"Don't over think it," Dan advised absent-mindedly while he studied a sheaf of papers spread on the desk before him. "You know how the men like to bluster on about what really amounts to nothing."

Trixie stared at him, torn between outrage and incredulity. Dan always took her seriously. Always. And yet there he sat, practically ignoring her, dismissing her account of the conversation she'd overheard without even looking at her.

Well. That just wouldn't do. Not when she suspected that the safety of both the Ten Acres and the Straight Arrow depended on a correct interpretation of the information she'd been trying to share with him.

"Lucien Bouchard," Dan muttered under his breath, closing his eyes and frowning. "What am I supposed to be remembering about him?" He leaned back in his wooden chair, stopping just short of allowing the two front legs to lift from the floor. Though the sea had calmed considerably since the squall, the waters were definitely rough enough that it was wise to take precautions against unnecessary tumbles. The closer they drew to the Pool, the more unsettled both the seas and crew grew, and the captain was no exception. Faint lines of worry creased his forehead, and Trixie realized that their current situation was taking a toll on the normally unflappable man.

Well. She could help with that and get him to listen to her.

Taking advantage of the extra space created when Dan leaned back, Trixie wedged herself between him and the desk, her slim legs on either side of his. There were so many advantages, she smirked, to wearing breeches instead of skirts.

Dan's eyes flew open, surprised by the unexpected lapful of Trixie. She didn’t generally distract him when he was thinking; usually, she was too busy thinking right along with him. His arms settled automatically at her waist even as he eyed her suspiciously.

"Yes?" he asked warily, and Trixie decided that she really ought to surprise him more during the day if he was that shocked by her behaviour.

"You're not listening to me," she said, softening her accusation by tracing the line of buttons on his shirt. No two were the same, she noted, seeking out her favourite one and running her fingers over the elaborate engraving on the oversized button. She wasn't even sure that it was intended to be a button for a shirt. A coat perhaps? A heavy winter coat? It didn't matter, though. The flashy bit of decoration suited the otherwise understated captain.

"You weren't listening to me," Trixie murmured again, her mouth close to Dan's ear. He shivered; she smirked.

"Two of your crew made sure to have that paper delivered to you," she continued, her voice still low and intimate in his ear. He grunted; she wiggled.

"They know something, even if they're not the ones who wrote the note." She licked a small spot below his ear and then blew on it; he squirmed.

"They might know who's pulling us toward the Pool and why Jim was there in the first place." He tugged, drawing her further into his lap to nestle tightly against him; she gasped.

"I know," he said, his voice strained. Her hands moved from his button to his shoulders; he groaned.

"But it's not one of the names on the list who masterminded this," he decided, his words coming out in a low, quiet, rush. His hands moved from her waist to her thighs; her breath caught in her throat.

"What makes you think that?" she asked, even though she agreed with him. She'd started this game of teasing in order to gain his attention and press her point, but it was working even better than she'd hoped. She already knew what she thought; it was surprisingly intriguing to coax Dan into telling her what he thought.

"Because none of the men on the list are daft enough to let it be known that they're associating with the others," he said grimly, belying his tone by tangling his hand in her hair and angling her head. He grazed his lips against hers; she melted.

"Then who's pulling the strings?" Trixie gasped when the kiss ended. He pulled at her blouse; she helped him.

"Someone who really, really hates Captain Gingerbeard," Dan said. "And possibly me as well."

He kissed away her worry; she allowed it.

In the morning the atmosphere felt heavier, more pressing, and a sense of urgency animated the crew.

"The men are eager to arrive and even more eager to press on," Esau informed her as they stood at a railing, watching their progress through the brilliant blue water. The sun shone with an intensity that made the waves almost too bright to look at.

"It feels so ominous," Trixie said, shivering despite the heat of the sun.

"Aye, that it does."

She whirled to face the man only a few feet away from them. He was one of the newer crew members, and one that Trixie didn't know as well as she did some of the others. A stream of tobacco shot from between his stained teeth, and Trixie shuddered. She didn't object to the coarse lyrics of the songs the men sang, or their off-colour jokes, but she hadn't been able to accustom herself to the sight of the men expelling tobacco at odd moments. She was spoiled, she knew. Her father had only ever used a pipe, and Dan seemed disinclined to indulge at all. She'd tried her father's pipe once, but the subsequent coughing, retching, and streaming eyes had cured her of the desire to repeat the process. This decision was renewed as she watched the trickle of tobacco make a path over the rough wood deck toward the rail.

