Chapter 24, Sarah

  I peek my head out the navigators quarters and hear Manee’s voice drifting from the main deck.

  “The planks will hold,” they’re saying, “until they don’t.”

  I walk as slowly as my curiosity will allow, conserving energy.

  “Jake can handle it,” Harken says.

  “He doesn’t know the angles. I do,” Roberts replies, tying her hair back.

  “What’s going on?” I ask Sonya, but then I see the canvas. Roberts with a line in one hand, swinging a leg over the rail.

  “You’re barely standing,” I say, stepping up behind her. “You don’t have to—”

  “I do.” She turns in my direction, but her eyes are glazed over like she’s staring right through me.

  “Why is no one stopping her?” I hiss.

  “She won’t listen,” Sonya says. “We tried.”

  Then Roberts dives, splashing as she goes under. But something about the way she hit the water makes Harken swear under his breath.

  “She’s too far back,” he mutters, already moving.

  “What?” I follow him instinctively. “What does that mean?”

  “She dove too shallow. She’s gonna have to swim hard, or the current will keep her under.” He replies, pacing quickly to the starboard rail.

  More crew have gathered, peering over the edge in search of her.

  “Come on,” Jake says wishfully, rope in hand.

  Gery stands behind him, also gripping the line. Her boots planted wide, ready to haul.

  But seconds stretch and Roberts doesn’t show.

  “She should’ve surfaced by now,” someone says beside me.

  “Maybe she missed it.”

  “She never misses.”

  My stomach drops. A cold sweat breaks across my back. I lean farther over the railing, fingers clutching the wood so hard it burns. I can’t swim. If something’s gone wrong and she’s trapped or unconscious… I can’t do a thing to help.

  “There.” Harken points.

  Roberts breaks the surface well off the mark, gasping. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

  Jake’s rope slaps the water just beside her. She grabs it.

  “HAUL!” He shouts and starts pulling so hard I fear Roberts won’t be able to hold on.

  But then she comes tumbling over the rail half-dragged, half-climbing and I almost let out a cry of relief.

  “Again,” she says, determined. She’s breathing heavily but there’s life in her eyes.

  “Your dive was shallow,” Harken says, “this time—”

  “I know.” She waves him off and gets into position, crouching like a predator on the hunt.

  She leaps, shooting upward first, arms outstretched like wings. Her momentum carries her so high, she seems to hang there, suspended in midair. Then her body curves into an arc as she brings her arms overhead, folding one hand over the other just in time to pierce the surface of the water without a splash.

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  “Better,” Harken says.

  We all move to the port side and begin searching for her again. She surfaces quickly, but she’s even less graceful as she clambers back over the rail.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She steps gingerly, favoring one leg. “Fucking cramp.”

  Harken chuckles, patting her on the back. I can’t help but smile.

  “Fuck off,” she says, scowling and giving him a shove. “And get us underway.”

  “You heard her, raise the anchor!” Harken shouts.

  Roberts turns to go, still hobbling as she walks off the cramp when a crewmate holding a fishing rod stops her.

  “Give us one hour, I saw a school pass under the starboard, I swear it,” they say, eyes darting too fast, shoulders twitching.

  “You’re hallucinating, there are no fish in these parts,” she replies.

  “Let us vote on it…” they say, trailing off into mumbling something.

  “No, Felix.”

  But they don't seem to hear her. They snicker, then burst into a wild mix of laughter and muttering that gets louder as it builds into rage.

  “Your pride will be the death of us,” they spit, drawing a dagger.

  Roberts takes a step back. It’s unexpected, I wouldn’t peg her as one to back down. But then I take another look at Felix who’s practically frothing at the mouth and I understand.

  “You have until the count of three to lower your weapon,” she says, holding up both hands. But it does nothing to stall them.

  Felix launches at Roberts. Every muscle and nerve in my body lights up with the instinct to lunge at them, but Gery is closer. She slams them to the floor from behind, sending the dagger skittering.

  Roberts crouches and picks it up, while Gery pins Felix to the planks with a knee in their back.

  “Do the witnesses confirm that Felix attacked the Captain?” Gery says.

  “Aye, he deserves to die,” someone shouts.

  “Make him suffer,” another snarls. “Cut off his hands.”

  Roberts stands still a beat too long, like her focus is slipping. I shift my weight, unsure if I’m meant to do something, say something.

  Then, with a far-off look in her eyes, she reverses her grip on the dagger and offers it, handle-first, toward Harken. Without a word, they trade weapons. Harken hands over his wide, sickle-shaped cutlass and takes the dagger in return.

  “Gery, hold his arms down,” she says, gripping Harken’s heavy sword with both hands.

  “No…” Felix squirms under Gery’s weight. “Please, no,” he begs.

  I watch as the blade rises and drops once, then again. The cuts are so clean that his hands stay where they are, as if they are still attached.

  Then Gery releases her grip on his arms and when he pulls them back, the hands don’t follow. Felix lets out a scream so sharp it pierces my skull, then another, and another, each one worse than the last.

  “Your imaginary fish will enjoy these,” Roberts says, kicking a severed hand towards the rail.

  I see Sonya wincing, but she doesn’t look away.

  Felix is losing blood fast, and his cries are fading into weak gibberish.

  “Raise a hand to Hellcat…” Gery picks up Felix’s other severed hand and stands, holding it high. “And lose both of yours!” she shouts.

  “Long live Captain Roberts!” Harken bellows.

  “Long live Hellcat!” Manee yells.

  More voices call out, repeating their words in a chant.

  Roberts turns and holds the sword back out to Harken. He meets her halfway, exchanging the sword for the dagger once more. Then she bends down, reaching for Felix. One hand takes a fistfull of his hair, the other angles the dagger at his throat.

  The chanting swells, then breaks apart into a thick, snarling din of bloodthirsty roars rising from every corner of the deck.

  A languid cry, a spray of blood, then Felix goes silent.

  I’ve seen worse. Done worse too. But that’s in the heat of a fight, blurred by adrenaline. A cold-blooded execution hits different. Part of me pities Felix for going out like that. But any soldier knows you don’t draw steel on your commanding officer, especially when they’re unarmed. That’s not insubordination. That’s a death sentence. If Felix was gone enough to do it, then he was already gone for good.

  Roberts lifts a hand, and the noise dies instantly.

  “I know you’re hungry. How desperately you need rum,” she raises her voice, but it frays into a rasp. “If you wish to be put out of your misery you may ask for it. I’ll make sure it’s quick and painless. But if your weapon is drawn, it will be slow and miserable.”

  “Aye, Captain. As for me, I’d rather live to drink in the tavern,” Manee says, stepping forward with a crooked smile. “Preferably on someone else's coin!”

  Manee glances at Harken, who’s wiping his sword, a flicker of surprise on his face.

  They offer a sly smile, as if to say, Yes. That was for you.

  “And in someone else’s lap,” Harken adds.

  That gets a whistle from Gery and a few laughs from the crew.

  Roberts doesn’t smile, but her eyes brighten. She hands the dripping blade to Gery, then heads toward her cabin, leaving a trail of seawater and blood in her wake.

  The crew wait until she’s out of sight to move. Jake steps forward, sleeves rolled, ready to clean up the mess.

  I’ve seen enough of Felix’s limp body, so I let my eyes wander, looking for something else to focus on. I see Harken slap Manee on the ass. Manee smirks and winks at him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.