Moncrieff and Captain Pickering stood empty-handed before them. The captain had lost his hat and his wig; his short gray stubble stood up in peaks on his head. His chest heaved convulsively.

"Don't be a fool, man." His voice cracked and broke in an effort to keep it in control. "We will pound you to dust."

"And let your lovely bride go to hell with only me for company?" Stoker ran his open hand up the front of Giselle's bodice to pull her in tighter. She said nothing, but her eyes were very wide.

All the blood drained from Pickering's face. "Unhand her immediately, do you hear me? Unhand her!"

Stoker pursed his lips. "'Tis a sad thing for a man to be in the power of a woman, is it not? Now, if you'll pardon us, we'll be takin' our leave."

"Wait!" Moncrieff shouted. "What of the passengers on the Osiris? Did you see them board the Avignon?"

Pickering wheeled around to him. "What does that matter now?" he roared.

"It's all that matters!" Moncrieff tried to push past him. In that moment Stoker simply twisted his upper body over the rail and dragged Giselle with him, where she hung, feet swinging freely.

"Lord Jesus," whispered Curiosity.

"Do I have your attention again, boys?" Stoker asked in a conversational tone.

"Damn your liver and your eyes, Stoker! Let her go!"

"That's just what I've got in mind, Horace me lad." He laughed, and pulled Giselle up closer. "When I let you go, sweetings, I suggest you push hard for the deck below you. The water is damned cold."

"No!" Pickering lurched forward, but it was too late. Giselle was already flying through the air, a strange butterfly with wings of emerald-green silk. Stoker vaulted the rail in a single movement and followed her, the knife in his hand catching the light as he went. The drop was no more than fifteen feet, but it seemed to take forever. The entire crew of the Isis rushed to the rail just as two solid thumps sounded, one after the other.

The babies were still wailing, and behind them the injured sailor groaned, but Hannah barely heard any of it. She stood looking at Mac Stoker, who had gathered Giselle Somerville to him again. He grinned up at them, his face streaming with rain. Giselle's eyes were closed and her body hung limp against him. No man on board the Isis would dare aim a musket at Stoker for fear of hitting her.

"Stoker!" Captain Pickering roared. "Stoker, I'll hound you to the ends of the world!"

"Och, never worry about that," Stoker called back. "I won't be goin' anywhere until we've got what we came for. And if you're eyeing me masts, then I'll remind you that I like me knives sharp." To prove his point he flicked his wrist and a bead of blood appeared on Giselle's jaw.

Pickering's voice broke. "Name your price!"

Stoker looked at Giselle with a thoughtful expression and then squinted up at Pickering. "Not so fast. I haven't sampled the merchandise yet, have I?"

The noises that came from the captain were not quite human, but Stoker only laughed. "All right, then, man. My price is very reasonable. This pretty morsel in me arms for them-was And he pivoted and pointed with his knife at Hannah and Curiosity.

Shocked, Hannah stepped back from the railing. Curiosity drew in her breath sharply through her teeth.

"Christ, Pickering. You look like you swallowed your tongue, man. It's simple enough. I want the black woman and the three children. Hand them over and you can have this one back."

Giselle moaned in his arms, twisting slightly.

Moncrieff let out a strangled laugh. "We will do no such thing!"

"No?" Stoker shrugged. "I'll be sure to let the lady's father know how well you protected and valued her."

"I can pay you!" Pickering shouted. "What good are these children to you, Stoker?"

"No use at all." From behind the longboat that took up a good portion of the main deck, a familiar voice. Hannah felt the jolt of it, even before she saw her grandfather's long form unfolding. Hawkeye stood tall and straight, his hair fluttering in the rain and his rifle fixed on Moncrieff. "To him, at least. But I'm right fond of them. Surprised to see me, Angus?"

Moncrieff, struck dumb, took two steps back from the rail. Then he laughed. "Hell, yes. But come now, man. Even you couldn't make that shot from a rolling deck."

"Maybe not," said Hawkeye. "But then I expect one of us might get lucky."

And the hatch opened, and gave Hannah another surprise: her father, and just behind him, Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was trembling, frozen to the spot, terrified and overjoyed. She stood on the deck of the Jackdaw and looked up. Hannah. Curiosity. And the babies, both of them. Curiosity pulled open her cape so she could see them, blinking in the misting rain, curls floating around faces flushed pink in the cool air. Her vision blurred; she dashed the rain and the tears from her face. With some part of her mind she was aware of the others: Giselle Somerville struggling weakly in Stoker's arms, Hawkeye with his rifle sights on Moncrieff, and Pickering beside him. They were arguing loudly.

Nathaniel shouted, "Send them down now and nothing will happen to Miss Somerville."

Pickering began to give the order, but Moncrieff cut him off with a chop of his hand. "No. The earl's instructions are clear."

"Angus, it's the daughter of the lieutenant governor he's got there! How will you explain it if we arrive in Scotland without her?"