"Ye jest volunteered to swab the deck for the next week," Esau informed the man, sounding more resigned than irritated, and Trixie realized that this was most likely a common occurrence. She'd simply not witnessed it because most of the crew chose to curtail their behaviour at least a little bit when in her presence. "Ye know perfectly well there be a spittoon in yer quarters."

The man shrugged, taking the punishment stoically, and Trixie briefly wondered how anyone managed when they had to take orders and punishments so easily. She was forever breaking rules, it seemed, though she almost always felt justified in doing so. And she certainly didn't respond to chastisement with an accepting shrug. If she felt she had a good reason for what she'd done, she didn't think she ought to be punished for it.

Of course, she wasn't likely to break a rule that stated that tobacco should be expelled only in authorized spittoons.

Shaking her head to clear her unbridled thoughts, she turned back to the crew member. He had to have a reason for approaching them—it just wasn't done for someone to approach the First Mate when they ought to be attending to their duties.

"We'll be there afore the sun sets," the man said, and his eyes gleamed.

Esau snapped his head toward him. "Truly?" he questioned.

"Aye," he affirmed. "The charts may show the Pool being further off, but I can feel it. We be on the cusp of doom." Having delivered his ominous statement, he nodded at the First Mate, glanced in Trixie's direction, and turned away, presumably to return to his duties.

"How does he know?" Trixie wondered, staring after the man as he blended in with his fellow crew members.

Esau shrugged. "T'isn't certain that he does. Only time will tell. Still, he's sailed these waters more often than anyone else on board."

Trixie frowned. She didn't know the man well, but she never would have guessed that he had more experience than others on board. Frankly, it was hard to imagine anyone who was more familiar with the seas they sailed than Esau.

"He used to sail on the Scourge," Esau explained, as if sensing her confusion. Or correctly interpreting her frown and puckered brow.

"The Scourge," Trixie repeated, a feeling of dread lying like a ball in her stomach. One of the ships whose captain was listed on the mysterious piece of parchment.

Had they found their mastermind?

No. The man who'd just spoken to them took orders too readily to be anything other than a simple sailor.

"Why did he leave the Scourge?" Trixie asked thoughtfully. "Is leaving even allowed?"

Esau stared at her blankly. "Serving on a ship is hardly indentured servitude," he informed her. He paused. "Well. Not unless one sails for the Navy. Then, I think, it rather is." He patted his pocket, a habit reassuring him that his pipe was still secure. He smoked most evenings as he kept company with the men, and Trixie suspected it was his favourite part of the day. "No, sailors are free to leave their ship at any time, even pirates."

Trixie nodded, not sure why she'd supposed that life aboard the Scourge would be so very different than aboard the Straight Arrow. Of course, for Captain Roberts to have earned his reputation, it stood to reason that he might not be the kindest captain sailing the seas. But Dan had owned his own reputation and still managed to treat his crew with respect…

She shook her head. These thoughts weren't helping her. She needed to figure out who was drawing them to the Pool and for what purpose. While it didn't appear that—

"Esau!" Trixie exclaimed, gripping his arm. "What was that sailor's name?" she asked, realizing that she was still missing that bit of information.

Esau blinked. "Smythe. Decent sailor. Terrible singer." He shook his head. "Personally, that's why I think he left the Scourge. Some ships have higher singing standards than we."

Trixie's eyes grew wide. Tone-deafness was grounds for being forced to leave a ship? If only, she thought wistfully, Dan would apply that policy on the Straight Arrow.

She shook her head in an attempt to shake out the thoughts that weren't helping her to solve their problem. She'd been thinking about Smythe… Oh, yes. It didn't appear that he was involved, other than by having personal experience with the Pool. Still, it wouldn't do to discount him. It was a little too convenient that a former sailor from the Scourge would be on board the Straight Arrow when they were being pulled toward the Scourge's favoured hunting ground.

And he also wasn't one of the men she'd overheard in the galley. No, she was certain that she would recognize their voices anywhere. In fact, she really ought to make a more concerted effort toward identifying them, she scolded herself. But while she was on good terms with the sailors, she didn't often seek them out for idle conversation. And since she hadn't recognized their voices, she was fairly certain that she had spent little to no time with them previously. And since going up to each crew member and demanding to know if they'd had a clandestine meeting and conversation in the deserted galley was probably a bad idea, she was out of luck.

