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D ays had never disappeared into the deep like they did on that sailing.

They followed the same watch schedule that had always dictated his life, yet Chow hardly knew if it was morning or night, so dizzy was he from Rebecca.

In every spare moment, he looked for her—to see if she was at work, to see if she was smiling, to see if he could steal her away for a private kiss or two.

They were playacting, of course. When she decided she was ready to leave the Ghost , she would go without a further word.

Still, Chow could admit to himself that despite the farce, there was something real building between them.

Its foundation was not kisses—though they stole plenty of those—but the little secrets they shared.

Rebecca’s confession that her first love had been the senator’s son, who had sworn he loved her back but married a society heiress anyway.

The hand she landed on Chow’s shoulder when he told her of his still-burning dream to find his relatives in China.

The laugh they both had to stifle when, in the midst of fucking the brains out of each other one night, old de la Cruz ripped a fart so loud that it sounded like a gunshot.

By the time they reached the dark blues of the mid-Atlantic, Rebecca wasn’t a mystery to Chow anymore.

He discovered how her expression stilled when she meant to frown; he saw the little limp in her walk when she had been sitting too long, due to the time she had twisted her knee lugging bathwater upstairs for her mistress five years before; he saw her sitting next to Long Tale Lee and knew she was eager to learn his art of tying ropes into intricate designs.

She wasn’t his wife, but it was easier than ever to pretend that she was.

They were in the cold waters somewhere between Florida and Madeira when they spotted the trio of cutters a few leagues ahead.

They were too far away to see the names of the ships, even with the captain’s telescope, but Chow had learned years ago how to identify a slaver from far away.

A shallow body, four or more masts of low sails, and the gleam of evil catching every ray of sun.

These three sailed under the American flag, which meant they were immune from the British navy’s hunt for slave ships.

Chow handed the telescope to Jack Davies, the blond-haired Scotsman who served as coxswain, and asked the captain, “Should we try to take any of their supplies?”

Slavers headed across the Atlantic from the Caribbean were usually loaded with goods rich enough to pay the Ghost ’s needs for a year.

In Havana, they had probably stocked up on sugar, rum, and coffee, which they were now bringing to Europe to sell at luxury prices.

If it were just the one slaver, the Ghost would attack, maroon the crew, and keep the ship and supplies to sell themselves in the backwaters of the Spanish-held African islands.

Three slavers together called for a little more strategy. Davies lowered the telescope and said, “Too bad there aren’t any storms brewing. That would break them up long enough for us to pick them off one by one.”

Captain Boukman glowered as if Davies had questioned his honor. “We don’t need to pick them off one by one. Even if there were twenty ships, we would defeat them.”

The captain’s tone sharpened the air around them. More and more, he had been taking offense at innocent comments, and Chow was having trouble predicting whether he would recover his good cheer or descend into a blacker mood.

Chow let out a breezy laugh. “I remember when we took on five slavers at once. That was during the war, wasn’t it?

Five slavers, and one of them tried to flag down a French man-o’-war for help.

We sank three of them and took fifty prisoners.

You’ve never seen anyone as fierce as Captain Boukman during that battle. ”

For the moment, it seemed to work. Spitting tobacco off the side of the ship for emphasis, the captain said, “Sold a thousand dollars’ worth of cotton from them, too.”

Davies had already changed his posture, head nodding and stance open, to show he hadn’t meant any harm by his comment. “Aye, I’ve heard stories about that one.”

“We’ll do the Trojan Horse routine, then,” Chow said, eager to move the captain towards battle orders.

In the Trojan Horse maneuver, they rowed a longboat out to the flagship under the guise of exchanging latitude estimates, like any other friendly ship in the Atlantic.

Then, once they had installed a dozen or so pirates aboard the flagship, the Ghost opened fire on all ships at once and battled the whole fleet.

The captain had invented the maneuver some years ago, and Chow had named it, a reference from the Greek mythology that Lady Preston had insisted would one day be useful. He expected Captain Boukman to smile as they settled upon a plan he could endorse.

The captain only frowned more deeply. “Are you giving the orders now, Chow? Did I miss the vote when the crew decided to oust me and make you captain?”

“No, sir. I meant it as a suggestion, of course. We’ll do whatever you deem best, sir.”

“That’s right.” At last, Captain Boukman shifted. Claiming the telescope, he raised it to his eye and examined the ships on the horizon. Then he ordered, “Raise the American flag. We’ll pretend to be one of them.”

The Trojan Horse, except for some reason, the captain didn’t want to call it by that name. Chow didn’t care so long as they had a plan. “Aye aye, Captain.”

Chow motioned Davies ahead and was about to jump down from the quarterdeck himself when Captain Boukman gave one more order: “Go and find your wife, Chow. I don’t want her underfoot when the fighting begins.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

The words were like a bucket of cold water sloshed over his head.

He hadn’t considered what role Rebecca would play in a battle.

He had been so wrapped up in the surprising joy of her companionship that he had stopped thinking about what would come in the next hour, day, or week.

