**English version of the WATTYS 2019 WINNER story**
1672, Caribbean Sea.
He lost everything for her. She risked everything for him.
But maybe love is not enough to bridge over so many deep differences between them, and the only way for them is goodb...
Morris, Maxó, Oliver and the others that had jumped from the bowsprit with Marina spread over the bridge to repel the Spaniards that tried to rescue their captain. Marina looked down at Lorenzo and let out a chuckle that sounded both mocking and disappointed.
"Poor bastard, you too turned out to be a coward. Don't you want at least to die on your feet?"
"You damned whore of hell! Try to kill me if you dare!" Lorenzo howled.
Morris spun around, furious, and was surprised to see the Spaniard was still cringing in his corner like a shaky rag doll.
Marina tilted her head to her shoulder. "This is how you want to die?" she insisted.
"You mangy bitch! You're not worth—!" Marina's sword sinking in his throat cut his last insult off.
The girl turned her back to the body and took her first look at the battle. The bridge was under their control.
"Pearl, here!" Maxó called out.
She jumped over the bridge handrail, followed by Morris and Oliver. Pirates were taking the upper hand easily. However, once more Marina let the fight continue. She approached Maxó in no hurry, fighting anyone who came in her way and leaving a trace of dead bodies on her wake, from the bridge up to the mainmast.
There she saw Maxó and several more had cornered the two officers that had attacked her. She smiled at them, doing a little curtsy, and took a long moment to order her men to stop fighting and gather the prisoners.
She rested the bloody tip of her sword on the deck boards, her other hand on her hip, waiting for the pirates to disarm the Spaniards and group them around the mainmast. Then she turned to Morris, who watched her with growing concern.
"May I borrow your sword?"
He gave it to her, meeting her eyes full of apprehension.
She smiled at him. "Thank you." She faced the two officers. "Give them blades."
The pirates frowned at her order, but Maxó obeyed right away, throwing his saber a couple of steps away from the Spaniards' feet. De Neill didn't hesitate to do the same.
Marina nodded to the blades. "Since you like to rape together, let's see how you fight together," she said to the officers with another smile.
"And if we touch you, your men will put us down like dogs," one of them replied.
"At least you'll get a better death than your captain, who died crouching in a corner and wetting his braies."
Morris tried to step up and Jean's stretched arm stopped him.
The Spaniards traded a look. They knew they were doomed, but at least they'd have a true chance to slain the bitch. It was a comforting thought, that they might go down in history as the ones who killed her. They grabbed the blades and split in opposite directions.
Pirates and Spaniards held their breath.
Marina kept the tip of her swords on the deck, a little mocking smile pursing her lips. She let them try a few steps to circle her. She remained completely still. The officers traded another look. The one moving on her right yelled and wielded his blade. At the same time, the other one dealt a blow on her from the left.
Marina raised both blades, making them spark under the afternoon sun, and she seemed to turn into a whirlwind, her moves so swift and wuthering that nobody was able to follow them in detail. They saw her block the blow from the left, pivot to the right and... After that, they only saw her petticoat flap in a spin and her swords shimmering in the sunlight. But all of them heard the clashing steel and the Spaniards' cries. When Marina stopped, she had them both pierced in her blades, sunk in their bellies to the hilt, the tops showing out their backs.
She yanked the swords from their bodies, causing a gushing bleeding that would spare them from days of cruel agony. The Spaniards crumbled down at her feet. She wiped the blades on their coats and handed his sword back to Morris.
A scared silence filled the frigate, only disturbed by the officers' groans. All eyes were on Marina, showing a shocked surprised.
Until Jean raised his sword over his head and shouted on top of his lungs. "HAIL THE PEARL OF THE CARIBBEAN!"
The surviving Spaniards fell to their knees when the pirates echoed him, shaking their blades up high. And yet, they didn't scare their souls as much as that deadly girl.
Marina went back to the bridge and stroke the flag down. Another uproar saluted her.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Swaying softly a mile away from the battle, the Phantom's shallop drifted to the east with the waves. Alonso sat at the stern, holding the tiller and the small sail. Before him, Castillano lay on a plank across the benches, in and out of his laudanum slumber.
Bones had taken his time to come check on Castillano. But Alonso had watched the surgeon work and was forced to admit he'd never seen a better surgeon. Plain to see he wasn't only an after-battle darning. His instruction surely included general medicine, and he knew his job damn well. He'd swathed Castillano's broken ribs, had applied compresses to his belly and face, had straightened his nose, had removed the shackles and bandaged the lacerated wrists.
Since Alma spoke only Spanish, which Bones didn't speak, the surgeon instructed Alonso in French on how to take care of Castillano, keeping in mind the upcoming battle and how busy he would be over the following hours.
Alma y Dolores sat at the boat bow. The former nanny fanned Castillano while the other woman had turned in her seat, trying to follow the battle.
"What happened in Campeche?" Alonso asked, curious, not addressing his question to anyone in particular.
"What didn't happen," Alma corrected him.
Both women gave him a brief account of the twenty days Marina and Dolores had spent under Castillano's roof. They tried not to leave anything out, not even the astonishing revelations from his father's journal.
Since Cecilia had already told him that story, nothing caught Alonso's attention like the idyllic romance between his friend and Marina. He'd known Castillano for fifteen years, and he'd never met a man with such a little interest in romance. His friend had always thought it was a waste of time, wooing after a woman for weeks in hope of stealing a kiss. He had more important things to do: sailing and hunting pirates. So the only women he heeded were those available during the brief time they spent on land. The others just didn't exist.
Alma and Dolores gifted Alonso with ironic smiles.
"But when you can't sail, you have time to waste on skirts, right, Captain?" said Dolores mockingly.
Alonso looked down and found his friend raising his eyebrows, closed his swollen eyes.
"Such a pity that you forgot who she really is over courting her, and you made the mistake of underestimating her."
Castillano nodded slightly, trying to grimace.
"How are you feeling?" Alonso asked, pressing his hand.
His friend nodded again.
Dolores looked back from over her shoulder. "I can't hear the cannons anymore."
