The Maiden in the Mirror

Copyright © 2016 by Scott Hamerton

All rights reserved.

Second Edition, August 2017

First Edition, December 2016

ISBN: 978-0-9953323-3-1

Published by Eesome Ink Press

www.eesomeink.com

info@eesomeink.com

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Contents

1. Birthday Girl

2. Hung on a Hanger

3. Lintumen Barrister

4. Reinforcements

5. The Skyraker

6. Swabbie

7. Lunch Break

8. Cloudscorch

9. Tug of War

10. Minerva the Magician

11. Murder Aboard the Skyraker

12. The Velvet Sovereign

13. The Maiden in the Mirror

14. Twice Lucky

15. Markedly Marked

16. Crow's Nest

17. Midnight Stations

18. Nezzen

19. Late to the Spoils

20. Big Mean Jim

21. Punishment

22. Twice Oathed

23. Old Boss

24. Big Jim

25. The Helm

26. Scouts

27. Riggersport

28. Crew Dismissed

29. Seamstresses

30. Lady Lost

31. Thimbler

32. Loyal Knights

33. One of Roker's Girls

34. Drunken Woes

35. Thimbler's Pocket

36. Minnie the Tutor

37. The Blow Hole

38. Straight Shooter

39. Practical Sciences

40. Food for Thought

41. Cloak and Shadow

42. The Counsel of Shadows

43. Crew Call

44. The Certainty of Probability

45. Bartleby Montgomery

46. Proper Attire

47. Everything

48. August Rain

49. Fork in the Road

50. Mad Men

51. The Meaning of Sailor

52. Optional Understanding

53. The Loftwood

54. Spider Storm

55. Coming Down

56. Reshampur

57. The Commodore

58. Breaking Point

59. Little Blue Dress

60. Dinner for Two

61. Lord Arach of the Loftwood

62. Lessons in Love

63. A Dagger in the Dark

64. The Choice of a Lady

65. Prima Donna

66. Tea Time

67. Departure Recital

68. Chest of the Heart

69. Seeds of the Sun

70. Nurse Minerva

71. A Cloak of Courage

72. Anchors Aweigh

73. Rogue

74. Bruised Apples

75. Mirror Mirror

76. Drawing a Line

77. The Navigator

78. Meeting of the Minds

79. A Nameless Gift

80. Storm Chaser

81. Victory Smile

82. Thunderhead

83. Courage and Sacrifice

84. Fly Stone Pass

85. Heaven Sent

86. Over the Mountain

87. Lintumen the Lion

88. Revelations

89. Toss of the Hat

90. Quiet Time

91. Into the Lion's Den

92. Maiden Voyage

93. Rahama Matha

94. Stormraker

95. Reparations

96. Homecoming Queen

97. A Pirate's Lady

Chapter 1

Birthday Girl

Minerva gawked at the anchor that had invaded her lotus pond. The intrusive hook slumped at a crooked angle, with a long chain ascending from its head, as if a giant were fishing in her garden. A wide splash of water streaked up the side of her cottage, and a fresh gutter of upturned topsoil trailed away from the uninvited ornament.

As a matter of occurrence, a lone anchor misplaced in the world bore no special interest to Minerva. Sometimes they broke free from the flying tall ships that dotted her skies, and in that regard, its current position could be considered an omen of good fortune, as it had landed on her flowers rather than on her roof. However, this anchor was not misplaced; it currently restrained an imposing blue war frigate.

Graced with three towering masts, the shadow of the flying battleship blanketed the yard, while a light spring breeze sent waves rolling through its white sails. A massive bird formed the figurehead beneath the prow, draping its wings backwards down the siding. The rails and trim ran dark with wood stain, and its silver portholes and fasteners glimmered in the sunlight.

Although, it was not as attractive as it could have been, Minerva thought.

Large and dirty rope nets clung to its hull, carrying junk and extra supply, while cracks and stains blemished its wonderful blue paint. Oil glistened on its wooden rails and tarnish tainted its silver portholes. Worst of all, chips and pits, most likely from battle, scarred its masterfully carved beak.

With a little work, and a good scrub, she felt that it would shine like a royal yacht.

From her position beneath the ship, Minerva couldn't see much of the deck, or the people on it, except for those that stood near the sides. While her gaze wandered, she spotted a huge, graying, dark-skinned sailor peering over the railing at her. The unwanted attention made her feel uncomfortable and she looked away, suddenly remembering the errand her mother had just assigned to her.

Minerva turned away from the unexpected warship and began her trek down the hill towards town, glancing over her shoulder while attempting to deduce the reason for a battleship washing up on her stoop. Ultimately, she concluded that its crew probably sought her father's services as a surgeon. His reputation for assisting nearly anyone in need drew many patients from distant places.

As she strode along the forest road, Minerva sang softly to herself, greatly enjoying the way her newly tailored dress danced around her. It stretched all the way to the ground when she stood still, and it made her look tall and sophisticated. Her mother had given her the material as a gift for her thirteenth birthday, but Minerva completed the sewing herself.

The gown was orange, her favorite color, which she combined with strong black lines for a rather imposing effect. Being able to show it off was almost more enjoyable than the dress itself.

If Minerva excelled at anything, it was sewing. She had mastered every stitch her mother knew before she was seven. She sewed her first full gown when she was nine. By the time she was eleven, she had hand-sewn everything from bedsheets and quilts to piped jackets and trousers. She was as adroit with a needle and thread in her hand as a fisherman with a net.

Contrary to her skills as a tailor, however, Minerva could handily compile a list of her perceived deficiencies. Topping the list was her height; she was the shortest person she knew, including significantly younger children, even if she stood on her tiptoes. In second place, but a fierce contender, was her plain brown hair. It could have been a bold auburn, or raven black, or even a fiery ginger, and she would have loved it for its exotic appearance, but it wasn't; it was just brown.

In contrast to its drabness, or perhaps in spite of it, Minerva's hair was not well-behaved. Even on its best days, it was a curly mass of woven disaster that could go from brushed, to tangled, in ten minutes or less. To punish it for its transgressions, the loose ends that she could capture spent their spare hours braided into chains and wound into a sturdy prison, clamped in place by lacquered beams on the back of her head.

Some people called it a bun.

And that was just her appearance. She wasn't good at math, couldn't draw well or run fast, was a rather poor baker, and was generally too uncoordinated to do anything physical with any amount of grace or certainty.

Despite her apparent self-loathing, Minerva felt at peace with the things that she couldn't change about herself, because nobody else could change them either. Therefore, she only disliked them because she wished that she could change them, much the same as disliking the weather.

Her name, however, was another matter entirely.

Minerva hated her name. It drawled in her mind whenever she thought about it, lingering on the middling syllable with an uninvited suspense. Mi-nrr-va, she would think, whenever she wrote it down. Even worse, it could be contracted to reflect her diminutive stature, and that is precisely why she hated it. Unlike her other features, which no one could change, other people could freely apply whatever name they desired, but rather than choose something elegant that would appeal to her, they all called her Minnie, as in miniature. She could have been a queen and she would have been Queen Minnie.

"Minnie!"

The shrill cry of William, Minerva's best and only friend, snapped Minerva out of her stupor. He sprinted up the path to meet her, and her hopes rose at the idea of being able to show off her new gown.

"Minnie! I saw a pirate ship!"

Minerva's joy slumped.

"Did you see it?" he carried on, failing to notice her dejection. "It went towards your house! It was all blue and had a huge bird face on the front!"

Flying ships were pretty much the best thing ever to William, never mind the idea that one might be a pirate ship.

"I don't think it's a pirate ship, Will."

"Minnie, I swear, it had a big black flag and—"

"Stop it, Will. It's my birthday and you didn't even notice my dress. I've been working on it for weeks."

It was enough of a distraction for Minerva to twirl and sashay in front of William.

"I like the black."

"I'm heading to town. Mom gave me plenty of money and said to buy whatever I needed. Come with me?"

"I wanna go see the ship!"

"Well, I'm off to buy ingredients for a cake. If you don't help me carry them home then you won't get any."

William paused, clearly weighing the option of seeing a flying warship up close versus eating cake, a rather visceral task for someone driven by his senses. Minerva rotated back and forth, playing with the sway of her dress while he decided.

"Ugh, you're so boring," he lamented, before turning towards town. "You better not burn it this time."

"I also need to stop at Waxley's."

"You said cake! I hate Waxley's!"

"You do not."

Waxley's was the general store, the only store in their community with variable stock, and therefore quite a popular location.

"Okay, I just hate going there with you."

"What's wrong with me?" she snapped. William sometimes said very hurtful things. Brutal honesty, her mother called it.

"All you do is look at those dumb catalogs, and then you spend hours trying on the same three dresses."

"I copy the patterns! It takes time to figure them out."

"Then copy faster!"

Minerva pursed her lips and glared at William, who just shook his head and kicked a rock. "Okay, I promise to just buy what I need," she offered.

"That's a pinch if you don't," he taunted.

The walk to town was less of a conversation, as Minerva preferred, and more of a ramble, as William went on and on about the so-called pirate ship.

"How do you know it was a pirate ship?" Minerva demanded, growing tired of the topic.

"Didn't you see the flag? It was big and black, with crossed white lines, like this!" William suddenly crossed his arms over his chest and made a stern face.

Minerva hadn't seen a flag, not from where she was standing, and a twinge of panic twisted her stomach. William never lied to her, not even as a joke. However, her father fostered a reputation as a surgeon willing to treat anyone that behaved. Even if it was a pirate ship, they probably just needed his help, but that didn't make her comfortable with the idea.

"Maybe we should go back," she said.

"Now you say that?" William replied with a frown. "We're almost in town. It's probably gone!"

"I think we would have seen it sail over."

Her comment brought a smile to his face. William was easy to convince.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" William declared, shoving his hand into his pocket. "My mum made something for you!"

Out of William's pocket came four cookies wrapped in a white handkerchief, two of which he thrust out at her. While Minerva did her best to savor hers, William simply crammed his pair into his mouth.

"Ha-ee ir-fay!" he mumbled through a face full of sweetness, before dashing up the path.

"Thank you," she replied to his departing back.

Chapter 2

Hung on a Hanger

From the cover of the undergrowth, behind a thin veil of trees, Minerva and William observed the blue war frigate. Despite the obvious presence of an ample crew, none of the sailors appeared to notice either of the spies.

"I told you it was a pirate ship!" William hissed, pointing towards the black flag hung atop the mainmast.

"What do you think they're doing here?" Minerva replied, turning her attention to her home. Her mother had been quite insistent that Minerva leave and not return for some time.

"Minnie, look at that!"

Minerva followed William's outstretched finger towards the overladen belly of the ship and the massive net of plunder slung below it. At first, the target of his attention remained hidden, until Minerva recognized the muzzle of a rifle sticking out from between some sacks.

"Where are you going?" Minerva demanded, as William crept into the clearing beneath the ship.

"I'm going to go take it," he replied with a grin.

"That's stealing!"

"They're pirates, Minnie. It's already stolen."

"Will, no. It's too high for you!"

Minerva remained in the weeds while William slunk up under the ship.

Already anchored, the frigate hung dangerously close to the dirt, and William easily reached the net. Loop-by-loop, he lifted himself towards the target of his desires while Minerva desperately tried to swallow her fear. Hospitality is not what makes pirates famous.

When William reached the rifle, he pulled it out triumphantly, hanging by only a single fist while yanking on the barrel. Spoils in hand, he looked down to plan his descent, but immediately dropped the weapon with a yelp.

A few of the sailors on deck looked around in confusion at the sound of the gun clattering in the dirt. Minerva grimaced with concern, certain that they would catch William at any moment. The fact was, William was afraid of heights, a fear that he apparently suppressed with his desire for stolen goodies.

"Come down!" Minerva insisted through her teeth.

William shook his head emphatically, burying his face against the netting.

Minerva hustled into the shadow of the ship, avoiding detection. Then she kicked off her shoes and looked up at the netting full of slicing clutter and jagged edges. "If I rip this dress, I'm going to make him eat dirt," she snarled quietly.

Unlike William, Minerva struggled to reach the netting, and only took hold of it by leaping upward and then swinging her feet up into the ropes. The scent of dust and moss filled her nose as she clamped down on the itchy fibers and made her way towards William. Being small, light, and generally flexible, did have its advantages; Minerva was an excellent climber.

Halfway to William, Minerva cussed as something sharp bit into her hand, and she pulled back a bloody palm. The tip of a sword, previously unseen, poked out from between the ropes, and a thin red trickle accented the glimmering blade. The wound was clean, not ragged, and rather deep.

Just great, blood stains, Minerva thought to herself. She clenched her fist and ignored the burning pain, carrying on upward by hooking the ropes with her wrist. "Okay, I'm here," she whispered as she reached William's feet. "I'll guide you down."

Using one hand to direct his ankles, Minerva showed William where to put his feet, very slowly beginning their descent together.

"I told you it was too high," Minerva scolded as they progressed.

"It didn't look too high."

"That's exactly what you said the last time you got stuck in a tree."

The whamming clang of a small bell suddenly smashed through their conversation, ringing without pause. "To arms!" came the cry from above, loud and powerful. "Riggers! To the sails! Weigh anchor!" Moments later, the weight of the ship shifted and the nets that bore Minerva and William swayed in their hands.

Minerva spun her head wildly in search of an explanation for the alarm, and her fear drove her stomach into her throat. Repeated cries went out, warning of an intruder, and she assumed that someone had spotted her and William, but no one appeared to accost them.

It must be on the far side, she thought. "Will! It's time to go! Move your feet!"

Desperate to clear off the ship, Minerva yanked on the cuff of William's trousers, debating the hazards of leaping onto a grassy patch. As she pondered, the ship began to rise.

"No, no, no!" Minerva begged, as the ground slipped away and the blue ship took flight, lifting its anchors at the same time.

As the frigate crested the treetops, a thunderous volley of cannon fire ripped through the air. The farmland below erupted into clouds of dust, leaving craters in the wake of cannonballs that went skipping into the trees. Minerva and William felt the hull shake violently under the strain of several successful cannonball strikes against the ship, but neither of them could see the attacker. Slabs of splintered wood landed in the clouds of dust, and the ship began to list and sink.

Cries of panic came from above while Minerva and William cowered against the netting. Over her shoulder, a warship easily twice the size of the blue frigate revealed itself to the already terrified Minerva. It sailed out from behind the rudder of her ride, circling around in pursuit. The newcomer boasted a bloody crimson hull, and just like the blue ship, a bird face graced its prow, except this face existed in a state of perpetual fury, like a hawk diving in for the kill. Too big to fly high with ease, its wide belly scraped across the treetops while its crew worked feverishly in the sails to keep it airborne. Plumes of smoke still trailed from its gun ports.

"Drop weight!" someone bellowed, followed swiftly by the sound of ropes twanging as their knots came undone.

All along the length of the blue ship, the nets that hugged its hull sprang free, spilling their contents into the forest. Minerva felt the rope in her hands go slack, and for a sliver of time, she hung unhindered in the air. A meager scream struggled through her lips as she tumbled backward, but her plummet halted abruptly. Suspended on something sharp, she dangled nervously beside the ship while the sound of panicked breathing flooded her thoughts.

Unfortunately, nothing prevented William's descent. He cried out in horror as the nets gave out in his hands, sending him downward amid an avalanche of ill-gotten gains. He landed in a heap in the undergrowth, rolling with the clutter. Moments later, he emerged, seemingly unscathed and sprinting along beneath the ship as it sailed away with Minerva still pinned to its side.

Searching for an explanation to her predicament, Minerva discovered the tip of a blade protruding through her dress at the shoulder; the same blade on which she had sliced open her hand. The netting that restrained it remained firmly attached to the ship.

Above Minerva, a commanding shout went out, drawing her attention. The same swarthy sailor she saw before looked down at her dangling in the netting. In a single powerful bellow that bordered on a word, he halted the cutting of the nets. He seemed to contemplate climbing down to meet her, but his attention shifted quickly towards the massive warship closing in on them.

Minerva felt her mouth go dry at the sight of the huge red vessel plowing through the trees. The mighty growths that surrounded her home failed to hinder its charge, breaking like waves across its hull.

Several treetops wandered past Minerva's toes as the blue ship limped away, and she kicked off them, trying to knock herself free. Down below, William continued his valiant chase while Minerva did her best to dislodge herself, but couldn't get a good grip while the ship continued to list and sway. Above her head, a gallery of shutters clunked open and a row of cannons poked their noses into the sky, like timid forest creatures sniffing at the spring air.

Minerva gritted her teeth and tensed up as the red ship swung in closer, casting its shadow over her position. Fire and ash erupted from the gun ports of the blue ship as it turned to cross the path of its advancing enemy. Minerva covered her ears and cowered. Dust and cinders rained down around her, poorly masking the sound of splintering wood and the cries of terrified sailors aboard the red ship. The power of the cannons thundered through the depths of her body as everything around her vibrated.

Snapping her attention to the pressing task of escape, Minerva curled her legs backwards, searching for a way to lift herself up. The idea of successfully shoving herself off the ship horrified her, but not as much as the realization that instead of rising, the blue ship was sinking. The tips of the trees rose up around her, closing in as several toppled beneath the keel of the descending vessel.

Minerva did her best to lift herself up and pull free of the blade, twisting like a poorly strung marionette, but her feet had nothing to stand on and her arms weren't strong enough to lift her alone. Once more, the face of the black man appeared over the railing, but he turned away almost as soon as he appeared.

A yelp of terror, and the sound of crashing, drew Minerva's attention to the sight of a crate leaping into the dirt, nearly crushing William. Then another followed it. The crew above her jettisoned box after box from the sinking ship in a desperate plea to keep it skyward. Even an entire gun escaped through a hole in the siding of the wounded vessel, tumbling wildly across the ground and upending a tree.

Minerva swung her feet back and forth, hoping to tear the seam open and fall free. Her heart skipped with elation at the sound of a sharp crack, expecting to be set loose, but fell to despair as a few thicker branches buckled beneath the keel of the ship. They were still sinking.

Unwilling to let its prey escape, the titanic red ship tilted downward, aiming to ram the blue ship that was now in its path.

In that moment, Minerva decided that even standing directly beneath a ship of its kind did not adequately portray its size. Especially when two of them are about to crush you like cheese in a vice, her inner voice added. Minerva yanked even harder on her lovely orange cloth. The sturdy fabric tore slightly in response, but remained wedged in place.

