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  Albert shook his head. “But not at the cost of his own limbs, man. Take him to his cabin, Ephraim. Let the Lash take care of him.”

  Ephraim Roth sighed and offered Aaron his arm again. Instead, Johnson stood, patted Roth’s shoulder with his free hand, then swayed out of the galley. Roth followed with the rags and unguent in hand.

  )O(

  Henry sighed and curled closer to Aaron. He’d managed to slip some laudanum into the Captain’s drink last night so he’d sleep well. His hand was bad but he’d been hurt worse. He pried himself away from his lover and sat up. While he wanted to stay with Aaron, he knew he had to go above and make sure things were going well. He left Aaron sleeping soundly and headed on deck. He heard McSwain clearly preaching to the crew.

  “And where were they yesterday when the squall arose? In the captain’s cabin buggering! Should any of us be caught doin’ the same, would we not be keelhauled or marooned or, worse, hanged fer dereliction of duty?”

  “Ye’re talkin’ mutiny and I’ll hear no more of it!” Albert’s voice matched McSwain’s for intensity. “Cap’n Johnson’s a good man, as is the Lash. We’ve had nothin’ but success with them, not to mention that this ship belongs t’ the Captain. I have no wish to incur bad fortune with such nonsense.”

  “Aye,” The word kept Henry from stepping forward to challenge McSwain. The voice was Adams. “Which one of us wouldn’t bugger the Captain if given the chance? I think ye’re just jealous, Angus.”

  McSwain snarled, “So where are they now? Lazin’ about while we work our fingers t’ the bone?”

  Henry chose that moment to make his appearance. As his boots thudded against the boards, the crew fell silent, unsure how much he’d heard. He stepped up onto the ladder to the quarterdeck. McSwain stepped forward to block his path. Henry glowered into the green eyes, holding his gaze until Angus gave ground. He turned to look the crew over with a sober expression.

  “I presume you all heard that Robby the powder monkey pitched overboard last night from the nest?” He began, meeting the eyes of the men he knew who cared about the lad. “Do ye know who rescued him?”

  Ephraim Roth raised his hand then spoke up when the Lash acknowledged him. “Cap’n Johnson were goin’ up the lines t’ check on him when he saw the lad fall. He dove in and pulled him out even though he ended up hurt himself.”

  Henry tossed a glare back at McSwain then Albert spoke up. “He nearly took his fingers off with one of the lines. I couldn’t have fished the lad out if my hand was in that shape.”

  Stern played with the bullwhip that gave him his nickname, assuring himself that every man present saw it. “I’ll not entertain any more mutinous scuttlebutt. Those of you who dislike servin’ aboard the Maid are welcome t’ walk away with your share once we make Tortuga. Captain Johnson has been fair and just with all of you. Especially you, Angus.”

  Henry shouldered McSwain aside and scuffed down the ladder. He heard McSwain spit a curse and turned back to see Angus grab for the pistol in his belt. Henry flicked the whip so it wrapped about the pistol and yanked it from the Scotsman’s hand before he could fire. He transferred the gun to his own hand and pointed it at McSwain. A tense moment passed then Stern growled.

  “Try that again, bastard, and I’ll hang ye from a spar by the neck until dead, savvy?”

  Angus snarled silently but turned back to the wheel. Henry spun on his heel and headed back toward the captain’s cabin. He spoke briefly to various crew-members as he went. Aaron would be up and about soon. Once the men saw him back on deck they’d settle down.

  )O(

  He set foot on the island and a chill wind caused him to shiver. He felt a hand clutch his arm and whirled to see McSwain sneering at him. He yanked himself free and began to struggle away from the shoreline. The ground sucked at his boots, making walking nearly impossible. Glancing around, he noticed all the birds were silent, staring at him. He was about to order the men back to the Maid when a woman—not exactly beautiful but not ugly—stood before him. Her eyes glowed like an animal’s in the reflected light.

  “Yer pardon, milady, my men and I will be takin’ our leave--.”

  She seized his left wrist, the light from her eyes illuminating his rope burns. “You hurt yourself saving that boy, did you not?”

  He longed to pull away. The fingers wrapped about his flesh were cold as death. He nodded, leaning away from her.

  “You are a good man, Aaron Johnson. Do not seek out the Isle of the Fates! If you do, you will lose all you hold dear. Do you understand?”

