I stood bent over a table, a knife in my hand, crying bitter tears. How could my husband do this to me? How could he torture me like this? I hated chopping onions!

"Just you wait...sniff...Mr Ambrose! You aren't going to...sniff...get away with this! I'm going to—"

"Going to do what, Mr Linton?" a cool voice came from right behind me.

"Aaah!"

I nearly went straight from slicing onions to slicing my own digits. Whirling around, I stabbed a finger at Mr Rikkard Ambrose, only barely resisting the urge to use my knife instead.

"You...! It's you! Tell me something. How is it that, even after keeping my feminist principles, keeping my job, and getting bloody shipwrecked on a deserted island, you still manage to stick me into a kitchen and make me cook? To cook not just for you, I might add, but for you and a bloody ship full of people?"

He cocked his head. "I? Make you? I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you mean, Mr Linton."

Yes, and I'm a four-armed chimpanzee!

I sent him a sweet smile. "Well, then why don't you stay and help me chop these lovely onions?"

"Unfortunately, I shall have to decline." Reaching out, he patted my shoulder and stepped away. "It would be best to leave the cooking to the professionals, Mr Ship's Cook."

And he stepped out of the galley before I could throw an onion at his head..

"Thrice-blasted son of a bloody bachelor! When I get my hands on him, I'll—"

"Oy!" came a holler through the wooden bulkhead beside me, interrupting my rant. "Where's the food?"

"Um...coming right away! I'm nearly done!"

Ten minutes or so later, I hurried up onto the deck with a steaming pot in both hands. A cheer went up from the pirates, and they gathered round from all directions. With a disgruntled expression, I watched them devour the stew that I had spent two hours making. Foremost amongst them Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who was on his second bowl already.

And the worst thing? I couldn't even screw up the cooking and introduce him to the divine delicacy that was shoelace stew with salted banana peels! If it were only my dear husband, it might still be doable. But serving inedible mush to a crew of bloodthirsty pirates? Not the best idea. Not if I wanted to keep my head attached to my neck, anyway.

Well, I had to admit to myself as I watched the men munch on bread and stew, at least they seem to be enjoying it. Seems like my hard work isn't going to waste if—

"Ship ahoy! Ship ahoy!"

Crash!

Dozens of bowls slammed to the deck and stew spilled everywhere as the lounging pirates leapt up to race to their posts. I felt my eyebrows twitch. Those bloody ungrateful, flea-bitten sons of—

Boom!

All right, maybe right now wasn't the time.

Boom! Boom!

My eyes snapped to a spot in the distance. There, quite some way away, I saw a cloud of smoke rising from the ocean, almost as if someone had just fired their cann—

Splash!

A geyser of water shot up only a few yards away from the ship. I was abruptly doused in water, and it didn't take a genius to realize what was happening.

"Shit, they're firing!" Someone shouted. "Men, get to the cannons, now!"

I glanced down at my tattered, and decidedly male trousers. Men? That included me, right?

Splash! Crack!

Oh, to hell with this! Turning around, I rushed away from the railing, towards the ladder that led below deck.

Shame on you, Lilly! demanded my inner feminist. Where is your strength? Where are your convictions? Your courage?

Already below deck. They don't want a cannonball to the face, either. Besides, didn't Shakespeare say it so well? Screw courage!

...to the sticking place. Screw courage to the sticking place.

Details, Shmetails. Plus, those men up there would have cheerfully slit my throat yesterday. Somehow, I was not in the mood to put my life on the line for them. I was even less inclined to risk something infinitely more precious.

A trembling hand slid down and came to rest on my belly.

You'd better come back, Mr Ambrose, do you hear? You'd better come back! If you leave me to change the diapers alone, I'm going to punt you straight out of the circle of hell reserved for the greedy and find some place worse to roast your arse!

In the distance, I heard another rumble, and I was fairly certain that it wasn't from a thunderstorm.

And then I'm going to rip him a new one for coming up with this asinine plan! 'We'll be safer with the pirates, darling! Let's get on a ship with people who want to murderize us, darling!'

I decided I knew what Mr Rikkard Ambrose was going to get for dinner this evening. Preparing shoelace stew would be such fun.

Boom!

If we lived that long, that is.

