"Yes," said Elizabeth. "We get on very well."

"Does he raise a hand to you when you're surly?"

Elizabeth fairly jumped with indignation, but she managed to keep her tone in check. "If I were surly, he would not."

This earned her a burst of those incongruous dimples. "Looks the lively type, he does. The kind to keep a woman warm at night. Long of bone, big hands, muscled hard. Reminds me of a sweetheart I had once, in Monterey Bay. Soon as we docked he'd come striding up the gangplank bellowing so's the whole world could hear him: "Anne Bonney! Take a hard look at the floorboards, lass, for ye'll be seein' naught but the ceiling ower ma bed for a guid while!" Aye, those were grand days. He was a Scot, like that man of yours."

"Nathaniel is American born and raised."

The old woman shrugged. "He ain't red-skinned, is he? His folks come from somewhere else, and he's a Scot if I ever saw one. The full-grown kind, up to trouble andwitha keen eye for women. Now, about that man of yours, tell me this--"

Elizabeth held her breath.

"--has he taught you how to use a gun?"

It took some effort to bite back her smile, but Elizabeth managed to nod. "Yes. A musket and a rifle, as well."

"And have you ever shot a man?"

She slipped in that question so easily, as if it meant nothing more than idle talk of lovers long gone. Elizabeth looked out over the water. "I don't think the Osiris will attack."

A hoarse laugh. "Don't you, now? But that's not what I asked."

With a sigh, Elizabeth said: "I didn't shoot Jack Lingo, if that's what you're wondering about. Did you think you could get the story out of me so cheaply?" But she felt her color rising, and she knew that this fact did not escape Anne Stoker.

"There's more than one story, then. How you dealt with that bastard Lingo. And who it was you shot."

Elizabeth said, "For the first story at least I'll need that toothbrush, among other things. You said something of a hairbrush and a comb."

The old lady fumbled in her shirt and pulled out her pipe. "Did I?"

"Yes, I am sure you did," said Elizabeth firmly. "And I should think some soap, as well. If there is any to be had on board."

The soft white hair on Anne Stoker's chin was working up and down furiously as she sucked at her cold pipe, but her eyes never left Elizabeth.

"Is Jack Lingo worth all that?"

"You'll have to hear the story and decide for yourself," said Elizabeth.

From overhead came a cry as loud and harsh as any gull's. "Frigate on the starboard bow! Flying French colors!"

The old lady's head came around with a jerk. "Oh now, there's some good luck!"

Stoker shouted up into the rigging: "Can you make her out, Tommy?"

"Aye, Capting! I believe that's the Avignon."

"Has she seen us?"

"That she has! And she's running out her guns!"

"Guns?" asked Elizabeth, more mystified than frightened. "But France is not at war with the United States. We are flying American colors."

"Not for us, Boots," said Nathaniel, coming up behind her. "She'll have her eye on the Osiris. Ain't that so?" This question was directed to Granny Stoker.

"Oh, aye," agreed the old lady, pulling a telescope from her pocket. "The French fleet's been prowling the main shipping lanes ever since the Tory blockade shut 'em out of their home ports. That frigate will be in a foul mood. The Osiris will suit her just fine about now."

In a few blasts of Connor's whistle the other half of the crew had been called up from their berths, and all hands fell into a routine as practiced as a quadrille at a country ball.

"Helm's a-lee!" boomed Stoker from the forecastle.

"Look at the grin on him," said Nathaniel. "You'd think he was going to take the prize himself."

Robbie and Hawkeye came up the deck, dodging sailors until they stood in a circle around Granny Stoker, whose sling chair was rocking hard with the motion of the ship. She pointed her cane at Robbie. "You, Scotsman! Hold me steady!"

When he had caught up the sling, she fixed her glass on the horizon. And then: "Aye, there she is! God's bones, ain't she a pretty sight!"

"Mainsail haul!" bellowed Stoker. "Cheerly now, boys!"

The Jackdaw began to tack toward the Avignon, the beat of the waves on the bow picking up in time with Elizabeth's heartbeat. Nathaniel must have felt it, for he slipped an arm around her waist, as firm and steady an anchor as she could ask for on a deck pitched like a houseroof.

"We're headed for that frigate like a cat with a mad dog on her tail," said Hawkeye, looking hard.

"Aye," agreed Granny Stoker. "No better place to run than into the arms of a Frenchman when you've got a great fat East Indiaman tweakin' your arse."

And indeed it seemed as if the Jackdaw were of no interest at all to the Avignon. She swept forward at an angle that could be read without quadrant or compass: a confrontation with the Osiris seemed certain, and quick, unless the East Indiaman could change course immediately.

Elizabeth turned to Nathaniel. "But surely the Osiris will run?"

A warning shot echoed over the sea, and with it Elizabeth's stomach rose to her throat.

"Too late," breathed Nathaniel. "They're in for it now."