  “Please,” He managed to whisper, pulling at his wrist. “I mean you no harm.”

  She cackled wildly then passed her hand over his burns, healing them instantly. “You may not but there are some in your crew that do. And you, as well. Tell them to stay away from my island. A curse be on the head of every man who sets foot here!”

  “Aye, milady, I will do everything--.”

  “See that you do, Captain!” She laughed shrilly and vanished like a cloud of smoke.

  Aaron turned away from her and began to run, ever so slowly, back toward the longboats resting on the beach. He started to call out to his men to join him when a hand snatched his throat, long nails and sharp-edged rings digging into his flesh. He glared up at McSwain who smirked at him. He tried prying at the fingers but had no luck.

  “And where be you goin’, darlin’?” Angus whispered the words in his ear as if they were sweet nothings. “We have business to undertake. Where’s that witch?”

  Aaron shook his head, unable to answer. He shoved at Angus, trying to get him to move, but a loud clap of thunder near deafened him. A skeleton appeared in the sky, one long bony finger pointed at him, and—

  “Sapphire, love, are you all right?” Henry’s voice reached him before he became aware of the warmth of his embrace.

  Aaron started to answer but paused. Somehow the wraps around his injured hand had come loose. He pulled them off entirely and showed Henry that there wasn’t a mark on his flesh.

  “She healed me!” Aaron kept his voice low but Henry could hear the terror in his words.

  “Who healed ye?” Henry was confused. As far as he knew, there hadn’t ever been a female aboard the Maid.

  “The witch woman. The Île des Destins is her island. ‘Tis a portent, love. We must not go there or-or . . .”

  Henry watched his Captain fall silent, his eyes still wide with fear. He reached for him but Aaron leaped to his feet and began to pace. “It was but a nightmare, love. I promise ye--.”

  Aaron waved his unblemished hand in Henry’s face. Stern drew back a bit and looked skeptically up at his matelot. “So?”

  “So we’ll be cursed! Any man who steps foot on that isle. Please say ye’ll stay with me on the Maid if we go there,” Aaron captured Henry’s face in his hands and kissed him forcefully. Henry could feel him tremble and grabbed his wrists.

  “Aaron, don’t say such things! We’ll be fine,” He pulled Aaron into his lap, wrapping his arms around his mate. “We’ll let McSwain lead the landing party, hmm? What do ye say?”

  Johnson rested his head on Henry’s shoulder. “I’m not sure.”

  Henry laid them both back on the bed, stroking Aaron’s shoulders and back until the tension faded. He sighed and closed his eyes. Seconds later, he shuddered and opened his eyes. The image of Aaron, his eyes wild with fear, made his heart race. He decided to simply hold his matelot until dawn. Within moments, he had returned to sleep himself.

  )O(

  Aaron stretched in his cold bed, wondering where Henry was. He glanced down at his left hand, gripping it tightly then opening it. It was entirely healed, not even a line of scar tissue remained. That couldn’t have happened in just hours. Unless it was magic, He considered and the thought made him swallow hard. If that nightmare was right, he had no choice but to keep the Maid’s crew from making landfall there.

  “Captain? We need you above,” Nuñez’s voice, normally high and thin w
ith nerves, was gruff as if from shouting.

  “Aye, man, I hear ye,” Aaron dressed quickly and as he stood to go, his hand caught on the wrap that had been around his hand. The men, McSwain especially, would not believe him if he told them about his dream—but if he had proof they might.

  “Blasted laudanum,” Aaron muttered as he emerged into the bright sunlight. It was not yet noon and he blamed the drug Henry had given him for the fatigue and waxing headache. As a result, he didn’t notice the men staring at him. When he stepped up beside Angus on the quarterdeck, he did notice the oily sneer on McSwain’s face. “What? Where’s the Lash?”

  McSwain didn’t answer. Instead, he began to walk in a circle around the Captain. When he stopped, he dropped his arm heavily across Aaron’s shoulders. “Ah, sweet Aaron, you answer my question first, hmm?”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Aaron’s voice had dipped to a growl.

  “Where’s the map to the Isle of the Fates?”

  “We ain’t going there,” Aaron grumble. “Place is cursed.”

  To his surprise, McSwain laughed, leaning forward to slap his knee. When he stood finally, wiping at his eyes, he dug his nails into Aaron’s shoulder. “Do ye take me for a fool? There’s no such thing as curses!”

