"He ain't gonna be needing it, and I broke the tip of me blade last fight."

Repulsion spread through Ric. "Yer not stealing from a dead man."

"Why the hell not? Wouldn't be the first time." He looked out over the water. "Fact, bet there be lots more to be had fer some enterprising sorts."

"Not from these dead. Leave 'em be." Ric barked.

"Don't see what difference it makes. Dead be dead." White gave another tug on the sword.

"Ye let go of that weapon, or I'll toss yer sorry arse in te join em." MacTavish warned.

White released the sword's hilt and flopped back onto the thwart. "Don't be gettin' yer hems in a flip, MacTavish. I don't be answerin' to you. Not you, either Robbins." He wiped his hand on his britches.

Summer piped up, "Ye know, man's got a point there. What we gonna do now? No Captain. No crew te speak of. Who do we be answering to?"

"Well that sure as hell ain't gonna be settled by four scabs in a skiff. I say we get back to the Night, and mourn our dead 'fore we go deciding something like that," insisted Ric.

"Ain't gonna want te be the one te break it te Tupper." Summer shook his head.

White nodded in agreement. "Woman's gonna be wrecked."

"The boy, too," added Summer as they began to slowly turn the skiff back toward the Scarlet Night.

"Bump ain't a boy no more." MacTavish grumbled. "Needs te face the truth of this like a man."

They all had to face the truth of this like men. Ric looked back over the horror surrounding him and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. They'd all lost their captain. Friends. Crewmates. So many so quickly. "Good thing Bump had Captain Quinn to teach him. We were all lucky to serve under such a fine man."

"Aye," the word caught in MacTavish's throat. The Scotsman tugged at the braids in his beard and sniffed.

"Aye," White agreed before running the back of his hand under his nose and turning his attention back to the oar blade.

"None better."

Summer's words hung over them as they rowed in silence away from the devastation of Port Royal and back to their ship.

Jocelyn stood stunned. She started to pray for Sister Bernadette but wasn't sure exactly what to pray for. Was Port Royal another Sodom and Gomorrah? Had the Lord smitten it because of its sins? Had the devout Sister been delivered from evil? Did Jocelyn pray for Bernadette's survival, or say a prayer of thanks for the mercy against such a pious woman being forced into her own living hell?

The scene on the deck of the Scarlet Night was surreal. Quiet, as if each remaining member of the crew held their breaths.

Ric and three others had moved quickly to lower a small boat to return to shore in search of any survivors amongst their fellow crewmates. "You're safe here, I swear," he assured her before he left. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

The woman, Tupper, after her fit of panic was now urging one of the remaining men to stitch the gash along her forehead.

"Until Briggs comes back, you're the surgeon, Hornbach, get on with it."

The man stood holding a needle and thick thread in his shaky hand. "I be the cook. Only thing I be used to trussing is a turkey."

"Weren't ye assistant to Briggs? Ye had to have stitched a wound before," reminded Tupper.

"Assistin' Briggs meant I poured as much rum down their gullets as they could swallow before holdin' the poor bastards down. He be the one doin' all the cuttin' and sewin.' I just took care of the screamin' end." He pushed a bottle of rum at her.

"Forget the bloody rum. Pretend my head's a blasted turkey, and do something 'fore my stuffin' falls out." Tupper held her "stuffing" in with a bloodied cloth while Hornbach fussed to gather bandages and the other supplies he'd need.

"Dowd," she hollered to the man standing watch at the rear of the ship. "Any sign of them?"

"Not yet. Hard to see."

Next to him, standing like Lot's Wife, was the boy who helped Ric get Jocelyn away from the city. There was something curious about him. She couldn't figure out what. In all the commotion getting back to the ship and the chaos after the earthquake, he hadn't said a word. Hadn't spoken to anyone. And as far as she'd witnessed, none had spoken to him. Come to think of it, she didn't even know his name.

He was a gangly youth, just coming into his shoulders, with hair that more resembled dark twisted fingers and skin the color of rich honey. But it was his eyes that caught her attention. Deep and soulful, as if they could know all with a simple glance.

Jocelyn owed him her thanks as well, but was unsure how to approach him. He seemed removed. Isolated from the rest, somehow. Perhaps when Ric returned, he could make the proper introductions and-- "There they be." Dowd lowered the eyeglass and called back to Tupper.

"Who's with them?" Tupper waited only as long as it took Hornbach to trim the end of his stitch before slipping beneath his ministering hands and rushing to the rail. "How many?"

The expression on Dowd's face said it all. "There be just the four."

"Get out of my way." Tupper pushed him aside and snatched the long brass eyeglass to look for herself. She made a sound as if the air had been punch from her lungs. "A-another boat...behind... There has to be another... There has to be..."

Tupper lowered the glass. Her legs crumbled. Dowd caught her before she could hit the decking. The brass rolled away as a cry wrenched from deep within her.

All at once, she struggled out of Dowd's hold, fury twisting her face. "Get your hands off me!"

