I do not know what to think any more. According to Florence, it is easy to abandon everything. To let go of what makes me who I am. My identity.

Everything was clear before I met her. Steven Kelly. The Irishman. Captain of the Anarkhia. The street nipper who rose spectacularly. Who am I if you take away all that? What is left of me?

If I am no longer myself, will she still love me? I am lost. I prefer to stop thinking and concentrate on the reality of the situation. We are sailing southwards, but Cook is still Carpentier's prisoner. I could leave him to his fate and continue, enjoying perfect love with Florence. After all, that is the pirates' law. Me first. Only me.

I cannot accept this. Gibs, with all his faults — and God knows he has a few — is my friend. Even if there is no one in charge of the ship, I must convince the sailors that it would be wise to turn about and fetch him back.

Leng, Jaime, Rick, Bappé, Nick and Léon are waiting for me on the poop deck. The walls are thin. They have heard our argument. The other seamen are busy on deck. Men I do not know me hail me as I pass. The crew is composed of around twenty pirates. I am proud of my Sirena.

"The Irishman!" Rick calls out with a big grin. "Welcome aboard!"

I had not missed his vile stubs of teeth and his nauseating smell.

"Rick," I greet him coldly.

"Hola señor irlandés. No necesita matar a su padre, finalmente," he jokes.

Moron! I do not even feel like pretending to smile. Florence has told them the whole story. Her trust in them is totally misplaced. I must admit that I am jealous of the relationship they have with her. I had hoped that I would be the only one to keep her secrets.

"Pleased to have you on board," says Leng.

"Likewise," echoes Bappé.

That is all. No excuses. No shame. They stare at me, waiting for my reaction. Nick and Léon pretend to look at their feet, ill at ease.

"I had the firm intention of skinning you alive, men," I declaim with my most authoritarian voice.

They freeze.

"You are indebted to me."

"Balderdash,' Bappé defies me, arms crossed. 'We are free now. Totally."

"I know. But I want to go and fetch Cook. He too has the right to experience this."

"If we help you," asks Leng, "will you abandon all your ideas of revenge and obey the new rules on board the Anarkhia?"

I stare at them one by one. They are not friends. Just fellow travellers. In truth, I don't give a damn if they have betrayed me. Florence is the only one that counts. Their acts have soiled my reputation. It is no longer of any importance. Popularity is a moving shadow. It fades.

Gibs, on the other hand, is more than real.

"Cook alive against my will to take this brig wherever you wish. I keep the cabin and Sirena," I add, challenging Jaime.

"Estas loco si quieres ser el amante de una siréna," he jokes.

The others laugh in turn. It is done. Florence watches the scene with a smile, Gwewa beside her. It is the first time in my life that I have believed myself capable of forgiveness.

A shout. An alert.

"Ship ahoy, to the North-East."

It was too good to last.

The minutes tick by. We can see the ship with the naked eye. It is coming straight towards us. Tension is rising. It's a French army vessel seeking justice for those dead on Tortuga.

Leng does his best to make the ship pick up speed. We change course to get more wind in our sails. To no avail, the vessel approaches ever faster.

The enemy ship is getting closer. It becomes crystal clear to me. When she is about a hundred yards away, I know.

Not a shadow of a doubt, the ship pursuing us is the Vindicta. With all her sails up, the sloop slices through the ocean. Every second lessens the distance which separates them from us.

We don't stand a chance against that ship.

I grab Leng's telescope. After all, the object is mine. As is everything else on the Anarkhia. It is time for me to assume my role of captain once more. I squeeze my right eye shut to see what is happening on the enemy vessel's deck. It is easy to make out Carpentier's blue coat. He is not on the poop deck directing operations where I would expect him to be. The bastard is in the bow. He wants me to see him. And I know why.

The staging is despicable. Cook is trussed on his knees before him. My childhood friend is condemned. The reality of what is about to happen is obvious even though my heart continues to pray for a happy end.

An exchange.

A negotiation.

I am just about to plead with Florence to lower our sails. No need. Carpentier's sabre is raised high in the air. I stifle a cry of horror. I watch, powerless. The blade shines in the sunlight. And strikes my friend's throat.

Despite the distance, I can see Cook's blood dripping from my rival's weapon. I can even smell its iron flavour. Gibs's massive body collapses on the ship's deck. He is dead.

There were times when Cook could be a perfect numbskull. And even a real shithead. He was capable of beating up an innocent bystander just because he didn't like his face. He loved to kindle fear with his roguishness. His hot-headed attitude had put the fear of God into more than one man.

I knew why he acted this way. I have always known.

It was also the explanation that justified his tendency to hide behind me. His difference exposed him to danger. We both knew that he could have lived a quiet life in Cork. His father was a fisherman. This would guarantee him work. A future. But even as a child, he preferred petty theft. He knew that society condemned him, so, even if it meant paying for a crime of which he was guilty, he decided to make the most of it and break the rules. There was not one that we had not transgressed together. We were motivated by the desire to explore the world and seize its limits.

Did he expect more of me? I often wondered if he did not stay in my wake just waiting for a day when I would grant him what he coveted. To be honest, the idea attracted me. Not because I shared his affection, but because I was certain that whatever happened, I had an unfailing ally who would stay at my side.

For ever.

At least until today. Does this make of me a selfish bastard or merely a fool? I believed him to be more stupid than he actually was. He knew that Florence had put a spell on my heart well before I realised it myself. And that is why he enabled me to escape on Tortuga by attacking Carpentier and his henchman. For one reason only. He had sacrificed himself for me.

When I think that we had spent most of our lives together without ever really talking. Perhaps brothers do not need great speeches to understand each other.

And now he's gone. To new horizons that words cannot reach.

No sadness for me. If I let it take hold of me, I will be showing my weakness. I prefer to seethe. My dry heart is invaded by lightning like a fire consuming dry twigs.

The wind is blowing on the bridge of the Anarkhia. The pirates guess the origin of my dismay. No-one on board liked Cook. No-one likes anyone on a ship full of pirates. But he was one of us.

I can see it clearly in their eyes. They share my fury. Combat is now unavoidable. Carpentier has used Gibs to light a fire that he will not be able to contain.

Standing upright, hanging on to the rigging, Sirena agrees. Another battle to wage.

"Pirates," she yells. "Ready yourselves! We are under attack! We have to turn around. We go in fighting and destroy everything. No survivors!"

"What about the cannons?" Nick hastens to ask. "What do we do about the cannons?"

"Whatever we do, they will catch up with us and send us their cannon balls. If this ship is damaged, we will take over theirs. The Anarkhia is us, not these few pieces of wood and steel."

"She is right! For the Anarkhia!" shouts Bappé drawing a pistol from his belt.

"For Sirena!" Rick follows, striking his chest with his sabre.

The cries of the ecstatic pirates fly around the deck.

"We hold on and we fight," Florence thunders. "til death!"

"til death!" the pirates sing as one.

Captain Florence claims that she possesses no magic. She is wrong. What I am witnessing at this very moment is the proof of her power. She sets fire to men's hearts.

She is the soul of the Anarkhia.