Then the cold shadow of the red ship engulfed Minerva again, and every intricate detail of its exquisite design grew ever more apparent. Minerva kicked and flailed, succeeding handily in lodging herself further down upon the metal spike. What began as a calculated plan to vacate her position had now degenerated into uncontrolled thrashing, and she added her own voice to the shouts of the crews as the ship slammed through the trees towards her.

Although truthfully, she was just screaming.

As the ship bore down, Minerva could clearly discern the knots in the grain of the wood and the nails in the siding. She could see the twisted fibers of the ropes and the chips in the paint, and even the tiny curls of moss that spread across the surface of the hull. In a final desperate bid to save herself, she tossed her arms forward and turned her face away. The last thing she remembered, before miles of rigging and three hundred tons of driftwood ran her over, was the soothing voice of her mother's guidance.

"You should use backstitching," said the ghost in her thoughts. "It's really strong."

Chapter 3

Lintumen Barrister

Minerva noticed the pain first. It began as a dull drone in her left arm, but quickly grew into a throbbing ache that gave way to gut-wrenching agony. Bright lights exploded into her vision when she opened her eyes and she twisted onto her side, gasping for the air she needed to cry out.

"Easy, now," whispered a graveled old voice doing its best to be soothing. A warm hand touched her forehead and her pain abated. "Just sleep, my dear. You'll be well in the morning."

When Minerva awoke again, her pain was gone. She felt the soft press of a thick sheet laying over her and the comfort of a bed beneath her. After some time, she opened her eyes, only to be sickened by a wildly swaying world that couldn't decide which direction should be down. Some meager struggling revealed a dim chamber whose resident was an apparent pack rat, or more likely, the leader of a thriving family of pack rats.

An army of trinkets and baubles, with mysterious forms and functions, did their best to smother and disguise the floors and walls. Cluttered bookshelves crouched in every corner while chests and cabinets lined the walls. Even the rafters weren't safe from the encroaching invasion of stuff. It was as if the entire space was at war, fighting for control of every available surface.

It also smelled strongly of cinnamon.

Everything suddenly spun again and Minerva felt nauseous. As she fumbled for equilibrium, her hand bumped against something glass, and it shattered loudly when it struck the ground. She groaned reflexively, cringing at the noise.

"Easy, now," said the soothing gravel-voice, attempting to calm her. It worked surprisingly well.

Then the room creaked angrily and shifted the other way.

Minerva flopped her head in the direction of the voice. A wracked and ancient man sat not far from her, nestled carefully behind several stacks of books. Her first impression was of a man at serious risk of blowing himself into a fine cloud of dust if he sneezed too hard. Wrinkles and spots covered him everywhere, even on his wrinkles and spots. His sparse hair was so white and wispy that it floated in the air, like the ghostly apparition of hair from a past life. She could actually count the bones in his lengthy fingers, which currently supported a piece of string looped between them like a net.

The man wore a mischievous grin as he tightened the string by pulling his hands apart. "How's that?" he asked.

After a moment, the room no longer felt like it was seesawing back and forth with unfettered abandon. For a brief time, it ceased its motion entirely, and then it creaked with the effort and began rolling back the other way.

The man stood and approached Minerva amid a riot of popping joints. His slow, deliberate motion, combined with a long robe and a low ceiling, made his gait more of a slither than a walk. He lowered himself gracefully into a chair beside her bed that she didn't recall seeing before, and held out a glass of water.

Didn't she just break that glass, she wondered.

The man propped her up as she gulped heartily, and a grin attacked his face just then. It pinched his skin at the eyes and sent waves of flesh into a cataclysmic impact that wrinkled like cloth. Minerva couldn't decide if it was terrifying or amusing.

"My, what beautiful eyes you have," he said. "You've been unconscious since you arrived, and I began to wonder what they really looked like. I'm glad to see them still full of life."

"Minerva," she coughed, feeling strangely compelled to introduce herself through a weak smile.

"Fascinating," he replied, as if learning a truly amazing fact.

Minerva waited anxiously for him to reach the conclusion that everyone else achieved, dreading the inevitable utterance of her most hated nickname.

"I'm Lintumen Barrister," he said, defying her expectations. "I assume that you don't want to be called Minnie, just as I would prefer not to be called Lint. Can we agree to that?"

Minerva nodded, and Lintumen lowered her down onto the bed again.

"Did you make that gown?" he asked, motioning towards the black and orange garment hung at the foot of the bed. The hole through which the sword had pinned her in place was easily visible.

Minerva nodded again.

"Impressive."

Lintumen turned to face her once more, pulling down the sheets on her left side. A writhing scar, purple and red with weeping scabs, stretched from below her elbow to above her shoulder. She almost vomited at the sight of it, but he flipped the covers over it.

"That wound is healing nicely. I was worried that you would lose your arm. I suppose I should dress it again so that it doesn't distress you. Now, let's examine the rest of you." Slowly and diligently, Lintumen examined her forehead and neck, looked deep into her eyes, and had her cough while placing his ear to her chest, until he seemed satisfied. "Alright, now the tricky part. What's the last thing you remember?"

Minerva thought hard about what she could remember about the mid-air collision, and mostly came up with muffled blackness and hazy shadows. "I think a flying ship hit me," she whispered, astounded at her own failure.

Lintumen grasped her hands and smiled. "What's the last thing you remember about the ship hitting you?"

To her surprise, Minerva vividly recalled the words of her mother, right before the impact.

"If you can remember something that close to the event," he said with a chuckle. "Then I doubt there is any permanent damage. Rest some more. I will have some food and clean clothes brought in. I just hope we have something in your size." Then he stood and slid towards a heavy reinforced door and spoke into a metal funnel beside it. "Captain?" he said to the wall.

A different voice returned to the room through the device. It sounded stretched and broken after it completed a maze-like journey through a winding hallway of brass.

"What is it, Lint?"

Lintumen grimaced. "The girl is awake, Captain. I request clean clothes and food for her."

"Can she walk?"

"Possibly. She needs rest, Captain."

"How long?"

"Several days, at minimum."

"I'll dispatch a swabbie."

"Thank you, Captain."

Lintumen seated himself at the table once more, still gazing directly at Minerva. He seemed pleased, but said nothing, giving Minerva the impression that breaking the silence would be an insult.

It wasn't long before the door clicked and clanked, and then crept open. A barefoot teen boy with mussy hair crept in. He wore only dirty linen trousers, a woolen shirt of similar cleanliness, and a rope belt. His eyes locked onto Lintumen as he entered, and Minerva swore he looked terrified. In his arms, he held a bowl of hot soup set atop a suit of clothes just like his own.

"Put it on the table," Lintumen commanded without smiling. In an instant, Lintumen's demeanor shifted from caring observer to demanding overlord.

The boy complied, releasing the delivery at arm's length. He tossed an angry glance at Minerva before darting out the door, making her feel suddenly indignant. Something clicked and clanged outside again before Lintumen moved.

"They will probably call you Minnie," he said with a sympathetic frown, as he carried the soup over to her.

Chapter 4

Reinforcements

"Oi! Captain Black! We're skyward, again!"

The wiry voice stretched its words in inappropriate ways, straining the limits of its syllables. Its speaker was a shriveled old man in overalls, with greasy grey hair, whose body matched his voice, both tiny and wiry at half the height and a quarter of the weight of an ordinary man. He pointed triumphantly at the battered husk of the Phoenix, an enormous red galleon drifting above the treetops. He currently spoke to Captain Black, infamous captain of the Phoenix, a huge man in a poorly weathered black and red uniform that barely contained his girth. Belts of cloth bound it together in the weak points.

The captain leaned against a tree and ground his teeth audibly.

"Captain Black?"

"I heard you, Squints!"

"We goin' after 'em, cap?"

"No. They hit our riggers dead straight. Too many wounded. We won't catch 'em."

"Then what—"

"Send word to Sparks. Call in Cloudscorch."

"Sparks, sir? Cloudscorch? Is a bit much, no?"

"I want that ship in ashes, Squints! I want to piss on its smoldering remains! Do you understand me? No survivors!"

Several birds took flight in response to the booming command of Captain Black, and then he turned and lurched his right leg forward, supported on a peg that stood in place of his left leg from the knee down. Long crooked black hair surrounded his face and chin equally on all sides, and it trailed in the wind.

Squints grinned wickedly, shrouding his eyes with rising cheek skin that created a disturbing image of just teeth and nostrils. "Aye, Captain!"

Chapter 5

The Skyraker

Other than their first encounter, Lintumen said very little to Minerva over the next few days. He changed the dressing on her arm when needed, and the remainder of his time he spent buried in his books. Sometimes she awoke to discover him embroiled in incredibly bizarre activities involving candles, crystals, and brass contraptions. It felt both impolite and dangerous to interrupt him, so she settled on observing him when possible, which led to a startling discovery. As best as she could discern, Lintumen didn't sleep.

According to Lintumen, Minerva sustained the grave injury to her arm as the two vessels collided. Since then her health had recovered significantly, thanks to Lintumen's expertise. Returning home to her family now occupied the top of her list of priorities.

"I'm aboard the blue ship?" Minerva asked one morning, weary of the silence.

She was currently dressing behind a sheet hung from two nails in the ceiling, as up until now she had been wearing an overly long shirt that draped well past her knees.

Left shoulder.

She rolled up the leg of her trousers five times in an effort to keep from treading on them and adjusted her shirt to center before leaning down to fix the other leg.

Right shoulder.

The rope provided to her for use as a belt wrapped around her almost three full times. She reset her shirt again and tied off the cord.

Left shoulder.

Minerva sighed. The shirt she had received was no better than the nightgown she was just wearing. At best, it covered one of her shoulders while it slipped haphazardly off the other. She begrudgingly accepted the need to hold the collar closed whenever her hands were free, and moved to sit at the table with Lintumen.

"The Skyraker," Lintumen replied, still looking down at his book. "A ninety-gun pirating war frigate, with no associations, under the command of Captain Glass. She operates primarily as an armed escort or a plundering vessel near the Divara mountain range."

"Who was that red ship?"

"The Phoenix, a one-hundred-fifty-gun ship-of-the-line under the command of Captain Black of the Black and Red Consortium. The consortium is a fleet of fifteen vessels, of which the Phoenix is the flagship. It operates primarily between the Divara mountain range, the Sunrise Ports, and the borders of the Linoran Empire."

Minerva mentally noted how much that sounded like a losing fight. "So, poor odds of turning around then," she quipped.

Lintumen lifted his chin and looked sideways at her.

"What about stopping? Maybe just a quick one to let me off? I could probably still find my way home."

Silence stood in place of an answer. The ship wasn't stopping, and it certainly wasn't turning around.

Minerva's fear of pondering the situation spurred a sudden change of subject. "No shoes for me?" she asked, sitting on her hands and wiggling her feet.

Lintumen shook his head. "The leather soles impose unnecessary difficulty when maintaining your footing on deck. Usually only the captain and I wear any."

Minerva took the opportunity to assess the attire of the man. Unlike her uniform, Lintumen wore plenty of clothes, including a pair of silken slippers. Much more than he needed, she thought, and everything he wore was immaculately neat, almost pressed. It reminded her of a uniform, or perhaps something regal.

"What's your job?" she blurted, striving to keep the conversation flowing.

Lintumen gave her another awkward stare.

"I mean what do you do here? I heard that everyone on a flying ship must work in some way. Isn't that why I'm joining the crew until I get home?"

Swiftly and victoriously, Lintumen smiled, but Minerva didn't know why, and the expression vanished just as quickly when she didn't reciprocate.

"I'm the purser, the navigator, and the surgeon, or whatever it tickles the fancy of the captain for me to be."

Navigator and surgeon were familiar to her, but Minerva questioned his ability to navigate a ship from a windowless room. "What are you reading?" she asked, leaning over for a better look.

"You can read?" he asked quietly, as he pushed the book slightly out of view.

Minerva nodded eagerly.

Lintumen snapped the book shut so fast that it blew several papers off the table. That act, and how he hadn't taken his eyes off her since she asked him his job, made her want to rescind the whole conversation.

A heavy knock hammered into the door before it swung open, revealing a tall and handsome man, clean cut, but with pocked skin and shoulder length curly black hair. He posed wonderfully in a striking black coat with gleaming white slacks, a white shirt with brass buttons, and polished black boots. An equally gleaming rapier and pistol hung on either of his sides.

"Minerva, is it?" he asked, in a smooth voice.

Minerva tried to smile reassuringly.

"Are you aware that you're on a pirate ship?"

She nodded.

"Are you also aware that we are currently retreating and that we cannot take you home?"

The captain's striking blue eyes locked onto her own as she nodded once more, but he abruptly turned away to look around the room. As he did, a strange sensation of guilt lingered in his expression.

"Get your things and come with me," he commanded.

Minerva jumped from the table, grabbed her dress from the hook, and hurried into the hallway. Three doorways occupied the short passage, two at her end, one of which she just exited, and a set of stained glass double doors at the other end, where the captain stopped. Vibrant light shone in through the gorgeous windows.

"I'm Captain Glass," he said. "You may refer to me simply as captain. Always conclude any discourse between us with aye, sir, or recognition of my rank. Aye, Captain. Yes, Captain. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain," she squeaked, clutching her dress close to her chest.

"We are currently on course to arrive in Riggersport in several days, where our ship is to be repaired."

"Yes, Captain," she added when he paused, questioning if asking about Riggersport would be inappropriate. She had never heard of it.

Captain Glass smiled and pushed open the doors, blinding Minerva with daylight. As she stumbled outward into a cool wind, an incredible vista formed. Sailors lingered everywhere, some on the deck, others stood on the booms that held the sails, while a few tended to ropes, nets, and chests of tools. A duo near the fore appeared to be hunting birds with small harpoons.

Minerva wandered to the nearest edge and looked out. A sea of green treetops stretched away in rolling waves from the side of the ship, drifting along beneath them.

"Welcome aboard the Skyraker," Captain Glass said, as he moved to stand beside her. "We were quite surprised to find you alive in our netting several days ago. Normally we wouldn't allow a woman of any age aboard, but seeing as we are responsible for your injuries, you may stay until we arrange a method for you to return home."

Minerva really wanted to ask why they didn't allow women on board, but forgot the notion entirely when she turned around. Every single sailor, on the deck and up in the rigging, stared at her in an unfriendly way, imparting upon her the sudden urge to crawl overboard.

An imposing dark-skinned man approached them at the rail. He was an older man, yet quite muscular, but of a lean build and incredibly tall. He wore exactly what she wore, and just like her, his clothes barely fit. The difference was that his immense frame vastly exceeded the reasonable limitations of his attire. Minerva recognized him immediately as the man that observed her as she left her house, and again when she was pinned to the ship.

"Minerva, Olbus, Olbus, Minerva," the captain explained, without pausing between words. Waggled pointing ensued. "Olbus is my boatswain and your direct commander in my absence. He will assign you a cabin and a role, which I expect you to perform to the best of your abilities. I also expect you to follow the rules of the ship, which Olbus will happily provide if you ask him. Good luck."

Olbus led Minerva below deck without a word before he turned, and she chased the shadow of the massive man. They passed through several cramped spaces and poorly lit cabins, many of which barely accommodated Olbus' impressive shape, while the constant sound of creaking wood followed them everywhere.

Bunks. Galley. Head. You. Me. Head meant lavatory, Minerva deduced, while 'you' and 'me' meant Olbus' room and her own, which directly opposed each other. She didn't realize a person could succinctly describe every space in a ship with one word apiece.

Olbus opened the door to Minerva's new home, revealing a cramped chamber with four bunks and storage for four people. It proudly boasted a tiny table built into an alcove in the outer hull, with a small bench on each side. She saw no one else, and put her dress in an empty drawer beneath one of the lower bunks.

"Change of clothes in here. Bedding here. Tidy your bunk every morning. Clean your kit once a week. No alcohol outside the galley."

"Yes, sir."

"Bell rings five times solid for meals. Thirty minutes including wash up. No weapons unless we are called to arms. Bell is rung without pause when at arms."

"Yes, sir," she replied meekly, upon discovering he was done. "Am I to have duties, sir?"

Olbus turned swiftly when she looked him in the eye, leaving her to follow him down another deck, into a deeper darker part of the ship. Hold. Lockup. Larder. Buckets. They stopped at buckets, an isolated cabin at the end of a tight hallway over the hold. An explosion of footwork erupted from within when Olbus opened the door. A group of four boys, slightly older than Minerva, stood at attention.

"Swabbies," Olbus kindly pointed out, walking away at the same time. Relaxation immediately ensued.

Friends, Minerva's inner voice added.

"Close the door, stupid," said one of her new friends. He was the boy that had come to Lintumen's room with her clothes, but he glared angrily at her once it was just the five of them.

Minerva stepped inward, closing the door, at which point the swabbies happily began ignoring her in silence. For several awkward minutes, she glanced idly at nothing and held her arms for comfort. The tiny cabin contained two benches, one against the hull, and a perpendicular one that connected with it. A rack of scrub brushes hung over a small porthole, and a mountain of buckets, with all their handles facing the same direction, were stacked tightly against the third wall, adjacent to the hallway. The fourth wall hosted only the spout and handle of a water pump. One of the four boys pinched a bucket between his knees, patching it.

The memory of William and his love of pirate ships came back to Minerva in that moment. In light of what she currently knew of the trade, she concluded that he either knew nothing about pirates, or he was an idiot.

Chapter 6

Swabbie

"So," Minerva drawled, attempting to initiate a conversation. The swabbies glared at her. "I'm Minerva."

"That's a stupid name," her nice new friend commented, spitting on the ground and sneering. "I'm going to call you Minnie. There, that's your pirate name. Minnie Minerva." He laughed heartily at his own wit.

Be their friends. Ask them their names, her thoughts urged.

"Spit," spat Spit, spitting on the floor. He was the first to call her Minnie.

"Lockjaw," said Lockjaw, speaking through his teeth without moving his jaw.

"Patch," growled Patch, continuing to fix his bucket.

"Grunts," grunted Grunts, not committing to anything, and certainly not looking at her.

"Oh, you all use nicknames?"

"Of course we do. We're pirates," croaked Grunts.

Minerva stood in the corner, wondering exactly how to manufacture an exit from the room full of silent angry people. She wasn't even sure why they were angry. "What do we need to do around here?" she asked.

"Whatever we're told to do," Spit explained in a harsh tone. She already hated him, but she didn't want to upset her inner voice.

"I thought swabbies cleaned things?"

"We do, but we already did it today. We'll do it again tomorrow, and the day after that, and when we're not doing that, we wait here until we're off duty or told to do something else."

"What do you use?" she continued, propping up the conversation out of the habit.

All four of them gawked at her.

"Water comes from here," Spit said in a patronizing tone, pointing at a rusted pump that jutted out from the wall. "Clean whatever you want."