"I was only tryin'--"

"The captain will have you flogged! G-Gavin will see you f-flogged!" She straightened. "He'll see..." Tupper stumbled again, and Jocelyn rushed to help, but the woman recovered once more. She took a few shaky steps and stopped. "Bump." The word came out in a rush. She looked over her shoulder to where the boy still stood. "Bump." she raised her voice before stomping on the deck twice with the heel of her boot.

The boy turned. He looked stricken. Pure anguish etched upon his young face. Silent tears wet his cheeks. He said nothing, but shook his head before tucking his chin. He rushed past Tupper's outstretched arms.

Clutching at the neck of her blouse, Tupper's breath caught as she watched the boy run off. "When C-Captain Quinn returns...tell him...tell him I'm waiting for him in our cabin."

Jocelyn's heart broke as she watched Tupper leave the deck clinging to the last fragile thread of hope. Perhaps her last fragile thread of sanity. Such a tragedy.

Each face of the remaining men held the pain of their loss. Jocelyn felt helpless to ease their grief. They'd all lost too much. Life would never be the same. Not for them. Not for her. She sat in the shadow of a lashed barrel and cried for them all.

It wasn't long before the rescue party returned to the Scarlet Night. A solemn shake of MacTavish's head told the rest everything they needed to hear. "Ne'er seen the like. They didn't stand a chance."

Jocelyn waited. Ric was the last of the four to climb over the gunwales and drop onto the deck. A fist seemed to punch behind her ribs at the mere sight of him. Rugged and golden. A rush of gratitude washed over her. He'd saved her. Not once, but twice in a single day. Had he not rescued her from that horrible auction, she, too, would be among the dead of Port Royal.

He may be an unlikely hero, but he was a hero nonetheless. He was her hero. And a pirate, yet. A pirate with the heart, and the face, of an angel.

Chapter 5.

Heaviness settled within Ric's chest on the row back to the Scarlet Night. He'd been a pirate most of his life. Fought through countless bloody battles, watched men die brutal deaths. Many by his own hand or at the blast of his cannon. Even given all that, he'd not soon wash the images he'd seen today from his memory. The victims of the earthquake would forever haunt him.

Any hope Ric harbored of returning again to Port Royal the next day were dashed as the skiff rumbled beneath them with a strong aftershock. The ground continued to tremble as if the city fought to claw its way back to the surface. It wasn't safe to go back. They needed to get the ship away from this harbor and to open sea. Another tidal wave would swamp them.

Besides, it would be a fool's errand to return. What was done, was done.

Hundreds dead. With the heat this time of year, it wouldn't take long for the bodies to bloat and begin to decompose. It would be gruesome. Those, if any, who managed to survive one hell would be wishing they were dead before long.

"Where be Tupper?" MacTavish asked as they returned to the deck of the Night.

Hornbach shook his head. "She be in a bad way. Took to her cabin."

"Says to send Captain Quinn to her when he gets back," added Dowd. "Convinced he's still alive."

Hornbach cuffed the young seaman, "She's wrestling her mind around what's happened, is all. Give her some time, she'll come about."

"What about Bump?" Ric scanned the deck. He didn't see the boy, but found Jocelyn curled tight to a barrel. Her knees drawn, she had tucked herself into a ball. Wide eyes met his. All he could think at that moment was if not for her, they'd all be among the bodies floating in Kingston harbor.

"Took it hard," Dowd said, jerking Ric's attention back to their conversation. "I'll try to find him."

Ric caught his arm. "Best give him a bit of time as well." He searched the faces of those around him. They all needed a chance to come to terms with what had happened. "We all be needing a bit of time."

"Anybody be needin' me, I'm heading te me armory and drownin' meself in a barrel o' rum." MacTavish lumbered off. "If I'm blind drunk, maybe I won't remember what I've seen today."

"I'll help ye," mumbled Summer following in his wake.

"Me, as well," agreed White.

Ric would have to join them later. He still had to explain things to Jocelyn. When he approached her, she stood and smoothed her skirts. She'd been crying, but tried to hide it with a quick swipe to her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he began, "Auction Square is gone. Washed away. I'm afraid your companions are lost."

"They were already lost." She shook her head. "Even before they were washed away. Do you suppose it's a sin to be grateful for such a tragedy?" Worry creased her brow.

Ric let out a tired breath. Given what awaited those other women, he couldn't blame her. "I ain't the person you should be askin' to judge sin."

"No, you're my hero." She reached out to squeeze his arm.

The look in her eye brought him up short. "I ain't that either."

"You are to me." She lifted his hand, kissed its palm, and held it to her chest. "I owe you my life." She smiled at him with shining eyes and stepped closer. "Not only did you save me from a fate more horrible than death, you saved me from the terror of the quake. I'll be forever grateful. Forever in your debt."

Once again, Ric marveled at the silk of her pale skin beneath his touch. Part of him now wanted not to drown himself in a barrel of rum, but in her. Forget the horror of this day. Lose himself in her innocence. Kiss her lips, caress the milky tenderness of her breasts. Run his fingers over the smoothness of her thigh as he'd done back in the alley. The nave look upon her face told him it would be simple to use her gratitude to woo her into his arms. Into his bed.

