The Angelica
The Angelica moved like a ghost in the fog, her captain like a storm in the night—unseen, unstoppable, utterly consuming, and every surrender a choice.
The wood of The Angelica creaked softly with the rocking of the waves, but I was still startled awake. I had been for the past few months since the last landfall. The English, the French, and the Spaniards had grown weary of fighting each other but even more so in fighting us. Their ships were faster, their numbers vast, but we knew the waters. I knew we lay still in the dead water; we’d been running dark into the night,...