Minerva eyed the pump quizzically. "Where does the water come from?" she asked.

"There's a cistern in the hold," Lockjaw mumbled.

Although Minerva smiled warmly, and Lockjaw briefly reciprocated, silent admonishment from his fellows quickly stifled his happiness.

"Thank you," Minerva replied emphatically, and then went for a bucket. "I need new water," she remarked, disturbed by the brown sludge in the nearest receptacle.

None of them replied, except Spit, who did so by spitting on the floor and pointing at the porthole.

Minerva emptied the bucket out the tiny window. She stood up on her toes and leaned out, doing her best to avoid splattering someone below. After hanging the bucket from the spout, she reached for the pump and pulled down, but it held fast, unmoving, so she tried again. Still nothing.

Everyone is watching you.

In a very real sense, she could feel their eyes locked onto her back, like predators watching their prey. They were waiting for her to fail. Her skin prickled and her stomach felt cold. She tried the handle again, heaving with all her weight as elegantly as possible. Several voices snickered.

"Please, ship," she whispered quietly. "I could really use your help right now. I don't know where I am or how I'll get home, and I'm really scared, so how about a little cooperation?"

Dirty cold metal twisted in her grasp when she tried the crank again.

"What's the matter, Minnie? Need some help?"

"Don't be like this, please?" she begged, beginning to cry, but the lever remained welded in place.

"Looks like it's too stiff for a girl!" Spit shouted, howling with laughter.

"Ships are girls, aren't they?" Minerva tried, hoping for a little diplomacy. "Us girls need to stick together, right?"

At the brink of despair, Minerva pressed down with all her weight, entirely lifting her feet off the floor by leaning on both hands, and suddenly dove headlong into the wall as the handle fell away beneath her. Flowing water splashed victoriously into her bucket as she massaged her nose and cleared the tears from her eyes.

When she righted herself and attempted the pump again, fresh, clear water effortlessly flushed out. She spent a moment scrubbing out the bucket and then refilled it while four boys sat dumbfounded around her. Supplies in hand, she opened the door to the cabin and stepped out, hunching her shoulders to keep her shirt from slipping off a shoulder while both of her hands held her bucket.

"Wait a minute," Spit demanded as she exited the room.

Minerva kicked the door closed with her foot before he could say anything else.

"How did she do that?"

"I don't know! It takes all four of us to crank that thing!"

Minerva walked away from the door with a broad smile, while the sound of four young boys fighting with a rusty water pump followed her upstairs.

After liberating herself into the watchful scrutiny of the sailors outside, Minerva began her cleaning project with the railing. It certainly wasn't the filthiest part of the ship, and in fact, the constant friction of a grasping hand kept it quite polished. However, the vantage it granted allowed her to gaze out over the edge whenever she wanted. From up here she could see far into the distance, and the air felt cool and fresh. If not for the crew around her, it would have been the perfect place to relax and forget her worries.

Starting at the bow of the ship, she worked her way back towards the stern, huddling low against the railing to stay out of sight of the sailors that eyed her suspiciously. Quite soon into her efforts, an unexpected benefit arose. Along the inside of the railing, where the deck met the hull, Minerva discovered a trove of treasures ground into a layer of dirt. Not only did she excavate the expected sorts of metal too heavy for lazy swabbies to sweep up, including a few small coins, but she also found buttons, thread, and a number of wooden needles. She immediately used the needle and a strand of thread stripped from her sleeve to tighten the neck hole of her shirt. After she pocketed the supplies she resumed her task, eagerly anticipating the next exciting new treasure she might uncover.

In time, her focus shifted from beautiful horizons and green treetops to the narrow intersection of wood on wood. Lost in the activity, she continued around the deck oblivious to the world, picking through the discarded treasures of the crew.

A painful yelp brought Minerva's attention back to reality, and she looked up to see the foot of an angry sailor lodged inside her bucket. The man shouted in pain as he twisted over, toppling backwards with an armload of netting and junk hauled up from below the ship. Bits of clutter and plunder crashed onto the deck, blanketing Minerva and the man at the same time.

Along with the rest of the goods, something shiny and metal skittered out, coming to a rest beside Minerva's hand. A slim curved dagger, about as long as her hand and as wide as her pinkie, complete with a small guard, brushed against her fingers.

Shouting and cussing, the man flung the netting off and leaped to his feet while Minerva cowered against the hull. "Stay out of the way!" he screamed, brandishing Minerva's scrub brush at her as he shouted. Dissatisfied with the power of his threat, he launched the tool down into the bucket. A column of water erupted into the air in response. Then he snatched the dagger as well and wielded it menacingly, causing Minerva to tense up in fear and contemplate a hasty exit overboard. "And take your damn hairbrush with you!" he added, flinging the dagger into the water with the scrub brush.

Not long after the shouting began, the dashing Captain Glass arrived with Olbus at his side. The angry sailor took one look at the imposing boatswain and immediately went back to work as if Minerva didn't exist. Captain Glass briefly assessed the situation before returning to the helm while Olbus remained behind to tower over Minerva.

Minerva's heart sank. A dagger of any size was certainly a weapon, and now it was in her bucket. If he pulled it out, he could blame her for concealing it. Olbus said nothing as she turned her face downward and went back to scrubbing, hoping that he failed to notice the weapon in her bucket.

"Lunch," he said. It was more than a fact. With that one word, his voice alone conveyed a command, an expectation, and an explanation. She was to put away her supplies and head to the galley immediately.

"Yes, sir," she replied with her heart racing.

After Olbus departed, Minerva moved to conceal the dagger in her pocket with the rest of her treasures, but realized it was likely to either escape or injure her without a sheath. Instead, she unrolled her bun and pinched the dagger between the wooden slats that held her hair in place, winding all of it together once more. Minerva's mother often joked that Minerva's hair could shatter sheers, so there probably wasn't much risk in a solitary blade.

Minerva surreptitiously peered around in search of witnesses, but all the sailors were now intently focused on acquiring lunch. Her body flushed at once with the pride and anxiety that accompanies a successful lie.

Chapter 7

Lunch Break

The sound of a hundred voices buzzed in Minerva's ears as she approached the galley. Once inside, she found a room teeming with the heat and vibrancy of life. Even the floorboards emanated warmth from the passage of many eager bare footsteps.

Thankfully, nobody noticed when she took her place in line, and she enjoyed the contrast of the smooth sweaty wood beneath her toes and the cold tin bowl and plate between her fingers. She kept her gaze downward and admired the gentle curves and splendid knots of the floorboards, fearful of those that were surely staring at her.

Pleasantly distracted, she was shuffling along in time with the movements of the queue when the person in front of her stopped unexpectedly, causing her to run head first into the small of their back. The man spun to face Minerva, much too quickly for her to hide.

"I suppose that's – one way to make friends," he said. "But you're a little high – and not enough pucker."

Minerva struggled to understand why some of the words came out without the man moving his mouth. Then another man, behind the man she ran into, leaned sideways and smiled. She had heard of identical twins before, but had never met any, and these two clearly embraced the most literal interpretation of the concept. They both had the same straight dark hair, brown eyes, and broad grin, but more than that, they tucked their clothes the same way, wrapped their belt the same, and stood in such a perfectly duplicitous way that their trousers creased in the same place.

"Luff – and Leech," they said, pointing at each other as they both spoke separately. "We're – riggers. Minerva – right? Nice to – meet you."

Minerva grinned widely, wanting to say something but unable to interrupt without feeling rude. It wasn't two people speaking separately as much as it was a uniform sentence spoken smoothly by two people.

"Three weeks and a day. One month."

"I'm sorry," she offered, desperate to keep up with a conversation that was apparently carrying on without her.

"Sorry that – you ran into me? Sorry that – you aren't sure what to say? Sorry that – you're not a sailor? Sorry that – we're last in line? Sorry that – you don't know – which of us is Luff – and which is Leech? You need to be – more specific."

"Sorry for bumping into you," she blurted, doing her best to be involved.

"Well mannered. Seems sharp. Soups up. Hey, Jim. Good eggs? Never are. Thanks."

Minerva watched in awe as the twins moved in almost perfect unison, swinging their legs over the table bench at the same time and taking the first sip of their soup like a single person in two bodies.

"Hey, short stock. Hold up yer kit. I ain't reachin' down for it."

Minerva spun around to hold up her plate and bowl, and promptly fell dumbstruck. The man serving her food was so massive she needed to look left and right to see both sides of him. The top of his head, carpeted in short curly brown hair, sloped outward from his forehead, down his nose, and continued to expand into his many chins. When it reached his neck, it merged into his chest, which steadily expanded outward towards his huge gut. A great blob of flesh lay draped atop the counter before it tapered away from his belt towards his ankles.

The burning smell of onions and garlic permeated the fabric of his frayed and stained apron, and it was no wonder he refused to lean forward. His tumbling girth could crush her.

"What?" he demanded, before he slopped some soup into her bowl and flopped a piece of bread and an egg onto her plate.

"I was just wondering if there was any cutlery," she stammered, attempting the first excuse that came to mind.

"Yeah, we got it, but I don't wanna wash it, so ye get none."

"Oh," she said, looking down at the bowl of soup.

"What's the matter princess, not good 'nuff for ye? Here, lemme clean it."

Before Minerva could act, the big man grabbed her plate from her grasp, and to her horror, spewed a huge gob of spit down the side. As he wiped the spatter off with his apron he knocked her toast to the floor at the same time.

"Eh, look at that, egg is rotten I bet." Without further warning, he popped the egg into his mouth and mashed it viciously, swallowing the wreckage in a single gulp. "Nah, was fine. Yer soup is probably no good though, lemme git that for ye."

Minerva snatched the bowl towards herself, protecting it from his grasping palms.

The chef laughed cruelly with her egg still squashed between his meaty cheeks as she scurried away, wide-eyed.

For a time, Minerva wandered through the busy galley, searching for a seat at an empty table. As she passed by the rigger twins, something splashed unexpectedly into her now lonely soup. A piece of bread hand landed neatly inside the bowl. Luff, or was it Leech, winked at her quickly, and then went back to his conversation with the other sailors. Despite her wishes, there was no room for her there, so she sat alone in a corner without a table, avoiding the glances and glares of the others, most notably the swabbies.

The bread was obviously stale, but to Minerva's surprise, it tasted quite good when soaked in the soup, which offered a healthy kick of flavor. She had nearly mastered the effort of drinking a full bowl of soup without spilling it down her front when the din of the galley abruptly vanished. Far away, a bell was ringing, hard and fast and without pause.

Plates clattered, benches screeched, and the sound of hundreds of hurrying feet pounded out of the galley. Minerva followed the parade of bodies until she stood in the daylight on the deck, while the sound of a bell smashed loudly in her ears. She found the other swabbies near the stairs to the sterncastle, buckets at the ready.

"What do we do?"

"Stay out of the way," ordered Spit.

"If there's fires or mess, we take care of it," offered Lockjaw, but he said nothing more when Spit turned a harsh glower upon him.

Moments later, the sterncastle doors burst open and Captain Glass strode valiantly out, with his three-point hat tucked under his arm. He smiled at the swabbies, and perhaps overlong at Minerva, before Olbus moved up to him.

"It's Cloudscorch, Captain," he said quietly, as if he didn't want anyone to hear.

"Cloudscorch?" Captain Glass' voice rose an octave halfway through the name. "How's the mast?"

"Damaged, sir."

The captain turned to the stairs, launching himself towards the helm. "Get every rigger up in the sails, boatswain! Maybe we can outrun them!"

"Yes, sir," Olbus confirmed, and then faced the men behind him. "Riggers! To the sails!" he bellowed, so loudly that Minerva winced at the sound.

When the riggers ascended, Minerva could not help but stare. They didn't run to the shrouds to climb up—the wide rope net-ladders that went up from the railings into the rigging—but went instead to the base of the masts, where they coiled a rope around their forearms and ripped out the belaying pin that restrained it. Large sacks of what she assumed to be sand fell from the masts in response, pulling the ropes taut and hauling the men to the tops of the square sails.

Minerva spotted Luff and Leech skipping sideways up a mast. At their stations, the twins vigorously scrubbed the surfaces of the sails with long-handled stout-headed brooms, and shouted orders to the riggers that were still arriving.

Rising high, the Skyraker's sails filled with a wind that cut bitterly through Minerva's shirt and trousers. The sound of a wooden mechanism rumbled behind her and the ship banked with the current, causing her to stumble into Lockjaw, who kindly held her up.

"There!" Spit's call of alarm snapped her attention to a distant ship made of blackened wood and singed sails that approached from low across the horizon. The crew of the Skyraker went silent. They pointed and stared at the closing ship.

"What is it?" Minerva demanded, grabbing Lockjaw by the shoulder.

"Cloudscorch. One of Captain Black's ships."

"Captain Black?"

Minerva remembered the name from when Lintumen explained to her about the Phoenix, and judging by Lockjaw's reaction, he was clearly someone that everyone knew.

"He's the meanest pirate in the skies."

"Aren't you pirates as well?"

"We're not all in the same group," Grunts snapped.

"So, we fight them," she concluded. "It's smaller than we are. We can defeat it."

Lockjaw sighed, as if he had already been defeated. "Ships like this are for plundering and looting. They're not for sinking other ships. Not on purpose, anyway."

"And?"

"Cloudscorch sinks ships. They say it can breathe fire more than double its hull length, and that it burns sails and sailors alike. Captain Black uses it for killing, not for plundering."

Minerva stared out over the rail at the infamous Cloudscorch. "Do our cannons shoot further than their fires?"

"On a good shot, yeah. Why?"

"And how fast can they sink us?"

"I don't know. Probably takes a bit to sink something with fire. Not like knocking a mast off with cannons. Hard to stop it, though."

"Then if we do our jobs, and put out the fires, we win, right?" She stared the other swabbies in the eye, demanding their attention. "It can't sink a ship that's not on fire, right?"

Spit narrowed his gaze and glared at Minerva. "Everyone just listen to me. I've done this sort of battle before," he ordered, and then looked away.

Minerva realized right there, from the looks on their faces and the ways that they stood, that none of them had ever done anything like this before. It made her feel entirely helpless, standing with her so-called friends with nothing more than a handful of buckets between them.

The injured Skyraker quickened its pace over the trees with the menacing Cloudscorch hot on its stern. Several times, perhaps out of preparation, or perhaps as a show of power, the enemy belched huge plumes of fire from its gun ports. Following each display, the crew of the Skyraker burst into panicked shouts and whispers. Many demanded that they land and run for their lives. It was only when Olbus stood among them and threatened the sailors with the rod that they went back to work.

Captain Glass stood quietly at the helm, clearly concerned as he glanced over his shoulder at their pursuer. Several times Minerva caught him looking at her, to which he offered a feeble grin before looking away.

"The gun deck is prepared to fire, Captain," Olbus said.

"How many cannons did we save?"

"Two dozen, sir."

Captain Glass went from worried to stricken. It was obviously a much lower number than he had hoped. Regardless, he leaned in towards a brass cone near the helm, similar to the one in Lintumen's room. "Gunner! Bring all the cannons to starboard side. Do your best to—"

Something crackled and whistled behind the Captain, and he crouched instinctively. For what lacked a better description in Minerva's mind, a clay pot full of fire drifted overhead before smashing hard against the port side of the Skyraker.

Searing heat and the hiss of blistering flames exploded against Minerva, and she grabbed the first full bucket she could reach, thrusting it into Spit's arms. "Pass it down!" At her direction, they formed a line and moved the buckets forward, splashing the water down the side of the ship.

"Keep dumping!" Spit yelled, when their supply ran low. Then he grabbed Lockjaw and Grunts and ran down the stairs towards the pumps.

Minerva did as ordered, doing her best to remain standing while the ship bobbed and listed wildly in its flight. This isn't right, her mind insisted, unable to rationalize the persistence of the flames. When she moved to hand Patch the last full bucket, he didn't take it. He only stood and stared over her shoulder with his eyes held wide.

Cloudscorch sailed up on their broadside, but above the height of their masts. Wooden machines, hung with many ropes and a giant sling, dominated its deck. In each one, a hefty brown jar of flames licked at its small mouth. Many men occupied the deck of the enemy ship, blackened with ash and soot. They screamed and bellowed, howling like wild animals, eager for the kill. The two ships were close enough that Minerva could see the dirtied clothes, bare feet, and even the filthy unkempt hair of the enemy sailors. Their bright teeth stood in stark contrast to their sullied faces.

One of the men raised their hand and dropped it to his side, and the wooden machines turned and creaked, sending their flaming clay volley whistling and crackling through the air.

There's a reason the fire won't go out, her mind reminded her.

Minerva panicked quietly as the clay pots rolled over in the sky towards her, having just realized what was in them.

Chapter 8

Cloudscorch

Shattered clay and burning fuel washed across the deck of the Skyraker. Spit narrowly avoided a direct impact with a flying urn as he returned with his bucket, and he threw his water across the flames out of reflex.

Minerva watched in horror as the fires sparked and flared, and slithered wider across the wood, seeping into every crack and crevice as it went.

Lockjaw appeared beside Spit with his own sloshing bucket, and pulled back to release it.

"No!" Minerva screamed, rushing forward. It was just enough of a distraction to stay his hand. She threw herself headlong into both swabbies with her arms outstretched. In a jumble of limbs and grunts, they crashed in a soaking heap at the bottom of the stairs.

Spit shoved Minerva off violently, swearing and nursing a large gash on his forehead.

"It's oil!" she pleaded, frantically disengaging from the pile of people and rising to her feet. Lockjaw shoved past her, knocking her aside as he went up the stairs, but she rose again, pulling herself ahead of them. "We can't use water!"

Back on deck, fire burned everywhere and its smoke choked everything. Amid it all, she could hear the hopeless screams of the crew. Minerva grabbed Spit by the collar. "It's a grease fire! Water will make it spread!" He seemed to be listening to her now.

Minerva's mind raced. A grease fire in a kitchen was small. She could put it out with a pot lid. This was different. This fire was huge.

"We need to suffocate it," she said, still clinging onto Spit and thinking aloud. "Go and get any spare sheets you can find!" She grabbed Grunts next. "Get those bags of sand near the mast! As many bags as you can carry!"

The massive form of Olbus materialized beside her. His shirt stretched up to cover his nose and his face twisted against the heat. He looked like he had something very important to say, but she didn't let him say it. Inspiration had struck.

"Bring me any spare sails that we have!"

For a moment, she questioned the propriety of ordering him to do her bidding, but then he rushed away down the stairs, touching only two with his feet.

