Author's Note: This story takes place several months after "An Offer She Couldn't Refuse." I'd like to point out for the record that I did not advertise for a Connor muse. This one just showed up on my doorstep and wanted in. A big thank you goes to my beta-readers: Rhi, Merwyn, and Raine. Any remaining mistakes are mine and will be corrected as soon as I find them.

Rated: G

Saturday, 2 a.m.

Mab came abruptly awake as the Pearl shied to one side then shied again. Sorting through the normal sounds of a ship at anchor, she gradually pinpointed the sound of soft boots padding about the deck above her hammock. Whoever owned the feet in those boots were making a sincere, although inept effort to move silently. This suggested intruders. A muffled thud told her that the watch had been disposed of. Mab tried to recall who was on watch as she waited for the second thud. When it didn't come, she realized that one of the crew had sold out. Gaffer Thomas was probably the first thud. By rights he should have retired ashore years ago, but he refused to leave the one life he knew. As ship's carpenter he knew the Pearl as well as any lover did his wife.

No, not Thomas, Mab thought as she lay in the darkness trying to decide whether to beat a hasty retreat through the galley porthole, or whether to defend the ship. This wasn't the time for hasty decisions. In some ways, this attempt to steal the Pearl was amusing. To steal his ship from a pirate was a mortal insult. Whoever came up with this plan either wanted to lure Captain Jack Sparrow into a trap or had a twisted sense of humor.

Jack's ability to make the outrageous appear reasonable had lured her from her comfortable inn in Port Royal to a job as ship's cook on the Pearl. With Jack in command, a pirate's life involved a lot of sailing to horizons, carousing in various seedy towns, and a few genuine assaults on merchantmen to pay for the sailing to horizons and the carousing. Most of Jack's crew were pirates by accident rather than intent and all of them, including Mab, were fond of Jack and had a strong loyalty to the Pearl. Well, obviously not all of them, she reminded herself.

As she listened to the intruders search the ship, she mulled over the long list of Jack's enemies and wondered which one had finally decided to take action. A lantern light flashed as someone opened the galley door, but her hammock was strung high and the light passed a foot below her.

"Nothing here," a rough voice announced as the galley door was slammed shut.

"Amateurs," Mab muttered with mild distain as she swung down to the floor, her soft boots making no sound.

The buzz of an approaching Immortal sent her darting into the shadows. This added a whole new dimension to the problem. She was fairly certain Robert and Gina were currently pestering the West India Company. Fitzcairn was a possibility, but stealthy wasn't one of his strong points and this had the marks of a very stealthy operation.

Her curiosity was aroused. Prudence suggested a quick exit out the galley porthole and a long swim to shore, but she'd grown fond of the Pearl and wasn't ready to allow her to be stolen out from under her. However, she had to be cautious. If she felt the buzz, then the unknown Immortal had felt hers as well. So much for laying low and picking off the intruders one by one.

The buzz grew stronger and Mab decided it was time to disappear into the crawl space she'd discovered her second day aboard. The narrow tunnel snaked through the various holds and passageways in the Pearl. Thomas had shown it to her and whispered that not even Jack Sparrow knew it existed. Let this unknown Immortal try to find her if he, or she, could. The entrance hole was too small for an adult even if he discovered it. Mab, at 4'10", had room to spare as she shimmied past a beam and slid into the carefully concealed hatch.

With a loud bang, the galley door burst open, but Mab was already scooting down the passage with her small emergency pack containing a day's rations, various small tools, twine, and a water bottle in one hand and her jambiya in the other. As she passed under minute air-holes, she could hear the confused voices of the intruders as they pounded around the decks looking for her.

"The man's daft. There's no one here, 'cepting that old sod we knocked out. He's gonna have us chasing ghosts, next," one of the voices grumbled overhead. Mab grinned. What a lovely idea.

"Silence on deck. The captain didn't hire you to yammer about spooks. We're being paid to sail this godforsaken pile of lumber to Marquis Island so get those sails unfurled and get on with it," an unfamiliar voice yelled over the muttering of the crew.

The pounding of feet became more organized as the crew hurried to get the Pearl under sail and away. Mab sat down, bending only slightly in the cramped space, and pondered her next move. She must be somewhere under the main deck, probably near one of the masts. The possibilities for a sustained campaign of vandalism appeared to be endless. Convince the crew that the Pearl was haunted and it should keep the hijacker too busy to hunt for her. Jack wouldn't appreciate her doing any actual damage to his beloved ship, but that still left open a hundred small ways of terrorizing the crew. She wasn't prepared to kill, just yet, but neither did she have any qualms about incapacitating the men who were aiding in the theft of the Pearl.

Retracing her way back to the galley, Mab discovered that a new cook was already rifling through her stores. He wasn't anyone she recognized. A face she might mislay, but the smell of unwashed flesh combined with accumulated grease and smoke would be unforgettable. It was tempting to seize the opportunity Fate was offering her, but Mab was naturally suspicious whenever Fate seemed to be on her side. She'd hold the cook in reserve. Marquis Island was five days sail away. She had no intention of ending up becalmed with a ship full of sick sailors midway there.

A very brief visit to a small hold just below the helm provided her with materials to begin her campaign of mischief. As she suspected, there was a narrow gap in the deck near the helm that made a perfect vent. Cautiously, she laid a hard twist of cocoa leaves in a pewter mug carefully placed under the crack and lit it. When the cocoa began to smoke, she smothered the fire and crept away. Most likely the sea breeze would dissipate the smoke before it could seriously impair the helmsman, but she had plenty of cocoa leaves and time to spare for experiments.