Boom! Boom!

And the worst thing about his insisting on this blockheaded plan? I couldn't even say he'd been wrong. Because no matter how bad being part of a pirate crew might be, I was willing to bet being their prisoners would be a whole lot worse.

Finally reaching the bottom of the ladder, I turned and dashed down the passageway. I had hardly taken my first step when the whole ship suddenly shook and I was nearly hurled headlong into the wall. Protectively clutching my belly with one hand, I grabbed a nearby doorframe with the other. I needed to find a place to hunker down, and fast!

Luckily, I knew just the place.

Dashing back to the galley, I slammed open the door and rushed straight to the second storage cupboard. I pulled at the cupboard door and—

—and had it snatched right back.

"Occupied!" came a voice from the inside.

I blinked.

Then I glared at the storage cupboard. My bloody storage cupboard!

"Oy! This isn't a cubicle in a public bathroom!"

"Don't care!"

I tugged at the door again. It didn't budge. Or rather, it budged around a millimetre before it was slammed shut again. Seems whoever was in there was rather determined.

"This is my darn galley, you know!"

"Don't care about that, either!"

All right, that's enough. Reaching for a nearby wrought iron cooking ladle, I tugged at the door again and, the moment a gap appeared, jammed the iron handle inside. An instant later, the door flew open. Yay! Levers for the win!

Smiling dangerously, I pulled open the cupboard, raised my ladle threateningly over the intruder—and froze.

It was a boy.

No, scratch that. A "boy" could be anything up to seventeen years old. This was a child. A thin, dirty, terrifyingly young child. One who, despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise, was currently trembling in fear.

The cooking ladle hit the floor with a thunk.

"I-I'm not gonna go up there!" The little pipsqueak raised his chin. "I...I have to guard the supplies! I'm not gonna go—"

"Shh! Shh! Don't worry! Don't you worry! I won't send you up there!"

"Y-you won't?" Confused, the boy blinked up at me. "I won't have to fight?"

"Of course not!" Reaching out, I tried to gently pat the boy's shoulder—then settled for a reassuring smile when he flinched back. "Of course you don't!"

"I can stay here?" Ill-disguised hope washed over the boy's face. And then...

Agh!

No!

Not the eyes! Not the puppy-dog eyes!

I stared forlornly at the cupboard that I'd planned to make my safe haven. Then, muttering a silent curse, I hunkered down next to the cupboard—then promptly was thrown against the wall as the ship swayed harshly, something from which the blasted brat in the cupboard seemed to be perfectly safe. Darn motherly instincts!

"This is your fault, you know?" I said, glaring down at my belly.

"R-really?"

My eyes snapped up to the boy, who was eyeing the empty storage cupboard he had taken refuge in, then looking over at my big belly with wide eyes.

"You mean...everything in here? You ate—"

I felt my cheeks redden.

"No! That's not what I meant!"

"Oh?" The boy blinked, confused. "But then, what—"

This would probably have led to some awkward questions about why a corpulent, definitely non-pregnant man would be talking with his belly. Yes, it definitely would have—if, in the very next moment, the air hadn't been ripped apart by a massive explosion. One that was much closer than the earlier ones. A moment later, I felt something grab hold of my trousers. Glancing down, I saw a small hand holding onto me. I let my gaze travel up the thin arm it was attached to, ending at the tiny boy who was desperately trying to avoid my eyes.

I hesitated—then reached out, and gently pulled the little brat against me.

Goddamn maternal instincts! Is this what is gonna happen every time from now on when I look at some snot-nosed brat?

"It's going to be all right," I cooed, as the ship shook and shuddered around us. Me! Cooed! "I promise, it's going to be all right."

Yep. It probably is.

"R-really?" The little boy's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

"Yes." I gave him an encouraging nod. "Really."

Unfortunately, that was the moment when, from above, a thunderous boom sounded. It was followed by a tearing sound and the sudden knowledge that we had just barely avoided death. Though I'd wager that there was a pretty big hole in our ship's sails now.

At least we're safe down here. At least, down here, we can't be hurt by stray bullets or cannonba—

That was when something occurred to me. I was away from the fighting, true. But I was also on a ship that was being fired on with frigging cannons. Which meant...

