The horizon, blurred by the smoke rising off the Anarkhia, is growing blacker and blacker to the East. In the mounting darkness, I witness the marooning of Florence and the pirates on my ruined ship.

Not a tear or a farewell. When all is said and done, we are only pirates! Once again, the sea takes the mermaid who has bewitched my soul away from me.

One night of pleasure.

It was the only thing that Dana could grant me and she did it. It was my dream. I was fortunate to be able to enjoy that bliss one last time.

A last look makes us see what is before us. She will die before me, swept up in a storm in a ruined boat. I will join her in the hereafter in a few weeks, following Carpentier's humiliations, my judgement and the gibbet.

My nightmare is becoming real. I am tied hands and feet. The Anarkhia and my men disappear in the smoke, on a sea full of broken wood. Baptiste holds me while Carpentier searches through my clothes and divests me of my pistol. He slips it into his own belt. A bolt of lightning tears the sky asunder. Thunder rolls as his acolyte escorts me to steerage. Chains await me in the bow of the ship. They are usually used for the slaves. I am seized with dread at the contact of the cold metal on my wrists and ankles. A twist of fate. Florence had warned me. I have transported bonded beings without caring for their humanity. I not only looked the other way in the face of horror, I also took part in it. I have contributed to the cruelty of the world.

A few minutes later, the captain grants me his first visit. The fool! He should be on deck helping his seamen to guide the Vindicta out of these turbulent waters. But nothing of all this is of any importance to him.

"You are so afraid of me that you have come to check that I am well tied up," I taunt him, holding up my arms to show him my iron shackles.

Yes, I know that it will not do me no good to arouse his hatred. As I have nothing more to expect from life, I might as well be a brat. That is something I know full well how to do. Hassling Carpentier will be the only amusement within my grasp for the next few weeks.

The captain moves forwards and kicks me full in the chest.

"You bloody bastard!" I bark at him.

There. I have done it. His anger grows visibly. He hits me. One punch. Then another. And yet another. He hammers at me. I can do nothing. My only defence is to curl up and hold my arms above my head to protect my face.

I endure it. I am in pain.

I hold on to the thought that it will soon be over. Carpentier is tiring. He will stop. Sooner or later...

For the time being, he continues to slap my face. Behind the buzzing in my ears, I can hear him shouting out his anger. His frenzy. His is a disorderly aggression. It reminds me of the savagery I myself used on Fisherman. He wants me to plead, to recognize that he is superior. Intellectually and physically. The fact that he is using violence to obtain it is proof of his failure. Only fools believe that you can adequately dominate an enemy by hitting him when he is down.

I used to be like him. Sirena has changed me. Thanks to her, I have evolved. That is perhaps why he hates me so. He understands that there is a part of me he will never be able to reach.

At last. The blows have stopped. Carpentier falls on his knees a good yard away from me. I raise my eyes to look at him through my split eyelids. He huffs and puffs and sweats profusely.

"That was... for... Basselin's chest," he pants.

"Well, well..." I splutter in turn. 'You should see what you look like... Crying like a kid. The thrashing... was worth it!"

A last punch splits my eyebrow. The scar I bear as a legacy from my father opens. My head bobs on my chest after the impact.

It was to be expected. Carpentier is savouring what he considers to be a victory, with a smile on his face.

He is worthless. As a captain. And he has no worth as a man either. He only aspires to his own glory.

I was lucky to have Cook to tell me what the sailors expected of a true leader. In a way, John helped me become better. The scumbag was the perfect First mate. He often opposed me, it is true, but he was also always ready to motivate the troops for lucrative adventures.

Before the former Marquis des Acres recruited me to retrieve his daughter in Charleston, I had accomplished several juicy tricks. Transporting illegal cargos. Hiring my services to avenge a shopkeeper of an over-ambitious rival. Targeted attacks on ships. Not all my adventures had ended in a bloodbath.

One time, a young thug in Louisbourg hired us to eliminate his own brother who was inflexible as to the negotiation of their inheritance. The subject of their conflict was an unfarmable piece of land to the East of the town, exposed to the swamps and winds.

John, Cook, Bappé, Leng and I went to the shore in question and saw our man fishing. Alone. The perfect opportunity to perform our mission discreetly and cut and run.