From the small hold under the stairs to the quarterdeck, Mab felt the ship take a sharp tack into the wind. The shuddering of the sails was loud enough to wake the dead if the tilt of the deck didn't. Mab grinned as she listened to the frantic shouts of the men in the rigging.

"Fire!" The cry arose from several throats as a few sailors caught sight of the smoke rising from the deck. Fire, the mortal enemy of sailors and ships, rose up like a demon to spread fear and panic. The sound of rattan striking flesh could be heard even below decks as the bosun and the first mate attempted to restore order. The first mate alternately yelled at the helmsman to get the ship back on course and at the sailors to reef the sails before they tore. The ship listed hard as the Pearl fought the efforts of the helmsman to put her back before the wind.

"Fight them, Pearl. You belong to Jack and to no other. We'll show these thieves they can't steal you and get away with it," Mab whispered as she laid her hand on one of the great wooden beams.

With the crew still preoccupied in getting the Pearl back under control, Mab darted back to the smoking cocoa leaves and quickly shut the lid of the mug, cutting off the smoke. Crawling quickly through the tunnels, Mab reached the relative safety of the forward hold. Prying open a hidden panel, she slipped into a smaller hold. For anyone of normal size, it would be impossibly tight quarters, but for her, it was cramped but comfortable. On her earlier journey through the tunnels, she had pilfered several blankets and now had a secure hideout where she could rest and plan.

She had barely gotten settled when she felt the Pearl settle down and knew that someone competent had taken the helm. At worst she had created some momentary confusion, at best she had started what she hoped would be a train of mysterious accidents. Sailors were superstitious people. If this crew came to believe that the Pearl was jinxed, it would take more than the promise of gold to keep them at their posts.

"Let's see how good this Immortal is at controlling men too busy looking over their shoulders for haunts to sail this ship," Mab whispered to the small gods who watched over the ships at sea.

Taking the time to explore the narrow confines of her hiding place, Mab wondered who had built the tunnels and why. They were too small for a grown man to travel unless he was small and very wiry. This cabin could only be reached through a small access tunnel off the forward hold. The re-enforced door gave no indication that there was a hollow space behind it. Someone wanted to move stealthily through the Pearl, but who, or why?

After nearly an hour, by her estimation, Mab ventured forth to the forward hold and began to rifle through the stores for useful items in her campaign to drive the thieves from the Pearl. Small portable items went into her haversack; larger items were stashed in the concealed cabin. By the time the next bell rang the hour, she had retreated to the cabin to sort through the items gleaned from the hold. Jack might be haphazard about many things, but he kept the Pearl well stocked. Having watched Jack select supplies for the Pearl, Mab sensed that for Jack, this act was the act of a lover buying baubles for his love. After awhile, she didn't find it strange that the Pearl seemed to respond to Jack in ways she never would respond to anyone else. The captain who stole the Pearl might discover this to his cost.

The prize in her pilfered collection was a tool belt left in the hold by one of the carpenter's mates. Her options had just expanded a hundred-fold. It appeared that Lady Luck, or maybe the Pearl herself, was leaning a little on her side. Mab laid a reverent hand on one of the great wooden beams and whispered a promise to personally see to the repainting and gilding of the Pearl's great figurehead. Mab had been born and bred seaside so the idea that a ship's figurehead was the embodiment of the ship herself wasn't difficult to believe. It might have been her imagination, or possibly a rogue wave, but the Pearl seemed to dip slightly in response to her promise.

"Two against twenty. Maybe I should just go up and tell Captain Thief to just surrender now," Mab whispered softly as she chuckled. That might seem like poor odds to a landsman, but when one of the two was the ship herself, that put the odds on her side.

When the ship's bell rang the changing of the watch, Mab ventured out on her first serious foray. Crouching in the tunnel near one of the deck hatches, she tried to estimate how many of the crew were on deck and if the Immortal was among them. She didn't feel a buzz, but that could mean he, or she, was too far away to sense or was elsewhere on the ship, perhaps scouting for her. Hearing the first mate yelling at the topmen, Mab decided to visit his cabin first. She was hampered in her plans by the fact that she didn't want to do any real damage to the Pearl or to her shipmate's possessions. Nevertheless, this still left open many opportunities for mischief.

A half-opened tar-stained rucksack tossed on the hammock showed signs that the first mate's attempts to settle in to his new quarters had been rudely interrupted, probably by her little experiment with cocoa leaves. Mab moved quickly in the dim half-light. With an Immortal loose on the ship, it was too dangerous to linger very long in one spot. Her concealed cabin in the front of the ship was shielded by the heavy deck and thick beams, but it was the only place she was certain was safe to linger.

Quickly, Mab sprinkled a generous double-handful of ground pepper onto the blanket rolled up at the head of the hammock. Another handful went into the rucksack. Crumbles of ripe cheese scattered in the corners should attract the ship's rats to a welcome feast. A thin smear of butter smeared on the inside of the mate's pewter mug and his spare boots should attract the rats who had been lured to the cabin by the cheese. Ship's rats were voracious pests. Once convinced that food was available, they would descend in hordes on the cabin and its contents.

