She felt Hawk’s hot breath on her face as he dragged her close; inhaled the sea salt and sweat scent of him, sharp and masculine. Her mind had gone blank, leaving only the most instinctive, primal responses in her: fear as deep and rolling as the waves, and a prickle of heat and longing like a pit low in her gut.

With great effort, she pulled away, standing up and absently brushing off her trousers. “I saw a man being dragged onto a ship back in Wayfort,” she said. “He dropped this. When I saw that Finn had a similar charm about his neck, I thought you might, perhaps, be interested to know his whereabouts.”

The anger and tension bled out of Hawk in a rush, his shoulders sagging. Was that relief she saw in his fine, tanned face? Perhaps he was glad to find her useful and not a traitor, after all. “You witnessed his capture? You know where he is?” He dropped into his captain’s chair, running a hand over his eyes. “This hawk belongs to my first mate, Pierce. He and I have been friends a long time.”

He looked up into her face, eyes bright and curious. “What was the name of the ship?”

“The Galleon,” Eloise told him. “She put to sea just an hour before The Serpent.”

The news only brightened the strange light in Hawk’s eyes. Humming in thought, the captain took out his spyglass from his belt and rose, approaching the porthole in his cabin. He swung it open and began scanning the horizon. “There she is,” he said, pointing at what was to Eloise a small grey mark in the distance. “Close enough to be pursued. We’re going after her.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” said Finn, grinning broadly. Now that he understood her gambit, he seemed pleased by her cleverness.

Hawk turned back to them and nodded towards Eloise. “You can put this one back in the brig.”

Eloise stiffened, balling her fists in anger. What an ungrateful man! He hadn’t even considered letting her go, had he? “Wait!” she said. “You don’t need to do that. Let me help.”

Hawk studied her skeptically. “Do you have sailing experience?”

Eloise tried to smile and hoped she looked capable. “Obviously, I do. I mean, yes. Of course.”

She could practically see the wheels spinning in his head as he calculated the risks and potential benefits. “Fine,” he said after a moment, waving his hand dismissively. “But remember, one wrong move and it’s Davy Jones’ Locker for you.”

She nodded and forced herself to appear calm as she followed Finn down to the crew’s quarters. Inside, she was a disaster: tense and full of panic. Why did I say that? I don’t know anything about sailing. She started pacing the room as Finn adjusted a spare hammock for her. Had she just extended her life only to make a fool of herself?

“Finn,” she said finally.

He was sitting in her hammock, humming to himself. “Yeah?”

She swallowed against her fear. “I kind of.... I’ve sort of never been on a ship before. I don’t really know that much about sailing.”

“Oh,” said Finn, seeming to take it in stride. He barely even looked surprised. “Well, there’s a few things I can tell you, then.”

He shifted to one side and patted the space next to him, inviting her to sit. “First things first,” he said, “there’s port, and then there’s starboard.”

She repeated the words, and he gestured to illustrate. “So,” she said, “port is left, and starboard is right?”

“If you’re facing the prow,” he clarified, raising a finger.

One or both of them had unconsciously started to rock the hammock back and forth like a swing. She was reminded, just for a moment, of sitting in her mother’s rocking chair. “What’s the prow?”

He chuckled. “Blimey, you weren’t kiddin’. Prow is the very front of the ship.”

“Alright,” she said, feeling more confident. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Now,” he said, “If you change tack, you’ve got to make sure that you’ve tacked properly, including the tack.”

The laugh bubbling up from her throat caught her off guard. “What? You can’t possibly tell me that made any sense.”

He laughed with her. “It’s a bit of a joke,” he admitted. “Tacking just means adjusting the sail to catch the wind from a different side. But tack also can mean the bottom front corner of a fore-and-aft sail.”

She blinked, the barrage of new terminology making her head spin. “A what now?”

“A sail set along the line of the keel.” Finn was so patient, smiling with good humor. Eloise felt a stab of gratitude for him.

“Finn,” she said, laughing, “I’m going to die.”

Finn patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t panic,” he said. “Soon as you start doin’ stuff, you’ll be fine. Now let’s talk knots.”

He picked up a piece of rope from a pile in the corner of the room. “This is called a bowline,” he said.

She followed the movement of his hands as he demonstrated. “The rabbit comes out of the hole, goes around the back of the tree, and then back into the hole. See?”

Her mind had always worked better when stories were involved. “I actually followed that,” she said, feeling a surge of pride.

“Great!” he said. He untied the knot and passed the rope to her. “Now see if you can do it.”

Eloise took it, swallowing against her nerves. Fumbling with the rough threads, she repeated his words, and produced a rather lumpy but effective knot. “There, see?” Finn said, clapping her on the back. “You’re set to sail! That’s really all you need to know. You’re basically one of us now.”

One of us. She hadn’t asked to be a pirate, but she couldn’t deny that Finn, at least, made her feel welcome.

“All hands on deck!” came Hawk’s cry from above, and Finn sprang up from the hammock.

“Come on, then,” he said, gesturing. “That’s us.”

Eloise scrambled out of her seat, walking quickly towards the deck. Hawk was standing at the ship’s wheel, spyglass at his eye. “Full speed ahead!” he shouted. “Rig the sails.”

“The Galleon,” said Finn, by way of explanation. “We must be close.”

“What should I do?” asked Eloise.

Finn opened his mouth to answer, but Hawk caught her in his gaze. “Get up the mizzenmast, boy.”

The Serpent boasted three masts. She nodded, and then looked frantically between them, trying to assess which looked most like it deserved the title of mizzenmast. Finn was already moving into action, but upon noticing her confusion, he pointed surreptitiously at the biggest mast.

The wind was picking up. The rigging lay before her, stretching up like a massive spider’s web. One step at a time, she told herself, and grabbed on.

Her first step was tentative, but the rope held taut, and she bounced lightly, hand reaching for the next line of rope. This isn’t so difficult, she thought, and for a little while she climbed with ease.

Her first mistake was looking down. She had wanted to see how far she’d come, but the ship itself looked like a toy compared to the wide swath of ocean she found herself above. The rigging creaked as the ship began to sway with the wind, and Eloise held tight, teeth clenched and eyes closed.

She had to keep climbing. Forcing her hands and feet to move, she felt a gnawing pit of nausea opening up in her belly. She gripped the rope so tightly that her hands chafed and started to bleed. A burst of lightning illuminated the sails, billowing like great clouds before her, and the ship below, even smaller now.

The rain lashed at her skin as she reached the top of the mast, and, shaking, she followed the pattern of the knot that Finn had taught her. “The rabbit comes out of the hole,” she said, voice trembling, “goes around the back of the tree—”

But as she was winding the rope around the tackle, leaning forward to get a better angle, her foot slipped.

Her scream was lost to the gale, the rope flying back from the tackle. Arms windmilling, her fingers caught on a square inch of rigging. The powerful gust of wind that followed had her squeezing her eyes shut again, praying, as she leaned into the web of rope.

Please, she thought, tears stinging her eyes, make me the capable girl my father so adored.

She reached forward to grab the rope, threading it back through the tackle. “The rabbit goes back into the hole,” she said, bowing her head in exhaustion.

After catching her breath, she took a careful step down a rung. Her head spun with dizziness, and it was all she could do not to fall a second time as she descended.

Her knees buckled when her feet hit the deck, and Hawk frowned at her. “Are you alright?”

She couldn’t show how terrified she was—not to him. “Perfectly fine,” she said, standing up straight, forcing a modicum of cheer into her voice. “This is hardly the first storm I’ve—”

Retching, she stumbled to the side of the ship and emptied her stomach, clinging to its rail. When she was finished, she turned back to find Hawk watching her with a raised eyebrow, disapproval in the downturned corners of his lips. “’M fine,” she insisted weakly, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

As the storm began to wind down, Hawk retreated to his quarters. Finn came to find her, squatting down next to where she was sitting by the mizzenmast, staring blankly into space. “Captain wants to see you.”

Hawk’s face when she walked into his cabin was inscrutable. He was standing by the window, looking out at the water, idly running a finger along the surface of the model globe as it spun on its axis.

He turned and met her gaze, voice level and calm. “Why did you lie to me?”