What the hell was he thinking? Looking at his hand, the contrast between the rough filth of his skin against the spotless purity of her jolted him back to reality. He jerked his hand from hers as if he'd been scalded. "Ye owe me nothin.' Ye be the one saved the lot of us scurvy bastards." He shoved his hand through his hair. "An' if yer smart, you'll be keeping a good distance from me. I ain't yer knight in shining armor. I'm a low-life pirate who only stole ye from that auction 'cause I wanted to have ye for myself."

It was a lie, or was it? Ric struggled with what was true. He'd meant only to save her, but once he got close. Held her tight to him. Touched her. Smelled the sweetness of her skin. The black and white of what he'd done and why became blurred. But there was no way he'd be taking Beauchamp's daughter. Neither would he allow her to believe he was better than he was.

He had to find Bump, and he needed to follow his own warning and keep far away from her. "While ye're busy counting yer blessings, be thankful yer last name is Beauchamp, for there ain't a man left aboard that be wanting what's laying beneath them skirts."

Ric heard her gasp as he stormed away.

He'd hit his mark. Innocent fool. How nave could she be? Looking at him all moony eyed. Hero? Him? Ha! If she had any idea that he wanted to bend her over the rail and toss her skirts over her head, she'd never be calling him a bloody hero.

For the next hour, he searched for Bump. Tupper had locked herself in her cabin. He'd tried to talk to her through the door. Tell her how sorry he was, but she'd thrown something heavy against the wooden planks and ordered him away. The lad couldn't be with her given her state.

Bump had been a small child when he came aboard. He knew every hiding place on this ship. Ric thought he did too, but obviously he was wrong. It wasn't as if the boy could hear Ric calling out to him. After a while, he gave up the search. If Bump didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be found.

Frustrated, Ric returned topside. It was an eerie sight. The decks of the Scarlet Night stretched out in empty silence. A deep sense of sadness and abject loneliness reached into his bones. If he closed his eyes, he could still see them all. Gavin Quinn, Neo, Finch... He could hear them. Captain Quinn giving his orders. Sharp and crisp. The image of efficiency. He was a fine Captain. Good and fair. Fierce and ruthless in battle. A defender of his ideals.

Ric had served under this ship's last two Captains. Gavin Quinn and before him Jaxon Steele. He'd been lucky to have been counted among the crew. But now...

The Scarlet Night sat dead in the water. With no sail set, she bobbed, noiseless save for the gentle lap of waves against her hull. She floated adrift, awaiting her orders, but without a captain to set her sails and chart a course...

The stillness on deck screamed at him. He needed to find the others. Ric's search found them in the galley. MacTavish, White, and Summer where three sheets in already. Hornbach and Dowd had filled the table to bursting. Roasted meat and fresh fruits and vegetables, crusty loaves of bread. It was a feast fit for a crowd ten times their size.

"Don't know what we're to do from here." Hornbach filled Ric's plate to overflowing. "But we're sure te eat good. Least till all this food starts to rot." He swept a hand to indicate the stack of crates and barrels overflowing with produce and foodstuffs. "Galley was loaded 'fore we left dock, but in this heat, we can't be keeping some of this more than a week or two. Got enough rum and ale for a crew of forty, so doubt if we'll mind. Least not fer a while."

Ric grabbed a bite of ripe rich ackee fruit. He sat at one of the long, rough-hewn galley tables to eat. From here, he could see Jocelyn sitting alone in the corner picking at the pile of food in front of her. He took a swallow of ale. Somehow, he still had to find a way to get her to the northern side of the island. But that was no guarantee there'd be a ship to take her to Tortuga. There was a good possibility the north had suffered the same fate as Port Royal. Although if the wave came from the south, there might be a chance. There had to be a chance. If not, what would he do with her?

"What we do wit that one?" MacTavish jerked his head in Jocelyn's direction as though reading Ric's mind. He dropped his bulk in front of him blocking his view of the girl. His drinking partners followed suit.

"I don't rightly know," Ric confessed.

Summer sniffed. "I couldn't care less about the girl. She shouldn't be aboard. Bad luck an' all. I say we toss her over."

"If it weren't for her, we'd still be tied to the dock. You remember the dock? The one sitting under all that water?" Ric pointed the tip of his knife at Summer. "How'd that be for bad luck?"

"Still don't like the idea of a woman aboard," grumbled Summer.

"Don't let Tupper be hearing ye." MacTavish spoke into his mug.

"Tupper ain't no woman. She's...Tupper," reasoned Summer. "Woman or no, we still be in deep shit. No captain, no crew. Sitting out here like a turd in a puddle."

"Ye should be a poet there, Summer." White scoffed.

Hornbach and Dowd joined the conversation. "Anybody got any ideas?"

Ric pushed away his plate. "How many of us are left?"

"Yer looking at most all of us. Nine if ye count her." MacTavish tipped his head toward Jocelyn again. "We can sail the Night with a half dozen, if we don't run up against somebody wanting to blast us out of the water. What we be needin' is a captain."

"I'd vote fer Tupper in a second," piped White. Since the first day she stepped foot on this ship, White had been her champion. At least now he didn't drool when she walked by.

Summer nodded. "Me, too, if she was fit."