And that was where the poor wretch had a very unexpected reaction. As he saw us arriving, he hailed us and invited us to approach openly.

'My good sirs, I suppose that it is my brother who has sent you,' he said quite naturally. 'I am a hindrance to him. It is typical of him to send enforcers to do his dirty work.'

Surprised, I merely nodded.

"Well, here I am. You can hit me as much as is your wont, but you must understand that I shall not abandon the right that I have to this land."

"And why?" I asked. "It has not the slightest market value. Nothing grows on rocks and sand."

"My brother wants this space because boats can land here. They will damage everything, you see."

He smiled at me, a crazy light in his eyes. I understood that the poor fellow was a bit simple, like those people who are happy when they discover a daisy blooming between two stones.

"I feel at ease here,' he explained. I have been wandering for a long time, but I have at last found my home."

He lifted his arms to show us the water in the river and the few trees behind us.

"There is nothing," John objected. "Not even a house. Don't argue, just leave, abandon the negotiations with your brother and we'll leave you in peace."

"No, my friends, it does not work that way. It can be otherwise. My house is the sun and moonlight, the air I breathe, the water I drink and the food that this land offers me every day. I have no heed for my brother's threats. I leave him all the rest."

This thus confirmed the fact that he was insane. At the same time, his candour awoke a feeling in me that I had not felt since Cork. Since the blanket. The cellars. Brian. I had wanted to protect him. To let him believe that happiness and peace could be found on a deserted beach with just a fishing rod for company.

Cook approached him to beat him up, but I held him back.

"No, no need," I intervened. "We do not need to kill him to trick his brother."

Twilight was just beginning to appear. We decided to stay there for the night and the dimwit was in favour of sharing his day's catch with us. We spoke little that night. The next morning, the man we were supposed to kill had left. And ever since, I have been convinced that this unusual encounter had united the five of us in some way. Leng and Bappé never went to offer their services elsewhere. And John, who habitually never said no to violence, had not insisted on massacring the poor blighter. When I think back, I wonder if we had not met a saint. Or an angel.

Even if we were bloodthirsty brutes in search of gold and power, we had all wanted to believe that tale.

The next day, we beat his brother to death, robbed him and abandoned his body behind an inn.

So yes, actually, all my stories end in bloodshed.

Godforsaken pirates are we!

I am an empty shell.

Carpentier continues to try and hurt me. His words do not reach me. Does he not understand that there is nothing more he can have from me?

"I will be back," he threatens, his face close to mine.

His fetid breath sickens me. I cannot fathom such a level of aggressiveness. Why does he hate me so? Yes, I have thrown Basselin's chest into the deep so that he will never find it. But he hated me before this. He loathed me even before I went to find him in New Orleans. I am the image of what he will never be. Reckless. Whole. Free.

It is lucky that he has not understood the love that I have for Florence. He would have used her to hurt me even more.

The ship pitches from side to side. The storm will be on us in a few minutes. I cannot help thinking of my beautiful mermaid and the crew of the Anarkhia. This night will be their last. Even if the rain has put out the fires, there is no way that they can survive a storm at sea.

In my misfortune, I am fortunate that no one is interested in me. Carpentier has gone. The sailors are too busy steering the sloop out of these swirling waters that threaten to engulf us at each wave. I have been abandoned by all. All the better. I need to be alone. This melancholia has been my most faithful companion since my mother decided to join my brothers and sisters in the other world.

I cannot sleep. A painful throbbing stabs my mouth and my shoulder. What a fool I am! I have just been thinking that Gwewa's magic would be very useful to me in such a situation.

There is no time to feel sorry for myself. Another jolt shakes the ship. An empty keg smashes to pieces against me. My reflexes save me as I lift my fists to protect my face. My breeches are drenched. Seawater is seeping into steerage. The hold must be under water.

The hurricane. We are in the middle of it. Florence and the others must be dead by now.

Even if I fully trust Valentin to steer the sloop to safety, I know that our fate does not lie solely with him. In the middle of the storm, only the gods can help us.

My shackles are tightly bound. I hate it. I can feel the boat rising high on the crests of the waves and plunging into their troughs several yards below. Our chances of survival are slim. And here I am chained to this accursed ship. I used to be terrified of drowning.

