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never stopped to watch someone
die. He’d always thought it was more peaceful and calm than this,
despite the pain of injury that brought it about. Instead, the life
tore out of LaFleur, escaping as his corporeal body fought to hold
on. It was in man’s nature to survive, it seemed that never went
away, not even in the last moment of life.
    LaFleur’s jaw
relaxed, open, as if shocked at his own mortality. His hand was
limp in Brant’s.
    Brant didn’t
look up as Karl walked away. He held tightly to his fallen
captain’s hand. He wasn’t a praying man. He’d never really been
religious, but his mother had taught him to pray for the souls of
those less fortunate and her words came to him now. Silently, he
mouthed the words that he hoped found their way to listening ears.
“Lord, have mercy on his soul,” he repeated over and over.

Chapter
Six
     
    Brant clenched
his fists tightly and took a deep breath. “Sir, we should take this
route to Port Royale and unload. We’re sitting low in the water and
if a storm blows in—”
    Jacob, the new
captain, held up his hand. “We’re not heading in yet. She’s a good
ship and she’ll weather a storm.”
    Brant looked
over at Karl, silently begging him for help, but he just shrugged.
“Plot the course, Brant.”
    Brant sighed
and collected his tools up from the desk that Jacob never should
have been sitting behind, and walked out of the cabin, Karl
following close behind.
    Depositing his
tools on a table near the ship’s wheel, Brant turned to Karl and
threw up his hands. “He’s going to have us all at the bottom of the
ocean!”
    Karl nodded,
his face grim. “He’s a fool and knows nothin’ of running a ship.
You see him after the last raid?”
    Brant nodded.
Jacob had celebrated with the crew members a little too hard, and
had spent the entire day afterwards holed up in his cabin. No one
had been allowed to disturb him except to bring him coffee and
breakfast. The men had joked about how he was going soft, but if he
kept this up it wouldn’t be jokes for much longer. “He wants
respect, but he doesn’t want to give up his place among the
crew.”
    “ He don’t start listening to someone, there’ll be another
mutiny before long. Mark my words.”
    The scary
thing was; Karl was right. In the weeks since LaFleur’s murder—that
was what Brant had come to think of it as—Jacob had quickly showed
his true colors. He was young, and green. He knew nothing of what
it took to be a leader, or how to maintain control. He seemed to
think he could order the crew around like his word was law, sit
back and watch them do all the work, and then join in when it came
to fun. In all his years serving under LaFleur, Brant had learned
that as a captain you had to make certain sacrifices to
differentiate yourself from the rest of the crew.
    LaFleur would
have a drink, maybe two, with his men. But he never overdid it and
he always remained in control. He never asked more of his men than
he was willing to give and he always pulled his own weight.
    Jacob was
riding high on power, refusing to listen to reason or advice. Brant
and Karl had been patient with him, willing to help and offer
advice, but he wanted nothing of it. It seemed like he had branded
them traitors, followers of LaFleur, and didn’t trust them.
    Brant spread out his chart and began working on adjusting
their course back into heavier trade routes. If Jacob wanted gold
and blood, he’d get it. He only hoped that it wouldn’t be
the BlackFox that
ended up washed red with the lost lives of men he called
brothers.
    Karl tapped
his table a few times and clucked his tongue. Looking up, Brant
raised his eyebrow. “Yes?”
    “ This island, you can bring us right by it?”
    Brant looked
at where Karl’s finger was tapping and made a few quick
calculations. “Yeah. Can we unload our hold there?”
    Karl shook his
head. “It be empty. Figure we keep it close by, just in case.” He
let out a sigh, like it was a great