If only, she thought ruefully, some of her friend Honey Wheeler's tact had rubbed off on her. Unfortunately, her friend from the neighbouring estate had been sent away to boarding school so much of the time, they hadn't really developed the close friendship that might have allowed them to learn from each other. And since she'd come of age, Honey had spent most of her time in London under the care of her mother and aunt, who were both frighteningly determined for her to make a good match. In fact, she realized with a start, it might already have happened. She hadn't had news of her friend for months. Trixie shivered, thanking her lucky stars once again that she'd taken to sea when she had—if she hadn't, she might be in the same predicament. Instead, she was free, freer than she'd ever been, even as a child when she'd delighted in climbing the tallest trees that she could find.

Once again, she wrenched her thoughts back to the problem at hand. "And would you vouch for Smythe's character?" Trixie asked, still trying to determine whether or not the man could be trusted.

Esau patted his pocket again as his gaze roamed the sea. "He works hard enough," he finally said, and Trixie wanted to scream with frustration. How was that supposed to help her decide whether or not Smythe was scheming to bring them to their ruin? Weren't most criminal masterminds hard workers? They had to be, didn't they? Otherwise, how would they bring their evil plans to fruition? Crime didn't just happen by itself...

Her eyes grew wide. No, crime didn't just happen by itself. It happened because someone planned it. And they generally planned it for a reason. All she had to do was figure out what someone had to gain by luring Jim into the Pool.

He was a Captain in the British Navy. Did Captains make enemies easily? she wondered. Weren't they mostly anonymous? Part of the bigger picture? Of course the French wouldn't be fond of a British captain—they were at war, after all—but would they seek out one in particular?

It seemed too personal an attack to blame on the strategies of war.

But who did that leave? She simply couldn't imagine Jim having personal enemies; he was entirely too forthright and honourable to make such a thing a viable option.

Or was drawing Dan to the Pool the ultimate goal? Pirate captains weren't particularly popular, after all. It stood to reason that any number of people might have a grudge against Captain Mangan or the Straight Arrow.

Could it be that someone hoped to dispose of both Dan and Jim? Could they have a common enemy? She frowned, trying to work it out. Dan and Jim were loose allies at best; who could both of them have pushed too far?

"Ye look as if ye've seen a ghost," Esau commented, drawing her attention away from her wandering thoughts. She shook her head, stray wisps of hair escaping from her half-hearted attempt at restraint.

A shiver crept up her spine, and she focused on the warmth of the sun for a moment before responding. "Not a ghost," she said, lost in thought as she stared toward the horizon. No, she hadn't seen a ghost. She had, however, felt the uncomfortable sensation that the answer to her questions hovered at the edges of her consciousness.

"What's going on in that head of yours?"

Trixie started at the voice in her ear, but relaxed when Dan slipped his arms around her from behind. "I just have a feeling—"

Dan's chin landed on her shoulder and his breath tickled her ear. "What sort of feeling?" He nuzzled her neck, keeping his movements subtle enough that they weren't giving the crew too much of a show. "Because if it's the same kind of feeling I have, there's a room below deck with my name on it," he reminded her.

"Not that kind of feeling!" she protested, though she made no move to distance himself from either his embrace or from his lips on her neck.

Dan blew out a breath of air that did little to help Trixie focus.

"I have a bad feeling about whoever is behind this," she said, though her words lacked conviction. It was, after all, a sentiment that they had already discussed. Before, she had been worried. Now, she was unsettled, and it was somehow worse, though she couldn't explain why. Once again she looked out to sea. For the first time since she'd boarded the Straight Arrow, the expansive view failed to soothe her. Instead, she felt the uncomfortable sensation of being trapped, being pulled toward a destiny that she'd rather avoid.

"We'll figure it out," Dan reminded her, and she closed her eyes and leaned back against him, wanting desperately to believe his words. "Together."

She took a deep breath and nodded, chastising herself for being so emotional. Emotions rarely solved mysteries, she knew, and she was determined to do everything in her power to rescue Ten Acres and keep the Straight Arrow safe. Emotions would have to wait until later.

Dan's hands at her waist become less of a loose hold and more of an attempt to rumple her appearance as much as possible.

Well.

It might be acceptable for her to indulge in a few emotions, she decided, and stopped caring about what kind of show they were giving the crew.

She dreamed that night. Dreamed that the Ten Acres was in sight, and that they'd arrived in time. Awash with relief, she called to the vessel, though she knew no one aboard would be able to hear her. Her voice was caught in the wind, caught and swept away in a swirl that revolved on itself, stealing every sound along with it. She watched with a growing sense of horror as the wind rose, keeping her words and hurling them back at her, then gathering them again and flinging them to the sea. She could see the vortex plainly, unable to do anything other than watch as it lowered itself to the sea and expanded, instantly forming a huge circle of writhing, churning water. The water spout was closer to the Ten Acres than the Straight Arrow and Trixie found herself straining, willing the Ten Acres to turn and flee from the yawning mouth of doom. But Jim was at the railing, his eyes trained of her instead of on the pit of death opening between them.

