As Thierry was about to grab the handle of the cane I offered him, I took an audible breath and squinted at the darkening sky outside. He hesitated and turned his face to where I was looking.

He didn't see how I seized the heavy staff with both my hands and swung it.

But he moved a fraction of a second too early.

Instead of making contact with the base of his skull, the handle hit his chin.

"Ey!" He held both hands to his face. "You 'ucking—"

I swung my weapon again, and this time I hit the back of his head. With a muffled cry, he stumbled towards the bed.

There was a knock on the door. "Sir?" It was Ed's voice. "Is anything wrong?"

Thierry groaned. Blood was seeping through his fingers.

"Sir?" Another knock. "Can I come in?"

Ed must have stood guard outside the room. This thwarted my plans—I had hoped to escape through the corridor, but I doubted that he would be inclined to let me pass.

The only other exit was the balcony. I opened its door and went outside. The evening was cool but not cold. A table and two chairs stood against the railing. The balcony was in a recess in the yacht's side. It was one or two stories above the water streaming aft. To the left and right, the walls of the ship were sheer, lacking handholds and footholds. Looking back and up, I saw the roof of the ship. I might be able to climb up there.

"Mr. Thorne!"

The shout pulled my attention back to the room I had just left. Thierry was still on the bed, sitting at its edge, holding his head. Ed had entered, staring at him, eyes wide. Then he saw me.

"Did she do that?" he asked.

Smart man.

Slowly, Thierry got up and took a step to the window, placing a blood-smeared hand on its pane. "You slut." He reached down to pick up the cane where I had dropped it. "I'll make you suffer..."

I stood with my back against the railing—a gerbil trapped in the corner while the snake contemplated its delightful options.

Anything was better than here.

I climbed one of the chairs then stood on the railing, keeping my eyes on Thierry and my balance by holding onto the wall at one side. The wind from the ship's motion tugged at my hair.

He shook his head. "That would be foolish... We're miles from the shore." Bracing himself against the frame of the door, he set a foot onto the balcony. Ed was right behind him.

"It's better than staying here." Hot anger rose into my chest. He may be a pirate, but so was I. A rebel.

I turned to face the sea.

A hand grasped a leg of mine—Thierry's or Ed's, I didn't know.

I jumped. The fingers lost their grip.

The drop was higher than expected, and I hit the water sidewise. It swatted me, then it embraced me, swallowed me in wetness and darkness. The world boiled and moved, and I tumbled and turned. A thudding noise passed close by—the ship's propellers?

Which way was up? Was I sinking, dragged down by clothes too heavy to float?

Panic seized me with cold fingers.

I forced myself to relax, to get my bearings. Up and down resolved themselves, reluctant. But how deep was I? The weak shimmer of light from above lacked the strength to mark the surface. Thrusting my arms and legs into the water, I swam upwards.

My head broke the waves, unexpected. I coughed ocean and breathed air, salt burning in my torn lips and my wide-open eyes.

To my right, a blur of light and motion resolved into the ship, moving away from me—a fleeting island of structure, sound and illumination.

Where was the land?

Darkness had claimed the dome above me, except for a purple glow where the sun had set. I turned the other way. The faint, orange glow of remote city lights sat between a black sky and inky waves—St. Georges Bay. Thierry had said the truth, it was miles away.

How many, though? It was impossible to tell.

The Indomitable's engine lost itself in the murmur of the ocean, its lamps merging into an unsteady mote as I bobbled like flotsam discarded in its wake.

Was the land within my reach? Were there currents carrying me away from it right now, relentless and uncaring? Were there sharks, hungry eyes watching from the deep below me?

None of it mattered. Swimming was the only option I had. I fumbled in the water to take off my shoes, then I turned to face the shore and started kicking.

Only a few strokes later, the thudding of the ship's engine invaded the noises of the sea again. I turned towards The Indomitable. She had grown larger, not a mote of light anymore, but a boat with illuminated decks.

They had returned, searching for the captive they had lost to the sea. Had they seen me?

No, they were still too far away. I swam on, faster. Not straight towards the land this time, but at an angle to it, hoping this would make it harder for them to guess my position.

The noise drew nearer. A flicker of light on the left made me look back again. The vessel had grown a bright eye on its forestructure, like a cyclops glowing with anger from within—a searchlight probing the dark, scanning the waves. It cast a spot on the water's surface, and the spot was approaching me. Fast.

I took a breath and dove.

While I fought my buoyancy, paddling to stay under, the searching beam reached the spot where I had just been. Its harsh light was refracted into a slanted, unsteady column traversing towards the deep, making tiny things in the water glow like a myriad of tumbling mosquitos.

It stopped, then it moved back and forth, inquisitive.

I was running out of air.

Then the beam hit me, its brilliance blinding. I closed my eyes, wondering if they could see me below the surface.

The brightness passed, and I stopped my paddling, letting myself float up and break the surface. Air.

The light had moved on. I was between it and the ship's hull, the latter a mere stone's throw away.

Theresa was somewhere on the other side of this wall of metal, locked into a prison of steel and paint.

It was within reach. Could I climb to its decks? I remembered its rear, its stern, a small pool and broad ladders leading down from it to the waterline. Ladders that would allow me to get back, to get into the hold, to free Theresa—maybe to sneak back out, to steal a lifeboat, and to escape.

I started swimming towards the yacht.

Its hull came closer, but it was also moving forward, driven by the propellers churning below the waterline, their vibration growing stronger by the moment.

The drag of the vessel in the water pulled at me, and I touched the hull as it moved past. Swimming alongside, I almost could keep up with it—the ship was slow while searching for me.

Light and noise announced the approaching stern. The propellers' heartbeat grew with each yard—their sharp edges cutting and slicing the water and whatever got close. Where were they, how far below the surface, how far out? Could I reach one of the ladders without getting shredded?

The stern arrived with a blue light cast through the illuminated pool's glass wall. The rungs were a mere arm's width from my hands. But the vicious sound of the propellers was all around me now, its impact freezing my movements—just for a moment.

It was a moment that lasted too long. Long enough for the ladder to escape.

The blue pool, the steel ladders on both sides of it, the churning water they led into—all of it was already out of reach, growing smaller with each breath I took.

I had hesitated, had lost a precious second, and squandered the one opportunity I had to save Theresa.

Water from my hair or tears of frustration—or both—blurred my sight.

The ship sounded its horn. Were they hoping that I'd raise my hands to show myself?

I might do that, but what for? They'd fish me out, and Thierry was bound to give me a warm welcome.

The yacht turned, moving its stern away from me and showing its flank instead. It wasn't heading towards me. It was way outside hailing distance now and heading away from me.

Once its noises had tapered off, I was all alone. The sky above lacked a moon, but it was dusty with stars. The sea underneath it was black ink. Ahead, the orange-yellow lights of civilization beckoned.

I started swimming.

~~~

Regular strokes of my arms and legs didn't bring the lights any closer.

~~~

The water's cold seeped into my body. First, there was pain—I hadn't known that cold can be painful. Pain in my toes, my feet, my fingers. Later, though, the pain receded, making room for gentle numbness.

~~~

The motions of my limbs against the ocean were my heartbeat and my breath. They were what kept me alive, functioning, thinking, hoping.

~~~

The lights ahead grew gradually weaker. Was I drifting away from them? Were they switching off the lamps? It might be well past midnight.

Was any of this real, at all, or was it all a dream?

~~~

My back was pain, the rest of my body warm cotton.

~~~

Strokes.

~~~

Nothingness.