He, who found peace in making plans for every last provision on the ship, had somehow stopped himself from realizing that if they caught the slavers, it would mean that she had to risk her life, too.

Even if she remained below, running gunpowder from one cannon to another, as the captain was bound to order.

Chow’s feet slowed, but still, he descended the ladder to the lower deck.

He found her milking the goat. “We are approaching the slavers, and the captain has special orders for you.”

“What special orders?” Rebecca took his hand to stand. He tried to drop her fingers but couldn’t. They were so strong and, after just a few weeks, so familiar.

“I don’t know. You’re to come up and get them from him yourself.” He led her to their little alcove between the barrels, where he paused to strap on his leather belt of weapons. He handed her the machete he had bought from an old maroon in Haiti.

“This is meant to cut jungle vines. All you need is to swing big, and it will keep you safe.” Not exactly true. Nothing Chow could give her would keep her safe. But at least it would give her some protection.

He wouldn’t let himself think about her getting hurt.

They had the protection of all that was moral and good in the world behind them, and that would keep her safe.

Rebecca tied the machete to her thigh under her petticoat with a grim smile. “Small chance the captain will let me join in the fighting, but thank you.”

Davies was already directing the arrangement of the longboat that would be their Trojan Horse as Chow led Rebecca to Captain Boukman on the quarterdeck.

The crew was alive with the spirit of an impending battle: Chow could practically taste their excitement.

His own heartbeat picking up, his mouth growing dry, Chow leaned into the sensations so he would forget that he had no control over Rebecca’s fate.

He took a hard look at the slave ships—looming larger each moment—to stoke the fire he would need to get through the battle.

He was no longer holding onto Rebecca’s hand.

“Here she is, Captain,” he announced. “Ready for your orders.”

Even tall Rebecca looked small in contrast to the captain’s hulking figure. He smiled at her in that way of his that made Chow want to step between them.

“You’ve never been in a battle before.”

“No, sir.” She smiled back at him, but hers wasn’t flirtatious at all. “I’m a pirate now, and I’m ready to do what is necessary.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Now, where is your goat?”

“My goat?”

Chow’s heart began to hammer, though he didn’t know why. The captain had a strategy, and soon it would all make sense.

“She is below deck with the other animals,” Rebecca finished.

“You’ll need her. You see, you have a very special role, my dear. We are making an offer of your little goat to the captain of that flagship so that he thinks we are his friends.”

Rebecca blinked. Then, silently, she turned to Chow, as if to ask him to intervene.

They had never tried offering presents before. There was hardly any time after they boarded a ship for polite conversation, since the battle usually began about then.

Still, as a strategy, Chow could see its advantages. “You’ll get the goat back,” he assured Rebecca. “After all, we’re going to take the ships.”

“I see.” She looked back at the captain. Her smile did not return. “I’ll fetch Mrs. Adams for the longboat, then. Where would you like me to post myself during the battle, sir?”

Captain Boukman’s grin widened. “Why, didn’t I say? You’re presenting the goat to the captain yourself.”

And now Chow’s heart stopped. He stepped forward. “Wouldn’t she be better off as a powder monkey?”

Captain Boukman’s good cheer disappeared. “Again, Chow, you try to give orders on my ship?”

“She has never fought before. She doesn’t have any training or experience. We should send our best fighters on the longboat. Rebecca will be of more use here, tending to the ship and the injured.”

“You tax me, Chow, and you know I do not like to be taxed.” The captain’s voice boomed loud enough that the crew hustling around them hushed. “I am the captain, and you are the quartermaster because I am a forgiving man. A man who gives second chances. Am I not?”

Chow forced his heart to stop hammering long enough to swallow the captain’s words. To remember that he was a man who followed the wrong instincts and who had only been able to repent for his past mistakes because Captain Boukman had given him the chance to serve on the Ghost.

“You are, sir,” he replied, his voice so hoarse that he barely heard himself.

“Good. Then you know my orders. See that they are done.” His authority proven, he turned his back on the whole crew and watched as the Ghost slid into formation with the slavers.

Chow and Rebecca descended the stairs from the quarterdeck together. In a whisper, she said, “I don’t understand what just happened.”

“You’re going to be in the longboat with Jack Davies.

” Chow forced his mind to the tasks at hand instead of inhaling the coconut smell of her.

“You’ll board the flagship and pretend to make a present of the goat.

Then, we’ll fire our cannons and start the battle.

” Rebecca still stared at him—eyes narrowed, brow furrowed—so he added, “You’ll get the goat back. ”

“I understand the captain’s orders,” she said, “but I don’t understand how he has turned you into this…”

Her hands finished the sentence, waving in a circle in front of him as if to encompass some great mess of his spirit.

Chow didn’t have the capacity to acknowledge a remark like that. He gripped her shoulders. “Come back alive.”

Rebecca stared at him. The captain shouted another order, and Chow would be stupid not to heed. He didn’t let her go. Not until she promised, “I will.”

It was all he could ask of her. Chow released her and turned to face his own fate in the battle.