Marina didn't leave Morris' until the next day.
The new day was breaking when the cabin door opened and she showed at the doorway, exhausted, overwhelmed by pain and fear.
Maxó, De Neill and Jean were already up, sitting by the mizzenmast, wide awake. The three of them stood up when they saw her.
"I..." she muttered.
"Take a break, pearl. I'll watch over Morris," said Maxó firmly, stepping closer to the door.
"I'll bring you a bite," said Jean, and headed down the aft hatch.
De Neill waved her over. "Come out, pearl. You can use some fresh air."
Marina took a couple of steps outside, looking around with dazed eyes. "Why are you awake so early? What's that noise?"
"Wounded to tend to, a ship to repair."
She rubbed her face and approached De Neill, allowing Maxó to go into the cabin. "Are we sailing for Santo Domingo?"
De Neill motioned for them to walk forward down the gangway. "Aye, but we're going slow. With the damages after the two battles and the headwind, it may take us over a week."
"The Victory?"
De Neill pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "Back there, on our starboard. She's weatherly, but the Spanish frigate is heavy to tow."
They strolled in no hurry to the bows. Marina breathed as deep as she could, allowing the cool wind smelling of salt clear her head. They stopped at the larboard bow. She folded her arms on the gunwale and closed her eyes, as the comforting sensation her ship always made her feel wrapped around her. She needed it, even though nothing could really comfort her. She opened up her eyes and gazed at the northern horizon.
"If Morris dies, I'm going to burn every bloody church in the Caribbean and slain every damn priest I come across," she grunted.
De Neill chuckled. "My mate Maxó said the same when the Inquisition took you in Maracaibo, pearl. You need to find something more original to say." She frowned at him. "And that of raining blood and fire on the Spanish colonies was L'Olonnais' line."
"Up yours," she growled, turning to the sea again. "I won't spare them this time. They'll get the punishment they deserve."
"And how many dead will take you to remember that nothing can bring back what you've lost?"
"Sacre Dieu! When did you turn into such a sissy?"
De Neill chuckled again. "You taught us revenge is useless, pearl. It only blackens your heart and eats you up inside." He rested on the gunwale like her and sighed. "If this is our boy's hour, it'll be up to you to be as happy as you possibly can, to make up for all the happiness he'll miss."
Marina covered her mouth, her eyes welling yet once more. "I don't want him to die, De Neill," she mumbled, suffocating a cry. "We're all going to die someday. But Morris doesn't deserve to die like this, broken by the torture those beasts inflicted on him."
The pirate didn't answer. There were no honest words to comfort her, and a white lie would be an insult. So he just pressed her shoulder without a word.
They went back aft when they say Jean coming out of the hatch.
He brought tea and a generous slice of apple pie for Marina. "Sorry it took me a while, pearl. Pierre isn't up yet. But I knew he'd baked this for you yesterday, and waited the whole day to give it to you."
That pursed the girl's lips in a weary smile. She headed back to the cabin and paused, her eyes northwest of the Phantom.
"What's with that ship?" she asked.
De Neill and Jean knew what she meant, but they were surprised she had even spotted it, since it was but a dot in the horizon.
Jean shrugged. "Some merchantman on route to Santo Domingo. It's been there since yesterday morning."
Marina lingered observing it a moment longer. Then she shrugged too and went back to her friend.
The following days were sad and gloomy. And as a reflection of the mood onboard the Phantom, the sun remained hidden behind the clouds spreading from horizon to horizon.
Aware of Morris' condition, Robin sent his own surgeon to help Bones in trying to save his life. In the meantime, ten of the other fourteen rescued pirates died of the wounds they'd suffered in the Holly Avenger's hold.
Marina would hardly leave the cabin. She used to take a break at dawn, and pirates, seeing her reddened eyes and her pale cheeks, found it hard to respect her need of solitude. Maxó and De Neill were the only ones who dared to ignore her growls and curses, and took turns to take her place with Morris and offer her a little company she refused every time. They'd found her sleeping on the floor by the bed, and making her eat kept turning harder and harder.
