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pirate looked pleadingly into my furious, hateful eyes. He didn’t know what had happened. I wanted to kill him for how he had hoisted me from the tavern, tearing me away from my father. I hated him with my first real taste of bitter rage and sword-wrought power. I imagined thrusting forward with my sword and feeling the spray of his blood.
    Instead, I turned my sword around and struck him in the face with the pommel. His eyes crossed and blood streamed from his nose. The impact of my strike made him fall backward. As he landed, I saw a steel blade break through his chest. Behind him sat the deaf boy, eyes wide from the horror of the accident, the sword handle he clutched dripping with Beelo’s blood. A gasp erupted from the boatswain, followed by a series of choking gurgles. Beelo reached up and touched the blade that protruded from his breast.
    Beelo looked at me with clear eyes. “Ya see, boy, quiet in the killing. No one has to hear nothing.” His head fell to the side, the face pale and lifeless. His dead eyes seemed to peer into my frightened soul.
    All was silent except for the constant creaking of the ship and the sloshing of the waves. The deaf boy released his grip on the fatal sword and moved out from behind the boatswain. Beelo’s body crumpled to the floor. A steady stream of blood seeped from his mouth and pooled around his face.
    The boy began to cry. His hands dripped blood, and he tried to wipe them clean on his shirt.
    Grant turned to me. “Listen, Jacob, we’re in a lot of trouble now. You have just defeated one of L’Ollon’s best swordsmen.”
    He and the others dragged the corpse to the side of the room and covered it with a blanket. They left the blade in because if they removed it, more blood would flow. They mopped the floor and tried to get back to work. It wouldn’t be long before someone came down to our quarters looking for the boatswain.

Chapter 7
The Chart and the Book
     
    No one could concentrate with a dead body so near. Everyone left me alone. I sat atop an empty barrel in the far corner of the room. It was past noon. The sun would be bright and hot overhead. The heat of the day fell through the cracks in the floorboards. Beelo’s body began to smell.
    My heart raced each time footfalls rumbled the deck. I couldn’t help but watch the doorway, expecting an enraged group of pirates to storm in, blades drawn and pistols in hand.
    Grant busied himself with a broom. He swept the room, humming softly, but I could see his fear. His face was pale and beads of nervous sweat trickled down his brow. He looked over at me, then continued sweeping.
    My hands began to shake as I recalled every second of the fight. The pile of swords on the workbench gleamed as if silently calling to me. Despite the horror of Beelo’s drunken game, the sword gave me bravery and evened the odds.
    I stood up, planning to take up another blade for protection, when a barrel streaked across the room. It shattered, spilling its contents of lemons and limes about the floor. Captain Jean L’Ollon, Quartermaster Christoff, and another pirate stood in the doorway.
    L’Ollon’s coat was as brown as the wooden floor, and his heavy boots clopped like the shoes of a horse. Kneeling down, he pulled back the blanket and held his hand over Beelo’s bloody mouth. He turned to Christoff. “No breath. He is dead.”
    L’Ollon approached Grant, his left hand resting on the pommel of his long dagger. “Speak, Cooper. What treachery has come to pass?”
    Grant’s eyes met mine, a grave mistake. L’Ollon struck him hard. Grant staggered back but did not fall. Regaining his posture, he looked squarely into L’Ollon’s eyes. A thread of blood trickled from his nose.
    “We were tasked with sharpening the swords, Captain. The boatswain took to the wine. He engaged young Jacob in a round of swordplay but was enraged when he could not win. He attacked Jacob with the intent to kill but fell backward, landing atop a blade the