While the Skyraker burned, Cloudscorch retreated out of range. It had no need to press a victory clearly within its grasp.

Awaiting the return of her requested supplies, Minerva stood watching the fire, gripping the rail for support as the ship heaved on the winds. She had barely enough time to orient herself before Olbus returned with a large white cloth draped across his back. She pulled the sail from his shoulders and unfolded it across the flaming oil. Where the edges caught fire, she stamped it out.

When Grunts returned with the bags, she poured the sand on the cloth to absorb the oil, and Olbus called for assistance as she worked. A few men arrived at first, then more with another sail. The beautiful white cloth went brown then black, soaking up the deadly liquid. Some sails they draped over the sides, snuffing the fires that burned the hull, and when a sail entirely caught fire they threw it overboard. Slowly, the smoke thinned to reveal a burned and bruised ship. A handful of flames still smoldered in the corners and across the hull, but the crew was winning. The fires were going out. The men began cheering, but the victory was short lived.

"It's tacking back around!"

Minerva flailed wildly as the Skyraker listed unexpectedly, forcing her to cling tightly to the nearest mast, and her attention focused only on what was in front of her. There's teeth marks in the belaying pins, she thought. Not now, she scolded herself, and tucked the thought away.

Cloudscorch swooped in high against the sails of the Skyraker, vomiting flames from its tiny gun ports as it approached. Gazing upward, between the sails and the rigging, only a few men still worked. The rest had fled or fallen when the smoke rose around them. Luff and Leech valiantly did their best to keep the ship aloft, but couldn't match Cloudscorch's ascent on their own.

Below her feet, Minerva felt the cannons fire, and the deck trembled as the sound of splintering wood hailed a successful attack. The Skyraker banked away while the gun crews reloaded, hard enough that every man on deck stood askew. Meanwhile, Cloudscorch peeled away to attempt another approach.

Before the deck stood still again, Minerva heard a terrified call overhead, where she saw a man dashing to the far end of a boom. He tumbled forward with one arm outstretched in panic. It was one of the twins, and he was reaching for his brother, who now dangled weakly by his fingers from the far end of the spar.

An overwhelming desire to prevent the demise of a friend pushed every other thought from Minerva's mind. She grabbed the loose end of the nearest coil of rigging and spun it around her arm. Then she ran down the slope of the ship towards the railing, unspooling the line behind her. The hot, ashen deck felt slick beneath her feet and it burned her soles, spurring her onward. Nearly to the edge, with her eyes locked onto the twin, her throat seized and her guts churned as the twin lost his grip. Strands of his hair lagged in the fall, loose and free, as gravity first took hold of the rigger's body.

Devoid of fear, Minerva jumped to the railing and pushed off into the air in a tilted sprint. A great length of rope uncoiled from her arm, trailing behind her as she sailed out over the canopy of the forest. Her simple, thoughtless goal consisted of nothing other than catching the man before he fell too far and too fast.

For a brief instant, fully committed to her leap, Minerva felt as though she were truly flying. She imagined herself as free and wild, like a bird on the wind. The sky kissed her cheeks and tussled her hair.

The twin fell hard, and Minerva had jumped too early, flying out beyond his position. However, the cord that trailed behind her cut across his descent and it ensnared him as he came down. His sudden arrival snapped Minerva painfully backwards on the end of the line.

In a graceful arc with a thunderous end, Minerva and the twin circled back towards the ship. Entirely by luck, Minerva's partner went headlong into an empty gun port, and by an equally complete stroke of bad luck, Minerva bounced off the hull, above the port but below the deck, with nothing to hold.

The beautiful blue paint of the Skyraker drifted away from Minerva's fingers, and for the second time in no time at all, she felt as though she were truly flying.

In the adrenaline-filled existence of a person expecting to die, Minerva simply closed her eyes and waited for the landing. Many thoughts crowded her mind, prepping her for the sound of crashing branches and the sudden blackness at the end of a long fall, but it never came. She heard the muffled yells of a distant battle and the constant sound of her own panicked breathing. Then she felt the wind across her bare stomach and the sensation of a painful vice around her leg, and she looked up at her feet. In the frantic chaos of her daring leap, the rope had tightly entangled her leg, and she now dangled by her foot like bait on a lure.

Everything moved slowly beneath the Skyraker. She could see Cloudscorch pulling in for the kill with its wicked ashen body disgorging flame from every orifice, and she saw a slick black trail that ran across its belly beneath the hold. Being below the action, where the voices were quiet and the smell of burnt wood didn't stifle her thoughts, she realized something important. Their hold is leaking oil.

That's why the sailors are so filthy. Just like the Skyraker, Cloudscorch must have a cistern in its hold, but theirs is filled with oil.

Despite the pain in her arms and legs, Minerva pulled herself into an upright position and climbed quickly, inspired by her discovery. Their hold is leaking oil, she repeated to herself, and had barely begun to rise when the rope pulled up on its own. When she arrived at the top, Luff and Leech grabbed her by the shirt and pants and hauled her disgracefully into the gun deck. Before she could even thank them for her rescue, they lifted her to her feet, cheering wildly and hugging her.

The gun deck was one of many places aboard the Skyraker that Minerva had never seen, and so she needed to orient herself appropriately. At the far end, the lead gunner stood ready to call a shot as Cloudscorch sailed in.

"Let me go. I have a plan," she begged, peeling away from the twins.

Minerva grabbed the gunner by the arm and spun him around. He was much younger than she expected, possibly only a few years older than herself. He was however, much better developed. He wore no shirt, probably because of the glistening oil and gunpowder that neatly dirtied his torso. His smiling blue eyes glittered in the dim light of the dusty deck, and his fantastic sandy-blonde hair fell splendidly across his ears in gentle waves. Minerva had a bad habit of judging people based on how well their hair behaved.

"Yes?" he asked quite calmly, with a wide smile.

He has all his teeth, she thought, as her inner voice reminded her softly about the hold. "The hold!" she blurted.

The gunner's expression twisted, obviously confused.

"They're storing oil in the hold! That's how they shoot fire!"

The gunner grinned wickedly. "I can hit that."

"The black spot, right there," Minerva urged, trying to be helpful.

"On my mark!" he shouted, bracing himself against the low ceiling.

Minerva's throat constricted and her heart raced painfully as she watched Cloudscorch sail in for the kill. While she waited in terror, the shirtless gunner beside her emanated confidence. His fearlessness made her feel like he could do anything, but it was his raw strength that startled her, as he wrapped his arm around her head and pulled her into his chest in a sideways embrace that covered her ears. Pressed against his skin, she heard his heart beating and felt the warmth of his muscled body through her cheek.

He also smelled sweetly of gunpowder and sweat.

Just when she felt the enemy could come no closer, the Skyraker twisted and leaned, and Minerva gripped the gunner hard around the waist. His chest expanded with a lengthy inhale, tightening his hold on her. Then he paused, breath held, just long enough for her to enjoy it.

"Fire!"

She felt the words before she heard them, and she never forgot that moment. In truth, she never heard the cannons fire, or the splintering wood or the screams of the victims. All she heard was his breathing, calm and steady in a storm of total, thundering, chaos.

Cloudscorch erupted into flame and began to sink. It fell slowly at first, until the fires took the sails and the crew, and then it dropped, faster and faster, leaving a trail of smoke and ash like a wavering headstone on the wind. Minerva was still clinging tightly to the gunner's waist when Cloudscorch met the forest floor in an explosion of victory.

Chapter 9

Tug of War

The ecstatic gun crew swept Minerva up onto the upper deck. They peeled her hero from her arms at the same time, dragging him away to laud him for his achievement. As they stood in the clearing air, many voices called out for the hero of the fight, and a sudden pang of jealousy overtook her. She was the one that told him where to fire. They should be cheering for her, not him. In one swift moment, her topless, muscled hero became a callous and vapid villain.

Minerva glowered venomously at the gunner as they jostled him about and congratulated him on his great decision. As she sat there fuming, he unexpectedly pushed the others away and strolled up to her, while his hatefully well-behaved hair flowed like majestic waves in the wind.

"What's your name?" he asked with a smile.

"Minerva," she replied, striving to emphasize her indignity.

"Oh!" he declared with delight. "You're the girl!"

The girl, her mind begged. She wanted to pull his hair and kick his shins.

"Thanks, Minnie," he added, with sincerity.

Minerva felt her face flush and she looked down in shame.

"Stand aside!"

The bellowing voice of Olbus split the crowd, and the massive man pushed his way towards her. He gripped Minerva roughly by the shoulder and hauled her towards the sterncastle.

Minerva found herself practically rolling into Lintumen's cabin as Olbus shoved her inside. The old navigator looked up from a weighty tome, peering over the magnifying glass in his hand.

"Purser! With me!" the boatswain ordered.

Lintumen glanced down at Minerva as she caressed her sore shoulder, and then over at the boatswain. Not in any hurry to comply, he seemed to consider something to himself for a moment, and then rose with a steady grace. Minerva could have sworn he was smiling. Before the door closed entirely, Olbus threw a look at Minerva, somewhere between pity and fear, and then slammed the door shut and locked it.

The locks are on the outside. Her mind repeated the fact several times to herself before the pieces fit together. The fearful look that the others gave Lintumen. The way that his meals came catered, and how he only left his cabin with an escort. The reason that he lacked windows.

Lintumen was a prisoner, and they had just locked her in his cell.

At first, she occupied herself by trying to deduce her crime, but came up with nothing, and pursuing the matter only frustrated her. She thought about the gunner for a time, but felt that he had betrayed her in some way. So, frustrated and angry, she sat down in Lintumen's seat and snooped through the articles on his cluttered table.

Two things occupied the table in great quantity: books and loose papers. The loose papers appeared to contain notes regarding the content of the books, many of which were open or marked on assorted pages. She also noticed of a few vials of ink, several quills, a rock, some scissors, and two magnification lenses, one a loupe and the other a very large magnifying glass. The loupe—a small lens—consisted of a simple metal cylinder with no handle. In contrast, the magnifying glass boasted a beautiful golden frame with a wooden handle, and intricate leaf patterns engraved across it.

Upon picking up the magnifying glass, Minerva felt the lingering warmth of Lintumen's hold.

The open page before her was rough and smelled strongly like old paper. It was a rather large book with large text, leaving her to wonder why Lintumen needed to magnify it, especially considering that he wore spectacles. Glancing it over, it appeared to describe a method of creating rope from human hair.

Minerva turned a few pages, enjoying the crinkle, but the topic persisted, so she put the glass over the page to magnify it, purely out of curiosity. She did her best to position the device to read the lettering, but the already large words blew up to unreadable proportions, even when she leaned her face down almost upon the page. When she sat back to properly view the book once more, a terrifying shiver went down Minerva's spine. No longer was the page full of text, as she had previously read. Rather, the words had shifted, as if the wobbling image in the magnifying glass actually caused the ink to move.

A portrait now occupied the page, but the lines that formed it were not just lines. Rather, they emerged from repetitive sentences of many tiny words. The shoulders said slight and the neck said thin, over and over in long strands. Each freckle curved its name in a circle, like a snake biting its tail. Hope and fear filled the eyes. For the hair, many rolling coils covered the page, but only a single word described the feature.

Brown.

Upon the page, sketched from the terms that described her qualities, a portrait of Minerva mirrored her expression of disbelief.

Minerva screamed, slammed the book closed, and then jumped from her seat to stand in the middle of the room. She scrutinized the book from afar while wielding the magnifying glass like a bludgeon. Another shriek leaped out of her when something outside abruptly clanged and creaked.

Olbus opened the door. "With me," he demanded.

For a moment, Minerva wasn't entirely certain if she should bring her new weapon with her or not, but decided to put it back on the table. She released it at arm's length, as far from the book as she could manage.

On the deck of the Skyraker once more, Minerva found almost the entire crew milling about the scorched and blackened ship. The sails above flapped carelessly in the wind while the deck leaned back and forth. It was surprisingly serene considering the earlier chaos of the morning. In the center of the group, a long rope lay in a line along the length of the deck, wrapping back on itself several times. Lintumen stood at the far end with a thoughtful look, and Captain Glass stood next to him with a concerned expression. The crew split their attention between eyeing the rope, watching the captain, and throwing apprehensive glances her way.

Olbus led Minerva down towards the captain with a solid grip on her shoulder. When she passed the other swabbies, none of them raised their faces. Luff and Leech looked her in the eye at least, but they seemed concerned.

"Lintumen, please demonstrate your explanation," the captain said, as he turned towards the old man.

"Of course, Captain," Lintumen replied, stroking his chin. "Minerva, take this," he added, reaching down to pick up the end of the rope. Several aging joints loudly protested his efforts.

Minerva took the end of the rope when he held it out, expecting to have some great revelation take place at the same time, but it just felt like an ordinary rope. Lintumen then held took the captain's sword from the captain's scabbard without asking, holding it loosely. He placed his hand across Minerva's shoulders and moved her several paces back towards the middle of the rope, where he bent down and cut it.

"Wait here," he said, and then walked back to his old position beside the captain, suspending the now shortened rope between the two of them. "Minerva, turn your back to me, keep your eyes towards the stern of the ship, and walk five paces."

Given the thousands of terrible possibilities that had been running through her mind up until this point, that didn't seem so bad, she thought. As she strode, she felt the weight of the rope swaying behind her as Lintumen kept pace with his end.

"Turn to face me."

Minerva turned around to see Lintumen standing several steps forward, exactly as she expected, and together they returned to their starting positions.

"Same thing, my dear. Five paces. No peeking."

Again, she turned and paced five strides in the exact same fashion. It was no surprise to see Lintumen moved forward again at the end of her run, rope in hand.

"Again," he said.

Minerva developed the strange feeling that she was in a tug of war where only one side was participating.

Five paces. Walk back.

What was the point of this, her mind kept asking. If not for the fact that more than a hundred pairs of eyes were locked upon them both, she would have assumed that Lintumen was executing a bizarre prank with her playing the part of the fool. The situation appeared quite dire, however.

Five paces. Walk back.

Each time the same as the last. The same steps, the same sounds, the same interested look on Lintumen's face. The same concerned look on everyone else.

Five paces. Walk back.

Nothing changed. Ever. She questioned the validity of the act, as to her it appeared to be nothing more than the work of a charlatan.

Five paces.

Lintumen didn't call her to walk back, snapping Minerva out of her trance.

The expressions of the crew had switched from concern to horror, and her stomach filled with an aching fear. Something important had just happened. Minerva looked over her shoulder to see Lintumen standing beside the captain, and he wasn't holding the rope, Captain Glass was. Neither of them had moved, and yet the rope was still in her hand, as though it had simply grown longer.

Lintumen turned to the captain with a smug grin. "Burn this rope, and the other one," he explained.

Captain Glass suddenly dropped the rope and wiped his hands on his coat. Lintumen slid over to Minerva, took the line from her hands and laid it on the deck, then turned to lead her back to the cabin. "Come along, my dear, we have much to talk about."

Chapter 10

Minerva the Magician

With the door locked, and secure in his cell once more, Lintumen wore a very content expression. "Well, that occurred sooner than I suspected. Although if I'm honest, it's always too soon."

"What was?" Minerva asked, revealing her panic in her voice.

Lintumen didn't answer. He merely smiled and moved to sit behind the table, relocating the assorted items amid a drone of absentminded humming.

"What just happened?" Minerva demanded.

"Do you know what plummite is?"

"No," she replied, easily distracted by his inquiry.

"It's a rock, my dear."

Minerva would have shouted something back in anger if she weren't so flustered that she couldn't even think straight. "So?" she asked.

"Plummite is a very special sort of stone that doesn't fall down so much as it falls in a relative direction. It is a rock that defies expectation."

"So, plummite can fall up?" she pondered, focusing on the nearest thought.

Lintumen snapped his face into his unexpected smile. "Yes," he said, and then picked up a fist-sized rock from the table. Then he turned it over to reveal a red spot on the bottom and then let it go. Just like a falling stone, this fell from his grip, except that it sailed straight up into the ceiling, deflected off a beam and rocketed in the direction of its red spot. A cluttered shelf fell victim to the wayward vehicle's assault and was promptly smashed to pieces.

Minerva ducked under the table as the stone blasted around the small space several times, cracking vials, vandalizing books, and generally making a mess. Lintumen laughed an awful, dry crackle before smacking the rock with a book, leaving it spinning in circles. He plucked the flying object out of the air with some effort to control its motion, and then set it back down on the table with a smile.

"That's plummite?" Minerva asked, as she crawled out from under cover, wide-eyed.

"No," said Lintumen.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's just a rock, my dear. Like any other that you would find laying in the dirt."

"But then why did it fly about?"

"I made it do that." Lintumen flipped the rock over and released it again. It didn't move. "Go on, take it. It's just a rock."

"How did you make it move?" she asked, reaching for it.

Turning it over in her hand, the rock did appear to be just an ordinary stone with a red dot on it. It felt cold and wet from whatever vial of acrid liquid it just smashed open. When she looked up at Lintumen, he wore a wicked sort of smile. It was the sort of smile employed by a trickster. One whose victim had just realized their foolhardy vulnerability. Immediately, the plummite jumped straight out of Minerva's hands.

"Hit it in the air!" Lintumen yelled, dodging sideways as the stone bounced off the ceiling.

Minerva snatched the first item off the table that she could reach and swung at the rock. The large and beautiful magnifying lens that she chose smashed across the plummeting stone, leaving the rock spinning in wide circles. Unfortunately, the glass that once formed the intricate lens fared much worse.

"I'm sorry!" she pleaded in shock, as glass shards rained to the ground.

Lintumen laughed boisterously and took the empty frame from her. He placed it lightly on the table and once again retrieved the bizarre stone.

"Now, my dear, what do you believe is the case? Do you believe that this stone is plummite, and that I am somehow able to force its behavior to align with that of an ordinary rock, or do you believe that it is in fact an ordinary rock, and that I am somehow able to induce a behavior akin to the thing that I described as plummite?"

Minerva really didn't know. "I don't know," she admitted. "Which is it?"

"I don't know, either," he replied. "Maybe it is and maybe it isn't. What I do know is that you just participated in a very important test."

"What test?"

"To see if you're a magician."

Minerva considered the implications of being a magician. As a label, it definitely wouldn't win her any friends. Most people considered magicians to be dangerous lunatics. In contrast, her parents had always been accepting of her, and it's not as if she currently had many friends. Her mind worked feverishly for a time before deciding how to proceed in the conversation.

"Did I pass?" she asked.

Lintumen looked at the scattered debris about the room, much of it stained with various rainbow patterns from the now mixing vials. He casually picked up the rock that was maybe plummite and looked down at the red dot on its underside.

