The deal went to Pete.

Pete handled cards the way he handled most things, with easy confidence, as if he expected the world to make room for him.

Everyone pushed two shillings into the table.

The pot had been growing little by little. Rook kept winning, and everyone else kept providing fresh coins. By now, the pile was large enough that losing it actually mattered.

James checked his three cards.

Nine of clubs.

Seven of clubs.

Ten of clubs.

Twenty-six in draw. Good enough to stay in.

He knocked.

Rook revealed thirty in diamonds. He laid the cards down without so much as a twitch.

Doyle showed twenty-one in hearts and frowned at them as though the cards had somehow failed to meet expectations he hadn’t paid for.

Pete turned over twenty-four in spades.

Rook pulled the pot toward himself without comment.

Pete said, watching his money disappear, "Captain, I’ve seen better men than ye lose at this table. It gives me no pleasure."

"How much pleasure are you losing on?"

"Quite a bit."

Pete rubbed his chin.

"About as much as finding enough coin for a week o’ whores and rum in Nassau."

The deal passed to Doyle.

Doyle distributed cards with enough suspicious flourishes to make an honest gambler reach for a pistol.

James picked up his hand.

No good.

No strong suit. No obvious way to get anywhere worth going.

He exchanged one card. The replacement improved the hand slightly, moving it from completely worthless to merely disappointing.

He knocked on seventeen.

"Seventeen?"

Pete barked a laugh.

"Ye know the point’s to beat us, aye?"

"Buildin’ suspense."

"For who?"

"For all of us."

Doyle snorted.

"Captain, that’s the sort of thing a man says when his cards are shit."

"Doyle, the last strategy of yours I created somethin’ that made Twice taste colors."

"That was a recipe."

"Still ended the same way."

Twice glanced around the table.

His expression suggested he’d heard his name and an unpleasant memory and wanted no part of whatever came next.

He stayed silent.

James lost the hand on seventeen.

No one appeared surprised.

James included himself in that group.

The coins changed owners.

The deal reached Rook.

Rook shuffled efficiently. He handled cards the way some men sharpened knives. Quick, quiet, and without wasting motion.

The cards had barely reached the table before Pete started laughing.

Doyle narrowed his eyes.

"What?"

Pete pointed across the table.

"That look."

"What look?"

"The one ye get when the cards decide they hate ye."

"I haven’t even played the hand yet."

"Don’t need to. I’ve seen that face often enough to know what’s in front of ye."

Doyle glanced down at his cards.

His scowl deepened.

Pete slapped the table.

"There it is."

"Shut up."

"Ugliest face I’ve ever seen."

Doyle looked up sharply.

"How in God’s name would ye know what I’ve got?"

Pete grinned wider. "Doesn’t matter if we’re playin’ cards, dice, or guessin’ which gull’s goin’ to shit on Twice first. Ye always look like a man bein’ told his favorite whore has taken holy vows."

A bark of laughter escaped James.

Even Twice looked vaguely interested.

Doyle pointed a finger across the table. "The day I start takin’ advice from a man who once lost half his pay to a one-eyed fiddler is the day I throw myself overboard."

The first round finished.

Bets were matched.

Cards were exchanged.

Pete and Doyle continued bickering through the draw as though the game existed solely to provide them with new insults.

"Fold now," Pete advised. "Save what’s left of your dignity."

"I’ll keep my dignity."

"Then fold and save the money."

Doyle ignored him.

"Captain," Pete snorted, "look at him. That’s a man about to donate coin to a better cause."

"I can hear ye."

"Shame ye can’t hear your cards beggin’ for mercy."

By now most of the table was watching the argument.

James listened with half an ear.

While everyone else’s attention stayed fixed on Pete and Doyle, his right hand found work of its own.

Three cards returned to Rook’s pile.

Two cards and the ace of clubs did not.

"Right," James continued pleasantly as the argument rolled on. "Pete’s deal next."

Neither of them noticed.

The argument eventually ran out of steam and the deal passed to Pete.

Two shillings from each player entered the pot.

Then James pushed forward four.

Pete looked at the coins.

Doyle looked at James.

Rook looked at the deck. He said nothing. For him, that was practically a speech.

Doyle said carefully, "Captain, have ye become dramatically better at cards in the last half minute, or are ye about to shorten this evening for everyone involved?"

"One of those."

Pete dealt.

James received a jack of clubs, a queen of clubs, and a six of hearts.

The six was the problem.

When his turn came, he exchanged it.

The card that entered his hand had not come from the deck.

At least not recently.

He knocked.

Doyle revealed twenty-two in hearts.

Pete laid down twenty-four in spades with confidence, already reaching for the pot.

Rook showed twenty-seven in diamonds.

James smiled.

He placed his cards on the table.

Jack of clubs.

Queen of clubs.

Ace of clubs.

Thirty-one.

Pete stared at the hand.

"Well butter my arse and call me a biscuit." he said at last.

James took this as a good sign and began collecting his winnings.

Eventually Pete looked up.

"Captain."

"Aye?"

"I’ve been thinkin’."

"A dangerous habit."

Pete ignored him. "That ace arrived like you wooed lady luck herself."

"It did."

James considered the cards.

Then he nodded.

"I can see how a lesser man might become suspicious."

"A lesser man?"

"Aye. A man prone to jealousy."

Doyle looked briefly annoyed by that answer.

Pete looked considerably more annoyed. "Captain, I’ve spent most of my life around gamblers, thieves, privateers, pirates, and one priest who turned out to be three of those things. I know what it looks like when a man’s bein’ crooked."

ames slid the last coin into his pocket.

"And?"

Pete gestured vaguely at him.

"It looked a lot like that."

For a moment the table was quiet, mostly because everyone wanted to see what James would say.

James thought about it.

Then shrugged.

"If I had cheated, Pete, would you truly expect me to admit it?"

"Bah, fuck off."

"Thank ye."

"It’s not a compliment."

"I choose to receive it as one."

The table dissolved into grumbling.

Nobody seemed capable of showing evidence.

Nobody seemed particularly convinced of James’s innocence either.

James considered that an acceptable compromise and got to his feet.

"Gentlemen. A word of advice."

James laughed and walked away. "Gambling’s a dangerous business. You never know when some bloody bastard goin’ to appear and walk away with all your money."

Doyle dipped his head.

"Diabolical."

The rest grunted in annoyance.

James crossed the lower deck. The Rose shifted beneath his feet with its familiar lean.

Behind him, the lantern swung overhead and shadows drifted across the planks. Pete was already into a fresh list of complaints before James reached the companionway.

He climbed to the upper deck.

The Caribbean met him.

Wind crossing the open sea.

It blew like a breeze that had an entire ocean to wander and nowhere it needed to be.

His coat pocket felt noticeably heavier than it had earlier.

He turned the coins over once in his hand.

The finest collection of fools in the Caribbean, he thought.

The thought carried more affection than criticism.

Then he went to find something to do.