Stopping abruptly at the top of the stairs, he found Roxanne completely unharmed, sitting calmly sipping from a bottle.

Somebody moved in the shadows, and he instinctively reached for his pistol.

"I mean no harm," a man's voice said slowly, as though the words were unfamiliar. Teague recognised the sign of someone speaking a language that wasn't their mother tongue. The speaker's accent was South African, Malagasy to be exact, which he recognised from the time he had spent there.

"Who are you?" he asked slowly and steadily, hand still on his pistol.

Slowly, a male figure emerged from the shadows. Though slightly stooped with age, he was still slightly taller than Teague, his eyes a startlingly bright blue under the brim of his feathered black tricorn.

The silver chain of a pocket watch glimmered against the light blue of his waistcoat and a slowly yellowing lacy jabot spilled down his chest, mostly hidden by his long grey beard.

He stood looking Teague over for several minutes. "This is him, no?" he said, addressing Roxanne, who nodded while draining the last of her bottle.

"Captain, this is Edward Teague. Edward, Captain Haja Boucher, Keeper of the Pirate Code."

The older man stood for another few seconds, then extended a hand.

Teague's gaze was immediately drawn to the silver ring on his third finger, fashioned in the shape of a skull, wondering if it was as heavy as it looked.

He shook the offered hand, finding Captain Boucher's grip surprisingly firm despite his aging appearance.

"Keeper of the Pirate Code. So, it actually exists then?" he said thoughtfully.

The old man's eyes narrowed under the brim of his hat, his piercing gaze scrutinising Teague from head to toe. He gave a slight nod, as though affirming a private assumption, then took Roxanne's hand, kissed the back of it courteously and disappeared into the shadows at the back of the balcony.

He hadn't answered the question, Teague realised as he went downstairs with Roxanne, retrieving his sword before leaving the hall. He still didn't know if the Code actually existed.

Dark clouds hung heavily over the city of wrecks, making the shadows even darker than before. Rain wasn't far away.

"Who were the women?" Roxanne asked curiously as they walked back towards the docks.

"The blonde's called Belladonna. The other one who came in after me is Carmen Vaquera."

Something in his voice must have betrayed his thoughts about Carmen, because Roxanne stopped walking and stared at him for a second.

"Is she more what your mother had in mind for you to love?" she asked quietly.

He sighed, clasping his hands behind his back, his thumb running over his own knuckles. The silence stretched uncomfortably.  "Aye," he finally muttered with a sigh, "She'd have been happier seein' me with the likes of Captain Vaquera."

Roxanne looked away, lifting her chin slightly. "I can see why," she said, her accent clipped. "She looks much better suited to a life of piracy than me. Looks like she was born into it."

"Being born into piracy is no guarantee of bein' suited to it," Teague said gently.

They had stopped walking, standing in one of the narrow, gloomy alleys between two buildings. A drizzle had started, though the air was still warm.

"Your mother seemed to think that nobody could be a pirate who wasn't born into it. Especially someone like me. I'm sure Captain Vaquera would have suited you better."

Her accent hid the emotion in her words, not letting him hear her jealousy and vulnerability. Her expression was unreadable, perfected by years of hiding her emotions in a society where women were expected to only exist, talk and smile politely.

"Neither of the women on the Lady were born into piracy and they fit in just fine. You fit in fine, and you've proven your worth with a needle and thread which is more than most of the crew are useful for."

Roxanne's lips tightened, and something unreadable flickered in her eyes. "I am once again wondering if you only keep me around because I'm useful to you."

He ran a hand through his hair, making the trinkets tied in it jingle angrily.

"Stop talkin' shite," he snapped roughly. "Ye know full well I don't. If I was doin' that, you'd be sleepin' on the ship instead of in the bed with me at home."

There was a dangerous glimmer in his eyes, the spark of his igniting temper as he looked at her coolly.

"I saw you with Carmen, watching her, looking her over. Why don't you take her to bed in your cabin instead?" Roxanne glared at him, her head high, an angry flush of colour appearing on her cheekbones.

"Maybe I will. Then at least I'd be able to go back home and show her to my family without bein' thrown out for lovin' someone like you."

As soon as the words were out, he wished he could take them back.

Her eyes widened in shock and hurt, a hand covering her mouth. For a second, she simply stared, then turned and ran.

By the time he'd decided to follow her, she was already gone, lost among the maze of ship hulls and misty rain.

