The Pirate, the Playboy and Their Very Tired Bodyguard

The first thing Elias Morgan learned that night was that the sea had no loyalty. The second was that the Royal Navy was annoyingly persistent.

— Starboard!

Elias turned just in time to see the wave rising above the deck like a wall.

— Brace!

The Morrow disappeared beneath it.

Water crashed over the ship with enough force to send barrels, ropes, and two very unfortunate men sliding across the deck. Elias caught hold of the nearest rope and wrapped it tightly around his wrist before the sea could take him as well. For one brief second, there was nothing but darkness and the deafening roar of water before the Morrow rose again.

Elias coughed, spat seawater from his mouth, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Through the curtain of rain, he could just make out three British ships following them across the dark horizon. Their sails were barely visible, but the cannons needed no introduction.

— Still following us? — Owen shouted from across the deck.

— They’ve become rather attached.

Owen stared at him as though he had lost his mind.

— You’re joking.

— I find it helps.

Another cannon fired. Its boom rolled across the ocean before the cannonball struck the water only a few yards from the Morrow, sending another sheet of spray over the deck. Elias gave a humorless smile.

— Perhaps not so much.

— Captain!

Elias turned toward the shout. One of his crewmen was pointing toward the horizon, but Elias barely looked in that direction before realizing something else was wrong. The clouds were racing overhead unnaturally fast, and the wind had begun shifting from one direction to another without warning. He reached for the compass hanging from his belt and watched the needle spin wildly beneath the glass.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

— Bring down the sails!

His men hesitated.

— Now!

They moved at once. The wind screamed through the rigging as they fought to obey, and the Morrow tilted violently beneath the force of the storm. Elias seized the mast to keep his footing.

— What is happening? — Owen shouted.

— I haven’t the slightest idea.

— That is not reassuring!

— I wasn’t attempting to reassure you!

Lightning split the sky, turning the entire ocean white for a single instant. Then came the thunder. It was deeper than any thunder Elias had ever heard, almost physical in its force, as though the sound were rising from somewhere beneath the sea rather than descending from the clouds.

Slowly, Elias looked over the railing.

The water was glowing.

It was not bright enough to illuminate the whole ocean, but there was enough light beneath the surface for him to see a shape moving in the darkness below.

Something enormous.

His stomach tightened.

— Captain?

Elias did not answer. The strange glow was spreading now, moving outward beneath the ship as the waves began to twist into a widening circle. The Morrow groaned beneath them. Wood cracked. Men shouted. Someone screamed.

Elias reached for the railing, but the deck shifted violently beneath his feet.

He had only enough time to realize he was falling before the sea swallowed him.

The water was cold, cold enough to steal the breath from his lungs, and for several seconds Elias could not tell whether he was sinking or rising. His first thought was that he was drowning. His second was that, perhaps, he had already accepted his death.

He kicked toward what he hoped was the surface, but there was nothing around him except darkness. The current spun him helplessly, his coat dragging behind him and his boots pulling him downward like stones. When he finally tried to breathe, seawater filled his lungs, burning as he fought against the instinct to inhale again.

He forced himself upward anyway. His fingers broke the surface, and he gasped desperately for air.

The storm had become something monstrous.

The Morrow was gone. The Royal Navy was gone. His crew was gone. There was nothing around him but the endless sea, churning beneath a sky that seemed to have swallowed the moon.

Elias turned slowly, searching for anything that might tell him where he was—a mast, a lantern, a sail, even the faintest light from one of the pursuing ships.

There was nothing.

— Damn it.

A wave struck him before he could do anything more. He was dragged beneath the surface again, swallowed by the darkness as he fought to reach the air. He kicked, clawed, and fought until his lungs burned.

Then, beneath the roar of the storm, he heard something.

A bell.

One.

Two.

Three.

Elias frowned. There were no bells at sea.

The sound grew louder, deeper and more mechanical with every passing second. It did not sound like a ship’s bell, nor did it seem to come from anywhere above him. It was as though the ringing itself were traveling through the water.

Then a woman’s voice cut through the darkness.

— Stand clear!

Elias opened his eyes.

Light surrounded him—white, yellow, red, and blue, all flashing through the water in colors he could barely comprehend. Shapes moved somewhere above him, indistinct and enormous, and something was rushing toward him with terrifying speed.

He tried to swim away.

He was too late.

The water swallowed him, and the world went black.

When Elias opened his eyes again, the rain had stopped. He was lying on something hard and cold, stone perhaps, with every muscle in his body aching as though he had been beaten against the sea floor. He coughed violently and rolled onto his side, water spilling from his mouth as he struggled to breathe.

For several seconds, he could do nothing but lie there.

Then he heard footsteps.

Elias immediately reached for his sword, only to close his hand around empty air.

His sword was gone.

He sat upright.

A man was walking toward him.

No—not a man. A boy, perhaps twenty years old, maybe younger, dressed in clothes Elias could not make sense of. The stranger had stopped several feet away and was staring at him as though he had just discovered a sea monster on the pavement.

They watched one another in silence until the stranger slowly raised both hands.

— Okay. I’m not going to hurt you.

Elias said nothing. Instead, he looked past him.

Buildings rose around them, impossibly tall, their walls made of glass and steel and their windows glowing against the night. More stood beyond them, stretching farther than Elias could see. The city seemed to continue without end, illuminated by thousands upon thousands of lights.

He slowly got to his feet, though his legs nearly gave way beneath him.

The stranger stepped backward.

— Whoa.

Elias turned toward him.

— Where am I?

The young man blinked.

— Sorry?

— Where am I?

The stranger glanced around as though the answer should have been obvious.

— London.

— London?

— Yeah.

Elias looked back at the city.

He knew London. He had sailed near it and spent enough time there to know its streets, its buildings, its river. But this was not the London he remembered.

London did not have towers of glass. It did not glow like this. Its roads were not filled with metal carriages that moved without horses.

One of those strange machines rushed past nearby, and Elias instinctively stepped backward.

— What in God’s name was that?

The stranger stared at him.

— A car.

— A what?

— A car.

Elias watched the machine disappear down the road.

— But there is no horse.

The stranger stared at him for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

— No.

— Then what pulls it?

— An engine.

— What is an engine?

The young man opened his mouth, closed it, then seemed to reconsider whatever answer he had been about to give.

— Are you drunk?

— No.

— High?

— No.

— Having some kind of breakdown?

Elias stared at him, deeply offended by the question.

— I have no idea what you are saying.

The stranger looked him over more carefully now, taking in his soaked coat, worn boots, old-fashioned shirt, and the knife still strapped to his thigh. Something changed in the young man’s expression.

— Oh.

Elias frowned.

— Oh what?

— You’re one of those actors.

— I beg your pardon?

— Historical reenactment?

Elias stared at him.

— What?

— Pirate convention?

— What?

The stranger’s face suddenly brightened.

— Oh, this is brilliant.

— It is not brilliant.

— You’re really committed to the character.

Elias took a step toward him. The stranger immediately stepped back, and Elias stopped when he saw the expression on his face. It was not quite fear. More than anything, the man looked genuinely bewildered.

Elias understood the feeling.

He looked around again, trying to make sense of the impossible city surrounding him. Nothing fit. Nothing belonged. He needed answers, and there was only one question that seemed important enough to ask first.

— What year is it?

The stranger laughed, but the sound faded when he realized Elias wasn’t joking.

— You’re serious.

— Yes.

The stranger looked at him for a long moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a glowing rectangular object. Elias watched it suspiciously as the young man glanced at the screen.

— It’s 2026.

For a moment, Elias could not understand the words.

— What?

— 2026.

— No.

— Yeah.

— No.

The stranger shrugged helplessly.

— Sorry.

Elias looked toward the river, then back at the impossible city surrounding him. His heart began to pound as the pieces of the night came rushing back—the storm, the strange light beneath the water, the ship disappearing beneath his feet.

— How?

The stranger gave him a helpless smile.

— You tell me.

Three hundred years.

The thought came without warning, absurd and impossible. Elias had been at sea. The storm had taken him. The strange light had appeared beneath the ship, and then the water—

He looked down at his hands.

They were still his hands. The scars were there. His ring was still on his finger. His clothes were torn and soaked, but they were the same clothes he had been wearing aboard the Morrow.

Everything was real.

Except the world.

He took an unsteady step backward, and the stranger followed.

— Hey. Are you okay?

— No.

— That makes two of us.

Elias looked at him.

The stranger gave him a faint smile.

— I’m Gabriel. Gabriel Montgomery.

Elias said nothing.

— And you are?

He hesitated. He was not entirely sure why. Perhaps because saying his name aloud would make all of this real in a way that thinking it had not.

— Elias Morgan.

Gabriel nodded slowly.

— Okay, Elias Morgan.

He looked from Elias to the city and back again, as though he were trying to decide which part of the situation was least believable.

— You know, I’ve had some strange nights.

Elias stared at him.

— But this is definitely new.

Elias turned toward the river.

The water was calm now, almost peaceful, as though it had not just torn his life apart. As though his ship were not somewhere in another century. As though his entire world had not vanished beneath a wave.

He swallowed.

— My ship.

Gabriel’s expression softened.

— What?

— My ship.

Elias looked across the dark water.

— My men.

He could still hear them—their voices beneath the storm, the shouting, the creaking of the ship. And then, nothing.

Gabriel seemed to realize there was nothing he could say that would make any of it better. For once, he did not make a joke.

Elias stood motionless at the edge of the river, three centuries away from home and utterly alone.

A bright light suddenly swept across the pavement.

Elias instinctively reached for the sword that was no longer there.

Gabriel stared at him.

— What are you doing?

— Where is my weapon?

— Your what?

— My sword.

Gabriel looked at him for a moment before a smile spread across his face.

— You really are a pirate.

Elias slowly turned his head.

— I beg your pardon?

Gabriel grinned.

— I think you’re going to like London.

Elias looked at the towering buildings, the glowing signs, the strange machines, and the river stretching darkly beyond them. Nothing about the city felt familiar. Nothing about it felt like home.

— No, he said quietly. I don’t think I shall.

Gabriel laughed, and somewhere behind them a car horn blared. Elias nearly reached for the sword at his side before remembering, once again, that it was no longer there. Gabriel laughed even harder.

Neither of them noticed the woman standing several metres away, watching them with an expression that suggested she had just realized her evening was about to become significantly more complicated.

Fiona MacLeod had been looking for Gabriel Montgomery for exactly eleven minutes.

She had already decided she hated the job.

She had not yet met the pirate.

That was about to change.