A trip to the galley was a disappointment. The new cook was absorbed in preparing the mid-day meal and she saw no opportunity to add seasoning to the stew. From the greasy odors rising from the pot, her seasonings might be redundant. Obviously this cook came from the more-grease-is-better school of cooking. Mab shuddered slightly. She was going to have to scour her pots when she got her galley back. A midnight visit might provide more opportunities. She noticed several bottles of rum stashed by her hammock and figured the cook wasn't using them for a marinade. Later, she promised herself. As interim surgeon, she had access to a variety of botanical surprises that should produce some very interesting results. No deaths, though. She wanted a miserable, very much alive crew, not a shipload of corpses.

The judicious use of the small handsaw and a pry-bar left several ladders to various sections of the ship in precarious condition. The randomness of the sabotage should ensure that the sailors would approach any ladder warily. On some of the ladders, she made sure that more than one step was weakened.

Collapsing ladders were inconveniences that at worst would result in bruises and at best abrupt descents and broken bones. She wondered if the Immortal leading this expedition had thought to include a surgeon among his complement of thieves.

Satisfied with her morning's work, Mab made her way back to her hiding place. Momentarily lost in the maze of passageways, she found herself passing under Jack's cabin before she realized where she was. The buzz that signaled the presence of another Immortal startled her and she quickly scampered away as she heard a pair of feet hit the deck. Having an Immortal on board made her task more difficult. It would help if she could find out which Immortal had become her adversary. Someone who knew her, or of her, would be terribly awkward. At least she was fairly certain it wasn't one of the more ruthless Immortals. A brief pass by the brig had reassured her that Thomas was still alive. As curious as she was, Mab had no intention of meeting this Immortal, but she wouldn't mind knowing who she was up against. Chatting with Thomas would have to wait.

The concealed cabin was hot and stuffy with the mid-day heat, but tolerable enough to allow Mab a chance to catch a few hours sleep. She roused briefly at the next changing of the watch, felt the ship moving swiftly and surely through the water, then went back to sleep.

By the time she woke up, the slivers of light shining through the cracks in the prow had vanished, leaving her in total darkness. The cabin was marginally cooler with the coming of night. Taking time to eat a cold meat pie washed down with water, Mab planned the next step in her campaign. She wondered if the crew, especially the first mate, had encountered her traps. It was tempting to hover nearby one of them to witness the trap being sprung, but she knew that too many outlaws had been caught doing just that. She had a healthy dose of curiosity, but she had an even healthier dose of self-preservation. It would have been nice to have allies; Cory would enjoy this sort of thing, she thought with a reminiscent smile. He did so love to play Robin Hood.

However, she was alone and, in some ways, that gave her an advantage. If her plans worked, the crisis in crew morale would erupt when the Pearl was within rowing distance of the Marquis Island. If, as she suspected, Jack was hot on the trail of the Pearl, he might arrive in time to be greeted by the crew as a rescuer from the angry ghosts of the Pearl rather than as an enemy. If he hadn't been able to beg, borrow, or steal a ship to pursue them, then she'd encourage the crew to abandon ship and hope the Immortal would give up the venture. Honestly, she felt that was unlikely, but every so often plans did work. On second thought, perhaps it was better that Cory wasn't along. Plans tended to come unglued around Cory.

Scurrying about the ship like an over-sized rat, Mab soon knew more about the Pearl than even Thomas Carpenter did. To her surprise, there seemed to be several hidden rooms in almost inaccessible places for anyone of normal size. Jack was always extremely closed-mouthed concerning where and how he acquired the Pearl. If she allowed her imagination to run wild in the narrow, dark tunnels, she could almost come to believe that the Pearl was hiding secrets, even from Jack.

By moonset, Mab was halfway to believing that the Pearl was very much aware of her movements. So far, the awareness seemed to be benign, even accommodating. Mab hoped to keep it that way. The few snatches of conversation among the crew that she managed to overhear were encouraging, but also puzzling. She had kept careful count of the traps she was setting so that once the Pearl was back in Jack's hands, she could set Thomas to repairing the damage. She hadn't had dared venture out on deck, even during the night watch, so how did three of the backstays spontaneously fray and snap? Even if Jack might overlook the care of the stays, Billy was too good a sailing master not to check them on a regular basis.

The crew was getting jumpy, but the Immortal captaining this pirate crew was still in command. If she wasn't so determined to get Jack's ship back, she could almost admire the charisma it took to keep the crew at their places and in order. Sailors were a superstitious lot; a fact Mab was counting on. What she hadn't counted on was the idea that the Pearl might not need her help. It was time she made a quick trip to the brig and asked Thomas some pointed questions.

Thomas didn't look surprised when Mab popped out of the tunnel. She took a moment to dust herself off and to listen for anyone near enough to overhear voices.

"Nah, they shove in my food and don't waste time watching an old man," Thomas said with a grim laugh.

"Fools," Mab responded. Thomas might be old by sailor's standards. He admitted to fifty, but was probably closer to sixty; a thin whippet of a man with skin the color of walnuts. She'd seen him take two drunken sailors and crack their heads together before stepping neatly out of the way of their falling bodies. If Thomas had had a mind to it, he could have been out of this sorry excuse for a brig hours ago.

"Who betrayed us?" Mab asked as she pulled up a stool next to the bars. She saw no reason to squat uncomfortably when there was a perfectly good stool nearby. The sailors didn't worry her and she would have plenty of warning if the Immortal came close.