Deciding she would come back whenever she was ready, he bent his head against the drizzle, tucked his hands deep into his coat pockets and began to walk back to the Lady, having no desire to stay in Shipwreck Cove any longer than necessary.

"How did that go?" Soracha met him as he stepped onto the ship again, a coat wrapped around her shoulders

"Well, most of the Pirate Lords seem like arseholes, though Jonathan Rhodes, who's English and dresses like a posh fucker, seems nice enough, as does Captain Burason, who I knew already. There's two women in the Court. One of them is Spanish, absolutely gorgeous, though feisty and not very friendly. The other, I'm still trying to figure out."

Soracha nodded, offering him a bottle of whiskey. "What have ye done with Roxanne?"

"We had an argument an' she stormed off," he replied simply, gratefully accepting the bottle. "She's still in the Cove somewhere, I'm sure she'll come back when she's ready."

************************************
Roxanne dodged through the streets, running almost blind as the rain and tears blurred her vision.

Light from an ajar door seemed to beckon her and she darted inside, shaking her sodden hair out of her eyes as she tried to catch her breath, taking in her surroundings.

She was standing in a rickety-looking little house, which was sparsely furnished and dimly-lit. There was a battered bucket under a hole in the ceiling into which water was dripping steadily.

A rotting wooden screen divided the space, and from behind it came the creaking of bed springs and soft rustle of covers as someone settled for a nap.

"Shit," Roxanne muttered as she moved, making something clatter to the floor. The movements behind the screen stopped. Then the screen slid open.

The man who had opened it was tall and strongly built, with broad shoulders, his rather large stomach straining the front of his clothing.

Calculating eyes somewhere between blue and green assessed her from head to toe, lingering a fraction of a second longer on her shirt front than anywhere else.

"I...I'm sorry for disturbing you, I just wanted out of the rain...I..." she stammered, trying to dry her eyes, raising her chin under his scanning gaze.

Amidst a tangled white-blond beard, his teeth glimmered silver when he grinned.

"Come," he said in an accent she recognised as Welsh. "Dry in here."

Shivering, she shrugged and followed the stranger over to the table by the door, which had only one chair.
"Thank you," she murmured, standing awkwardly. "I'm very sorry for intruding, I just wanted out of the rain. I didn't realise there was anyone in here."

He laughed. "English?" he asked, and she nodded. "My name is Roxanne," she added, holding out her hand politely.

"Pretty name for a pretty lady." He didn't shake her hand. "I'm Robert."

Again, his eyes travelled over her. Water dripped into the bucket. She noticed a heavy-looking sword with a broad blade, which didn't look anything like what a pirate used leaning against the wall, half-hidden by the table.

"You're cold. Why don't warm up?" he gestured to the screen, which did indeed conceal a bed.

Roxanne felt so miserable that the idea of getting into a bed was very appealing. She didn't much care whose bed it was at the moment.

She removed her wet coat, keeping her sword and boots on as she got into the bed. It was filthy and the sheets were damp, but the quilt was heavy and she could feel herself starting to warm up.

She stiffened, feeling the mattress dip as Robert lay down. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping you company." There was something suggestive in his Welsh lilt as he stretched out, an arm snaking around her waist, forcing her to lie on her back.

"I don't want-" she was cut off by his hand covering her mouth. His other hand was now on the front of her breeches.

"Such a pretty thing. Such little tits." Lust coated his words like honey, eyes greedy as they drifted.

She shuddered in revulsion at the feeling of his fingers through her breeches, wriggling fruitlessly.
"Behave," he warned, hand pulling her shirt free of her breeches and slipping underneath.

He stole a kiss, a searing, demanding, harsh kiss, his hand now brushing her ribs.

Roxanne wriggled and fought but he was stronger, keeping her pinned where he wanted her, his legs now firmly planted on either side of her.

Fear writhed in her stomach as she watched him reaching for the front of his breeches, realising what he was likely intending to do.

"No, no." She shook her head, becoming slightly frantic when she couldn't get away. "No, I'm going. Leave me alone. Please, I don't want to-"

A gunshot eclipsed the rest of her frantic words, and sent her already pounding heart into her throat in terror.

Robert dropped dead on the bed, almost on top of her.

Crying from a mixture of fright and relief, her breath coming in fearful gasps, Roxanne shakily looked up.

Casually blowing the puff of smoke away from his pistols barrel, Edward Teague stepped majestically into the light.