"Run, Jim!" she screamed, panic rising up and choking her. The words caught in her throat, and she knew that Jim hadn't heard her. He did, however, appear to pick up on her panic. But instead of attempting to turn the ship away and escape the imminent danger, the Ten Acres seemed to catch a gust of wind and propel forward, toward the vortex.

And then, though she hadn't thought the situation could get worse, it did. Because Jim was no longer alone at the railing. No, he was flanked on either side by Trixie's brothers.

And then the Ten Acres was caught in the vortex, spinning out of control, and her words were spinning out of control right along with it. Pleas for help, for mercy, for something that she couldn't even name tore from her, though she knew that no one would hear them.

"Trixie. Trixie, wake up."

She fought against the voice, unable to turn away from the tragedy unfolding before her.

"Trixie. It's time to wake up."

No. It couldn't be time to wake up. Not when Jim, and Brian, and—

"Trixie, you're safe. Please wake up."

That couldn't be right. Of course she was safe! She wasn't the one being swept away! Why would anyone think that she was concerned about her own safety? But the voice had succeeded in pulling her away from the tragedy unfolding. Instead of a ship sinking to a watery grave, she was wrapped in darkness. For a bad moment she thought that maybe she'd been the one to drown, but it took only a few seconds to realize that she was in bed, in Dan's arms.

Her nightshirt strangled her, trapping her arms, twisting around her legs. Breathing hard, Trixie threw off the covers and swung her legs over the edge, hands gripping the ticking-filled mattress. Dan followed, a solid presence at her back.

She wasn't drowning.

Jim wasn't drowning.

Her brothers weren't drowning.

Little by little her breathing eased and she relaxed against Dan's chest. Something still wasn't right, though. She didn't have nightmares often, but when she did, Dan generally soothed her with quiet words and gentle touches. He was silent now, his embrace just a touch looser than she was accustomed to.

The sinking sensation she'd felt when she'd seen the Ten Acres start to flounder returned, though it lacked the sense of panic she'd felt in the dream. "Dan?" she questioned, her voice hoarse.

Instead of responding, he gathered her in his arms and tugged her back to a more comfortable position on the bed. Trixie rested her head on his chest against the steady beating of his heart.

"They're safe," she said, needing to speak the words aloud herself.

"They?" Dan questioned, shifting to draw the covers over them.

She shivered despite the warmth of the scratchy wool blanket. "My brothers," she said, seeing their faces again. "They were with Jim on the Straight Arrow, and I couldn't stop the ship from being sucked into the Pool." Every feature of their faces was crystal clear, etched into her memory.

"Your brothers," Dan repeated, and Trixie felt him relax further. "I thought…"

"You thought what?" she questioned, though she suspected that she knew the answer to her question.

Dan was silent.

"You're a good man, Captain Daniel T. Mangan," she said, twisting so that she could look into his eyes.

"So is Jim," Dan muttered, and Trixie knew that she'd guessed correctly.

She reverted to her original position, tucked into his arms. "Yes, he is," she agreed.

Dan was silent.

"And if I wanted to be with him, I'd have stowed away on the Ten Acres instead of the Straight Arrow."

Dan chuckled and Trixie knew that he was at least on his way to overcoming the rare flash of insecurity. "I didn't realize that you stowing away on the Straight Arrow was a declaration of love," he teased. "You didn't even know me."

Trixie rolled her eyes and smiled against his chest. "I knew you were an irresponsible rogue of a pirate and that I'd be doing the world a favour by exposing you."

"And how did that work out for you?" he questioned, slipping his hands under the blanket and running them over her sides before settling on her hips.

"Just fine," she murmured. And though she was tempted to continue what Dan was obviously willing to start, she sat up and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be," she told him. "And no other man I'd rather be with. After all, it's not every pirate who's willing to put himself and his crew at risk to rescue a captain in the British Navy."

"You're absolutely correct," Dan agreed, his hands now underneath Trixie's nightshirt, one of the many shirts she'd pilfered from his trunk. "So, your brothers?" he continued in an uncharacteristic bid to continue talking rather than resume their other activities.

Trixie winced at the memory and Dan gave her the hug he'd denied her before. "They're fine," he said, pressing his lips to her temple and running his hands up and down her arms. "It was only a dream."

But it wasn't only a dream, she knew. The fear and the danger, at least, were real enough.

And much more like a nightmare than a dream.