  Aaron pulled away, reaching for the knife he always wore on his hip. He raised the blade to McSwain’s throat. “Ye’re forgettin’ yerself, Angus. I’m the captain of this ship and I choose where we go.”

  “Really?” Angus cocked his head and used one finger to push Johnson’s dagger away from his flesh. He smiled as he looked at something behind Aaron. The Captain resisted the urge to look back when he heard the hammers being drawn back on three, no, four pistols. He flipped the knife around and handed the grip to Angus.

  “Now what?”

  Angus nodded and three men brought a bound Henry out from behind the forecastle. Aaron felt his breath slither out of his lungs and his chest began to ache. Aaron raised his wrapped hand and pulled the bindings off it. “I was injured last night, a serious rope burn. I had a nightmare about that damnable isle and in it the witch healed me. She told me about the curse.”

  “Bah!” Angus snarled and backhanded Aaron hard enough to throw him to the deck. “Ye’re a liar!”

  “You bastard!!” Henry managed to pull away from the men holding him and charged McSwain. “Leave him be.”

  Angus ignored him, “String ‘im up.”

  Henry’s eyes grew wide and he pushed himself between the men and Aaron. Johnson grabbed the Lash by the shirtfront as he gained his feet. He leaned close to whisper, “Do not interfere.”

  “No, love, don’t--,” Henry said, shaking his head adamantly. “Please!”

  Aaron dropped his overcoat on the deck as Benson and Crabbe seized his arms, tying his wrists and hanging him from the mast so his feet barely touched the deck. When the bosun ripped the shirt off his back, Aaron spun around with a snarl. “What’re ye doin’?!”

  The bosun sneered and grabbed the black hair to turn him around. He let the cat o’ nine tails trail down Aaron’s golden, unmarked flesh. “I’ll make a pretty pattern jus’ fer you, Cap’n.”

  Aaron swallowed hard and shook his head. “Nay, Angus. I’m tryin’ t’ save you, man. She’ll call a curse upon yer heads.”

  “What’s he sayin’?” Crabbe asked, staring wide-eyed at McSwain.

  Before Angus could speak, Aaron began to talk. “Yesterday when Robbie fell overboard and I dived in t’ rescue him, I ripped up my left hand. Rope burn, ye know. It-It was bad--.”

  Stern could see that Aaron was struggling to breathe. The position he was hanging in did not help his asthma. Stern took advantage of the fact that they were ignoring him and worked his hands free.

  “It was awful,” Henry declared. “I thought he might lose it. Tolley saw it; ask him if ye don’t believe us. But then Aaron had a nightmare last night.”

  Angus rolled his eyes but let them continue. Henry glanced at Aaron, who was wheezing hard. He continued. “In the dream, Aaron made landfall on the Île des Destins and was confronted by a hag. She healed his hand so he’d have proof. If ye don’t believe him, ask Tolley. Roth saw it too. Ask ‘em!”

  “Aye, I saw it. ‘Tis just as he said,” Albert averred as he stepped onto the quarterdeck. “He could barely move it, the burn was so bad.”

  “And how long should it have taken to heal?” Henry noticed Aaron’s eyes were fluttering and his lips starting to turn blue.

  “A week, maybe ten days or more. It should not look like it does--.”

  The shot that rang out made Henry and Aaron both startle and look for the source. Tolley collapsed to the deck, a bloody hole in his forehead. Henry gaped at Angus, the gun in his hand smoking. He passed the pistol to Gunny, who snickered and handed him another. McSwain turned his attention to Ephraim Roth who stood beside Gunny. “Perhaps ye’d like t’ make a statement, Mr. Roth?”

  Roth looked terrified, his eyes flying from McSwain to Johnson and Stern then back. He shook his head, his eyes apologetic as he looked to Henry. “I saw nothin’.”

  McSwain beamed and glanced at the bosun. “One last time, Aaron, where’s the map?”

  Aaron dragged in air with enormous difficulty then said, “Go to Hell.”

  At the words, Angus nodded. Henry winced when he heard the whistle and crack of the cat as it flew through the air to draw multiple bloody stripes down Aaron’s back. Aaron made no sound though his body jerked with the strike. Henry gritted his teeth. He tried to keep his eyes narrowed to keep tears from dropping down his face. The second strike made Aaron whimper slightly though he tried not to react. Aaron’s head dropped forward after the third strike. Henry couldn’t take another.

