Pirate Code
believe in justice and law, not in the seditious, empty threats of a thief and a murderer. My wife has broken the marriage vows she made to me in the sight of God and has publicly insulted my honour, for that I will see her punished.”
    A hideous smile spread over the Dutchman’s mouth. “Be thankful I have not also invoked my right to insist it be you, Acorne, who delivers her punishment.” The smile broadened into the gloat of a leer at the responding look of sickened disgust coming over Jesamiah’s face. “Provoke me and I may well change my mind.”
    Losing the final restraint of control over his barely held temper, Jesamiah leapt across the table scattering chairs, china, silverware and glass. The candelabra toppled over; the crystal brandy decanter fell with a shattering crash to the floor, releasing the pungent smell of its contents. The ribbon was between his fingers, pulled taut around van Overstratten’s neck, Jesamiah, standing behind him, legs braced, arms crossing, locked at the crook of his elbows, pulling backwards, the previously innocuous ribbon as effective as a wire garrotte.
    “You can’t even pronounce her name correctly, you bastard,” he hissed into the Dutchman’s ear. “Its Teo-la short, quick, not your lah-di-dah Ti-oh-la.” He pulled the ribbon tighter. “Yield to me you bastard or I’ll strangle you here and now. One way or another I’ll bloody see her free of you!”
    The Dutchman was clawing at the rigid length of blue silk crushing against his carotid artery, stifling his air supply and the pulse of blood to his brain.
    Henry Jennings and Benjamin Hornigold rushed to grasp at Jesamiah’s arms, Rogers hurrying to the door to fling it wide and bellow for his militia guard.
    Faced with a volley of primed muskets, Jesamiah swore and released the choking van Overstratten. The Dutchman’s lips were blue, face suffused red, he fell forwards hands clasping his throat, wheezing and coughing, gasping to suck in lungfuls of air.
    Dropping the knotted ribbon to the floor Jesamiah held his hands in surrender. Getting himself shot would not help Tiola.
    Nor would it help to spend the rest of the night in gaol, but that was where, at Governor Rogers’ explicit orders, he found himself.

Four
    The silence awoke Tiola, her half-asleep state registering that the rain had momentarily stopped. Sleepily, she turned over feeling the scratch of rough-spun linen sheets on her skin, expected to find Jesamiah asleep on his back, snoring, beside her. He was not there; his portion of the narrow bed quite cold. Far away lightning flickered; then a distant, predatory growl of thunder.
    Shivering, all the warmth and comfort of the earlier part of the night gone, Tiola swore a sailor’s explicit curse, and winding the sheet around herself padded from the small side cabin into the main room. The headache was above both eyes now, stabbing into her brain and her body felt languid and heavy as if she were carrying a solid weight on her shoulders. The distant flash of lightning through the curve of the stern windows and the skylight provided enough light, although she swore again as she bumped into the truck of the larboard cannon. She hated the things being in here, but Jesamiah insisted they stay. In case. In case of what she never asked, knowing she would not appreciate or approve the answer. Ugly, gape-mouthed death bringers, even when they were cold and silent, squatting there with brooding menace.
    She made her way to the door, yelling for someone to bring a lantern, expecting Finch, the ship’s galley cook and Jesamiah’s self-appointed steward to appear. Or young Jasper who had claimed for himself the duty of cabin boy. Instead, Rue was there, his hand raised, about to knock and seek admittance. Aside from being quartermaster and second in command, he was Jesamiah’s closest friend beyond Tiola. He ducked beneath the lintel, without saying a word hung the lantern he carried from a ceiling hook where it
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