Crap, crap, crap! How had I not noticed this before?

Muttering curses in half a dozen languages, I grabbed hold of the galley table and pulled myself to my feet.

"Where are you going?" the boy yelped.

"Well..." I swallowed, glancing down at the little brat. "It just occurred to me, we're in an enclosed space made out of wood, being fired upon with cannonballs. If one those hits, and the ship starts to sink..."

The little fellow paled, and I was fairly sure I didn't need to finish the sentence.

"Shit."

"Yep. Let's just say below decks might not be the safest place after all."

"I suddenly feel really brave. Let's join the fight!"

"Yes. Let's."

As fast as we could, the two of us made our way down the passage. When we reached the ladder leading up to the deck, I stopped and listened. Not that I had to listen very hard to hear the cacophony of screams and gunshots coming from above.

And Mr Ambrose was up there.

Blasted belly! Why can't pregnancies go faster? Then I could be up there with him, fighting!

Honestly, it was a miracle that Mr Ambrose had not already found a way to shorten pregnancies. Nine months spent of reduced walking speed and working capacity? Outrageous!

Another cannon shot cut my thoughts short. No bloody time for this!

"All right!" I muttered, glancing back at the boy cowering behind me. "I'm gonna go up there and take a look. You're going to stay here and come up only if the ship starts sinking. Understood?"

The boy nodded like an over-eager woodpecker. "Aye aye, Sir!"

I gave a nod in response and, slowly and carefully, started making my way up to the deck. Or at least tried to. Turns out, going up a ladder on a swaying ship while pregnant was not a very easy thing to do.

Crap, crap, crap! When I get my hands on you, Mr Ambrose, I'm going to make it clear what exactly I think of your plan!

Finally, I reached the top of the ladder and very, very carefully stuck my head out of the hatch. The scene that met my eyes was pure, unadulterated chaos. Men shouting, shooting and running around. Blood-spattered rags that had once been sails waving in the wind. Horrifically mangled body parts scattered over—

Quickly, I pulled my head back beneath the deck again. For some reason, I suddenly felt rather queasy. Seasickness, probably. Or morning sickness. It certainly didn't have anything to do with my stomach rebelling at the sight of gore scattered all over the ship.

Then I heard a scream from above and almost felt my heart stop. It was a strangled scream, and a distant one. Too distant to make out whether or not it came from my husband.

Hell!

Cursing Mr Rikkard Ambrose all the way to the fourth circle of hell and back, I slowly stuck my head out of the hole again.

The first thing I saw was a man tumbling to the deck, a massive, bloody hole in his chest.

It wasn't Mr Ambrose.

ThankGodthankGodthankGod!

Then again, if Mr Rikkard Ambrose were about to die, would he scream? No. I was fairly certain it would be stoic silence for my darling husband, even in his last moments. So I shut out all sounds and continued to let my eyes sweep across the deck, flicking from pirate to pirate. They were arrayed at the railing, engaged in a deadly shootout with the sailors on the other ship—and after mere moments of observation, it became clear the latter were losing fast. Several of the pirates had already thrown grappling hooks onto the other ship and were slowly hauling it closer. I was counting my blessings that both sides' cannons seemed to have run out of gunpowder, because if they hadn't—

Boom!

Crack!

Oh hell.

The whole ship lurched, and I barely ducked down in time to avoid the wooden splinters scattering across the deck. A moment later, I felt the ship tilt, ever so slightly.

Bloody hell! Are we going down? Are we bloody sinking?

Only when, after a moment, I didn't hear the rush of water and the ship didn't tilt any farther did I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Stay down!" I hissed into the darkness below. "We just got winged! We're all right! Everything is all right!"

Of course, the moment those words left my mouth, I spotted Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

He wasn't with the others. He was high, high above, dangling from the rigging, his long hair whipping in the wind and a fierce light blazing in his eyes. I felt my heart leap into my throat. What the heck was he doing up there? He couldn't possibly be planning to—

Just then, the ship tilted.

My eyes widened as the mast of our ship dipped towards the other, momentarily shortening the distance between the two, and...

Don't you dare! Don't you bloody dare, you icy idiot!

He jumped!