  “Stop! No more. Release him and I’ll get yer bloody map,” Henry stepped closer, trying to hear if Aaron was still breathing.

  “D-Don’t,” Johnson rasped.

  Henry turned on McSwain, “Well?”

  Angus nodded. “Be quick about it.”

  Henry practically ran below. He knew all the places Aaron kept his secrets, from the hidden compartment in the headboard of the bed to the sliding panel in the wardroom where he had his best rum. He even checked the false bottom of the trunk in the captain’s cabin. He found nothing.

  He started to panic, wondering if Aaron had burnt the map, until it came to him. He went back on deck and retrieved the overcoat.

  “No, Stern!” Aaron grated but Henry ignored him. With a quick yank, the lining came loose and inside was the map. Stern dropped the coat back to the deck and handed the parchment to McSwain.

  Angus nodded and the rope holding Aaron was cut. He nearly hit the boards except Henry caught him. He sucked in air hard and raised his head to glare at Stern.

  “Sapphire?” Henry found himself short of air.

  “Get away from me, traitor,” Johnson muttered before passing out.

  When McSwain laughed, Henry glowered at him. Instead, Angus spoke. “Crabbe, Roth, take our former captain t’ my cabin.”

  Henry started to follow but Angus’s voice dropped to a hiss. “Where d’ you think yer goin’?

  “He needs doctorin’,” Henry answered then indicated Albert Tolley’s corpse. “An’ he’s not up to the task.”

  Angus smirked. “True but ye see, Stern, Aaron ain’t none of your business anymore. Didn’t ye hear him call you ‘traitor?’ Yer jus’ like the rest of us now, mutineers one an’ all.”

  Henry inhaled to reply but realized McSwain was right. He glanced down at Albert. “Poor bastard but at least your troubles are over. Mine have just started.”

  )O(

  Chapter 4:

  June 1713

  Angus McSwain was never a superstitious man. He preferred to think of himself as a man of science. Having circumnavigated the world, he knew it was round. Having guided ships across vast stretches of unbroken ocean by the constant stars and the fickle moon and sun, he knew that their predictability was a matter of nature—G
od’s hand not entering into it. But for all that, he never once imagined he would end up cursed.

  Curses were the stuff of tales to frighten fools and small children. Curses were meaningless phrases muttered by madmen and crones to get their way. He believed that with all the fervency that Bloody Mary showed on her way to her beheading at the hands of the Protestants. Until the night that he stepped onto the deck of the Saucy Maid and saw all the men on the ship but one were ghost white, their bodies insubstantial as the fog. That one was Aaron Johnson, formerly Captain Aaron Johnson, who had neither set foot on the Isle of the Fates nor touched an ounce of the sea-witch’s cursed treasure.

  At first, he’d been utterly delighted to learn that he could be neither harmed permanently nor killed. His crew had spent the days and nights traveling from the Isle of the Fates to Tortuga blasting holes in one another and running each other through. Their bodies were substantial enough in daylight or by firelight but darkness or moonlight turned them into pale wisps. Angus had wisely kept Aaron below those nights.

  But the novelty wore off after arriving at the port. The men took their spoils ashore and went to serious work whoring, drinking and feasting. And it quickly became apparent that it was all in vain.

  McSwain himself did his own share of carousing but found no pleasure at all. So, after a particularly harrowing night of wenching, calling for girl after girl and finding that none of them could satisfy the agony of desire, he returned to the ship and the Captain’s cabin, calling Johnson to him. The one thing that he’d found most satisfying in the weeks since he’d managed to turn the crew against Johnson had been having the younger man at his disposal.

  “Aaron! Aaron!!” He bellowed, slamming the door behind him.

  Johnson emerged from a darkened corner, his blue eyes full of fear though he covered it well. “What is it?”

  “On yer knees, Aaron. The whores aren’t doin’ it fer me tonight. Ye’ll service me, eh?”

  Aaron stepped back, the fear spreading to his face as his hands started to flutter nervously. Johnson saw the movements, realized they were betraying him, then clenched his fists behind him. “Service yer own damned self, ye bloody bastard. I tol’ ye not t’ go against that hag but ye wouldn’ believe me. Fuckwit!”