Morris hadn't waken up, and Bones warned Marina that if he didn't open his eye left by the time they reached Santo Domingo, he would most likely never do it. Bones and Robin's surgeon had done all they could for him, and now they could only wait. However, Marina kept renewing plasters and dressings, applied poultices, and spent hours squeezing the handkerchief against his lips, so the water or soup drops fell into his mouth. Maxó and De Neill rolled him over twice a day, so he wouldn't lie the whole time on the same side, and Marina washed his bed sheets with her own hands, to keep him clean and cool.
Despite the cruelty he'd been subjected to, his natural strength didn't give up. And under the watch of a quality surgeon like Bones, and Marina's loving care, at least his condition didn't deteriorate. None of his wounds gangrened, and his flesh and tissues worked hard to heal. His legs stood the boards to keep the broken bones straight. There was no sign of burst organs or internal bleeding.
Two days away from Santo Domingo, the clouds decided it was enough of holding back and released their load, as the wind picked up. Briand was already back on his feet and joined Jean on the bridge. They called on Maxó to help them through the storm, and Philippe to assist De Neill on the helm.
De Neill laughed heartedly. "We're such a bunch of fools! We need to come together by the dozen to do what the pearl and Morris do alone like breathing."
"That's why this is their bridge, not ours," Briand replied.
"Let's hope, Don Manuel's spirits doesn't stay indoors with his daughter. We can use his help to face this storm," said Jean.
"Are you about to pray to him, too?" said Maxó, mocking him.
In the cabin, Marina watched out for the Phantom's rocking. Whenever it grew heavier, she circled Morris with her arms, to keep him from dropping on the wound in his back. It was during one of those times when she felt him sigh against her shoulder.
She waited for the Phantom to get to the other side of the wave and loosened her arms around Morris, looking down at his nice face, still swollen and bruised. She held back a happy cry when she saw the eyebrows of his good eye flutter, like his lips.
"Pearl...?" he breathed, and she thought she'd drop dead right there.
She kissed his forehead, happy tears in her eyes. "Yes, dear, it's me," she whispered.
Morris tried to say something, but he could only utter a single word. "...alive?"
"Yes, you're so stubborn that you're still alive."
He managed to raise his eyebrow and Marina let out a shaky giggle.
"Don't try to move," she said, and hurried to the trapdoor. She pulled it open and leaned in to call Bones.
She heard hurried footsteps below and the surgeon climbed the ladder, closing the trapdoor in the face of the pirates trying to see what was going on.
Bones told Marina to light more lanterns and checked on Morris. He seemed unconscious again. But Bones sighed and smiled.
"He's asleep," he said, relieved.
Castillano swallowed his curses when he saw the Phantom and the frigates sail into the storm. The first gusts that reached the New Lion were enough for him to know that gale was dangerous for his ship.
Over the last five days he'd managed to keep the three vessels in sight, but he couldn't catch up even a mile. The Phantom remained so out of reach like when he'd ordered to go after her.
And now he had to make a call. The threat of the storm added to the shortage of supplies. The New Lion hadn't been stocked for a long trip, and even though he'd rationed food and water, they had hardly enough to reach Santiago with a fresh sip in their throats. But only if they turned around right there and then. And no matter how much he had at stake in that fruitless chase, he couldn't force his crew to risk dying in the storm.
He sighed, disheartened. He had no choice. They had to put about, set course to the north and make full sail to run before the storm, coming from the southwest at about ten knots. If they were lucky, they'd only deal with the peripheral winds and rain. And if their prayers were truly effective, they'd see the sun again with the New Lion in one piece.
"Flores!" he called, grinding his teeth, eyes still on the Phantom.
"Aye, Lion!"
"Full sail to Santiago. Have security lines set before the wind gets us. Secure everything on deck and sent the idles below, with hatches closed and covered."
"Aye, aye, Lion!"
Flores hurried down from the bridge, shouting orders. Castillano remained there, blue eyes on the legendary ship getting away and his chest full of impotence.
"I'm not letting you go, child," he murmured.
The New Lion turned around and he stood by the taffrail until he lost sight of the Phantom. It didn't matter, he repeated to himself. He'd go back to Santiago and find a ship to take him to Port-de-Paix. From there, it wouldn't be hard to reach Cayona. He didn't know why Marina was heading to Santo Domingo, but the Phantom needed repairs that couldn't be done at sea. Meaning she was bound to go back to Tortuga soon. And he'd be there, waiting for her.