The Vindicta is a splendid ship, even though she is not young. We leave the port of la Balise. The wind is strong. I love the feel of the sea sliding along under my feet.

The days go by and each day is much like the last. Carpentier is always accompanied by his enforcers. He is not stupid. He knows that it is in my interest to remove him from the chessboard as soon as possible.

I shake with anger at the idea of having been obliged to embark under his command. Him a captain! He brags about his superior position at the slightest opportunity. Worse, he misuses his power over the others, demanding that his slightest wishes be obeyed. Wine, privileges, gambling. He does not act like a leader. The crew already hate him. This is excellent; his mediocrity serves my interests.

I hate Carpentier with a deadly loathing. Especially when I see him strutting about the deck of the sloop in his long blue coat. He loves to let the wind lift the tails of his garment. It disgusts me all the more because I once did the same. Why does he have to resemble me so? The bastard is the mirror of all my faults.

I admit it, I hate to be guided and to obey. I need to take the lead. This is how it is. In a life of thirty-two years, I have only accepted once to let go. To slacken up. It was with her.

Florence and I made love like angels touched by grace. We went together so well. She has the gift of mixing pleasure and torment by creating an explosion of sensations. I felt alive with her.

One day, she demanded two kegs of water. She did not wish to tell me what she intended to do with them. Even if water is a rare commodity at sea, I gave in to her. I wanted to know what torture she had in store for me.

Cook brought up the little barrels early in the evening. We ate, and at her request, I drank no alcohol. She wanted me totally conscious.

Next, she ordered me to trust her. I must not speak. Ask no questions. Just let myself be.

She undressed me with exaggerated leisureliness. From time to time, I tried to pinch a breast or a buttock. She punished me with a biting kiss. Taking a cloth in her hand, she started washing me. The piece of fabric wet my skin, limb after limb. My hairs stood on end under her delicate caress. She left me for a moment to fill a bottle. She then poured the contents on my belly to drench my bush. I did not understand this act. The feeling of the cold liquid cascading onto my erect penis was disagreeable.

Suddenly, her face approached me. I almost recoiled, fearing that she would bite me. But I had promised to trust her.

The cold of the water was replaced by a comforting warmth. Sirena's tongue slid down my member. She took it in her mouth. The pleasure was exquisite... A gift that no-one had ever made me before. Florence's head came and went, back and forth. She sucked, pumped and licked.

I no longer had any control over her, myself or my body. The ship could have gone down and I would not have known, so possessed was I by the devilish dance of her mouth on my skin.

Sometimes water ran again over my flesh that she once again cajoled with her warm lips. When she looked up, her eyes sparkling with malice, a wave of desire had me keel over. I took hold of her hair. The rhythm was too slow. Too slow. I wanted to come. I rocked my hips, pushing her head down even more. My penis explored her throat. She moaned plaintively. I thought I was going to have to stop.

Her eyes pleaded with me not to stop. So, I continued. I kept going. I penetrated her mouth until the final liberation. The incredibly violent orgasm had me groan with pleasure.

I was drunk. Not with wine or rum. I was drunk with her. Florence lifted her head and kissed me. And she explained how to do the same for me. For the first time in my life, that evening, I tasted the joy of making a woman climax with my tongue.

My way was not as magnanimous as hers. She loved it. I was neither gentle nor brutal. Just wild and guided by my instinct.

If my memory does not fail me as to the number of ecstatic cries she gave, she visited the Garden of Eden at least ten times.

The Vindicta reminds me of those tubs on which I sailed as an adolescent. The creaking of the hull is painful to my eardrums. On the Anarkhia, it used to rock me. Here, I find it oppressing, and it unceasingly reminds me that I am not where I should be.

Routine can even invade a pirate's life. The days aboard a ship are slow and monotonous. It is pleasant when you are the captain and that you are spared menial tasks. I loved to get up every morning knowing that my belly would be full at midday and in the evening and that my gullet would be sustained with wine and rum.

Since Florence stole my brig, I can no longer drink. Before, I would find a remedy for all that ailed me in my heart and soul in alcohol. But here, on the Vindicta, the slightest drop of cane brandy makes my stomach turn. So, I have stopped trying to down anything other than fresh water. It would not do for me to be seen as a sloppy man who has no sea legs. Yes, my reputation is still important to me. Some things never change. When I am gone, all that will be left is my name.

At the end of each gruelling day on this sloop, it has become my habit to sit on the deck and look at my hands. My fingers are subject to untimely tremors. Here I recognize the lack of alcohol. I used to see that in my father every two weeks on the days just before he received his pay. My throat is dry and burns like sand. At night, I dream that I can feel the ardent, sweet liquid of a fruity rum on my tongue.

I promise myself that I will do it: on my ship, in my cabin, right after I have fucked Sirena. Or killed her. I do not yet know. Can you love and hate at the same time? Protect and destroy?

I do not trust any man here. The sailors obey Carpentier's orders despite their growing discontent. Some of them regret not having left the ship at La Balise. The fact that no-one knows our destination further aggravates a situation that is already a source of anxiety. There are not many victuals. We are forced to ration portions while the captain and his friends want for nothing.