"Four-Finger John. Won't do him no good. The Pearl's mighty upset with him. I told him he'd never live to spend his traitor's gold. Laughed, he did, but the Pearl will have the last laugh."

"Thomas, how long has the Pearl been awake?" Mab asked, somewhat surprised that her question came out that way. She'd meant to ask if Thomas thought the Pearl was actually taking part in her own rescue.

"Always has been. She and Jack are mates. The Pearl didn't like Barbossa, but she sailed for him. Think she knew that Jack would find her someday. Now these strangers have come stealing her away and she don't like it one bit," Thomas averred with a scowl.

Mab stared at him and began to wonder if the Pearl talked to Thomas or if he had simply worked with her for so long that he'd become an avatar of whatever spirit lived in this old ship.

"Uh, Thomas, I rigged some traps," Mab started to explain. If the Pearl's spirit was somehow aware of what happening, she hoped she hadn't just made an enemy. She had enough to worry about with another Immortal running about the ship.

"The Pearl understands, lass. You're trying to help." Thomas reached out a hand and patted the hull as if he were stroking the neck of a fine horse.

"Who's behind this?" Mab asked. If John had been down to talk to Thomas, he might have let slip details that could tell her who she was up against.

"A nice-spoken young man; a Scot by the sound of it. He came down to see me and was right mannerly, for a thief," Thomas added. "He apologized for the tap on the head his men gave me and gave orders that I was to be fed the same as the crew." Thomas gave Mab a sorrowful grimace. "Course after I tasted that swill, I wasn't so certain he was being polite. We made Captain Jack swim for a new cook 'cause of food that tasted a mite sight better," he said with a laugh.

"I'll make you a steak and kidney pie when this is all over," Mab promised. Thomas beamed.

"Did he give a name?" she prompted.

Thomas thought for a moment, obviously having trouble dragging his mind away from the tantalizing prospect of his favorite meal. "A Scot's name, it was. Connell or something like that." Thomas shrugged apologetically. His memory was phenomenal where wood and carpentry was concerned, but with anything else it ranged from vague to non-existent.

"Thanks. Now I better be going. If this Scot shows back up, tell him the best thing he could do is sail the Pearl back to Kingston." Mab stood up and carefully replaced the stool in its former position.

"I already told him that. He said that Jack owed him and that when Jack paid up, he'd get his ship back. Told him that the Pearl might have something to say 'bout that, but he just smiled. He'll learn," Thomas offered in self-assured prophecy and promptly settled into a comfortable nap.

Without another word, Mab slipped back into the tunnel and headed for her refuge under the foredeck. Thomas had given her a lot to think about. Somehow she should have known that Jack's rather loose interpretation of other people's property was behind this mess. Centuries spent in holy orders did give her a certain sympathy for the Immortal's grievance, but she'd spent enough time with Cory and Amanda to wonder why he didn't do a better job of protecting his property. She didn't mind being of two minds about the matter as long as they didn't start arguing. Keeping one step ahead of this Immortal was going to require her undivided attention. Thomas's description sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on why. She didn't think it was one of the Immortals she'd given sanctuary to; those she remembered. It would come to her eventually. If she could actually get close enough to hear his voice, that might help, but that was too risky. Better to concentrate on keeping to the shadows and making what mischief she could.

*************************
Sunday 11 p.m.

Fate, as Mab knew, was a fickle friend or else fiendishly addicted to maintaining a balance between adversaries. Within an hour of reaching the safety of her hidden refuge, Mab woke up to the sound of general pandemonium on the decks above her. This would not be a good time for an over-vigilant British patrol to show up. Under normal circumstances, the Pearl could outrun anything the British could put up against her, but with a strange captain and a discontented ship, the odds might favor the Brits for once.

Gradually, she began to piece together the shouts and gathered that one of the mainsails had literally torn away from the mast. One man had gone overboard, another had hit the deck and the crew was balking at climbing the mast to reset the sail. She felt the buzz of the captain's approach, but decided to hold her ground and see if he managed regain control of the crew. No doubt he would, but she wanted to hear his voice. Thomas's description had given her a nagging sense of familiarity, but so far she hadn't been able to put a face with the description. Names, for Immortals, were largely irrelevant; she'd had twelve so far. Voices were much harder to change or disguise.

As the buzz came closer, Mab realized that the Immortal was literally standing over her head. This refuge would have to be abandoned, soon. She wasn't going to underestimate her opponent by assuming he wouldn't find the hollow under the deck.

"Accident? I don't think so," the Immortal said in a broad Highland accent. Mab missed the question he was replying to, but supposed that the first mate was asking questions about the recent spate of mishaps. Unfortunately, the mate's voice was pitched too low for her to make out what he was saying.

The Immortal's voice, however, was familiar enough for her to make a guess as to who had the audacity to steal Jack's Pearl out from under him. If she was right, this could be amusing. Of course, if she was wrong, it could be very fatal. Some Immortals loved the challenge; Mab preferred a good book, aged wine, and a roaring fire. Cory would be grinning like a fiend right about now.

"Fine. Fate, next time let Cory have the fun," Mab whispered. Fate wouldn't listen. Fate rarely listened, but she felt better having informed Fate of her short-comings.