"With flying colors," he said with a grin.

"So, I can do magic?" she asked. "Like spells and curses?"

Lintumen nodded enthusiastically.

"Don't I need to know special words for that?"

"Feel free to create some, if it helps."

"I've heard that it involves a lot of rhyming and arm waving."

"Gosh, I hope not. That sounds like an awful lot of work."

"What about tools, like wands and cauldrons and potions and things?"

"Oh sure, but who doesn't enjoy a fine cauldron or a sturdy stick for poking things?"

"Give me an example," Minerva demanded, eyeing the old man suspiciously.

"Well," Lintumen mused, thinking for a moment. "Do you know how this ship flies?"

"Yes," she replied confidently. Minerva felt certain that Lintumen had an explanation that he wanted to give, but she was going to get her own reasoning out there first. "The riggers scrub the hammer sails, which are special sails made of spider silk. They must use a woolen broom, and that causes the sails to lift the ship up."

"Do you know why scrubbing the sails does that?"

"Because it infuses the cloth with a type of energy. It's the same thing as lightning, and the thing that makes your hair stand on end if you put on a woolly shirt on a dry day."

Lintumen seemed to enjoy her answer, and left her time to enjoy it herself, but he didn't smile. "You're wrong."

Minerva's elation deflated, but she stood defiant, ready to counter him.

"You are correct in that there is, in fact, a type of energy in the world that lightning is made of, and that a woolen broom rubbed on cloth may create that energy, and that this energy may make your hair stand on end. You are also correct when you say that rubbing wool on the sail infuses it with this type of energy, and that the sails lift up as a result. However, the reason the sails lift up, the root reason, is because we believe that infusing them with the energy you describe will empower this ship with flight, so it does. However, without that belief, the sails are just cloth and the broom is just a broom."

Minerva was about to interrupt, but he wasn't done.

"The same is true of plummite. Plummite is just a rock. However, it is a rock that can fall in unexpected directions because people believe that it can. Therefore, it does. That is why when you believed that it was plummite it behaved like plummite, and when you believed that it was just a rock, it behaved like just a rock."

"You're saying that creating magic only requires believing in something?" she asked.

"Yes," he declared, unleashing his smile once more.

"Then why can't anyone do it?"

"Now we're biting at the marrow. Humans, as a creature, loathe to accept their limitations. We insist that nothing is impossible, and yet, self-doubt wracks our efficacy. A magician, however, lacks that doubt. When the world says 'you can't do that', we reply with 'watch me'. A magician believes, honestly and truly, that the world is not the way that it appears to be, and when that happens, the world is reluctant to prove them wrong. There are over one hundred people on this ship that believe rubbing a woolen broom against a sail made of spider silk will make this ship fly. They are wrong, and they don't believe it's magical, but you couldn't convince them otherwise."

Minerva suddenly understood why she was locked in with Lintumen. "You said we. That means you're a magician, and just now, on the deck with the rope. That was magic."

"Yes, it was. I tasked you with repeating those five paces, with me in tow, to solidify your belief that I would be behind you every time. On the last attempt, when I handed the rope to Captain Glass, the rope stretched, because you lacked all doubt in any resistance. No other option existed that could both satisfy your belief, and the belief of the crew."

"And the whole crew saw it," she mumbled to herself. "Wait! That's not fair! If that's how it works, then your trick was more likely to work because the crew was expecting something special."

Lintumen's grin twitched excitedly, but he retained his composure.

"You tricked me! They were all waiting, just waiting for something to happen. Anything to happen. You told them that I could stretch that rope, didn't you? That's why it worked!"

Lintumen's eyes sparkled. "Is that what you believe?"

"Well, it certainly would have changed things, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, it would have altered the outcome dramatically, but the fact remains, you are the magician, not them. Their presence made a possible situation probable."

"What makes you so certain?"

"Unless our riggers have been extremely negligent, the lines affixed to the base of a mast cannot be easily unspooled. Furthermore, even if you could, the act alone would incur significant chaos within the rigging, and I seriously doubt that you possess the capacity to restrain a liberated sail."

Something about Lintumen's response forced Minerva into an introspective mindset. It wasn't what he said, it was the details that he left unsaid.

"The rope I ran to catch the twin with," she concluded. "It couldn't have reached the railing. I did that without any help." Minerva felt shame in her voice. "How did I do that?"

"Ah, that," said Lintumen. "Every magician possesses an affinity for their talents. I suspect that yours is cloth and textiles. Thus far, you've stretched ropes and doused fires with spider silk sailcloth, the latter of which is incredibly flammable. You also constructed a dress with stitching capable of supporting your entire weight on the edge of a blade. Even as a magician, we call someone like you a tailor."

Minerva furrowed her brow and sat down beside Lintumen. "If all it takes is belief, how do you know what's magic and what's real? Couldn't anything be magic or anything be real? It sounds like you're just validating circumstance."

Lintumen awarded Minerva with a victorious smile and placed his arm around her. "You, my dear, are one of the smartest girls I have ever met. That very question has been debated for centuries by the greatest magicians in the world."

"And what have they decided?"

Lintumen glanced nervously about the cabin and then leaned in slowly. Minerva moved in closer out of eagerness, fully enshrouded by his scent of old books and cinnamon. When he whispered in her ear, almost below her range of hearing, she smelled eggs and brandy on his breath.

"We don't know."

Chapter 11

Murder Aboard the Skyraker

Minerva remained under Lintumen's observation until the next morning. He had given her an awful lot to think about and he left her to think about it. Olbus brought her breakfast and then escorted her back to 'buckets'. The other swabbies greeted her with glares and furtive glances.

Strongly desiring something to occupy herself, Minerva retrieved a dirty bucket and began to clean it out. When she splashed a few pumps into the bucket, Spit spoke up.

"That's how she does it. Magic."

Minerva looked up at the rusted, pitted pump handle, and then sideways at the other swabbies. Spit, specifically, wore a rather pronounced expression of contempt.

"First the Phoenix attacks us, and we find you, and now Cloudscorch. How long were you out of Lint's cell before the attack? Two hours? Three? It's as if you called it to us. It's a good thing Gunner is the best there is, or we'd all be dead twice over."

Our gunner, she thought, subconsciously correcting Spit. No, he said just gunner, she noted, correcting herself. "His name is just Gunner?" she wondered aloud.

The four boys gawked at her question. They were clearly dealing with someone of a lesser intellect who couldn't even grasp the basic topic of a conversation. Their overt attention made her feel sheepish, so she turned to dump her bucket out the porthole.

With her head in the clouds outside the ship, Minerva felt someone grab her by the foot, and then someone else gripped her by the knee on the other leg. She looked back to see what was happening, but was suddenly lifted into the air as they ejected her up to her waist through the small opening.

Minerva screamed and braced her legs to prevent further unwanted exit, slapping her hands against the hull in search of a handhold. Her bucket fell from her grasp, tumbling in the air and spinning wildly as it descended towards certain disaster.

"Pull her knees in!" Spit yelled.

At the sensation of a grip on her knee, Minerva flexed her leg forward into the hull of the ship. A solid crack and swearing revealed a telling blow against someone's fingers. Then she kicked back with her newly freed leg and felt a jaw smash against her heel.

"Let her go!"

The crunch of wood and the chaos of a scuffle crashed out of the room and Minerva's remaining leg was set loose. She pulled herself back inside to find Lockjaw standing between her and the other swabbies. He held an empty bucket like a weapon and stood over Patch, who was nursing his arm.

"Traitor!" Spit shouted with a fat lip, spitting out blood.

Grunts, Spit, and Patch all picked up buckets of their own. Outnumbered and cornered, Minerva searched for a weapon, but found nothing within reach.

"If it wasn't for her we'd never have gotten those fires out," Lockjaw urged.

"She's the reason Cloudscorch found us at all!" Patch yelled back. "She's a girl! She shouldn't even be here!"

Lockjaw may have been quiet, and a little daft with words, but he had apparently been in more than a few fights. Before the other three could react, the bottom end of his bucket shattered across Patch's face, sending the swabbie to the floor. Grunts vaulted forward in response, punching Lockjaw in the stomach and tackling him to the ground. A flurry of feet and fists erupted where they landed.

Spit swung once at Minerva, but she dodged backwards, landing on the bench behind her. She put her foot up in defense and caught him in the gut, but he lurched forward wheezing and grabbed her shirt in both hands.

"You're just like my sister!" he snapped, striking again and punching her in the chest. It hurt more than she thought it would. "A whiny little princess that always gets her way!" He swung again, connecting with the sensitive spot on the side of her head.

Minerva's legs buckled as Spit put all his weight into pushing forward. With her guard down, he forced his hands around her neck, and she choked, gasping for air.

"Minerva!" Lockjaw yelled, trying to help her, but was unable to untangle himself from Grunts.

Spit had a mad, furious look in his eye. "Let's see if my bad luck ends when I kill you!" he snarled.

Minerva struggled to reach Spit's face, or his shirt, or anything to pull him into striking distance. His long arms easily outreached hers, and she punched at his elbows and wrists and twisted his fingers, but he wouldn't let go. Spit tightened his grip and spit on her face. She thrashed valiantly in defiance, digging into the soft wood of the walls and the hard-worn benches as she tried to escape his stranglehold.

Kick him! Scratch him! Her mind raced as her world went grey, but it wasn't working. His arms were too long. His grip was too tight. Her head hurt and she couldn't think.

Your bun is too tight. Unwind it.

At the most unlikely of times, on the brink of unconsciousness and death, that was Minerva's thought. It hardly seemed relevant or useful, but failing the ability to do anything else, she complied.

Spit unleashed a startled scream and something hot splashed across Minerva face as Spit stumbled and fell back against the door. She scrambled to her feet as he toppled, ready to defend herself again. Lockjaw was laying on the floor, badly stunned, while Grunts stood over him. At the sight of Spit slumping backwards he adopted an expression of terror. For a moment, his eyes locked onto something in Minerva's hand, and then he shoved Spit aside and dashed out the door.

Lockjaw nursed his head, unable to stand, while Patch lay unconscious on the floor, and Spit was swiftly passing out in a pool of blood. Minerva felt something warm and wet in her hand, and looked down to see a tiny curved dagger. She wiped the blood off on her shirt and quickly wound her secret back into her bun. If she was caught with a weapon, that would be the end of her.

Spit flopped sideways, and Minerva moved to help him. On his left arm, she found a deep cut, nearly to the bone. Blood didn't bother Minerva, as she often aided her father with his surgeries. By combining that knowledge with her seasoned tailoring skills, she quickly formed a tourniquet using a length of Spit's shirt and a broken bucket handle.

Minerva halted the blood loss just in time to hear the sound of Olbus' massive form thundering down the hallway towards her.

Chapter 12

The Velvet Sovereign

Minerva sat in silence while Lintumen applied stitches to Spit's arm. Spit glared at Minerva the entire time, although he was also quite drunk and drooled lightly, thanks to alcohol being the nearest equivalent to anesthetic. When Lintumen completed his work, Olbus retrieved the swabbie. Minerva didn't even consider going with him.

When the locks closed again, Lintumen went to sit on the dusty cushions behind his table. "Is your life ordinarily this overwhelmingly eventful?" Lintumen chimed, almost as a taunt. "An abduction. Two airborne battles. A daring mid-air magical rescue. Now, an attempted murder. If you never experience another day of adventure in your life, you could entertain your children for years."

Minerva furrowed her brow in frustration and turned away.

"Excellent application of a tourniquet, by the way. How did you know what to do?"

"My father taught me."

"You probably saved his life. He won't be using that arm for quite some time, but he won't lose it. Truthfully, I'm rather impressed with his constitution. Most grown men couldn't tolerate a surgery like that, but he endured it masterfully."

Minerva felt sick.

"Apparently you cut him with a dagger that you drew from your hair," Lintumen said in a questioning tone.

Minerva was there when Grunts told Olbus what had happened. He of course failed to mention anything about them trying to murder her. Olbus ordered her to undo her bun, and then confiscated the dagger, as well as the picks she normally used to restrain her hair. He gave her a disapproving look when he left the items with Lintumen, who was now looking down at the pieces on his table.

"The boatswain says he couldn't find a weapon on you."

Minerva's guts went cold as she looked up at Lintumen, who seemed oddly eager.

"A rather curious fact, I must say. Only a fine edge could inflict such a clean and deep cut."

He's tricking you, she first thought, followed quickly by confusion, as the weapon in question was directly in front of him.

"Not going to tell me? Well, let me properly inform you of your situation. Fighting aboard most ships carries a severe punishment, and the Skyraker is no exception. If the boatswain catches you with a weapon, you could suffer an even harsher reprimand. Possibly even execution."

Minerva sat on her hands and refused to look Lintumen in the eye. She glanced again at the dagger on the table, trying to understand how he couldn't see it, or why he was refusing to acknowledge it.

Lintumen paused as he followed her line of sight, and the entirety of his visage crumpled into wrinkles and folds as contemplation overtook him. "It's right here, isn't it?" He said it slow and deliberate as the realization dawned on him. "Which is it? One of these two slats? This wooden pick?"

Minerva looked again, wondering how he could mistake the glistening wicked blade of the dagger for a wooden pick. Lintumen's eyes widened, and he suddenly rushed to a nearby shelf while his body objected loudly. He pulled out a weighty tome and rushed to sit down again, but bumped the table by accident as he did.

"Curse it!" he snarled, as the contents of the table scattered wildly. He ground his teeth and scanned the chaos before looking up at her, almost as if he had completely forgotten her presence. "I won't tell a soul if you show me. I promise." He looked insane with determination.

"It's there," she said, pointing weakly at the dagger wedged between two books. "Between those books. The red and the brown one," she added, trying to help when he did not immediately reach for it.

"Ah-ha!" Lintumen cried, as he slammed his palm down on top of the weapon, pinning it in place by pressing it flat. "Very clever indeed," he said with excitement.

Lintumen lifted the dagger with the same care and focus that one might use to pick up a rat, and then he drove it into the wood of the table, leaving it standing upright. He left his index finger resting on its hilt while his other fingers twitched impatiently. With his eyes on the blade, he opened the book at his side with his free hand.

"Do you know what I see beneath my finger, my dear?"

Minerva shook her head, wondering.

"I cannot see a weapon, nor can I feel one. I see a wooden pick, or a belaying pin, or a writing quill. It changes each time I look away. So tell me, what do you see?"

Minerva stepped slowly to the side of the table. She now understood the fear that the others held for Lintumen. "I see a slim dagger."

"Details. Describe it." All politeness had fallen from his voice.

"It has a curved blade the length of my hand, and a thin handle with a leather binding. Its finger guard is very pretty. The hilt is long, like on a sword, with a silver pommel that is like a rose."

"I see. Continue." Lintumen whipped frantically through the pages as she spoke.

"The guard is filigreed, with gold trim. I can see eight small gems in it. No, nine."

"What kind?"

"Rubies, maybe? They're red. There's also three in the pommel. They are small, like on a ring."

"Twelve red gems?"

Minerva retrieved the dagger from between Lintumen's fingers and examined it closely. "Oh, actually there are many gems set into the guard. They are very small. Some are clear, and some are green."

"How many?" Lintumen looked up at her, seemingly in awe.

Minerva carefully tallied the green gems, but gave up on the white ones, because she kept losing count. "Um, twenty-seven green ones, and I don't know, a lot of white ones. More than sixty."

Lintumen removed his hand from the page, unveiling a near perfect image of the item she held. It was entitled The Sovereign Sabre.

"That's the one," she said, pointing at the drawing.

"Are you certain?" Lintumen asked. He used a warning tone that she wasn't certain how to interpret.

Minerva compared the weapon to the image again, just to be confident, and then nodded.

"The Sovereign Sabre," Lintumen began, reading from the page. "A blade of incredible power known throughout the world by many names; The Lady of Blades, The Unseen Aegis, The Assassin's Bane, The Foe of Fiends, The Hidden Light, and many more."

Lintumen glanced up at her before continuing.

"Given in shame to Our Most Beloved Queen, may it guard her in secret from foes both seen and unseen. We impose upon Our Most Beloved Queen the use of a weapon, a mere shadow of her beauty and stature, vastly inferior to her unbound love and kindness, wary of blemishing her truth and honesty with our impotence. We humbly ask Our Most Beloved Queen to accept this burden that she might please our minds to never worry."

Minerva stood with her mouth agape. "This was given to a queen?"

Lintumen grinned, revealing his pleasure in her reply. "Not just any queen, either. This was given to Our Most Beloved Queen."

His emphasis failed to impress Minerva.

"It is a title, not a statement. She was the first queen of the Linoran Empire. To claim that throne, she defeated the fractured warlords of the region and brought peace to her people. When she was just eighteen, no less. Her royal insignia is a rose inset with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. Her subjects chose that title for her."

"What happened to her?"

"Died the day before her birthday, at the accomplished old age of ninety-nine. There are eighty-one white diamonds on the hilt. One for each year of her reign. Each ruby gem represents an important victory in her history, and each green emerald, a landmark achievement in the expansion of the empire. Only the creator of the Sovereign Sabre, and Our Most Beloved Queen, possessed the ability to see the true form of the blade at all times. For everyone else, the blade itself chooses to be seen."

Minerva looked down, confused. "It chose me? How can a dagger do that?"

"It's magical, for one, and two, it's a sword."

"Did it shrink?" she asked, making an incredulous face.

"Yes," he said, unexpectedly confirming her disbelief. "Look, it says right here. The Sovereign Sabre may reveal its full form when the one it protects calls for its aid. The chosen ward must simply run their open palm flatly along the blade, from hilt to tip for expansion, or in reverse for contraction."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Should I try it?"

Lintumen smiled warmly, offering absolutely no indication of his thoughts on the matter, so Minerva placed her palm on the side of the blade and arched her fingers backwards, fearful of its slicing edge. Then she slid along the blade.

Nothing happened.

"Maybe it's a different sword that looks the same?" she said.

Lintumen looked back down at the page and read some more.

"The queen's weapon may choose to protect many that deserve it, and reveals itself to many more that seek to employ it in desperation. However, the absolute might of the weapon is only harnessed by the one who truly owns it."

"How do you own something other than keeping it?"

"Arguably you would need to claim it. Try to make your intentions known."

Minerva considered his words, and then held the dagger in front of her with her arms extended. "Sovereign Sabre. My name is Minerva, and as your keeper, I lay claim to all of your power." Lintumen shrugged at her after she said it, and she ran her hand down the blade a second time.

Again, nothing happened.

"That didn't feel right," she said.

"How so?"

"It felt like I was talking to a rock. Not that it isn't a rock, but it just felt so feeble, and the name didn't sound right. If I was a sword, I wouldn't want people just up and claiming me like that. What other names does it have? Maybe one of those fits it better?"

Lintumen rambled through an expansive list of names. A common theme of protection and hidden power certainly dominated, but nothing struck her as a proper name. Most of them were titles, which hardly felt like a good name, and it reminded her of when Gunner referred to her as The Girl.

"Doesn't it have a normal name? One that doesn't sound like a title?"

"No, they're all like that. Common theme for naming an object, I suppose."

"That feels wrong. There should be a name and a title. What if I gave her a name?"

Lintumen raised an eyebrow. "Her?"

"I don't know," Minerva said with a shrug. "People call lots of things her."

"I concede that to be true. No, I see no restrictions regarding giving her a new name. You're perfectly welcome to try."

Minerva caressed the weapon with her fingers, seeking an appropriate moniker. The cold edge of the steel felt smooth, sleek, and shiny, and she wanted something that would reflect that.

"Velvet. I'll call her Velvet."

Lintumen nodded approvingly, and then gestured for her to try again.

"Miss Velvet, the sword sometimes known as The Sovereign Sabre, The Assassin's Bane, The Unseen Aegis, and many other titles. I am Minerva, The Girl, and I request of you your power, your protection, and all that you offer."

Minerva laid her palm flat once again and let the dagger dangle freely as she ran her hand down it for a third time.

It wasn't the sensation of the metal expanding beneath his skin, or the chill of the blade, that startled Minerva, nor was it the sudden extension of the weapon in her hand, stretching swiftly away from her body. It was the fact that it ran straight through Lintumen's book, table, robe, and the cushion between his legs, without so much as a twitch of resistance.

"Sorry!" she screamed, hauling backwards.

Lintumen pressed himself into the cushions, away from the swinging edge, as the sword sliced cleanly through the table and book during its liberation. Several loose pages flitted about in response, and Minerva idly swung the blade in the dust of the room. It didn't just reflect the candle light, it beamed like a hero arriving to save the day at the perfect moment.

"What kind of sword is it?"

"Specifically, it's a tulwar. Although many might call it a sabre, or a cutlass, or even a hanger. They're very popular among sailors, and other inexperienced duelists." Lintumen explained himself expertly, and then the ancient navigator leaned forward with a mischievous ripple in his cheeks. "And now a magical sword has added itself to your list of tales," he said with a chuckle. "I suspect that this sword stowed itself under our noses a long time ago, waiting to be discovered by the one person who would need it the most."

Minerva smiled, proud and honest. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Of all the events that have transpired on this ship," Lintumen added, as he moved to pick up the pieces of his book, "this moment will undoubtedly prove to be of critical importance, and I have no doubt that your adventures are only beginning."

Chapter 13

The Maiden in the Mirror

Olbus arrived to release Minerva from Lintumen's cell slightly before breakfast the next morning. "You're free. Captain's orders."

Minerva thanked Lintumen for his efforts and then left with Olbus. When she arrived in the galley, most of the crew was still absent.

"Oh look, princess is back," said the giant man behind the serving table as she approached with her plate. "Let me get yer cutlery ready for ye." The fat man brought out two pieces of stale bread with what were clearly large bite marks out of them. "There, ye see?" he chided, dropping them onto her plate. "One can be a spoon, and the other a fork, and from what I hear, ye already got a knife!" He suddenly laughed hard and slapped a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto her plate, catapulting them down so hard that half of them flew off the sides and made a mess of her shirt, at which he only laughed louder.

Minerva considered running him through with her new sword, but decided to sit down at an empty table and clean her shirt. Shortly afterward, the room filled with the sounds of the crew stumbling their way to morning meal. As they passed her table they didn't speak, and did their best to avoid eye contact. She was somewhat enjoying hating them all when Lockjaw sat down across from her sporting a massive black eye.

"Mornin'."

"Morning," she replied, trying not to smile too much. His company made her feel welcome.

"Ugh, Mean Jim got after you, did he?" he mumbled, looking down at her plate.

Minerva nodded in disdain, doing her best to separate the chewed-on parts of the bread. At least she knew his name, now. "Thanks for helping me," she said.

"No problem."

"You're a good fighter. Grunts is a lot bigger than you."

"Weren't my first," he replied, and laughed a bit. "That's why my jaw don't work right. Poppa always said, 'you can be good with words or you can be good with fists.' I never was good with words."

Minerva tried to smile with him, but mostly she just felt sorry for him. "Think you'll be able to patch it up with Spit and the others?"

"Yeah, if I wanted to. Those guys are no good, though. I'm getting out of here when we dock in Riggersport. See if I can't apprentice to a carpenter, or something."

"Oh, that would be good," she said, wondering about Riggersport and how far away it was. She was about to ask when a very animated pair of twins spotted her from the food line.

"Minnie!" the twins yelled simultaneously, looking something like two men in a mirror. Somehow, it didn't sound quite so bad when they said it. They both hugged her when they arrived with a thump, flanking her on the bench. "Quick girl – this one – eh swabbie?"

Lockjaw nodded.

"Saved my life – she did," they said, although the statement forced Minerva to wonder exactly which one she had saved.

Minerva looked down at her plate, trying to avoid embarrassment, but the twins wouldn't stop. They launched into a grand exposition about the frightful fall, her daring leap, and their crash landing. When they finally finished, she was about to explain to Lockjaw how it wasn't anything special, and that anyone could have made the same rash decision, when a shirtless Gunner sat down across from her. He asked to hear the story again.

Minerva stared wide-eyed at her food, poking it repeatedly without truly acknowledging its existence.

The twins launched into a repeat of the tale, but Lockjaw interrupted them. He instead began to tell his own story about how it was Minerva's idea to use the sails to snuff the oil fires. Once he was done, the twins resumed their telling, until it came to the moment of Gunner's participation, at which point the handsome man happily took over.

"Cloudscorch went down because of her," Gunner began, nodding at the other sailors that gathered to listen. "She called out that hit, just perfect."

Feeling entirely sheepish, and somewhat wishing that she wasn't there to be the target of such attention, Minerva went back to eating, but found her plate oddly full. Someone had replaced her bread with three additional pieces, and a much larger helping of scrambled eggs. She looked quickly at the twins, who were busy swallowing what was probably her chef-bitten bread.

Over the course of the meal, Minerva heard her name mentioned many times, but did her best to pretend that they were talking about someone else. Once, when she dared to look up into his charming face, her eyes met Gunner's as he talked animatedly to those around him. When he caught her looking, he gave a wide smile and tilted his head back in a quick jerk, the way that two men might greet each other in public. His hair was still behaving perfectly, even though he'd obviously just woken up.

Minerva's face flushed instantly, leaving her to stare down at the table and wait for mealtime to end. When it finally did, she was feeling quite good about herself. On her way to retrieve her supplies before the arrival of the other swabbies, several passing sailors nodded approvingly at her, or even smiled.

Soon after arriving on deck, Captain Glass and Olbus approached Minerva with Luff and Leech grinning behind them.

"Miss Minerva," the captain started, but paused.

"Yes, Captain?"

"How'd you like to be a rigger, miss?" Captain Glass always had an odd, jaunty speech, as if he wasn't quite sure where to end his sentence, and he rarely looked at her when he spoke.

Luff and Leech caught her attention with hearty nods and approving smiles. Olbus said nothing.

"I don't know much about knots, sir," she replied, longing to agree. Anything to get away from the other swabbies was a good option. Luff and Leech glared at her, in a friendly sort of way.

"You've got some skill on the ropes, no doubt, and Olbus here thinks it's best that someone with your work ethic be given a more fitting role. Lint tells me that you have a special talent for cloth, or something like that. Are you interested in learning?"

"I think I would like that, sir."

Captain Glass nodded at Minerva and then turned to Olbus. "Boatswain, inform the crew. Mates, teach her what she needs to know."

"Yes, Captain," Luff and Leech replied, grinning wide. "Come with us - sailor," the two commanded, using a stern voice as they put their arms around her and led her off to show her the ropes. "You any good – at climbing?" they asked as they walked.

"I think so," Minerva said, feeling reasonably confident. "Still wobbly on the deck, though."

"Not a problem. None at all. Plenty of holds – up in the sails. It's mostly climbing – and a little jumping. You any good – at jumping?"

"I'm not sure. I can swing from things pretty good."

"That works. I hear you're a tailor – so that should help. Sails and ropes – are just big sheets – with big stitches." Luff and Leech pulled open a storage trunk near the fore deck and threw a short fine rope into her arms before grabbing one for each of themselves.

It had been only a brief time since Minerva climbed aboard the Skyraker with William, but that day felt like weeks ago. Learning to tie knots with Luff and Leech, in the warmth of the spring air, was the first time in days that she was able to relax. Just as Lintumen had pointed out, an unreasonable number of life-changing events had transpired within that period.

"Rabbit comes – out of the hole – around the tree – and down the hole. That's a – sheet bend." The twins had fun little mnemonics for all the knots.

As Minerva practiced her knots, the twins strung a horizontal line between the foremast to the bowsprit, and with both of them working at once, began to weave a net. Minerva could barely track the fingers of the weaver as they flew down the line, using a belaying pin as a gauge and running knot after knot together in a single smooth motion. While one twin strung the net, his brother wound lines around a weaving needle, and when the line ran out, they switched places.

"You're really good at that," Minerva said, complimenting their prowess.

"You will be too. Come over here," they replied. "We lose our nets – all the time. So you're going to – make one with us."

With the twins as her guide, Minerva took to weaving her first net. After completing a small section, about the size of a shawl, the twins came over to inspect it.

"Time to test it," said one, and then they unhooked the net and took it over to the side of the ship. "Get in," said the other, pointing at the net.

"Pardon?" Minerva asked.

"Get in," they repeated, smiling with eager confidence.

A few nearby sailors stopped their work to observe Minerva and the twins, and after some further insisting and the gathering of a crowd, Olbus came to supervise the situation. Minerva expected the boatswain to intercede and rescue her, but he merely crossed his arms while the twins beckoned her to sit in the net.

Wholly terrified by the people around her, Minerva allowed the twins to scoop her up. They lifted the ends, closing it in around her and raising her feet off the ground.

"Okay, that's enough. Put me down," she begged.

Without any warning, the twins hooked their arms together and each flung one leg over the side of the ship, holding Minerva out over the sky. Minerva shrieked and tightened her grip on the net, realizing at once that it would mean nothing if they dropped her.

"Pull me in!" she shouted, feeling the uncomfortable sensation of wind beneath her toes.

"Why?"

"I might fall!"

"Did you build it – how we showed you?"

"Yes!"

"Then you – won't fall."

After a few additional seconds of terror, the twins pulled Minerva back and dumped her on deck still in the net, much to the amusement of the crew. As Minerva attempted to escape the tangled ropes, the twins did nothing to help her, and finally extricating herself from the mess of knots left her boiling with fury. If not for the eerie calm of a looming Olbus, she might have lashed out physically.

"What did you do that for?" she snapped.

Luff and Leech couldn't reply, even if they wanted to, as laughter incapacitated them both. When they could move again, they mocked the state of her hair and the scene of her flailing in the ropes, bringing on another fit of laughter.

"A rigger must trust their own work," Olbus said, in a voice of cold steel, and the only man not laughing. "The crew of this vessel relies upon the quality of your skills. We trust you by necessity. In return, you must trust your fellows to support you. Both of these relationships are now suitably demonstrated."

"Why didn't you help me out of it?" she barked at him, much to the surprise of the other sailors.

"A net is both useful and dangerous. A loose net on deck could cost a sailor his life. Now you know why."

After that, Olbus walked away while the twins helped her to clean up the supplies, talking very little as they did. The silence gave her time to reflect on their brief, yet profound, lesson. When they broke for lunch, Lockjaw and the twins again sat with her, and again, several members of the crew asked them to recant the tale of their incredible rescue. Occasionally they prodded Minerva for the few details she was willing to provide.

In the line for food, Mean Jim spat on her plate to clean it again, but the twins switched with her before she could react. In the afternoon they showed her how to climb the shrouds and stand in the rigging, commenting all the while on how she was a natural and how she looked right at home in the sails. For her part, she felt terrified, and stuck to the lowest sails at first, even though all of the lift sails were at the top. Up in the masts, everything wobbled and weaved, even the things that helped her stand on the things that were wobbling and weaving. Whenever the wind gusted, she seized up, too petrified to move.

The twins, however, danced across the spars and connecting walkways seemingly oblivious to the hazards, often dangling by one arm while they scrubbed a sail with the broom in the other hand. Sometimes they held nothing at all and just jumped from one beam to another. The thought alone made her nauseous.

At supper, a few of the sailors commented on her progress, sometimes adding that they wouldn't be caught dead climbing around in rigging. Revealing their own fears made her feel proud, and gave her renewed resolve to do better tomorrow.

Mean Jim resigned himself to mocking her and the twins, calling them princess and a couple of toads. Luff and Leech didn't seem bothered at all, and made certain that Jim couldn't defile her food. She really wanted a way to show her appreciation, but couldn't think of anything, so she settled on a hug for each of them.

Feeling fully exhausted, she declined an invitation to join Luff and Leech and the other sailors for a few games after supper, and retired early to her cabin. Once inside, it occurred to her that she had yet to sleep anywhere outside of Lintumen's cabin. She checked the storage drawer for her dress, and it was still stowed safely. Then she laid down on the bed and began to wonder about the three unused bunks.

"She's a girl. She shouldn't be here," she mumbled.

Patch's words hung heavy in her mind. She didn't belong here. That's why she had her own cabin, to separate her from the others. They thought she was a witch. That she was bad luck. No wonder they hated her.

There was no lock on the door, so she braced the handle with a chair, changed her clothes, and slipped into bed. It was comfortable enough, but sometimes the straw poked through and made her itch. The smell reminded her of horses.

As the night drew on, the moon rose silently through the tiny porthole, leaving a pleasant blue-white glow across the entire room. It wasn't like staying in Lintumen's cabin at all. His was always dark, except for the candlelight.

A knock at the door startled Minerva awake. She slipped out of bed quickly and grabbed an unlit lamp from its wall mount.

"Who is it?"

"Olbus."

Minerva pulled the chair away and backed against the far wall defensively. Olbus opened the door slowly, appraising her stance and weaponry. Under one arm, he carried a large flat object draped in cloth. He quietly closed the door behind him and leaned the object against the nearest bunk bed. In his other hand, he held a large knife in a sheath.

Thoughts of the attack by the swabbies filled Minerva's mind and her heart raced. Spit was taller and stronger, sure, but it wasn't a completely unfair fight in an open space. Olbus was so big he could probably throw her around the room by her ankles.

With painstaking and soundless precision, Olbus took the chair that had been blocking the door and sat down on it backwards, barring her exit. Then he placed the dagger on the floor beside him. "You're a long way from home," he said. "We aren't going back." He spoke with purpose and gravitas.

Minerva only nodded. She contemplated how difficult it would be to climb out the porthole and up onto the deck, or if she could survive a fall from this height.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

What, now, she wondered, looking at her meager weapon. It would have been useless against him. "I don't know."

"What do you think of the men on this ship, Minerva?"

"I'm not sure. I barely know them, it seems."

"Do you believe that they are strong?"

"Yes."

"Do you think they are good men?"

"Some of them," she replied after a moment, comparing Spit to Lockjaw.

"Are they brave?"

"Mostly."

"And dangerous?"

Minerva backed away even further, pressing into the wood. Her mind was frantic as to what he was planning. Would calling for help do any good? Would Luff and Leech come to save her?

"Some of the men on this ship are some of these things. However, all of them are dangerous, because they all have nothing to lose. They have no close families. No homes. No past worth remembering. That is why they are strong, and that is why they are brave. They fear pain, as all sane men do, but they do not fear death. For many, death is a blessing."

"Why are you telling me this?" she stammered. Her mouth had gone dry with anxiety.

"I'm telling you because the Skyraker will be arriving in Riggersport in several days. I believe that the captain is going to leave you there. Riggersport is not a place where anyone of any age should spend a great deal of time. Especially not a young girl. It is a pirate port ruled top to bottom by the darkest of our lot. However, the crew chooses their captain and the captain chooses the boatswain. It is the boatswain's duty to decide who is a member of the crew and who is not. Do you see?"

Minerva shook her head.

"If you become a member of the crew, then it will be my decision to leave you behind or not. You could stay aboard the Skyraker for as long as I am here, and perhaps long enough for you find a way home. We travel to many places that might provide you with that opportunity."

"Why is that a difficult choice?"

Olbus reached down to pick up the knife and pulled it from its sheath. It was plain and lightly rusted. It didn't look like a good weapon for a fight. He turned it over in his hands, seemingly lost in thought.

"Because you need to be initiated as a pirate," he said. "You will be marked as one of us, and there is no going back from that."

For a while, they sat in silence, and she thought about the people that she had met over the past few days. The few friends and the many enemies. Mostly, though, she thought about home. About her mother's cooking and her father's kind words, and the warmth of their embrace.

"I don't want to be alone," she said.

Olbus took a heavy breath before continuing. "Take your shirt off," he ordered.

Minerva stood dumbfounded and unmoving. That's a very bad idea, her mind insisted. She clenched her fists and didn't budge.

"You need to take your shirt off," Olbus said, and his expression seemed to soften almost imperceptibly, possibly as a trick of the moonlight.

"Don't look," she said, avoiding his gaze.

Olbus did as she asked, and she put her shirt on the table behind her, covering herself with her hands. When she let him know that she was ready, he unbound the large parcel and revealed a full-length mirror, aiming it to face her. It was a beautiful construction with a golden frame and its own stand of elegant wooden feet.

"What do you see in the mirror, Minerva?"

Minerva's reflection stood in stark contrast to the frame around it. She saw herself standing half-naked in a dark room lit only by the light of the moon. Her skin was messy, streaks of soot dirtied the canvas of her face, and her hair stood in wispy unkempt knots around her head. A long, wicked scar crawled across her arm, and it hurt when she looked at it. Her foot and leg carried wicked bruises from where she had fallen off the ship.

Her image barely filled half the height of the mirror, and she looked small and insignificant. The stress of her predicament wore apparent in the lines on her forehead, in the way she clenched her fists, and the way she breathed in rapid gusts.

In the mirror, Minerva saw a girl who didn't know where she was, where she was going, or how she was going to get home.

It was warm out, but she was shivering.

"I see a scared little girl."

Hearing and seeing her own honesty pushed so profoundly into the light terrified Minerva. Her hands moved to cover her mouth and she began to cry.

