“And when that didn’t get you the annual allowance you demanded, you let the old man drag you into his scheme. A scheme that isn’t even about helping you. It’s paying you to help Lord Norrington. He’s the one who counts. The only one who counts. The only one who has ever counted.”
As I say that, I ready myself for a frenzied attack. Surely these will be the words to send him over the edge. The realization that he has killed for a man who still sees him as a mere employee, who has damned his immortal soul to help his real son.
But Jenkins only smirks. “Oh, I still have one card to play, girl. One secret that a boy died to keep. His Highness Lord Norrington is going to pay very well for me to continuekeepingthat secret.”
What do they think Andrés overheard? I only know he overheard Norrington talking to someone, and Lord Thomas ordered Jenkins to nail him into the pantry to keep from telling anyone.
“Treason,” Nicolas says. “My captain was accused of treason. I believed him innocent. He was not, was he?”
Jenkins gives a humorless laugh as he parries. “You were always a fool, Dupuis. A pirate who thought he was a privateer. Thought his crew had been betrayed by the Crown. No, your captain was as guilty as sin. Guilty of selling secrets of the Royal Navy to the French. To your own people.”
“The French are not ‘my’ people.”
Jenkins rolls his eyes.
“How would that secret be blackmail for Norr—?” I stop before I finish. “Because he is the one who gave Nicolas’s captain the secrets. He was a British admiral.”
“Thatsecret is worth a lot of money, don’t you think?” Jenkins says, and he’s so pleased with himself that I lunge too quickly, only to have him back me off with a blow that leaves me gasping.
Lord Thomas is fuming. Shouting at Jenkins to keep his mouth shut, does he know what he just did? I pay no attention to the ghost. I wait until he pauses his tirade.
“A secret that was worth a boy’s life, apparently,” I say. “Andrés heard nothing.Nothing.”
Jenkins blinks. “No, he overheard. Lord Thomas said he did.”
“Lord Thomas lied. He thought Andrés might have heard, and that was enough, and so he told you to...” I remember Emily, sitting and listening, and I will not do this to her. “Do what you did.”
Jenkins wheels on the ghost. “You said he had heard. You were certain he had.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins,” I say. “That was the final confirmation I required.” I raise my voice as I lift my sword. “Lord Thomas Norrington and John Jenkins, I name you in the death of Andrés, the cabin boy whose spirit haunts this ship.”
Emily gasps, and I realize I have torn the cloak not only from her father but also from her grandfather. I regret that, but I cannot place her peace of mind over Andrés’s freedom.
Lord Thomas shouts behind me, a roar of rage that turns into a garbled cry as he is wrenched from this world to the next.
“Miranda!”
Jenkins lunges at me. I fall back, and I lift my sword, but my skirts—my damnable skirts—snag, and he traps my blade, and as I stumble, his sword knocks mine splashing into the water at our feet.
Nicolas scrambles to his feet, and he charges toward us.
When a groan comes again, I think it is Nicolas—his injury making him cry out. Then the ship rocks behind me and groans anew. A crack, as if she is splitting in two. Nicolas does let out a cry then—a cry as the floor cracks, leaving a gaping hole in his path.
Jenkins’s sword tip goes to my throat.
“You ought not to have done that, girl,” he says. “Damn my soul, and what reason do I have to live?”
“Every reason, father,” Emily’s voice is barely audible over the ship breaking. “If you are damned, you do not wish to die a moment before you must.”
“If I die, I take this unnatural creature with me. Say a prayer, girl, for it will be your last.”
That is dialogue too trite even for me to craft. If my heart were not hammering in my chest, I would laugh and stand tall and say I do not need to pray, that whatever lies in the hereafter, I trust that my deeds will not condemn me to any version of damnation.
That is what I want to say. Instead, even as my heart hammers, my hand creeps down to my waist. My fingers close on the handle of my gladius and—
The ship rocks again, and I stagger, my hold on my gladius breaking. The tip of Jenkins’s blade sinks into my throat. Nicolas has backed up, and when he breaks into a run, I realize he is going to try leaping over the gaping hole. I open my mouth to tell him to stay back, stay safe, but Jenkins’s sword tip presses in, hot blood welling up as my fingertips frantically search for—
A movement to my left. A blur of motion that charges straight between Jenkins and me. I think it is Nicolas, but when I look, Nicolas is still in flight, leaping. He touches down and starts to topple back, toward the hole. Before I can do more than gasp, he has righted himself.