For a long moment, there was nothing but silence—then the pirates abruptly exploded in cheers. The ones on the shore were shouting themselves hoarse and throwing their hats into the air. Even the sailors on the ship reluctantly started to murmur their approval, then began to shout hesitant cheers for the man who had just killed the captain they were loyal to five minutes ago.

Pirates. Lovely, right?

My eyes swivelled to Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his chiselled profile resembling that of a conquering king as he stood upon his vanquished foe.

On second thought, some of them are actually lovely. One particular pirate in particular...

As if sensing my gaze, Mr Ambrose turned towards me, his deep, dark, unfathomable eyes boring into mine. Leaping off the dead pirate captain, he kicked him out of the way and strode straight back towards the crowd of pirates. Towards me. The intensity of his gaze was breath-taking. I simply couldn't look away. He had done it. He had actually done it.

And what's more, he knew he would win from the start. He made me worry for nothing, the son of a bachelor!

Crossing the rest of the distance between us with three swift steps, he came to a halt right in front of me. Without looking away he reached out and thrust the sabre back into the hands of its owner.

"Here."

"Th-thanks."

Taking the sabre with trembling hands, Jack took three swift steps back, his eyes filled with awe and trepidation. I had a feeling he was going to thoroughly check the blade for poisons later.

With a last, lingering look at me, a look that was most definitely not meant for an overweight, male ship's cook, Mr Ambrose turned to face the crowd, letting his gaze sweep over all the assembled pirates. Everyone waited with bated breath, anticipating the speech their new captain was about to give.

"Let's bloody celebrate! Anyone who drinks me under the table gets a hundred sovereigns!"

The entire crowd exploded in cheers. Instantly, they rushed towards the camp and started pulling out meat and fish and a dozen kinds of different drinks. Soon, the pirates were happily roasting food over numerous bonfires and gambling away their loot to each other.

"You know," I cocked an eyebrow at him. "I think you might be born to be a pirate. They seem to appreciate your leadership style."

"Indeed."

"But there's one thing..." With a smirk, I lightly jabbed my elbow into his ribs. "What about the one hundred sovereigns? Are you really going to pay when someone manages to drink you under the table?"

He cocked his head. "I have seen this entire camp. There aren't any tables."

Oh, that sneaky son of a...!

He just tricked a whole camp full of pirates. I should really be more careful around such a scoundrel in the future. He might end up knocking me up and—

Oops. A little too late for that.

Grinning, I turned around to face the camp, Mr Ambrose following suit beside me. Together, we gazed over the island we had spent so many terrible and wonderful days on. The island we could now finally leave.

"You did it!" I whispered, making sure to keep my voice low. Not that the carousing pirates several dozen yards away were likely to listen in. "You really did it! Now we have a ship! One? Ha, no! You got us half a dozen! Finally, we can return home!"

"Home?" Mr Ambrose's eyes sparkled coldly. "Not quite yet."

I stared at him. Then I reached up and stuck a finger in my ear to clean it, just in case I had misheard.

"What did you say?"

"I said, not quite yet, Mr Linton. And I do not like to repeat myself."

"What do you mean, not quite yet? We've got ships. Heck, we've got a bloody fleet! We can go home any time."

"We could," he allowed. "But should we?"

I stared some more. "What the heck do you mean, should we? Why wouldn't we? We're stuck on an island, with none of our belongings, cut off from anyone we know, in the middle of a bloody camp full of pirates!"

"Indeed. A camp full of pirates." He gave a curt nod, his eyes sparkling in a way that promised wicked things. I might have appreciated it more if we were at home, in London, naked in our bedroom, and if he'd been staring at me instead of a bunch of carousing thugs. "A camp full of pirates who now happen to be under my command."

I opened my mouth to shoot down his argument—then closed it again. Eyes narrowing, I peered at him, trying to decipher his unmoving face. "What do you mean?"

"Is it not obvious, Mr Linton?" Cocking his head, he held my gaze for a moment, then looked out over the camp and the ocean beyond, surveying all as if it already belonged to him. "For months, I had to watch report after report of pirate raids on my ships arrive at my office. I didn't know who was behind it, I didn't know why they decided to attack me, but I knew someone was challenging me. There was and is only one major competitor in this area. A dummy corporation of a dummy corporation of a dummy corporation, I soon discovered. But no matter how much pressure I applied, I could not discover its true owner. So I came here, hoping to find out who the mastermind is. And what happens? He dares to send his goons to kill. My. Wife."