"If I hadn't seen Four-Finger John manage to hang himself on the rigging, I might have questioned whether your paid man had stayed paid." There was a hint of distaste in the Immortal's voice. Whether because the man he paid to betray Jack was dead or because he didn't like the idea of paying for betrayal.

So, the Pearl had taken her revenge. Hanging was a nasty way to die, but faster than what Mab had planned for him. The Pearl seemed to be well on her way to handling her theft without outside help. Convincing the Immortal that she'd had nothing to do with John's death or the other deaths might prove difficult. Better not to even make the attempt, Mab decided.

"Bring me the carpenter. I think it's time he answered a few questions."

Mab froze. She had no intentions of offering up her life to save Thomas, but neither could she stand aside and allow the questioning to strain Thomas's loyalty or strength. Perhaps it was time to offer a parlay. Mab waited until the mate left the foredeck before slowly moving away. She paused long enough to make sure that the Immortal was following, then led him towards the galley. Once she was sure he knew where she was headed, she put on a sudden burst of speed. The new cook, sodden with rum, never saw the belaying pin coming. With a sniff of disgust, Mab rolled the unconscious interloper into a bag and shoved him down the ladder to the storage hold.

She barely had time to close the hatch, put her sword within reach, and sit down on her stool when she felt the strong buzz announcing the imminent arrival of her adversary. Being small allowed her the freedom not to indulge in absurd posturing to impress an opponent. From the moment her teacher had informed her about the Game, she knew she would never be a major player. Her disinterest sprang partly from her size, but as the decades turned into centuries, she realized that she simply saw no point in it. Immortality was challenge enough without going around killing and trying to avoid being killed. She had taken heads in the past; one to avenge a loss that still grieved her, but the others were simple survival. If her guess was right, this Immortal might be more inclined to talk than to fight, but she kept her sword close all the same.

"So you're the haunt that has my crew so jumpy," the Immortal said pleasantly as he ducked his head to enter the galley.

Thomas's sparse description did not do justice to the broad Highland burr spoken by the man gingerly entering the cabin. By modern standards, he was a smallish man with the build of a man used to hard labor. He was obviously a prudent man, although his sword, or rather katana, was sheathed. By itself, the katana would have told her who her adversary was, but the fact was that now that she could see him, she recognized the face. They had met once in passing, although she would be very surprised if he remembered her. A nun's habit could be remarkably concealing; a fact she had found very useful in the past. Traveling in the company of two extroverts like Cory and Amanda made it even easier to slip quietly into the background.

"Good day to you, Connor MacLeod," Mab responded courteously. She put just a hint of a hostess greeting an unexpected guest into her tone. This was her galley, after all. It wouldn't hurt MacLeod to remember that.

Offering sanctuary to Immortals on the run usually involved catching up on all the gossip of their society. Food and shelter on holy ground in exchange for news had always seemed to be a fair trade. The word she had on Connor MacLeod was that he was a decent man, although not one to cross. A bit of a rogue, but then what Highlander wasn't a rogue at heart, she thought with a smile. At least she knew that Thomas would be safe, no matter how this parlay ended. Connor MacLeod might be a rogue, but he didn't indulge in paltry sadism.

Connor glared at her for a moment then broke into a rueful smile that lit up his entire face. The dour, grim Scot had been booted out by the rogue, to Mab's great relief. Her slight relaxation prompted another smile which she acknowledged with a nod.

"Not that I really care, mind you, since the man could scorch water, but is the cook still on board?" Connor asked lightly as he sat on the narrow bench by the cutting board.

"If you mean the swineherd you had messing up my galley, he's still alive. I'd hardly call him a cook." Mab didn't try to hide her exasperation. The galley still smelled of grease and burned salt pork.

"I'll make a point to remind my first mate never to hire a man with a nickname of Greasy and set him loose in a galley," Connor promised with a straight face which broke into another smile at Mab's laugh.

"You're lucky your crew is still able to haul sail," Mab jibbed.

"Three of them aren't. At least I presume the rash of accidents is your doing?" Connor asked without showing much rancor.

Connor's expression darkened when Mab shook her head. No doubt he wanted to keep this parlay pleasant and obvious lies, to his point of view, did not please him.

"When do you think I had time to slip up on deck with you clumping about and your crew darting this way and that like frenzied rats?" Mab retorted evenly. She'd seen duels fought for lesser reasons than misapprehensions about who was telling the truth. There were still places she'd never been and people to meet and no time for a duel over a misunderstanding.

"Speaking of rats . . . ," Connor began mildly.

"All's fair in theft, as a very old friend once told me; two friends, actually," she added.

"How did you sabotage the rigging?" Connor asked, moving on from the subject of rats, although he didn't look as if he'd forgotten the incident.

"I didn't. I set traps on a few ladders and played with the helm, but I haven't been on deck since the night you stole the Pearl."

"Kidnapped. I kidnapped the Pearl. Stealing implies that I won't return her. Kidnapping implies a ransom," Connor pointed out meticulously.

Mab considered laughing, but decided that MacLeod was actually being serious. Even Amanda had never attempted to hijack a pirate's ship and hold it for ransom. Two hundred years ago, she had known that Connor MacLeod was reckless; only a man willing to step on the lion's tail would have been willing to smuggle a monastery's treasures out of England under fat Henry's greedy and watchful eyes.

"You haven't changed a bit," she replied, shaking her head.

It was Connor's turn to look puzzled. He moved the lantern closer and stared at her, but finally shook his head. "We've met?" he asked in a wary tone.

"Not exactly. I was there, on the wharf, when Cory and Amanda brought you the chests from St. Anthony's and I watched you sail away into a Channel fog with Fat Henry's coastal guards wallowing like fat cows in your wake." Mab gave a reminiscent chuckle. The whole affair had cost her a fair penny, but at least one monastery's library hadn't disappeared into some half-literate noble's house.

"Ah, I wondered who had persuaded Amanda to that job. She was remarkably reticent when I asked." Connor paused, then let out a laugh. "Some day you'll have to tell me how you did that."

"Come to Port Royal in a year or so and I'll pour you some fine whiskey and we'll reminisce," Mab offered, then considered who she'd left in charge of her inn. "Providing I still have an inn, of course. I left a certain African gentleman in charge and I think I have his word that he won't make any boom-boom while I'm gone," she said with an amused, but rueful expression.

Connor laughed so loud the sound brought a nervous-looking sailor to the top of the stairs. Connor waved him off.

"Kastagir's word is usually good. Port Royal was still standing last week, so you can hope that either he's holding to that word, or else he hasn't finished brewing the stuff, yet," Connor added with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Mab sighed. She liked that inn and wasn't ready to pick up and move on. Unlike some Immortals, she liked staying in one place. Hopefully Kastagir's stated need for some place to hide for awhile would keep him cautious. Boom-boom wasn't exactly conducive to peace and quiet.

"If you're not responsible for the mishaps that have taken out three of my crew, who is?" Connor asked, steering the conversation back to the problem at hand.

Mab considered how to answer. In the strictest, literal sense she could honestly say she didn't know; suspicion was not the same as knowing, she reminded herself. She had no opportunity to sabotage the rigging. Neither MacLeod nor his crew had a motive for doing so. No obvious motive, as far as she could tell. Unless Thomas had acquired an agility far beyond his years plus the ability to walk through locked doors, he had an alibi even the strictest judge would accept.

"How far do you trust your crew?" Mab temporized, slightly evading the question.

"They were paid a nominal sum when they signed and will get the rest when we reach Marquis Island. I don't know them, but I know Nate, my first mate. He's a rogue and possibly a pirate, himself, but when he accepts a man's pay, he stays bought. I don't think you can pass this off on my men," Connor declared.

"You had one traitor who sold out his captain for your silver. There are pirates, and king's men, out there who might be willing to pay a goodly sum to get hold of the Pearl," Mab pointed out as she puttered about the galley, trying to straighten out the mess left by MacLeod's cook.

"Point taken, but I don't think so in this case. Still, I'll have a word with Nate to keep a close eye on anyone he thinks might be questionable." Connor looked dubious, but he seemed to accept the possibility, however remote, that there might be another saboteur on board.

Mab felt the ship shudder a second before the sound of a sail exploding reached them. Connor stood up abruptly. The Pearl bucked and he grabbed on to a beam to steady himself. Mab braced herself against the hull and felt the ship shudder as the wind took her amidships. The shouts of the crew held notes of panic. Mab wasn't a sailor, but the movement of the ship suggested that whoever had been at the helm, wasn't there any longer. Connor scowled at her before plunging up the stairs shouting for his first mate. Mab hesitated long enough to reach behind her sea trunk to pull out her sword and followed him on deck. She finished belting on the sword just as she reached the deck.

Under Connor's furious tongue-lashing and the first mate's bellowed orders, two of the crew were wrestling with the helm. The lookout, clinging desperately to the mast, was yelling something and pointing to the west. With the rising wind, Mab couldn't make out the words, but one look eastward told her all she needed to know. Even in the dark, she could see the massive storm moving towards them. With a mast down and another sail torn to tatters, the Pearl could neither run nor maneuver her way to safety.

"Not wise, lass," Mab whispered softly as she laid a soothing hand on the rail. With long, smooth strokes, she tried to soothe the outraged ship. Like a horse driven mad by an unfamiliar rider, the Pearl seemed willing to court destruction rather than submit.

"And they call ships 'she.' I've known saner men," Mab muttered to herself as she watched Connor orders begin to bring order to the panicked crew.

"Now what?" Connor said as he staggered to a place beside her and stared at the approaching storm. "The King's Navy couldn't get a new sail up in time to run before that monster bearing down on us." He sounded dismayed, but more frustrated than angry, Mab decided. His concern seemed to be as much for the crew as for the ship which relieved Mab. That meant he might actually be willing to listen to suggestions that might compromise his plan.

"Let me take the helm," Mab said, startling herself with the offer. That wasn't exactly what she'd meant to say. Her fingers tapped out an impatient drumbeat on the railing. The Pearl shied, taking a small wave sideways as if to remind Mab who was in control.

"You can't see over the helm, much less control it. I've got two men on it and they're tiring fast," Connor objected.

"Then you act as my eyes," Mab retorted brusquely. "You asked me who I thought was responsible for the mishaps: well, you're standing on her. Some of the tales about the Pearl don't even come close to the truth. She's alive in some way and she'll take us to the bottom rather than lose Jack again. I don't know about you, but I don't intend to swim back to Port Royal." Mab hoped she sounded an indignant as she felt.

"You're saying that we're on a ship with a mind of her own who has taken it into her head to sail us into a hurricane?"

Connor muttered something else in Gaelic that Mab took pains not to overhear. She considered elaborating, then decided that she didn't want to consider some of the implications. This Connor MacLeod was entirely too perceptive. Some things were best not spoken.

"If you're a praying man, a few devout suggestions that we could use a miracle right about now would be useful. I'm a bit lapsed at the moment and I don't think Mananan has much sway over the Caribbean," Mab commented with a dubious look at the lightning on the horizon.

"I'd rather ask for a new sail," Connor retorted. "Oh hell, why not? It's been years since I've gone head to head with a storm." He hooked his fingers on his belt as he threw back his head and laughed. Two of the crew standing nearby gave him an alarmed look and glanced at the storm. One of them muttered something under his breath while the other furtively crossed himself.

"I'll make you a deal, Mab. If the storm wins, we'll swim back to Port Royal and you'll get to listen to me explain to Captain Jack how I managed to lose the Pearl. If we win, you'll stop your sabotage campaign and come along with us to Marquis Island. You can play herd dog over the Pearl and assure Jack that I haven't mistreated her. I'll even let you toss the cook overboard if you like," Connor offered genially.

Mab glared at him before shaking her head and laughing. "You're a damned rogue, MacLeod. That's a devil's bargain and you know it."

Connor grinned, baring his teeth against the wind. In that moment of insane glee, he looked like Jack's mad brother. Mab had come to expect foolhardy, absurd decisions by Jack, but MacLeod was rapidly exceeding her expectations. Why did she keep running into these insane men? She was reminded of a certain mad Spaniard in the cavalier way MacLeod greeted the oncoming storm. Ramirez refused to be daunted by little things like storms, blizzards, and other natural disasters and, apparently, had cheerfully passed on this blithe disregard for natural impediments to his students. Ramirez was as likely to set sail into a hurricane on a bet as not and, knowing his luck, might win. She wasn't sure MacLeod was as favored by the gods of madmen and gamblers.

As the roiling clouds rushed down on them, Mab didn't dare waste time arguing. She and MacLeod would be seriously inconvenienced by drowning, but the crew deserved her best effort to keep the Pearl afloat. Damn MacLeod, she thought as she headed for the helm. The wind was shrieking through the tattered sail like a banshee's howl drowning out all other sound. She could see MacLeod yelling at the crew, but his words were blown away before they reached her. It was a wild night, a wrecker's night when the old gods rode on the wings of the storm.

"Lady, I need you to survive. Jack needs you and he'll have a hard time finding you at the bottom of the sea," she whispered as she was thrown against the railing. Sea froth, driven by the rising winds, whipped against her face, blinding her. Holding onto the railing with one hand, she fumbled at her belt and drew out a handful of coins.

"Fair payment for fair passage," she yelled into the wind as she tossed the coins overboard. The ship lurched up one wave, then plunged down before starting to climb another. A strong hand gripped her arm and she felt herself pulled back to safety.

MacLeod grinned as he tossed a handful of coins over the railing to follow hers. "Can't hurt," he shouted as he buffered her against the wind.

One of the helmsmen was down. Even from a distance, Mab could see the unnatural angle of his arm. The other helmsman was huddling against the railing starring wild-eyed at the whirling helm. The Pearl turned into the wind and shuddered with a screech of wood that could be heard above the wind.

"Get that man below and then find somewhere useful to be," MacLeod shouted at the cringing sailor who nodded and began hauling the other man down to the main deck.

Another sailor, warily eyeing the furiously turning helm, threw down a sea chest and fled back down the ladder. With a flourish, MacLeod kicked the chest over to the helm and bowed. He extended a hand to assist her climbing up on the chest.

"Your podium, m'lady. I'm beginning to believe you. She's got a temper, this lady of yours," MacLeod commented dryly.

"Jack's," Mab corrected. "The Pearl belongs to Jack."

Trying not to think about broken bones, Mab took a deep breath and grabbed for the spokes as they spun around. Centuries of daily practice sessions with sword and staff gave her arms strength and MacLeod's strong hands on her back gave her balance, but still the helm fought her attempts to bring it under control. Her shoulder dislocated, but a violent swing of the wheel backwards snapped it back into place. Her yelp of pain was drowned in the wind, but she felt MacLeod's hands tighten ever so slightly to brace her as the wheel tried to hurl her off her feet.

"Na, proud lady. I mean you no harm. Bring us safe to port and I'll see your figurehead gilded and painted with the finest colors in the Caribbean," MacLeod whispered as he cautiously stretched out a hand to help Mab steady the helm.

The Pearl bucked sharply, throwing one crewman off the mast to a tangle of rope and sailcloth where he clung desperately. The deck was awash with stumbling crewmen hastily grabbing onto whatever anchor they could to keep from going overboard. Connor staggered, but kept his grip on the helm and his hand to Mab's back.

"Vixen," Connor shouted with a laugh.

"Men," Mab muttered under her breath.

It took their combined efforts to tame the helm while the Pearl charged at the churning waves like a maddened jouster. Twice MacLeod had been bodily thrown away from the helm; once almost tumbling down the short stairs until his flailing arms snagged the railing. Mab had fallen, risen, and fallen again so many times that she lost count. The wave that had near taken MacLeod down the stairs had lifted her off her feet and left her suspended in water anchored only by her hands fiercely grasping the spokes of the helm. Both of them were bruised and sore with salt stinging open cuts from debris flung at them by the storm. Most of the crew had fled below decks. Only Nate and one other man stubbornly refused to retreat. Their faces and forearms were scalded by the salt-drenched winds as they furled the two remaining sails and cut loose the tattered remnants of the others.