Tonight, I am not afraid of death. Overjoyed by the idea of joining Sirena, my heartbeat slows. All I have to do is wait. Soon I will have my eternal rest.

Once again, fate has decided otherwise. A seaman on the Vindicta is beholden to me. He has resolved to honour his debt at the precise moment I had chosen to make my peace with myself, the others and the world.

Valentin.

He comes towards me, on shaky legs. When he is very near, I see a stream of blood pouring from his face. He fought to get the key of the shackles imprisoning me.

'Carpentier is dead?' I ask.

'Only Baptiste. The Captain is shitting his breeches in his cabin.'

The chains that bind my wrists fall heavily to the ground. Valentin struggles to open those on my ankles.

'Why? We shall all die here tonight,' I breathe.

He gives a shrug.

"Gibs was my friend too," he admits in a whisper.

I cannot help but laugh. I forbade all acts of sodomy on the Anarkhia on pain of death. The rule protected my sailors from all deviance. I did not think that some would nonetheless amuse themselves discreetly.

I am overjoyed to hear this revelation. At least, Cook had a field day before he died. And he had trusted Valentin with his Christian name. What more proof do I need that their relationship was sincere. Short, but real. Goddamn Gibs!

"I came to save you and you are mocking me," rages Valentin.

"I am laughing at the thought that my comrade was happier than I was on the Vindicta."

Free at last, I try to stand up. Impossible. My injuries bring me back to reality. All of a sudden, the ship leans dangerously to port. We both lose our balance. A collision sends us shooting backwards. I grab the first thing to hand and hang onto it for dear life. A hammock.

The sharp movement is excruciating to my poor muscles. I feel as if every single part of my body is being burnt. Worse, the skin of my fingers is on fire as if they had been plunged in boiling water.

A crack. I let go. The keel has broken away. We have hit something. Black water invades steerage by the bow. A tidal wave. The surge pulls me towards the middle of the ship. The water is already halfway up my thighs. In a few seconds, it will swallow me whole. Valentin has disappeared.

The ladder is within reach. I grab it, forgetting how much my wounded flesh makes me suffer.

I could give up. Let myself go in the opaque, icy waters. Florence is no more.

Not now. Not yet.

Battling the elements, I drag myself out of steerage. Rain and gusts of wind lash against my face. The cries of the frightened men are stifled by the din of the breaking waves. Their cries break against the rocks we have run aground on. The ship leans. The Vindicta will soon be no more than a memory.

There is agitation all around me. Sailors are running around and falling over. Casks roll around and then break open. Squalls of wind blow the torn sails away. Chaos exults in the darkness.

A hand catches my ankle.

Valentin.

Again. Striving desperately to survive even though the sea is doing its best to pull him to the bottom of the ship. I turn around and tear him from the dark abyss. When we are outside, I leave him to his fate.

Each man to himself, for the love of God! Does he really think that I will put myself in danger because he got into bed with my best friend?

The repeated impacts of the ship against the rock throw us all over the place. I must get out of her before a mast falls on my head. And I do not want to be hurled against the sharp rocks that we have hit.

With no visibility, I decide to go towards the sloop's stern and jump off the starboard side. The dive galvanises me. It is almost as if I am flying. A maelstrom of icy water imprisons me in the torments of hell. I can no longer control anything. Swept away by powerful waves, I try to breathe when my body is flung into the air.

Is this another punishment? I have the feeling that the tornado aims to cleanse me. Yes, it would take at least a hurricane to purge me of my past. The tumult is never-ending. It is drawing the last sparks of my life from me.

My lucky star, or my misfortune, has not yet had done with me. Perhaps the sea does not want a soul as black as mine. It spits me out against a sandbank. The shock makes me lose my breath.

Using my primitive instinct, I stand up and move away from the shore. The storm is in full sway. I had not known the extent of my tenacity. Finally, it is an uncommon endurance. I wish Sirena was there to see it.

It is true that I cannot read. And that I do not really know who I am. But of one thing I am sure. I am a survivor. Capable of enduring the drunkenness of a violent father, the blows of men, the humiliations and bullying of society and pain. Suffering.

I am a dysfunctional, perverse, cantankerous being. But I am still here.

Yes, still here.