"Damme, Jack," whispered Thomas Gray, cap'n of the watch. "One o' these days ye're gonna come smashing right down through the boards an' out past the barnacles on t'other side. An' I just hope I'm not the fellow standin' under ye at the time."

Jack grinned as he clapped Tom on the shoulder and jerked his thumb at the coastline.

"Oh, aye," nodded Tom. "Looks like we're set well enough. We'll move in a bit closer, and they'll send out the boats when we give the signal."

The tide was running high, which was a good thing, as the edge of the cove was riddled with large deadly rocks that hid just beneath the surface when the tide was out. Under the watchful eye of Tom, the ship was able to hang just offshore.

"There," he announced with a grunt of satisfaction as anchor was dropped with as little noise as possible. "That should speed up the offloadin', which will please the Cap'n to no end, I'm sure. Now Jack, get below an' help shift the goods up through th' hatches."

"Oh, fine," Jack replied. "Why do I always get to do the heavy lifting?"

"'Cause ye made the poor mistake o' showin' off how strong ye really are, Jack m'boy. Though where ye hide any muscle on that pitiful small frame is purely a mystery."

"It's all up here," winked Jack, tapping his head.

"Aye," snorted Tom, "That's likely enough." He gave the boy a friendly shove. "Now get yerself below."

They had experienced an extraordinary bit of luck this time out, and the hold was fairly bursting with the contents from an unfortunate frigate on its way from France. It had been carrying a wealth of rich fabrics, china and silver plate, fine wines and spirits, and all manner of luxurious furnishings. Best of all though, was a chest full of gold, jewelry and other precious items. This was currently locked in the Captain's quarters, and would not go ashore until the Cap'n took it himself with the last boat.

Jack locked a leg around the ladder just below the open hatch and began pitching bolts of fabric, draperies and rugs up onto the deck. He heard a muffled thud and someone swore.

"Dammit Jack, slow down, ye nearly pinned me to th'deck with that ruddy huge carpet."

"Sorry Will," Jack grinned. "I'll try to be a bit easier on you."

Will, who was twice Jack's size, swore colorfully as everyone within earshot began to snicker.

"Awright, ye little sod," growled Will, "I'm ready for ye now, jes' try an' knock me off m'feet again. I've got me balance now."

"Righto." Jack acknowledged, and he continued to toss bundles up to Will. He was careful not to over do it again, though, since there was no point in antagonizing Will any more than was amusing.

The first of the boats had come alongside, and the crew began to lower things carefully over the side to be rowed to shore. It was a long, difficult process and the moon was setting by the time the boats pulled up for the last few loads.

Jack was sitting with his back against the mast, feigning utter exhaustion when he smelled the smoke. He stood up immediately and began casting about, trying to locate the source. He went below into the now empty hold, and found a smoldering pile of tar-coated rags. Before he could do anything, the fire suddenly flared and touched off a pile of powder that had been set near the rags. The bundle exploded, sending Jack flying across the hold. He picked himself out of the splintered wall and looked at the fire now raging uncontrollably in the belly of the ship.

"Well, looks like that's done it." He muttered, and raced up the ladder, yelling at the top of his lungs. The men looked at him, singed and blackened, and saw the dark smoke pouring from the hatch. Wasting no time, they tossed their bundles aside and began pouring into the boats themselves. Those that couldn't secure a berth, grabbed anything that would float and leapt over the side.

Jack stayed aboard to help get everyone off, since he knew he could escape at a moments notice. He could only hope that he got that notice before the fire reached the store of powder. Once the deck was cleared, he raced below to check the for'ard cabins. The door to the Captain's room was open, and Vachon caught the unmistakable smell of blood. Inside, the Captain lay on the floor in a pool of blood from his slashed throat. In the corner, someone struggled to drag a heavy chest to the door.

"Tom!" Jack exclaimed, understanding immediately that Tom had been the one to set the fire and murder the Captain. "Why?"

"Out of me way, Jack!" Tom cried with a terrible expression on his face as he leveled a pistol at Jack's chest. "I'd hate t'kill ye, but s'welp me I will if ye get in me way!"

"Tom," Jack shook his head sadly. "All this just for money?"

"An' what have ye bin killin' Frenchies for? The fun of it, I suppose?" Growled Tom. "Now get on outta here!"

Without another word, Jack turned and left. As he emerged back onto the deck, a small distinctive whoosh caught his ear, and he launched himself frantically into the air. The force of the blast propelled him upwards, but he felt only the briefest touch of heat from the explosion.

He looked down and saw that the entire back end of the ship had been destroyed. Flames darted through what was left of the rigging, but one by one the lights disappeared as the ocean opened up and swallowed the ship in one majestic bite.

"Goodbye, Tom." Murmured Jack, and he disappeared into the night.

"Next time I wear a mask." He grouched as the sea water stung his eyes. From past experience, he knew that his night-vision worked almost as well under water, and the mechanics of flying needed only slight adjustments to handle the different densities of air and water. Now if he could just remember not to breath, he would be fine.

The wreck was just where he knew it would be, lying on its side with only a yawning cavern where the stern had been. He glided slowly along the silt-blurred outline and stopped above the Captain's cabin. He reached down and carefully ripped away several rotting boards, trying not to obscure the water with too much muck and debris. When the hole was large enough he slipped inside and looked around.

Everything in the cabin had slid to rest against the far wall, but Vachon saw what he was looking for huddled in the corner.

Tom hadn't made it off the ship. The chest lay across his legs, and one skeletal arm rested possessively along the lid.

"Sorry Tom," Vachon grimaced as he lifted up his friend's arm and the bones came apart in his hands. He tucked the pieces under Tom's ribcage conscientiously and snapped the lock from the chest.

Inside, the gold and jewelry still glowed and Vachon poked through it carefully. He soon found what he wanted and closed the lid on a king's ransom.

"So long, Tom, I hope you don't begrudge me this little bit; you have so much, after all." He returned quickly to the surface and shot back into his preferred element.

Back at the Raven, Urs slumped dejectedly at the bar.

"I can't believe he forgot," she pouted. "He's never missed it before, well except that one time when the Inca showed up the day before and he had to leave in such a hurry, but he doesn't have a good excuse this time."

"Waiting for someone, mi corazon?" A familiar voice murmured as a kiss was dropped onto the top of her head.

"Javier!" She shrieked happily as he slipped into the seat next to her and she hugged him fiercely and then pulled back with a grimace. "What on earth is on your clothes?"

"Ah, salt I imagine."

"It's in your hair, too."

"I'll clean up later, I promise. But I wanted to give this to you first."

He pulled the pearl choker with the enormous ruby teardrop from his pocket and fastened it around Urs' smooth pale neck.

"Happy anniversary, querida." He murmured, and kissed her deeply.