Mab wondered if the Pearl would be satisfied with these blood sacrifices and the death of the man who had betrayed her or whether she was so enraged that she would be satisfied with nothing less than all their deaths.

A shout from the topmast caused MacLeod to turn. Mab was astounded that anyone had been daring enough to stay aloft in this storm, much less be able to act as lookout. It might be nice to know that they were heading towards a reef or shoals, but only as a matter of interest. There wasn't a damn thing she could do except try to keep the Pearl headed in a more or less straight line westward.

MacLeod's laugh cut through the wind and Mab half-turned to see what he found so amusing. In a flash of lightning that lit up the sky and set St. Elmo's fire dancing in the rigging, she could see another ship fighting its way through the storm towards them. Mab echoed MacLeod's laughter, then turned her full attention back to the helm. As if sensing that Jack was bearing down on them, the Pearl heeled over, nearly swamping them as she took two waves broadside.

Sputtering from swallowing sea water in mid-laugh, MacLeod bellowed something into the wind at the pursuing ship.

"If we live through this, there better be an explanation," Mab shouted as she fought to bring the Pearl back to a westerly heading.

"Yes, I know Jack's that way, but the way out of this storm is ahead," Mab prompted the Pearl. The ship shuddered as she took another wave amidships, then steadied and allowed Mab to resume her heading. Every so often, the Pearl would swing about as if to make sure that Jack was following. Mab's arms ached with the effort it was taking to keep the Pearl's prow pointed west. The skin on her hands was peeling from the wind and salt. Her face was plastered with salt spray and cracked every time she moved. She estimated that it was going to take a week of hot baths and a keg of soothing oils to look human again.

"Whoever that captain is, he's either the bravest man I'll be proud to meet or the craziest," MacLeod said with a grin.

"It will be a convention of madmen, then," Mab muttered under her breath. Something about this whole affair was beginning to feel suspicious. MacLeod was enjoying himself too much for this to have been a serious attempt at payback.

"What do you think of our chances to reach Marquis Island ahead of that ship?"

Mab looked at the ship pursuing them, then looked at the Pearl's two furled sails and the streaming fragments of the others and shook her head. "About the same as me being able to walk on water. Miracles happen, but I don't think either of us qualifies for Heaven's intervention."

MacLeod gave a resigned shrug that was belied by the grin that etched salt wrinkles in his face. "Ah, well, it was a lovely run while it lasted. Obviously, I need to work on my intelligence gathering. Somehow, they managed to neglect to mention that Jack's cook was more than she seemed. I can forgive them not warning me about the Pearl. Jack's a lucky captain," MacLeod said as he gently stroked the helm.

Seeing his wistful gesture, Mab was reminded of her late lover's affection for his Arabian mares. With Yusof it had been horses. With MacLeod, it was obviously ships.

"Still, I'd like to make Sparrow work for his win. How well do you know these waters?"

Mab looked heavenward for a moment, then gave an exasperated laugh. "MacLeod, I'm a cook, not a steersman. Yes, I've looked at the maps so I can tell you approximately where we are in relation to Kingston, Port Royal and San Juan, but that's about it. We could be a mile off a dangerous reef and I wouldn't have a clue until we hit it. Does that answer your question? We're sailing due west, as near as I can make out from the compass. Sooner or later we'll run into land, but which land is anyone's guess."

"Hmmm. Then we'll have to find an island when we come out of the storm and beach the Pearl. She's going to need work before she's fit to sail. With luck, I can convince Sparrow that this was my intention all along and claim fair passage for my crew," MacLeod said in a manner that suggested he was talking aloud rather than addressing her.

Of course, for all Mab knew, he might be talking to the Pearl. Someone better do some fine explaining before trying to run her aground and Mab wasn't going to volunteer. As her brain mulled over MacLeod's comment she began to put some of the pieces together.

"This is a game?" Mab shouted with a glare that made Connor take one step back. Resisting the urge to release the helm and give the Pearl her head, she started muttering in a patois mix of medieval French, Arabic, and Cornish with a sprinkling of Russian to add flavor.

"In a manner of speaking. Friendly rivalry sounds so much better. Sparrow caused me some inconvenience last year when he appropriated a shipment of spices that I had very carefully smuggled out of Caracas. My late, unlamented informant said that Sparrow was holding them on board the Pearl. About the only thing he got right was the name of the ship." MacLeod sounded exasperated and amused by capricious Fate.

Mab relaxed somewhat. Trust men to come up with odd, dangerous, and insane games. It wouldn't surprise her to learn that thousands of years ago some bored male Immortal had made up the idea of the Game as an excuse for running about challenging other Immortals.

"Fine. Pick an island, but you get to be the one to tell the Pearl we're beaching her," Mab shot back. MacLeod flinched, but nodded with a rueful smile. Mab turned her attention back to keeping the Pearl afloat long enough to benefit from the bribes MacLeod was going to have to offer.

Mab was looking forward to being there when these two sly men started dickering. Someone needed to be there to represent the Pearl. MacLeod seemed like the generous sort; with luck the Pearl would end up with more than just her figurehead painted and gilded. The Peal belonged to Jack, but every woman liked to look her best and the Pearl was no exception.

The End

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