For a moment, a terrible, torturously long moment, Mr Ambrose seemed to be suspended in mid-air between the two vessels. Silence rang in my ears, my own terror blocking out all sound. Then he plunged down and slammed onto the deck, rolling to soften the impact and coming to his feet in a blink.

Right behind the enemy sailors.

Holyhellyes!

That bloody insane bastard! Had he been playing the iceberg for so long that his brain was frozen? If he tried something like that again, I'd...I'd...

...stay here, safe and sound.

As much as I hated to admit it, what the mocking little voice at the back of my mind whispered was the truth. Because... I might be willing to risk my own neck in that blood-spattered chaos out there, I might even be willing to whack a sailor or two over the head—but I was not willing to endanger the life of Qwerty Ambrose.

And yes, that's the name I was going to give my baby. Got any problems with that?

Thus, because of my little one, I was staying firmly where I was, far away from the massacre.

Yet...

Yet I couldn't help but wish I could be out there! I couldn't help but wish I were on that other ship, fighting beside him!

"Oy! Look behind you!" one of the enemy sailors shouted. "There's one of the bloody pira—ugh!"

Not that it seemed to be necessary.

Mr Ambrose came to his feet in one smooth move, his knife slashing at the two sailors who had turned to face him, proving why he was known as a cutthroat businessman. Both dropped to the ground, clutching their bloody necks. When two more turned around and raised their pistols, he threw himself to the deck and kicked out.

"Wha—aaaaaaah!"

Legs kicked out from under them, the two men toppled backwards. Their shots went wide, and with a quick punch each, they were sent sailing over the railing and straight into the ocean below. Snatching up the men's discarded pistols, Mr Ambrose wasted no time in starting to eliminate the competition.

Bang! Bang!

More sailors turned, quickly realizing what was going on behind them. But not quickly enough. Mr Ambrose fired.

Bang!

And fired. And fired.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Wow. He really loved firing people, didn't he?

Bang!

Or at them, apparently.

But suddenly, things got serious. A door leading into the ship was flung open, and a row of men in red-and-white uniforms dashed out.

Well, look at that. Here's the reason we were fired upon the moment they spotted us. We've encountered a vessel belonging to her Majesty's Royal Navy. The bloody Royal Navy!

Shit crap damn! Why does this kind of stuff keep happening to me?

Look at the bright side, Lilly! At least now you can get some real experience as a pirate! Arrr, matey!

Sometimes I really hated that inner voice of mine.

"Load!" a voice roared over the din. Probably an officer. Definitely someone who should be offed.

Mr Ambrose whirled around to face the new foes. But he was half a ship's length away from the soldiers.

"Aim!" the officer bellowed.

Oh...to hell with it!

Growling, I whipped out my pistol and fired without hesitation. The officer gave a yelp, and promptly went down clutching his leg, his head hitting the deck with a thud and knocking him out.

What, you thought just because I didn't plan to interfere that I was going to walk around unarmed? Dream on!

The soldiers, meanwhile, were still patiently waiting for the command to fire. None of them seemed to have noticed that their superior officer was out like a light on the deck behind them.

Well, my last name is Ambrose now. How can I waste time or opportunities?

I aimed again.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

After three more men went down, the rest of them seemed to catch on to what was happening. Whirling around, they frantically searched the enemy ship's deck—until one of them gave a shout and stabbed his arm forward. It was pointing straight at where my head was poking above the deck.

Damn!

"Over there!" The man shouted. "Get him! Get that bastard! Fire! Fire!"

As one, they raised their rifles. Before I could even move a single muscle, they took aim, and...

-----------------------------------------------



...and Cliffhanger! ;)

Sorry my dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, but the chapter was already rather long, so I decided to stop it there. Also, my computer broke down this week and I had to find a replacement.

Now, for some notes on the chapter:

Firstly, there is indeed a quote from Shakespeare's Macbeth that says "Screw your courage to the sticking-place, and we'll not fail." I am, however, fairly certain that he did not mean "Screw courage!" in the sense Lilly is using it ;-)

And for those who are wondering what is in the forth circle of hell - In Dante's Inferno, a famous literary work of the late middle ages, the fourth circle of hell is said to be the one reserved for those who committed the sin of greed.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob