“Treason,” Nicolas says. “My captain was accused of treason. I believed him innocent. He was not, was he?”

Jenkins gives a humorless laugh as he parries. “You were always a fool, Dupuis. A pirate who thought he was a privateer. Thought his crew had been betrayed by the Crown. No, your captain was as guilty as sin. Guilty of selling secrets of the Royal Navy to the French. To your own people.”

“The French are not ‘my’ people.”

Jenkins rolls his eyes.

“How would that secret be blackmail for Norr—?” I stop before I finish. “Because he is the one who gave Nicolas’s captain the secrets. He was a British admiral.”

“That secret is worth a lot of money, don’t you think?” Jenkins says, and he’s so pleased with himself that I lunge too quickly, only to have him back me off with a blow that leaves me gasping.

Lord Thomas is fuming. Shouting at Jenkins to keep his mouth shut, does he know what he just did? I pay no attention to the ghost. I wait until he pauses his tirade.

“A secret that was worth a boy’s life, apparently,” I say. “Andrés heard nothing. Nothing.”

Jenkins blinks. “No, he overheard. Lord Thomas said he did.”

“Lord Thomas lied. He thought Andrés might have heard, and that was enough, and so he told you to . . .” I remember Emily, sitting and listening, and I will not do this to her. “Do what you did.”

Jenkins wheels on the ghost. “You said he had heard. You were certain he had.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jenkins,” I say. “That was the final confirmation I required.” I raise my voice as I lift my sword. “Lord Thomas Norrington and John Jenkins, I name you in the death of Andrés, the cabin boy whose spirit haunts this ship.”

Emily gasps, and I realize I have torn the cloak not only from her father but also from her grandfather. I regret that, but I cannot place her peace of mind over Andrés’s freedom.

Lord Thomas shouts behind me, a roar of rage that turns into a garbled cry as he is wrenched from this world to the next.

“Miranda!”

Jenkins lunges at me. I fall back, and I lift my sword, but my skirts—my damnable skirts—snag, and he traps my blade, and as I stumble, his sword knocks mine splashing into the water at our feet.

Nicolas scrambles to his feet, and he charges toward us.

When a groan comes again, I think it is Nicolas—his injury making him cry out. Then the ship rocks behind me and groans anew. A crack, as if she is splitting in two. Nicolas does let out a cry then—a cry as the floor cracks, leaving a gaping hole in his path.

Jenkins’s sword tip goes to my throat.

“You ought not to have done that, girl,” he says. “Damn my soul, and what reason do I have to live?”

“Every reason, father,” Emily’s voice is barely audible over the ship breaking. “If you are damned, you do not wish to die a moment before you must.”