Chapter 20

The setting sun was growing weary in the evening sky. Jack and the Brinemarch fleet had steadily made ground on the Silent Tide as it attempted to flee north. Jack could feel their capture in his hands and at this rate, he thought they could launch their assault by morning. One more dinner and he would have the princess, the gem, and his misfit of a brother.

Jack’s watchman called out, “Captain, the Widdings want a word.”

Jack huffed under his breath. “What the fuck do those prudes want?”

“They’ve split." Silvia’s voice, sharp and clear, cut across the narrowing gap of water between the brigs. “Two ships. Look for yourself.”

“Two ships? Get me an spyglass!” Looking at the Silent Tide, there it was, a small sloop hugging its side like a fish to a shark. 

“A sloop." he breathed, the word a low, venomous curse. He lowered the glass, his scowl deepening into something truly fearsome. “Weasel? Care to explain this?”

“They didn’t sir.” Jack thrust the spyglass into Trudy’s arms. “Well they do now."  Jack snarled. 

Turning back to the Widding ship. Silvia stood poised at her rail, a statue of cool composure awaiting his reaction. His mind raced, charting the tactical nightmare. A swift sloop that could vanish into the night, and a powerful brig that could gut a single pursuer. They had to choose. And they had to be right.

He cupped his hands around his mouth, his voice booming over the slap of waves against the hull. “They sent the princess away last time! My guess is she’s on the sloop, trying to slip our net. We run it down, we have her by morning!”

Silvia didn’t respond immediately. He could almost see the gears turning in her head, a methodical, patient process that grated on his impulsive nature. Her voice, when it came, was measured. “Perhaps. But why split now? In two hours, darkness would have hidden their maneuver. This feels… performative. A decoy to divide our strength.”

“Decoy or not, if we let it slip, it will get lost to the mainland. At least with the brig, we know they will hit a hard boundary. We already know she’s afraid of the Kraken lane. The fogs will force her North to the Hinckian fleet, or circle them straight back to us.” Jack grew more forceful with every word.

She was silent for a long moment, her gaze drifting from him to the horizon where the two paths diverged. Finally, she gave a curt, almost reluctant nod. “As you wish then, Comptor. I can see no fault with your logic, perhaps they are more panicked than strategic in their actions. But a compromise: we dispatch our third ship to shadow the Silent Tide from the south. It keeps the brig hemmed in, unable to double back without a fight. ”

*

The chase was a brutal, exhilarating thrill. The Goldhair, built for relentless pursuit, ate up the sea miles with superior angle and winds. It only took a few hours to reach the sloop. Even under the shield of night, the sloop struggled to hide in the moonlight. 

“They’ve turned north, sir!” the watch called down.

Jack’s lips curled with excitement. “Grape shot! Prepare a broadside! Let’s clip this little bird’s wings!” The order sent a ripple of eager movement through his crew. The gunners worked with a feverish rhythm, the deadly promise of violence humming in the air.

He gestured Trudy over. “Come here, Weasel. Don’t blink. A captain’s finest moment.” He drew a deep breath, the intoxicating smell of salt and gunpowder filling his lungs. His eyes, glinting with reflected moonlight, locked onto the helpless vessel. The world narrowed to the arc of his arm. “Ready… FIRE!”

Several cannons recoiled as their shot ripped through the sloop, their smoke hanging in the air before revealing a collapsing ship.

“Ahhh, now that’s a feeling! Told you I was born for this, Weasel." he gloated, clapping a trembling Trudy on the shoulder.

But his triumph curdled as they drew alongside the crippled vessel. Boarding hooks snagged the rail. His crew swarmed over, their shouts reporting back empty holds, stripped compartments. And then, there was the lone figure. A man, naked and shivering, shackled brutally to the captain’s wheel. The smell of fear, thick on him.

The defiant man from the hunters, once captain, had been given his namesake back. This time Riley gave him less favorable terms, “Sail west and hope you make it to land before anyone else finds you.” He had failed expectedly and now faced the wrath of Jack.

Jack stormed aboard, his boots thudding on the bloody deck. “Are you the only one?!” he demanded, his voice a whip-crack.

The man flinched, his body a map of fresh bruises and old failures. “Aye. Just me.” His voice was a ragged whisper.

“The ship’s empty, Captain!” a gunner confirmed. “Cleaned out.”

Jack’s gaze returned to the shackled man, cold fury replacing the heat of battle. “So. Who are you?”

“Was part of a band of hunters looking for the princess. They found her alright. Alongside two coldblooded killers.”

“And yet you’re alive? What type of Captain are you?”

“The crew mutinied and I was imprisoned. Then just for sundown, that beast of a woman tied me to the wheel. ‘Sail west and hope for the best’.” He spoke with venom and hate.

“You should have fought." Jack stated, his voice devoid of all warmth. He began to methodically prep his flintlock pistol, the click-clack of the mechanism obscenely loud in the silence. “No true captain surrenders.”

“Aye." the man rasped, a pathetic attempt at dignity in his final moments. “But I’ve never been too brave.”

“The princess. She’s on the brig?” Jack asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Aye.”

Jack raised the pistol. He paused, not out of mercy, but to let the man fully comprehend the absolute failure of his existence.

CRACK!

The man’s body slumped against the wheel, his body dangling unnaturally. 

Jack exhaled slowly, the smoke from the barrel curling away on the breeze. He turned to a pale and shaking Trudy. “Looks like you were right about the princess, Weasel.” His eyes then found the approaching lanterns of the Widding ship. “And Silvia… Silvia was right about the sloop.”

All heat, all anger, drained from him, leaving behind something far more dangerous: a chilled, crystalline determination. 

“Burn it." he commanded, his voice flat. “Signal the Widdings. The Abyss and their bitches have nowhere left to run.” He didn’t wait to watch the tar-soaked rags be tossed onto the deck. He was already back on the Gifted Heart, his mind not on the fire behind him, but on the darkness ahead, and the reckoning that awaited within it.