Silas spat a tooth onto the deck. "You can't hang me, Elara. We're pirates. We ain't bound by no king's law."

"That's where you're wrong, Silas," she said, her voice as cold as the deep ocean. "We are bound by a higher law. The only one that matters out here. The Pirate Code."

"Because the Pirate Code is not about tyranny, Silas," Elara said, hauling him to his feet. "It's about order. Without it, we're just animals tearing each other apart. With it, we are the last free nation on the sea. And a free nation doesn't waste good men."

Silas sneered. "You'd never find a new navigator as good as me."

"Why?" Silas whispered. "Why show mercy?"

Elara nodded to the quartermaster, old Peg, who stepped forward and unrolled a copy of the code. "Article Four," Peg croaked. "Any man who strikes his captain in anger shall receive forty lashes. Any man who conspires to seize the ship shall be marooned on a sand cay with one pistol, one ball, and a single ration of water."

The silence stretched like a taut rope. Then, one by one, the pirates raised their hands. Not for Silas. Not against Elara. They voted on the open question.