Those last three words were spoken with such icy vitriol, such cold, calculated fury that, even in the tropical climate, I felt a shiver go down my spine.

"And?" I prompted when he had not continued after a moment or two. Although I had a feeling where this was going.

"And I do not let attacks on my family go unanswered." Arctic light shining in his eyes, Mr Rikkard Ambrose's gaze once more zeroed in on the camp. The cold look on his face was utterly terrifying. "My competitor likes watching pirates raid merchant ships? Well, let's see how he likes it when this happens to him."

***

Three days later, on a certain merchant ship, under a certain tarpaulin...

"Um...Mr Karim, Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Err...how long have we been waiting by now, Sir?"

"Be quiet and watch! A pirate ship might be coming for Mr Ambrose's goods any moment!"

"Um, Sir...we have already nearly reached our destination. No pirate worth his salt would be crazy enough to attack a harbour."

"Then restock the supplies and turn the ship around! We'll spread some more rumours in the harbour, then turn back around using the same route."

"Are you sure, Sir? We—"

"Yes, I am sure! That bastard of a pirate captain is probably just drunk and sleeping the day away. The moment he hears about Ambrose Sahib's ship full of valuables travelling this route, he won't be able to resist attacking us!"

***

"Are you crazy?" I hissed as I peered through the telescope at the distant, moonlit island. "You want to attack a harbour?"

"Not a harbour, Mr Linton. Just some ships inside it."

"Oh. Well, that makes things so much better."

"Indeed."

I resisted the urge to strangle him, mostly because I liked my fingers too much to test them against granite. There was also the little fact that the crew of the pirate ship I was currently on would probably object to my trying to strangle their new captain. Pity, though. It was so easy to dispose of murder victims on the ocean.

We were currently anchored hidden behind a tiny, uninhabited rock of an island only a mile or two away from a much larger one, the harbour of which we were observing. I peered through the telescope again, closely scrutinizing the nocturnal coast. Then, suddenly, I froze—and, after a moment, grabbed Mr Ambrose by the arm.

"Down!" I hissed. "Hit the deck! Cover the lanterns!"

I had to give credit where credit was due. Mr Rikkard Ambrose followed my command immediately. Something which, I was sure, would give me a warm and fuzzy feminist feeling some time later—but not while I was pressed to the deck, clutching a storm lantern in both arms to cover its light. Behind us, the pirates followed our example.

"What is it?" Mr Ambrose whispered, scouring the dark waters with his gaze. "What did you see?"

"A ship!"

"Arriving at the harbour?"

"No. Leaving," I grumbled, staring after the vessel. "What kind of idiot would set sail at this hour?"

"It is of no consequence, Mr Linton. Focus on the matter at hand."

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "Meaning the attack on the well-fortified harbour over there?"

"Precisely."

"So, tell me again, what is your plan? Last time you told me, I was too busy cursing to really listen."

"All right. Listen here. This is what we are going to do..."

***

"I am going to kill him for this," I growled, tugging at my dress. "Painfully."

"Oh, I don't know." Jack glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, snickering, as he walked alongside me through the island harbour. "You make quite the convincing pregnant lady."

"You...!"

"Aye." A certain little brat with a far-too-cheeky grin on his face piped up and took hold of my hand. "He's right, Mum."

"You just have to put on a few more pounds and actually start acting like a woman," the adult pirate added smoothly. "Then I might actually believe it."

I felt one of my eyebrows twitch. "Jack?"

"Aye, Freddie?"

"What do you think would happen if you were to say that kind of thing to an actual woman?"

He gave a short bark of laughter. "Ha! I'd be so dead!"

"I'd definitely have my butt spanked," the little boy added with a shiver.

"Quite."

Reaching out, Jackal patted my shoulder. "Our luck that you're as male as they come, right?"

I contemplated for a moment or two what answer to give to that. A fist to the face was definitely among the top ten candidates. But then again, children were present.

You can always shield his innocent eyes with your free hand.

Good one! I was about to do just that, when, when—

"There!" Jackal hissed, alerting me and saving his nose in the process. "The signal!"