As she wept, Olbus knelt beside her and wrapped the cloth cover around her. "This is what we fear," he said, pointing into the mirror.

Minerva didn't know what to say or do, so she stood there crying, fearful of her own image. Staring at herself through the glass and through her tears, she wanted so badly just to go home, and to ask her other self if it knew the way. Of course it did not, and so the three of them stood there silently, Olbus, her, and the maiden in the mirror.

Olbus held the rusted dagger out to Minerva. He breathed deeply, in an empowering way, and placed a hand on her shoulder as she took it from him. "You must bare your flesh to the mercy of your blade."

Minerva removed the blanket slowly, looking only into his eyes.

"Look into the mirror," he said softly. "Look into your own eyes, your own heart, and your own self. Repeat your oath after me."

With a stiff nod, Minerva obeyed, breathing hard.

"I am strong!" Olbus bellowed in the darkness, loud enough to rattle the fixtures, and Minerva gasped.

Her own verse felt weak and meager.

"I am brave!"

Minerva summoned her courage and spoke up.

"I fear nothing!"

She felt a surge of strength and her muscles tightened.

"I am unclaimed!"

Her own words echoed back from the mouth of her reflection.

"I hereby mark myself as my own!"

Olbus paused and made a crossed motion across his chest with his fingers, indicating the path she was to carve with the dagger.

"Across my heart, to die with a smile."

Minerva repeated the final words with conviction. She felt the cold blade of the dagger push against her chest, and heard the smooth whisper of a fresh wound that only the deepest of cuts can usher. Then she raised it again, completing the mark from the other side. With her oath complete, she looked over at her other self, bloody and wounded. Her vision went hazy and her knees wobbled. Olbus caught her in his arms and wrapped the loose blanket around her.

"Now what?" she asked feebly, dropping the knife.

A visage of terror clouded over Olbus when he looked down at the mark she had carved into her own flesh.

"Now we take you to the surgeon," he said.

Chapter 14

Twice Lucky

"What happened, Sparks?"

"Their gunner, Captain. Much better than we anticipated. Put a shot through the hold, straight as a rifle. With the fires and the oil so close together, she went up from there."

Captain Black sat at a long table in a cabin made to entertain kings. Wealth and opulence hung from every corner, lit by the many-hued shades of a stained glass window. The sovereign of the land sat on a throne of dark oak, wearing a sad look on his mighty face. Squints waited beside him, like a jester in a court. A third man stood on a grand carpet of black and red with his arm in a sling.

"Aye, we've seen that," Black agreed. "He slowed the Phoenix, as well. I assumed that he had gotten lucky. What of Cloudscorch, then?" Captain Black asked.

"Ashes, sir," said the man.

Captain Black sighed, and then moved forward and put his hand on his visitor's shoulder. The third man bore many fresh burns across his face and body, and most of his hair was missing. The unwelcome contact forced him to lean to one side in obvious pain.

"Squints! Get the twin ships out to sky. If we can't shoot her down or burn her down, we'll tie her down."

"Aye, Captain," Squints said with a salute, before scurrying out of the room.

"I want revenge, Black."

Captain Black looked over at the man and frowned. "We all do, Sparks. We all do. Get some rest, my friend."

Chapter 15

Markedly Marked

Minerva awoke on her back in Lintumen's room.

Still haven't slept in your own cabin, her mind reminded her quietly.

When she moved to sit up, her chest hurt tremendously.

"Feeling sane, or should I keep you locked in here for your own safety?" Lintumen asked in a mocking tone.

Minerva rolled over to the side of the bed and moved to get out, but stopped when she realized that she wasn't wearing a shirt. She pulled the bed sheet up around her neck and shot a glare at Lintumen, who was already looking away. After inspecting the handiwork on her chest, she frowned with concern. A freshly stitched and bandaged pair of wounds crossed straight across her heart, from clavicle to gut. She hadn't meant to make it quite that big.

Lintumen brought a change of clothes over to her, and then turned around politely while she dressed.

"I took an oath."

"You did."

"What do I do now?"

"I'm not sure. Are you still a swabbie?"

"Luff and Leech are teaching me to be a rigger."

"Good. You should do quite well at that. Plenty of textiles."

The wizened old man sat back down behind his table and began examining something under his tiny jeweler's lens, occasionally writing notes.

"You're free to go, if you feel well enough," he said with a smile, as she sat on the bed, feeling despondent. "I'll call for someone to let you out."

When called, Olbus opened Lintumen's door to allow Minerva to leave. If he felt anything at all about the night before, he wasn't showing it.

"Lunch soon. You can go early."

Minerva thanked him, and then left for the galley.

Jim was there. Big Jim. Big Mean Jim. He was prepping for the meal when he saw her. "Well, look at this, our newest crew come for grub. Ye think yer special? Think ye can come an' go when ye want, now that yer marked?"

Minerva's head fell to her chest. She lacked both the strength and the will to fight him. When she said nothing, he slopped some soup into a bowl and thrust it out at her.

"Ye want yer cutlery, princess?"

Without responding, Minerva walked away to sit down at a table, and did her best to drink her lunch without leaning back too far; it made her chest hurt. She was halfway through her ordeal-by-soup when the other sailors began pouring into the room, jostling and shoving their way through the lineup.

"Minnie!" Luff and Leech landed on the bench beside her, making her wince in pain. "You took – the oath!"

Minerva did her best to smile at them, but really only nodded. They both hugged her in response, sending shooting pain through her whole body. When she groaned, they jumped back with concern.

"Sorry. You okay?"

"Yeah. Just needed a few stitches. Lintumen fixed me up."

"Lintumen?" Luff and Leech echoed, looking at each other in shock. "Stitches? What did you do? Use a sword? Can we see it?"

"No!"

"Why not? Olbus didn't – invite us!"

The twins oozed eagerness.

"Do I have to?"

"No, but it is tradition. No shame among pirates – as they say."

Minerva really didn't want to disappoint the few people that had shown her any real kindness since her arrival, so she pulled out the neck of her shirt and let them look down.

Luff and Leech reeled back, practically falling out of their seats. "You did that? To yourself? Are you insane?"

"What? You did it, didn't you?" she cried defensively.

The twins exchanged a sly glance as one of them pulled down their shirt to reveal a small mark about twice the size of a coin across his heart. It was a tiny fraction of the size of hers.

Minerva groaned and dropped her head to the table. The scar would be massive.

"You have to – show the crew."

She groaned again in disapproval as they hoisted her onto the table against her will.

"Fellows! Crew! Pirates!" the twins yelled above the din, silencing the crowd. "Our newest crew. Minnie. Is here!" Some of the crowd cheered jubilantly. "She has taken the oath! And drawn the mark! Although you probably – weren't invited! Vowed in secret. But not in silence. Let her show you!"

"No!" Minerva shouted, gripping the bottom of her shirt to prevent them from lifting it.

Luff and Leech huddled inward, stooping low around her. "What? Why not? Your mark is huge! They have to see it!"

"I can't."

"You can!"

"No, I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because I'm a girl!"

All the room stood in expectant silence, staring at the three sailors standing on the table.

The twins shrugged, somewhat sheepishly. "You kind of look – like a boy."

"It's the principle of the thing!" she hissed, shooting evil eyes at the twins, and beginning to wonder just how much they really cared about her.

Luff and Leech locked eyes and thought hard. "Put your hands up under your shirt – and cover yourself first. Then we'll lift your shirt – to show the others. You'll keep your modesty – and they'll love your mark."

No shame among pirates, she thought. Part of her also knew that to disappoint the crew would be a poor decision when it came to winning friends. With those thoughts in mind, she put her hands up under her shirt and covered her chest. "Okay," she said, looking out across the crowd, but not directly at anyone.

Luff and Leech grinned wickedly, and then began to roll up her hem, like the curtain of a grand play. As the cloth rose higher, the eyes of the crew grew wider. They stood suitably awestruck as a great wonder revealed itself to them. When the shirt was finally at Minerva's neck, a stunned silence deafened the room.

Someone's food fell to the floor as its owner failed to grip his plate.

"Merciful heavens," said a man close to Minerva, and then he started to laugh, and a few others joined in. Then they cheered and howled, and she watched as some of them started to chant her name. "Min-nie! Min-nie! Min-nie!" they cried.

Maybe it wasn't such a bad nickname, she thought, when chanted by a crowd. She spotted Spit in the group, hunched over and consumed with fury. He wasn't cheering, and he wasn't the only one. Plenty of other sailors gave disapproving looks to their compatriots and segregated themselves from her supporters.

Suddenly, something small and hard landed at Minerva's feet on the table. It was a wooden chip the shape of a coin, but depicted a full flagon. Then another landed, and another. Sailors from around the galley tossed them to her as she blushed and quickly pulled her shirt down.

Minerva tried to sit down and fade into obscurity, but raucous sailors encircled her on all sides. They clapped her on the back, cheered her name, and placed many mysterious coins in front of her. When the action finally subsided, two clear factions split the galley: supporters and haters. The haters sat far away, wishing ill omens upon Minerva and her allies.

"What are these coins that people threw at me?" she asked Luff and Leech.

"Ale tokens."

"For where?"

"For here. Keeping money – is the purser's duty. We get the tokens – for ale."

Lintumen's the purser, Minerva thought, as her mind connected two puzzle pieces together. "Why did they give them to me?"

"It's tradition to buy a drink – for any sailor with a bigger mark."

"Oh," she said, looking down at the coins she had just received. It was a very large pile.

That night was the first night aboard the Skyraker that Minerva spent entirely in her own bed in her own cabin.

Chapter 16

Crow's Nest

After several days in the sails, Minerva started to feel comfortable enough to hang on with only one hand, and one time she caught herself jumping from one beam to another without completely terrifying herself. When the weather was dry, the riggers had little to do, and often passed the time on the spars with conversation.

"What's that box up at the top there?" she asked a fellow rigger, pointing at the peak of the mainmast.

"That's Nezzen, our lookout. That's his crow's nest."

Minerva inspected the bottom of the crow's nest. Several old and weathered ropes hung down from it, lashing various objects together to form walls. She could see a net full of bags and satchels on the far side. Various pieces of wood or other trinkets, hammered onto its edges, formed a belt of trophies. A roof of threadbare cloth held back the elements, probably poorly.

"It looks like a tree fort."

"Well, it kind of is," the man explained. "He never leaves, and nobody is welcome up there, unless he invites them."

"Sounds like a lunatic," Minerva commented, watching as a few birds landed on the edge of the nest to peck at its various shiny baubles.

The rigger looked over at her, and then down at the sailors on the deck below. "Yeah, but around here, who isn't?"

Chapter 17

Midnight Stations

Minerva bolted upright in bed. Many hurried footsteps were rushing past her door. In the distance, she could hear a bell ringing fast and constant. She ripped her covers off and threw her nightclothes onto the bed, immediately noticing the chill in the room. She dressed quickly and joined the throng of sailors outside.

Luff and Leech greeted the riggers as they reached the deck, sending them to various stations in the sails. "Minnie! Topgallant! Mizzenmast! Go!"

Minerva ran to the rear mast of the ship, watching as a falling counterweight hauled the rigger in front of her straight up. Luff and Leech already showed her which ropes released the weights, if she wanted to climb a mast in a hurry, but she had never tried it.

Run with it, the same way that the twins do, she thought.

Minerva put her right foot to the mast, cinched the rope around her hands and wrists, and swallowed hard.

A pirate is brave!

"I know!" she hissed under her breath. "I'm just thinking about it, first." Then she took a deep breath and pulled the belaying pin from the mast.

What nobody had really taken the time to consider was that Minerva was substantially lighter than the other riggers. What was a counterweight to them was a wrecking ball to her.

Minerva's arms snapped out to their full length with a painful whack as she catapulted straight up the mast, rocketing skyward until she caught the edge of her sail with a free hand, sending her wrapping painfully around the yardarm and knocking the wind out of her. Her grip failed quickly and she tumbled off the far side of the boom, thankfully ensnaring her legs in the rigging as she went.

"Nice jump. Not bad, for a first time," commented her rigging partner, as he untangled her.

She would have thanked him if she could breathe.

It was the middle of the night, but the waning moon still shone brightly. Minerva looked around, trying to see a threat or a reason for the call to stations. Several other riggers pointed and whispered, and she followed their attention. All she saw was the darkened shadow of a small ship in the distance. "Are we attacking?" she asked her partner.

"Yup! Looks like a merchant ship. Probably unarmed. Just keep your sails lit and we'll be fine. The boys on deck will board and plunder her. Should be an easy haul."

For some reason, Minerva had never really thought about how the Skyraker made its living. Who a pirate was and what a pirate did were not the same thing in her mind. The oath she made instantly gained significant weight in her mind. She was a criminal, and would be forever. She had scarred herself to prove it.

"Will we have to fight them?"

"Probably not. Glass is a talker, not a fighter. He'll fire one or two shots as we overtake them, and then we'll toss some grapples to tie them down. Then he'll meet their captain for negotiations."

"Negotiations?"

"Yeah, parley. Few captains prefer to murder and plunder. Too dangerous. Glass is a talker, and he's damn good at it. Most of us here like it that way. Less reward, but less risk, too.

"Whose ship do you think it is?" she asked, wondering if maybe they were heading in a direction that would take her home.

"Empire. Usually they stay out of the skies around here, but this one looks a little different. It's all dark, but its sails are still full. It's moving fast for a night flight. I bet they thought they could sneak through."

"Why do they avoid this area?"

The other rigger laughed when he saw her honest expression. "Because there's pirates in the area."

The attack on the merchant ship went exactly as foretold by Minerva's partner. The Skyraker fired a few warning shots across the bow. Grappling hooks were thrown across the gap, and the crew that went to fight boarded her with ease. The other crew surrendered. No injuries on either side. It all seemed too easy, and she didn't even need to do anything.

Captain Glass negotiated with the other captain for the spoils that they took. Luff and Leech said it was because pirating wasn't all about killing and loot. It was about getting by in life by whatever means they could. They didn't plunder everything from a ship because other ships formed allied fleets, and if a captain made enemies with the empire, or a merchant fleet, they weren't likely to live long. They also said that most of the merchant ships bought into something called insurance, so as long as the pirates plundered an amount under what the insurance would pay to replace, the victim wouldn't retaliate.

"So what do we do with the loot?" she asked Luff, or perhaps Leech, when they came to congratulate her on her majestic launch into the sails.

"We divvy it up. Rank first. Then seniority. Then age."

"How much do we each get?"

"First the purser tallies it – then he sets a share value – based on sailors present. Captain gets four. Boatswain gets three. Mates get two. Able bodies – riggers – other crew – single shares. Swabbies get half."

Knowing that her pending rewarded exceeded that of Spit made Minerva happier than she liked to admit. "How do we collect it?"

"In the hold – when the purser says."

Down below, the sailors carried the spoils of victory towards the hold. It looked to Minerva like a line of ants working to build and furnish a new home. Once everything was safely below deck, Olbus appeared and retrieved Lintumen.

"Old Lint is pretty quick – with the numbers. Ten minutes. Twelve. Tenth of a share. Deal. Minnie. Help us count time."

Minerva had counted to eight minutes, twenty-two seconds, when Lintumen appeared again.

"Ten and sixteen. Eleven and fifty. Minnie?" They both looked over at her very expectantly.

"Um, I got eight and twenty-two, but I think I counted slow."

One twin smiled and the other one frowned. It was the first time she had seen a different expression on each of their faces. "Good enough. Thanks, Minnie. Let's go."

As they climbed down, Minerva saw that the ship they robbed bore the name the Lily May, but nobody else seemed to care about that.

Luff and Leech, as mates of the ship, went down to collect their reward from the Lily May earlier than most. It took hours to run through the crew, until just Minerva and a few others remained. The swabbies stood alone on the deck, looking somewhat dejected, except for Spit, who looked furious.

When Minerva arrived in the hold, it was already a total disaster. Bags and crates had been torn open very unceremoniously, and many articles of clothing, most of them ripped, lay strewn about between the ribbing of the ship. Minerva stepped carefully, dodging the broken glass with her bare feet. The heat of bodies choked the space and it smelled of dust and oily sweat.

A few sailors lurked about, Big Mean Jim included. Lintumen stood off to the side with Olbus, holding a large ledger in his hands. He greeted her with a smile. "Ah, Minerva. Has this been explained to you?"

"Sort of. I get a share of what's in here."

"Yes. If something is of interest to you, bring it to me and I'll inform you of its estimated value. You may take whatever you want, up to the value of your share."

Searching about the room didn't reveal much of interest to Minerva; however, the search itself interested her greatly. At first, she was hoping to find some sewing material, or maybe a washboard to clean her clothes, but she quickly became distracted by a large number of fashion accessories discarded by the other sailors. Girls dresses—most of them torn, but she could fix that—and quite a few shoes. She did her best to collect the pairs she could find, and gathered them all together.

It was the best shopping experience of her life, and it was all free.

Minerva also found a beautifully carved white wardrobe with a strangely engraved front. Where she expected the case to open, a massive contraption of large gears and wheels, pierced by several large holes, ran up and down the doors. When she tried to force it open, it wouldn't budge. It didn't have an apparent keyhole, and all along its edges were dents and dings. Obviously, she wasn't the first to try to break it open, so she moved on, content with what she had already found.

A surprisingly animated Lintumen greeted Minerva as she approached with her pile of goods. Someone should have gotten him a chair, she thought, but the late hour and prolonged standing didn't seem to bother him. Lintumen looked over the goods, checked his ledger, and then informed her that she held only about half a share.

Minerva glanced around, noticed the swabbies enter the room, and then decided that she was already tired and didn't really need a full share.

"I'll just take these—" she began to say, before a familiar voice cut her off.

"I'll take what she's got."

The smell of onions and garlic assaulted her nose.

"These are all things for girls," Minerva protested, as she spun on her heel to face Big Mean Jim.

"They're for my niece," he countered, wearing a wicked smile.

"Can he do that?" she demanded, turning to Lintumen and Olbus, who both gave the fat man a discerning glance.

"He can if he wants to," Lintumen said. "Seniority is awarded preferential choice."

Minerva looked from Lintumen to Olbus, and then glared at Mean Jim. Everything he inflicted upon her up until now just seemed petty and rude, but this was just mean. "Fine, take them!" she shouted, shoving the dresses and shoes into his arms and stomping for the door.

"Sailor," Olbus called, forcing her to stop.

"Yes, sir?"

"Your share will be forfeit if the purser departs."

