The Prize

<p>Captain Okes order is deceptively straightforward a minor detail in the grand theatre of naval warfare: Deliver the prize to the Admiral in Antigua. But for Lieutenant Isaac Donland freshly minted into his first independent command the simplicity of the order was a cruel jest. The prize was a sieve her timbers groaning her pumps sputtering a losing battle against the relentless ingress of the Caribbean Sea. Each shudder felt like a death rattle beneath Donland's feet the scent of mildew and despair thick in the air as his command threatened to dissolve into the inky depths.</p><p></p><p>Complicating this impending maritime disaster was a small silent passenger: a young boy with wide haunted eyes and no memory a living cipher whose very existence the formidable French fleet desperately sought to capture. Was he a child of nobility a witness to horrors or perhaps even a key to intelligence vital to their enemies? Donland didn't know but the boy's fragile life now rested squarely on his shoulders adding an unbearable weight to an already impossible task.</p><p></p><p>Indeed Donland's first command seemed destined to be his only command. He was not merely battling the elements and the relentless ingress of water; he was fighting a war on all fronts. Within his own beleaguered crew disloyal whispers turned to open defiance revealing mutinous traitors ready to sell their king for a handful of shillings. And then there was her: a formidable young woman with a sharp wit an even sharper blade and a gaze that promised to split his gizzard as soon as look at him. Her motives were as tangled as a mariner's knot her animosity towards Donland as was one of disgust making her a dangerous unpredictable variable in a journey already rife with peril. Every moment was a desperate gamble every decision a potential plunge into watery oblivion and Donland knew with a cold certainty that many more besides his ship would likely go down with him.</p><p></p>