Gibs spends most of his time with the seamen. He speaks little, but has integrated with ease. Due to his impressive size, no-one seeks to pick a fight with him. He plays dice, chews tobacco and laughs at ribald jokes. It is more difficult for me. And I do not feel like making an effort. I was made to guide and direct. I am a shepherd, not a sheep.

Many sailors choose to sleep like me against the mounts on the gun deck. I have always loathed steerage, filled to the brim and smelling of piss, even if the hammocks are more comfortable than the wooden floor. The proximity of the sailors disgusts me. How pleased I was to have my own cabin on board the Anarkhia. And even more so when I was in the company of the prettiest woman on earth. But I am rambling.

Yes, I cannot cease thinking about her. I see her face as I saw it on the day we first met. I miss her smell of lavender and warm stones in the sun.

When I took hold of the Anarkhia, five years ago, I thought that I had done with my fears, but now I can feel them again. A pernicious thought has insinuated itself into my mind and ever since, my heart has been troubled.

What if...

What if Marcelin killed Florence?

What if he made her endure all that she hated?

And what if Bappé, Leng or even Rick decided to go after her.

And what if she eliminated Marcelin, but the guard seized her?

What if I did not arrive in time?

And what if the last image of my mermaid was of her walking up the steps of the gibbet to be hanged?

And what if I never found her?

The weather is clement. We are making good time.

We are sailing between the islands thanks to the dexterity of a seaman aged around thirty by the name of Valentin. After all these years of being a captain, I can detect men of talent. In other circumstances, I would not have hesitated to recruit this sailor for a tidy sum of money. Leng had taught me to sound shallow waters. This man uses a different technique that I do not understand. He almost never leaves the helm, and when he does, he observes the horizon from the bow for a long time, as if he was capable of seeing shades of colour that were invisible to my blind eyes. The sailors trust him. Carpentier does not even fathom the exceptional skills of this man who holds our lives in his practised hands.

My dislike for this bogus captain grows from day to day. I hate to admit it but he reflects the image of what I was at his age. He is young, ambitious, and his every moment is devoted to the satisfaction of his immediate wishes.

My abhorrence reaches its peak on the morning of the tenth day on the Vindicta. Even though he allows the privateers to fight among themselves over trifling matters, something I would never have tolerated on the Anarkhia, he has heard of their discontent for him. Without a word of warning, he gathers us all together under the aftcastle, demanding that the sailors hanging in the rigging or assembled in the lazaret join us.

Four men are brought by Carpentier 's stooges. There is no doubt that they have been beaten up.

'It would appear that some of you are considering diverting the ship to leave at the next port in view,' declaims the captain as he walks head held high in front of the prisoners. 'You will understand that I cannot tolerate this manner of illegal initiative on board.'

Tension is at its highest. On a pirate boat, we would probably have abandoned those sailors on a desert island to punish them for this attempt to mutiny. I am curious to see how Carpentier will manage this affair. After all, they are privateers. Royal emissaries.

'The ship we are chasing is a fast one,' he continues. We cannot afford to stop off in a French port to have you arrested. And, as to victuals, they are dwindling from day to day. You are four too many mouths to feed. Luc, Jean, throw them overboard. Let this be a lesson to you! To all of you here!'

The seamen look at each other with dismay, surprised by this decision. The crew members hesitate between their wish to intervene and the fear of being the next one to be sent to the deep.

Cook comes up to me.

'We must save the pilot,' he whispers in my ear. 'He is the only sailor capable of steering this sloop.'

Indeed, I recognize Valentin, his face swollen and red. Carpentier must be mad! We need him. I need him. He doesn't know it yet but I have great projects for him on the Anarkhia. I am going to need new blood to replace the traitors Leng and Bappé. Even though I have not found a good lookout on this ship, this navigator has a talent which is worthy of being saved.

"The pilot is innocent," I say, just as Luc gets ready to throw our man over the rail.

"And how do you know this?" Carpentier is losing his temper. "He confessed last night. The others have named him as the instigator of the revolt."

"He was acting under my command," I explain. "I knew about the rumours but I had no proof. I hoped to be able to single out the guilty parties and present them to you so I ordered him to let it be understood that he would be willing to steer the sloop to its destination if the others were intent on organising a mutiny. He was just obeying my orders."

"And what proof do I have that you didn't intend to betray me yourself?" he asks suspiciously.

Aye, Carpentier is really a half-wit. Has he forgotten that I was the one who set up this expedition to find my ship? I just stare at him, waiting for his brain to perform the operations needed to take in something so obvious. Ten seconds or so later, he nods.

"The pilot stays. The others, overboard. And now, all to your positions. To work!"

Carpentier walks off. He does not assume his choice and does not attend the execution of the sailors. Luc and Baptiste send the three privateers over the rail. Their pleas, tears and cries will not change anything as to their fate which has been sealed by the captain.

Valentin thanks me with a nod of his head, before limping off to the helm.

The cries of the condemned men grow fainter. They are lost in the ocean. Carpentier is not a sailor. He is neither a privateer nor a pirate. He is purely and simply a devilishly selfish man.

One of these days, I'll have his hide.