Immediately, I searched the dark horizon, and he was right. There, in the distance, at the end of a long stretch of sand that jutted out from the island into the sea, I saw a blinking light, as if from someone repeatedly uncovering and covering a lantern. Once. Twice. A pause. A third time.

That's the signal all right.

What, you thought I was parading around here in a stolen dress just for fun? No. Mr Ambrose had come up with an actual plan for this mad venture of his. One that required me to put on a dress to the snickers of dozens of pirates. And worse, one that actually was smart, and that I had no logical arguments against.

Although I really wanted to argue.

Really, really, really.

Why?

Well, because my role in this marvellous plan was...

"Help! Oh, gentlemen, please, help! Over here! Over here!"

Yep. I was to play the damsel. The kind that was in distress.

I was going to murder Mr Ambrose. I wasn't sure how yet, and I wasn't sure when, but it was going to be painful.

Waving my arms and wailing like a perfect helpless female, I did all I could to attract the attention of the people passing by this late in the evening. It didn't take long for a nearby harbour guard to notice and rush to my side. He was a tall fellow, with a handlebar moustache that contained enough wax for three candle factories.

"Is something wrong, Mademoiselle? May I be of assistance?"

"Th-there!" Raising a trembling hand, I pointed into the moonlit harbour. "Over there!"

Monsieur Moustache frowned and followed my outstretched arm with his eyes—which suddenly widened to the size of dinner plates.

"Mon Dieu! Is that...?" The man's face paled. Several people seemed to have heard his outcry, because they turned to look in his direction. "No...it can't be!"

Hurrying forward to the edge of the dock, he raised his lantern, sending its light flooding over the water. And there, at the very edge of the flickering light, right next to a pier at the other end of the harbour, a ship became visible. A ship atop the mast of which a black flag with skull and crossbones was fluttering in the wind.

"P-pirates!" I gasped, pointing dramatically at the ship. The ship that just so happened to belong to Mr Ambrose's competitor. Turns out, in the middle of the night it is amazingly simple to sneak onto a ship while wearing black clothes and carrying a black flag. Especially if half the crew are as drunk as boiled barn owls. Then a quick climb up the mast, and, well...

"She's right! Pirates! Pirates in the harbour!" a man shouted. A man who just so happened to bear an astounding resemblance to one of Mr Ambrose's crew members. "Run! Run for your lives!"

"Run!" Screeched another fellow, who somehow also seemed to closely resemble one of my fellow pirates. Wasn't it amazing how many pirate lookalikes were running around at the docks tonight? "Run away!"

"Good God! What is the town guard doing? How did the pirates get into the harbour?"

"They'll kill us! They'll kill us all!"

"Everyone, calm down!" bellowed the guard, raising both hands. "Civilians, slowly and orderly retreat away from the harbour! Guards, ready the cannons! Summon the reserves from the barracks! Mademoiselle, you should get to safety as well."

"Th-thank you, Sir!" Curtsying, I sent the pirate ship a last, appropriately terrified glance and dashed away. The other innocent civilians, also known as pirates in disguise, swiftly followed my example. Behind us, the town guards rushed to the docks, readying their rifles and cannons.

"Holy hell!" Jack was running right beside me, grinning like a loon. Though his grin wasn't nearly as wide as that of the brat riding on his shoulders. "Holy hell, they're really gonna do it!"

"Are they?" Another pirate looked over his shoulder. "I don't really think th—"

Boom!

"All right, I take it back."

I stopped for a moment, glancing back at the plumes of smoke rising from the cannons arranged along the shore. A moment later, a thunderous crash echoed across the water as several balls of iron slammed into the "pirate ship", skewering it with ease. Shrieks went up into the air as the drunken sailors got an abrupt wake-up-call.

Jackal whistled.

"Remind me to never get on that stony-faced bugger's bad side."

I glanced over at the other pirates, who wore simultaneously awed and horrified expressions on their faces.

"Oh, I think they'll help you remember."

We quickened our strides, heading away from the harbour. But we didn't go into town. Oh no, we moved along the shore until a tall figure appeared out of the darkness in front of us.

"You took your time, Mr Linton."

"Glad to see you are your usual cheerful self, Sir."

"Naturally. Things are proceeding adequately."

Boom! Boom!

I glanced over my shoulder towards the harbour again, where flashes of light were illuminating the surroundings every so often. "I'd say so," I agreed, trying my very best not to sound too impressed. "It actually worked! You actually got someone else to shoot down your targets for you!"

"Obviously. It saves ammunition."

"But, Captain..." Clearing his throat, Jackal stepped forward—then quickly trailed off when Mr Ambrose's icy eyes fell on him.

"You wished to say something?"

Jack swallowed. Seems like since witnessing Mr Ambrose's fight with the former captain, "The Jackal" had gained a healthy respect for my husband.

"Err...aye, Captain. Not that I mean to complain or anything, but...you got the ship blown up. Normally we loot ships before that happens."

Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "Why loot an empty ship?"

The pirates stared at him for a long moment. Crickets chirped in the background, intermittently interrupted by cannon shots.

"Err...empty?"

"You didn't think they would anchor in the harbour and simply leave their goods on board, did you?" Turning around, Mr Ambrose started towards a few large buildings at the edge of town, connected to the harbour by a long road. "Follow me."

It said something about the commanding nature of his voice that nobody hesitated. Not the pirates. Not the horses some were riding, who were supposed not to understand English. Not even me. Soon enough, we reached the end of the road, and arrived in front of the warehouses—all of which were unguarded. Surprise, surprise.

"You see," Mr Ambrose explained like a professor trying to hammer into his students' heads that two plus two is four, "when merchant ships arrive at a harbour, the first thing they tend to do is unload—because otherwise, their employers will light a fire under their behinds. And once the goods are unloaded, they are stored..." Stepping forward, he hit the rusty lock on the warehouse door with the butt of his sabre, hard. Then he grabbed the door and pulled it wide open. "...in warehouses."

Slowly, the pirates approached. One at the front raised a lantern, and its light flooded into the interior of the warehouse, revealing piles of gold and expensive cloth, stacks of bulging whiskey barrels, chests full of various exorbitantly expensive spices, and so, so much more. Murmurs rose from the crowd, and one of the pirates turned to Mr Ambrose, his mouth agape in awe.

"H-how did you know this was there?"

Mr Perfidious Pirate Ambrose cocked his head in challenge. "In my profession, isn't it customary to know where rich people keep their treasures?"

I covered my eyes with one hand. That bloody man...well, he was technically telling the truth, just not quite the way they thought he did. Luckily, the pirates didn't seem to notice the difference. They were far too busy cheering for the paragon of pirates that was Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

"I knew it!" Jackal shouted. "I knew he'd be a great captain! The best pirate ever!"

Best pirate ever?

I could hardly keep myself from snorting out loud. What would they say if they were aware of why exactly Mr Rikkard Ambrose knew where rich people kept their stuff?

"Everyone, grab what you can!" Mr Ambrose roared, his eyes glinting with greed, strands of his black hair fluttering in the wind. The cheers of the pirates exploded once more, hardly audible over the thunder of cannons in the distance. "Loot everything! Then get down to the shore, behind the forest to the west! Our ships are waiting for us there!"

"Aye aye, Captain!" the entire crowd bellowed.

Five minutes later, the entire warehouse was empty, the corners cleaned out, even the spider webs gone from the ceiling. A procession of smirking pirates, laden with treasures of all kinds, was soon heading down to a certain hidden beach that formed a natural harbour.

"Oy, you, Fatty!"

I blinked, looking around, and spotted one of the pirates, who was carrying a chest on each shoulder. Fatty? Who was he talking to?

"Yes, you, Fatty! The one who's staring at me! Why ain't you carrying anything?" Grabbing one of the chests on his shoulders, he shoved it towards me. "Here, take that, lazybones!"

"I—"

I was just about to protest, demanding if he was off his rocker, when I realized—I couldn't. I might be dressed as a heavily pregnant woman, but I wasn't actually supposed to be a pregnant woman. Darn it! All the troubles and none of the benefits!

"Oy! Piss off, blockhead!" a high-pitched voice demanded from several feet below eye level.

"Mind your own business, squirt!" The pirate grunted—then turned his angry glare back at me. "Well, Fatty? What do you say?"

I glanced between the angry pirate and my pregnant belly. Bloody hell! What was I supposed to do now? I couldn't just refuse! That would seem far too suspicious! If the pirates got even a hint of the fact that my current "disguise" wasn't actually a disguise...

