Excerpt from Undead Men Tell No Tales:

I should have killed him.

Standing at the stern of the dinghy, my head swam with dizziness and dread. As the beach came into view, every part of me wanted to dive off the back of the skiff and disappear into the sea. I could swim back to the ship, right? Nobody would miss me; my business could wait.

A bead of sweat trickled over my temple as I stared at the backs of my crew. The oarsmen brought us to shore. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with the other non-rowing passengers, Mr. Fusack’s body tensed under my gaze as if he could tell I was watching him and could read my thoughts.

If I’d learned anything from my father, it was to heed my first instinct. That tiny spark of inclination came from deep wisdom, which we should learn to trust. My father always advised taking a good think when the circumstances merited, and constraints allowed—he saw no reason to rush when you had the luxury of sitting with your thoughts.

“Think on it if you can. Change your mind if you like,” he’d say in his soft-spoken manner that always made everyone around him quiet down so they wouldn’t miss a word. “But never forget, your initial reaction arrived in your belly for a very, very good reason.”

In this case, my first instinct was to draw my cutlass across the sleeping neck of my soon-to-be ex-pilot, Mr. Barnaby Fusack, without so much as a second glance. Insubordination among sailors could be deadly, and when those sailors were engaged in piracy on the high seas against the force called East India… well, insubordination was like a festering boil and had to be cut out at the source.

I’d watched Mr. Fusack sleeping in his hammock. He swayed gently as we sailed, his foul breath dank as his oily beard, and his thick fingers folded together across his belly like the corpse I wished I had made him. The man had been one of the most trusted crew of my brother’s, and my father’s before him—God rest their souls—but it seems family ties only counted for so much where he was concerned.

Mr. Fusack was a quick thinker, an excellent navigator, and a gifted storyteller. He’d spin tales of adventures on the high seas that kept the crew rapt, hanging on every word. He was also a disrespectful louse who refused to heed any order from me until it was repeated by Mr. Albie, my First Mate. I had allowed Mr. Fusack to remain on my ship despite his refusals to hear me out of some imagined loyalty to my father and brother, I suppose.

But my leniency almost cost us everything.