hartwell.

   Madrigal nodded, looking defiant but also ashamed.

   "Do not be too hard on him," said Anatole, stepping forward. "He is my elder brother and he has always looked after me, saving me from the slavers, finding me work as a chef. I'm just not very good on my own, you see. I need someone to look after me." His speech was short and delivered in his ridiculous high-pitched voice but had a simple dignity to it.

   "The next time anyone needs to commit to a personal crusade, let me know first," said Hartwell with a sigh. He couldn't bring himself to chastise Madrigal. He would have done the same thing, and more, for his sister. "What's happening behind us, Mister Fitch?" he asked.

   "Damnation!" exclaimed Fitch as he looked up at the fetid town above them. "There's a mob up there grabbing swords and rifles and I don't know what else."

   "I can see them, too!" exclaimed Tench in astonishment as his vision adjusted with a precision unknown to organic eyes. "Most are pointing our way. They're lighting torches and lamps now." As he spoke, tiny orange dots illuminated the blackness.

   "Then we don't have time to search for and to seize the
Plymouth,"
said Hartwell, feeling a strange sense of relief in having an excuse to stay on the old galleon. "We must hope this ship is good for the time being. All on board and make ready to leave."

   "You are seriously going to try and sail this hulk with a crew of the cursed and crippled?" spat Nani.

   "I may be cursed, I may not be," replied Tench, still gazing about him in wonder as his new, improved vision enabled him to see into the darkest shadows, "but I am still loyal to my crew and captain."

   "Well said, Mister Tench," replied Hartwell. "You will all do admirably."

   "Do? And what is that blind, deaf, mute with one hand and three fingers going to do?" sneered Nani. "Be the figurehead for the ship? It's about all he's good for."

   "If he's willing and true, that is enough for me,"snapped Hartwell.

   "I guess she is also willing, though I would not put any money on her being true," said Fitch who was desperately trying not to grin.

   Hartwell turned to the harbour, knowing what he was going to see, though he still groaned at the sight of Ruby staggering toward them, a small bundle over her shoulder.

   "Wait for me," she cried, her hair still smouldering from the fire. "You burnt down my home, you bastards, so you're taking me with you."

   "I believe the ship is full," snapped Mechatronic.

   "I don't care if it's sinking," yelled Ruby, struggling to climb the gangplank. She fell to her hands and knees and wobbled along, her bosom heaving from side to side, almost spilling out of her dress in well-rehearsed movements. "And don't think I'm scared of you, you blue-eyed, silver devil!"

   "And what role do you think you can play on board?" asked Hartwell.

   "Old Ruby's been around a bit, she knows the score," panted Ruby as she laboured up the gangplank. She seemed to find it easier on the sloping greasy wood than she did on the firm ground. "Old Ruby can tie a knot and cook a broth and sing a song and make all the men smile and,

and…"

   She stopped and snuffled, the words running out as she swayed from side to side on the gangplank. Large tears rose up from her red eyes and poured down her lined face. Great sobs heaved within her as she wailed "Old Ruby's been around and she knows the score, she's seen it all and done it all and had it all done to her, has old Ruby." She sniffed and wiped her nose on her dirty dress, oblivious to the embarrassed looks from the crew.

   Hartwell sighed. He was a ruthless man when need be, but he was not a cruel man. "Then get aboard and start earning your keep. The deck needs cleaning, as do all the cabins, and clothes need stitching and the sails need mending. You'll work while you're on board this ship."

   "Yes, Cuptain," slurred Ruby, staggering upright with a superhuman effort. She revolved around three times as she tried to orientate herself before tottering off toward the cabins, throwing a salute that missed her head by six inches.

   "Why?" demanded Mechatronic in displeasure.

   "We have indeed destroyed her home, so the least we can do is give her a new one," replied Hartwell, stiffly, not looking at Mechatronic.

   "And how long do you think she'll last?" asked the silver woman.

   "Not long, judging from her shaking and general health," replied Hartwell. "Hopefully, she can at least get her self-respect back in that time and face her death with a little dignity."

   Mechatronic blew air out between her teeth as though in irritation, but secretly, the quietly spoken man impressed her. He really did seem to have a sense of duty beyond mere words.

   "We are all part of God's plan," announced Pastor White.

   "You haven't explained what you are doing here," observed Sporrit of the pastor, suddenly realising that he hadn't seen him since fleeing the
Plymouth.
Observation and thought were not things that came naturally to Sporrit.

   "Captain Fleetwood had orders to leave me here," replied White with as much dignity as he could muster. "Admiral Johnson has abandoned God and God's representatives of this Earth."

   "Had enough of you, had he?" muttered Fitch. "Now there's a surprise."

   Hartwell turned away quickly to hide his smile. "Mister O'Rourke, what supplies did you manage to salvage?"

   "Not much, Captain. We have some lumber, a few biscuit barrels and some salt pork. Oh, and good news—we found some crates of absinthe." He pulled a bottle from the crate. The light from the oil lanterns gleamed off the glowing green liquid.

   "I like the colour," said Mechatronic. "It seems wonderfully decadent."

   "Excellent. The voyage becomes more civilised by the hour."

   "Don't you think you should use the absinthe for barter?" asked Susanna sharply. She was worried about her brother's drinking habits and there was something inexplicably eerie about the bottles of green alcohol.

   "Liquor is a mocker!" added Pastor White.

   "I only have one vice and I'll be damned if I'll let that one go," replied Hartwell. "Is the ship ready, Mister O'Rourke?"

   "As she'll ever be, but I make no guarantee that she'll last too long," said O'Rourke in a worried tone.

   "We have little choice, so we must take the risk," said Hartwell. "Cast off."

   "Heading, Captain?" asked Madrigal as he took the wheel.

   "Pirate Cove," replied Hartwell.

   Tench gasped. "We can't go there! They'll kill us for sure, given who we are."

   "We can't go back home, either," pointed out Hartwell.

   "But, but, the pirates," stuttered Tench in horror.

   "We cannot get anywhere with only a skeleton crew. We need at least fifty men just to sail a galleon, double that to operate at battle stations and I see only two dozen men, if that. And besides…"

   "Besides what, Captain?"

   Hartwell smiled but without mirth. "We're all pirates now."

   "Even me?" asked Mechatronic.

   "I don't know what you are or what you have done to us, but I do know that I don't trust you because of it." Hartwell turned and stalked away, leaving an expression of anguish on Mechatronic's face, one mirrored on the captain's face though she couldn't see it.

   She turned and walked to the bow of the ship and stood by the figurehead, looking out to sea, alone with her thoughts and unusual feelings.

   To Hartwell, when he risked glancing at her, it was as if the two figures belonged together—both looking out to sea, both immobile, one faded, battered and inert, the other gleaming silver, also battered, but very much alive. He felt a pang that embraced both of them, as though he couldn't bear to lose either and would fight to the death to keep them at his side.

   With his hands clasped behind him and his chin down to his chest in thought, Hartwell descended into the depths of his new ship and new emotions.