"Come on, what are you waiting for, laggard?" the pirate grunted, shoving the chest towards me before I could finish thinking. "Take it already, you bloody—"

Just then, a heavy hand landed on the man's free shoulder.

"Huh? What—"

Growling, the pirate turned—and came face-to-stony-visage with Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

"You," he spoke, staring at the man with an intensity that would have made a serial killer jealous, "are not going to make this person carry anything."

"But Captain, it ain't fair! Those things are bloody heavy! We—"

"Oh, you feel the load you are carrying is too heavy?" Mr Ambrose's hand squeezed the other man's shoulder, his eyes glittering dangerously. "You feel I should lighten it?"

"Err...well, yes." Not seeming to read the situation very well, the pirate nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely! I—"

"I see," Mr Ambrose's hand on the man's shoulder tightened some more. "Then how about I relieve you of your head? You'll feel much lighter without it, I promise."

Never had I seen a man run so fast while carrying almost two hundred pounds.

"What are you staring at?" Mr Ambrose barked at the rest of the pirates. "Get moving!"

"Aye aye, Captain!"

Quickly, they hurried away. Mr Ambrose didn't. I didn't. He stood there until the men were out of sight. Then, reaching out, he gently cupped my face.

"Are you all right?"

"Y-you really shouldn't." Swallowing, I glanced around. "If someone saw—"

"Are. You. All. Right?"

The look in his eyes... It was something else. He'd looked at me like I was the most precious treasure in the world before. But now? Now he was looking at me as if I was the world. And as if he'd burn down the rest of the universe just to keep me safe.

I swallowed.

"Y-yes." His hand on my face felt so warm. So reassuring. And for once, I didn't mind being treated as if I were fragile. For once, I just basked in the stolen moment, "Yes, I feel spiffing, Captain."

I smirked at the miniscule narrowing of his eyes. "What, you don't like your new title? Seemed to me like you were enjoying yourself quite a bit, oh Terror of the Seven Seas."

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "I am merely taking appropriate measures against my competition."

"Sure, sure." My smirk widening, I reached out to cup his face—then suddenly extended my fingers to cover his left eye instead. "Hm...I think I know what I'll get you for your next birthday. An eyepatch would look great on you, don't you think?"

I felt the twitching of his facial muscle intensify beneath my hand.

"I do not enjoy being a pirate, Mr Linton."

"You don't?"

"Most certainly not!"

In answer, I reached out, stuck a hand into his pocket, and pulled out several pieces of golden jewelry and documents detailing various future shipments of goods that he must have "borrowed" from the warehouse.

"You were saying?"

"...I don't know how that ended up there."

"Sure, sure." I patted his cheek, mentally going through the list of costume shops I knew back home. Hm...where would I find a nice eyepatch? "Now why don't we join the nice pirates for some feasting, carousing, and singing about drunken sailors?"

"That does sound rather..."

"...nice?"

"...adequate."

"Of course."

"But—!" One of Mr Ambrose's fingers shot up as he sent me an icy glower. "No carousing for you. None whatsoever."

His hand lowered, coming to rest gently on my belly. My own hand covered his, squeezing his fingers. "Agreed."

He extended his other hand for me to take. "Shall we go?"

I cocked an eyebrow. "And let the pirates see us holding hands?"

"No need for them to see. We'll walk slowly."

"And waste time?"

His deep, dark, sea-coloured eyes bored straight into my soul. "Some things are not a waste of time."

And together, we slowly sauntered down the path.

***

On a certain ship, under a certain tarpaulin...

The icy night wind whistled over the deck, tugging at the end of a beard that stuck out from underneath the tarp. From beside the beard, the chattering of teeth sounded.

"M-M-M-Mr Karim, S-sir?"

"Yes?"

"A-a-are you s-sure they will come?"

"Trust me, I know that pirate bastard is coming forus. Back when we were leaving the harbour, I could almost feel him close. He's probably racing to catch up to us as wespeak."

-----------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

For your historic-musical edification, when Lilly was talking about singing about drunken sailors, this was a reference to "What Shall We Do With a Drunken Sailor", a famous Irish sea shanty (i.e. a song commonly sung by sailors) that tackles the philosophical problem of how an intoxicated sailor should be dealt with. One of the brilliant ideas suggested in the song is to shave his belly with a rusty razor... ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob