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quartermaster was too quick, however, and he sped off across the deck. The crowd cheered every time Nubby connected with either Jacques or Stede. They raced around the deck until a clear female voice broke into song. They all turned, the crew of the Bruce especially stunned, to hear this beautiful voice coming from Anne.
    Heave ho, to the sea we go,
Where ships sail high and the soft winds blow.
Where pirate hearts beat proud and true,
We sing this birthday wish to you.
May the sweet trade winds always fill your sails,
And fat fish leap off the starboard rails.
May you spin the wheel ’til you grow old,
And find your pockets lined with jewels and gold.
May your black flag fly true and high,
And you never find your barrels dry.
Happy Birthday, Nubs!
    The crowd cheered and then pleaded for Anne to sing again . . . which, of course, she did. And a couple of Cutlass Jack’s men brought out fiddles and added a smart rhythm to Anne’s melody. Many of the crew began to dance. Even Nubby, still clutching his wooden arm, danced a little jig.

    Late that evening almost asleep at his desk, Declan Ross was startled by a sudden knock on his cabin door. “Come!” he said.
    The door opened, and Cutlass Jack Bonnet entered. He closed the door with an air of secrecy and turned to Ross.
    â€œYou grow tired of singing and dancing up on deck?” Ross asked.
    â€œNay, Declan, I never tire of revelry. It’s been a long time since my lads were this happy. It was a good thought to harbor here together and make merry. I missed seein’ ye up there, though.”
    Ross gestured to his sea charts. “These charts have to be my dance partner tonight,” Ross explained. “How’s my Anne—none of your men giving her a hard time, are they? You know, she’s signed the articles. She’s family—and crew—now.”
    â€œI’m not surprised,” said Jack. “Yer Anne is as spirited as they come. My quartermaster has taken a likin’ t’ her, ye know.”
    â€œI think her heart’s spoken for,” said Ross. “Though she’d keelhaul me for even speaking the suggestion.”
    â€œWho is he?”
    â€œAh, he goes by the name Cat,” Ross replied. “A good lad. Captain material. He had a pressing errand at the Monasterio de Michael Arcángel on Saba, or he’d be here with us now.”
    â€œAn errand with the monks? Who can tell what they’ll do t’ him.” They both laughed.
    â€œYou know, you really have been like family to us,” Ross said. “Anne still calls you Uncle Jack . . . she doesn’t have any real uncles, real family, except me. It’d be good to have you around more.”
    Jack smiled proudly, but just for a moment. Then it became uncomfortably quiet. Ross looked on his guest, but Cutlass Jack stared at the floor.
    â€œWhat is it, Jack?”
    â€œNow it comes t’ this,” he muttered, shifting in place. “Seventeen years, Declan . . . that’s how long I’ve been a’ piratin’. I’d have never started if the Brits hadn’t taught me t’ sail, taught me t’ fight at sea . . . taught me t’ plunder the spoils of a defeated foe. And since the day they tossed me aside like so much flotsam, I’ve been puttin’ my seafarin’ skills t’ good use. Declan, it’s all I know. It’s all I’m good at.”
    â€œYou can still use those skills,” Declan offered. “I’m counting on it! You’re just using them for a different cause.”
    â€œBut the British?” Cutlass Jack scratched under his bandana. “They cut us off once. They’ll do it again.”
    â€œIt’s not just the British footing the bill, Jack,” Ross paused, wondering how much he should say.
    â€œDoesn’t matter. The deal won’t last, and we’ll be left just like before.” Jack turned to leave, but waited a moment.