Jean Genie
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 55: Capture and Trial
The world around us is nothing but water and smoke.
Irene desperately clings to a shattered plank as waves slam against her. The remains of the Sea Wraith drift around her ... reduced to broken timbers, torn canvas, and floating barrels. The brig that had carried her hopes has gone, swallowed by fire from the frigate’s guns.
“Irene,” I say softly, “stay awake.”
Her breath comes in ragged bursts. Her hair clings to her face, soaked and heavy. She kicks weakly to keep herself afloat, gripping the plank with numb fingers.
The English frigate looms nearby, lanterns glowing through the smoke haze. Boats are already lowering to search for survivors.
Irene’s eyes flutter. “Jeannia ... I can’t...”
“Yes, you can,” I say. “Hold on. Focus on my voice.”
She blinks hard, forcing herself to stay conscious. The water is cold, dragging at her limbs. A wave rolls over her, pulling her under. She surfaces again, coughing.
“Look at the clouds,” I say. “Find one. Focus on it.”
She lifts her gaze toward a puffy cumulus cloud visible through the smoke. She fixes on it, breathing slowly, clinging to the plank as if it is the last solid thing in the world.
The English boats reached those in the water. Sailors haul the survivors aboard. Some are injured, some barely conscious. Irene drifts toward them, too exhausted to resist.
Strong hands grab her shoulders, lifting her into a boat. She collapses against the wooden bench, shivering uncontrollably.
An English officer kneels beside her. “A woman?!? What are you doing aboard a French privateer?”
“I’m the ship’s navigator,” replies Irene.
“You’re the navigator!” he says incredulously, studying her face, looking for deception. “The one who charted that run through the reef?”
Irene doesn’t answer. She stares at the deck, dazed, and barely hearing him.
The officer nods once out of respect, not kindness. “You gave us a hard chase.”
I feel Irene’s pulse slow, her exhaustion deepening. She leans back, eyes closing.
“Stay with me,” I whisper.
She opens her eyes again ... just barely.
The boat reaches the frigate. Irene is lifted aboard and placed among the other survivors. About a third of the Sea Wraith’s crew are here, but Captain Rousseau is not among them. The English crew move about with brisk efficiency, securing prisoners, tending wounds, extinguishing the lingering fires caused by the Sea Wraith’s gunnery.
Irene lies still, trembling, the bracelet warm against her wrist.
“You survived,” I say.
She exhales, a faint, broken sound. “But the Sea Wraith didn’t.”
“No,” I said. “But you did. And that’s what matters.”
The frigate turns northward, leaving the wreckage behind. The Sea Wraith’s last embers fade and its wreckage spread out across the ocean.
Irene closes her eyes, and I stay with her as the English ship carries her toward a fate she cannot yet imagine.
London, England, October 1714
The journey to England is long, grey, and silent. Irene spends most of it below deck in a cramped cabin, guarded but not mistreated. The English officers spoke of her with a strange mixture of respect and suspicion... ‘the navigator who slipped a frigate through reefs’, ‘the girl with uncanny instincts’.
But admiration doesn’t soften the chains.
When the ship reaches London, Irene is marched through the fog‑choked streets to a stone courthouse. I stay close, whispering calm into her thoughts, though she can rarely respond. The bracelet turned invisible on her wrist the moment Irene was hauled from the sea. It’s the same trick it performed with Awa to prevent its forced removal from the wearer’s wrist. The city feels colder than the sea. A bleak and indifferent metropolis.
The trial begins the following week. It’s a mockery of a trial driven by politics. The trial was never going to be truly about Irene Finch, an English woman navigator on a French privateer. The courtroom is crowded with merchants, naval officers, and officials who care more about protecting trade routes than hearing the truth. Irene stands alone in the dock under guard. The bracelet warms the skin of her wrist but remains hidden from sight.
The charges are read: piracy, aiding an enemy vessel, resisting capture. Irene answers each with quiet honesty. She hadn’t fired a gun. She hadn’t harmed anyone. She was the Sea Wraith’s navigator. That was all.
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