"That's fine, sir," she spat back, doing her best to invoke her magic and believe with all her heart that the fat man who hated her so much would just drop dead in front of her. It didn't seem to work, though, so she settled on storming out of the hold.

Chapter 18

Nezzen

As she attempted to sleep, Minerva wrestled with her conscience. She tossed and turned for the better part of an hour, trying to figure out exactly what she had done to deserve such hate from Big Mean Jim. Being a girl wasn't a good enough excuse, she decided, so she got out of bed in a huff and went up to the deck without changing.

It was a cold clear night, and the midnight riggers greeted her casually as she climbed up into the sails. She wanted to be alone, so she went to the top of foremast and sat on the top spar, watching the stunning vista of clouds and stars flow past.

A few minutes in the cool wind left her shivering and wishing that she had changed into something warm. She was about to return to her cabin when something small and golden whizzed past her head. She looked for the source behind her, but couldn't see anyone, and whatever flew by had fallen overboard and out of sight.

Turning back, her thoughts shattered again when something small and heavy struck her in the back. A golden necklace with a circular locket hung in the rigging behind her. Minerva picked it up and looked around again.

Someone in the crow's nest was waving.

Almost as quickly as they appeared, the ragged tarp over the nest fell down, concealing the person inside. Minerva eyed the locket a little longer, and as she did, a thin arm snaked out from under the cover of the crow's nest and beckoned her over. Completely overwhelmed by curiosity, Minerva descended to the nearest cross bridge between the masts and climbed the mainmast.

The exterior of the crow's nest looked a little strange, sure, but it was nothing compared to the interior. Entering through a hole in the floor, Minerva found a tiny space packed to overflowing with golden trinkets, large and small. Many jewelry boxes littered the floor, with their lids forced open due to an abundance of treasures and coins. Golden chains hung from every available corner, and a small iron fireplace, built against the mast, lit and warmed the impromptu cabin with a soft glow.

It all smelled faintly of vanilla.

Amid the mounds of golden treasure and endless wealth, there sat a tiny and frail old man. He was smaller than even she was, and probably weighed less. His overly large head hung low on his bony shoulders, and he wore the standard attire of the crew like a loose sack. In Minerva's mind, his appearance left the impression of a poorly constructed scarecrow in a field of golden straw.

"Come in, come in," he whispered when she appeared, extending a hand to help her. "I'm Nezzen, the lookout," he added. Only a few lonesome teeth made their home in his mouth.

"I've heard," she said, taking a seat opposite him and pulling her knees up to her chest, trying to find a clear space inside the golden turmoil.

"You're Minerva, yes, or Minnie, maybe, which do you prefer?" He spoke like a man that was worried that he might wake his neighbors.

"Minerva, I guess, though some of the others call me Minnie, and I don't mind."

Nezzen gazed into her eyes for an uncomfortable length of time, but didn't say anything. She tried to think of something to break the silence, but came up with nothing.

"Yup, he was right."

"Pardon?"

"A friend of mine said that you had the eyes of a fighter, and that you were going to make him very proud."

Well now, her mind said, that's not something you just throw into the air the first time you meet someone. "Who did?" she probed, hoping against reason that maybe Nezzen somehow knew her from somewhere else, and thus knew how to get her back home.

"You'll find out."

Minerva was at her limit of mysteries, so she ignored his cryptic comment and let her gaze wander about the room.

"Up a little late, aren't we?" Nezzen asked. "Is something bothering you?"

At first, she wasn't sure what to say, but then she started talking, and before she knew it, she told him about Big Mean Jim, Luff and Leech, the swabbies, Lintumen and magic, all of it. Something about Nezzen completely disarmed all of her emotional defenses. He looked like a person that would earnestly listen to her, so she told him everything. When she finished, he reached over beside himself, rummaged through a few small wooden boxes and crates, and then passed two things to her. One was a silver-plated hairbrush, with horsehair bristles and an ivory handle. Alongside it came a hand mirror, also framed in silver with a porcelain back. Someone had painstakingly painted a black and white crest on it before lacquering it.

"For you," he said. "You can keep the necklace, if you like. Too bad I missed with the gold coin."

"You threw away a gold coin?" she balked, louder than she intended.

Nezzen laughed and grinned. "It's not like I have much use for it, now do I?"

Minerva remembered then that Nezzen never came down. "How do you eat, or relieve yourself?" she asked without thinking, instantly regretting the potential knowledge he might impart.

"Jim, the cook. He brings me my food and takes away any waste that I've made."

Jim, the cook. Big Jim. Big Mean Jim, the meanest, fattest person she had ever met, climbs all the way up to the crow's nest to bring a crazy person his supper. The thought left Minerva confused beyond any understanding. "Why?" she drawled, trying to make sense of it.

"Every pirate has a story. Some pirates are bad men that are trying to hide, and some of them are good men that have done bad things. They might be bad men that seem good, or they might be good men that seem bad. I'm sure you've met some of each, but of the ones you've met, how many of their stories do you know?"

None, she told herself honestly. She didn't know why any of them chose to be career criminals.

"I know it's hard to believe, but Jim is one of the good pirates. He doesn't look it, and he might not act it all the time, but there's a reason the crew puts up with him. One day you'll know why, but like all pirates, you won't know until you know his story."

"Will you tell me?"

"It's not my story to tell. Now, before it gets any later, I suggest you go and collect your share of the loot. Besides, you can come and visit me whenever you desire, but only if you bring the hairbrush with you."

"Lintumen will have left by now," she protested, feeling upset at herself for storming out.

"Perhaps you don't know him as well as you think you do. Lintumen is a man that abhors an imbalanced ledger."

Minerva caught herself eyeing Nezzen suspiciously, wondering how long he had been up here.

"Go," he urged, motioning at the hole in the floor. "He'll be waiting, and he's older than I am. You don't want to keep him up, do you?"

"Okay," she agreed, tucking the brush and mirror into her belt and stepping down into the hole.

"Thank you, Nezzen," she added with a sincere smile. "Thank you for listening."

"I said go," he insisted, emphatically widening his eyes.

"Goodnight, Nezzen."

"Goodnight, Minerva."

Chapter 19

Late to the Spoils

Nezzen wasn't wrong. Back in the hold, Lintumen and Olbus both waited behind, although she saw no one else, and most of the lights had burned out. Olbus lay on a curved section of the hull, clearly asleep. Lintumen remained standing, idly staring at the ceiling.

"Ah, Minerva, good. I was worried I wouldn't be able to balance my books."

All that remained in the room that seemed to be of any value was the large wardrobe.

"How much of a share is the wardrobe?"

Lintumen checked his ledger, probably out of habit, or perhaps as a show of power. It really was the only thing left in the room. "One share exactly, on account of it being securely locked and of unknown contents."

"I'll take it."

Lintumen smiled and Olbus yawned, awoken by the conversation.

"Do I take it now?"

"I'll help," Olbus replied, wiping sleep out of his eyes.

To say that Olbus helped was more than an understatement. The wardrobe was incredibly heavy. Even Olbus, the strongest man she could even imagine, needed to rest several times while transporting it. Both of them were soaking in sweat by the time it finally sat in her room, completely filling the far end of the tiny cabin.

"Thank you, sir," she said, but Olbus merely nodded in her direction and then crossed the hall to his own room.

After that, Minerva remembered laying down with her eye wandering over the large wardrobe, contemplating its contents, but sleep took her soon afterward.

Chapter 20

Big Mean Jim

Luff and Leech woke Minerva up the next day by prancing and dancing, bellowing and crooning, and making total clowns of themselves. It was a rather startling experience first thing in the morning. She kicked them out with a gruff scowl and a waving arm, to which they pretended she was a horrible monster and fled.

Even with a night raid, the crew still awoke at the same time the next day. Minerva, however, missed the bell and slept right through breakfast, so when lunch finally arrived she was extremely grateful. Down in the galley, the smell of roasted meat greeted her nose, and the crew talked animatedly about the mutton and poultry acquired from the Lily May. By the time she finally reached the head of the line, her stomach was in fits, growling and groaning every few seconds. The smell was so much stronger as sailors carried their dishes past her, and it was torture to a starving girl.

Mean Jim wore a stupid grin when Minerva approached. She didn't care what horrible things he tried to do to her food. If it tasted half as good as it smelled she would be more than happy with it.

"Finally out of bed, are ye?"

Minerva nodded, holding up her plate and waiting for spit, splashing food, or whatever, to land upon it.

Jim handed her back a bowl of cold rice porridge with a lonely egg on top, pre-bitten.

"Hey, now," called the twins, pleading with Jim. "She's hungry."

"She missed breakfast, so I saved it for her," Jim explained, then started to laugh.

As a matter of social interaction, when a normal man laughed, a person might feel somewhat inclined to laugh with them. When Jim laughed, this was not the case. His laugh was a cruel throaty rumble that started in the depths of his festering body and bounced back and forth between the folds of his rotund flesh. When it finally escaped into the air, it was more of a low gargle, choked by his flapping cheeks and marred by an awful, squeaking giggle. His entire body animated alongside it, like a sick dance keeping time with his voice, jiggling and wiggling with every gasping inhale.

Minerva was hungry, tired, and sore, and this was how he treated her. Nezzen said he was a good pirate, but she couldn't see it. He was just an awful, fat, and malicious man. When she glared at Jim, barely able to contain her boiling hatred, he just laughed harder.

"You can – have ours," the twins offered, but Minerva wasn't listening. She tried counting in her head, but all she heard was horrible giggling. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself down, but her face flushed hot and her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her nostrils flared in anger and she clenched her fists, and then she committed the type of act employed by a person fully gripped by a rage that they could no longer control.

Minerva flung the bowl of porridge straight into Jim's cackling visage, striking him clean in the nose. His face rang like a muted bell, and he choked and stumbled. A chorus of gasps popped forth from the crowd, and then went silent.

Mean Jim pulled his hand away, and a steady stream of blood trickled down from his nose. He wasn't laughing anymore.

Now you've done it, she told herself. Not yet, I haven't, she retorted, gritting her teeth.

While the world waited, and the crew stood silent, Minerva bolted straight under the table and hammered shoulder-first into Jim's weighty thigh. Jim toppled onto the table of food and smashed clean through, tumbling to the floor. Trays of freshly cooked meat flew into the air around them, and Minerva grabbed one of the clattering metal platters beside her, slamming it down hard on Jim's head. As she reeled back for a second blow, something fat and pink appeared in the corner of her eye and Jim's fist connected solidly with the side of her head.

The room spun and went fuzzy as Minerva tumbled away. Sharp white pain blinded her right eye, and the grain of the wooden planks scraped across her thigh. Unwilling to relent, she rose quickly, cupping her ringing ear. Jim was on the rise, as well, with his back turned towards her, so she vaulted forward and sent him sprawling, landing a few blows to the back of his head at the same time.

While she continued to attack, the fat man spun his girth like a breaching whale, catching her with his elbow and sending her sailing onto her back. He moved fast for a big man.

Minerva rose to her feet again, and she squared off against Jim, giving her time to absorb the full scope of her opponent. She wasn't going to win, but she was going to make him earn it.

With all the might her legs could unleash, she piled straight into Jim's gut with her head, knocking him backward. He grabbed her by the hair and she bit him as hard as she could. Jim howled in pain from the bite as she pounded on any part of his flabby mass that she could reach, swinging wild and hard and fast while Jim covered his face.

Something solid found its way into her hand as she flailed, and she cocked her arm back, hammering Jim in the head with an empty pot. A splatter of blood jumped to the deck beside him, and her arm pulled back uncontrollably, aiming to swing again, but something stopped her.

When she turned around she saw that Olbus had her by the wrist in a titan's grip, hauling her backward. Then he leaned forward and pulled Jim to his feet by the apron. The black man shot a furious look at both of them as he dragged them towards the exit.

He could toss me around by the ankles, she thought, recalling the night that Olbus had initiated her, but then she corrected herself. It felt like he could swing a horse around by its ankles.

Chapter 21

Punishment

Minerva and Big Jim bashed together like potatoes in a sack as Olbus dragged them by their shirts up to the deck. He threw them towards the base of the mainmast while the crew crowded in behind.

"What's the punishment for fighting?" Olbus bellowed towards Jim and Minerva, but mostly Jim.

"It was just a little fun, bosun," Jim put forth, not very convincingly, as blood oozed from several wounds in his head.

Olbus drove into him, shoving his face up against Jim, such that their noses almost touched. "I said what's the punishment, sailor?"

Up until this point, all of Minerva's interaction with Big Jim had seen Jim as the aggressor. She felt a surge of vitality wash over her. Whatever the punishment was, she hoped it hurt him, a lot.

Mean Jim sighed, and then looked down at Minerva with a strange expression. "She's just a girl, boss," he pleaded.

"Answer me!" Olbus yelled, shoving Jim and knocking him back against the mast.

Jim pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders in a nervous manner. "One between ye, to settle the row—" he said, and then swallowed hard, looking down at Minerva again.

Minerva's throat seized as she recognized the pity in his eyes.

"—and two from the bosun, to finish it for good."

When Olbus spoke, his lips peeled back and a terrifying hatred filled his eyes. The adrenaline of the fight began to fade and Minerva started to shake, while the unmistakable feeling that something very bad was about to happen gripped her body.

All the crew gathered around the trio near the mast, jostling and pushing for a closer position. Someone handed Olbus a rod of stiffened leather. "Who wants to settle first?" he asked.

"She can," Jim said, turning around to lean towards the mast. Then he bent forward and gripped the belaying pins that held the ropes, exposing his back.

Olbus handed Minerva the rod. "One," he ordered.

One, she thought, flexing the switch in her hands. It was extremely stiff, like a riding crop. You're only going to get to do this once, so make it count, her mind demanded.

Having never flogged someone before, Minerva did what seemed natural. She pulled her tool back behind her head and swung. A satisfying crack split the air, followed by the sound of Jim sucking in quick and wincing. The sound of his discomfort satisfied a part of her that she didn't like to admit existed; the part that wanted her enemies to suffer.

The crowd went silent as Jim stood up, rolling his shoulder. A strange sensation of ignorance settled in on Minerva's mind, questioning the surprised reaction of both Jim and the crew.

Olbus took the rod from her hand and pushed her up against the mast. She gripped the pins and rope as Jim had done, bracing for impact.

When the attack landed she jumped out of reflex, but what she felt was nothing more than a meaningless weight across her back. The full length of the rod pushed down on her, where Jim held it for a second before lifting it off again. Unsure of what to say, she turned to see Jim returning the rod to Olbus. He then removed his apron and shirt, and once again took his place at the mast, pushing her aside gently.

When Jim bent over topless, the full girth of his body became apparent. Folds of flesh that normally hung down in even slopes leaned outward, like udders on a cow. Nearly every patch of his torso bore scars and marks, and all across his back she saw a network of twisted and broken skin, bumped and ridged like a fleshy mountain range for insects.

Minerva covered her mouth and her eyes widened, and Jim gave her a lonesome look. His expression flooded her with anxiety, an emotion that compounded when he took one of the unused belaying pins from its seat and bit down on it. Without any doubt in her mind, he gave her an unspoken apology, and she suddenly remembered seeing the teeth marks in the pins from the day that they fought Cloudscorch.

Olbus stood at the ready, flexing the switch in his hands, and then he brought it back and twisted his frame in preparation. His entire body flexed, right down to the waist, like a coiled snake about to strike.

In one swift motion, Olbus unwound. The hard leather rod bent back almost double in his hand as it moved, and the sound it made landing across Jim's back reminded Minerva of jam splashing in a jar. Jim groaned hard, dropping to one knee and biting down with a crunch. A thick black line spread fast across his back where his skin had split. Several of the crew rushed forward to support him, just in time for the second strike to land. His hands and body shook, and a stream of tears escaped his clenched eyes. Someone took the wooden pin from his slackening jaw, before leading him off to the side, stumbling as he went.

Olbus flexed the rod again once Jim had moved, and then motioned for her to stand against the mast.

He's really going to do it, Minerva thought. He's going to break me in half! Minerva stood stricken, unable to move.

"Against the mast, sailor!"

Luff and Leech suddenly pushed through and stepped between Olbus and her. One of the twins handed her a wooden pin while the other began to roll up her shirt, pulling it off.

"Stop it," she urged, pushing his hands away.

"Take your shirt off – and bite down on this."

"I said stop it!"

"The cloth will stick – and make it worse!" they urged, trying to pull her shirt up again. The characteristic charm and levity in their voices had completely vanished.

"I will keep my modesty!" she hissed, shoving them away and turning to the mast.

The twins didn't force the issue any further, and she accepted the pin as they stuffed it into her mouth.

Minerva gripped the mast, unable to ignore the warm coating of sweat left behind by Jim's palms. All the tiny details of the world clouded her thoughts as she focused on anything other than the idea of what was about to happen. The grain of the wood, the hum of the crew, the scent of a spring day, and the cool chill of a clear sky where the sun didn't warm her directly.

The first blow sent her straight to the deck. Before it landed, she intended to stand with pride and to accept her punishment with grace and honor. All she felt was searing hot agony and her stomach fighting to throw up. Black and white sparkles clogged her vision and her entire body relaxed uncontrollably.

Someone put their hands under her and lifted her up. They straightened her legs for her, clamped her hands around the mast again, and pushed the bit back into her mouth. Several slaps upon the bottom of her jaw convinced her that she should bite down again.

The second strike existed as nothing more than a short whistle in Minerva's mind, because everything after that was blackness.

Chapter 22

Twice Oathed

Something smelled like cinnamon and wax. When Minerva opened her eyes, she found herself face down on Lintumen's bed, while a terrible pain wracked her body, forcing her to groan.

"I've stitched you up as best I can," Lintumen explained immediately. "Now, I'm no tailor, but you should hold together. At least until you leave this room again."

Minerva was expecting her friend to respond with soothing kindness or a sympathetic hand, but his words carried a cold dryness with them.

"What time is it?" she croaked, forcing herself to roll over and look him in the eye.

Lintumen's face remained expressionless. "That's it, is it? I patch you up, send you out, and back you come, worse for the wear every time, and all you can ask is what time is it? At some point you will need to think about your actions before you commit to them."

Minerva flopped back down on the bed, unable to fight.

Lintumen sighed loudly and moved over to the bed, rubbing her shoulder. "Go back to sleep, my dear. I'll make it better, although you'll have another set of scars to display. At this rate you're going to look like you take an oath every night."

Chapter 23

Old Boss

During her recovery, which required several days, Lintumen sought to teach Minerva many magical concepts, but Minerva always resisted. The idea made her feel wicked. So instead, he taught her other things, like how to navigate by the stars and how to read a map. He taught her about Riggersport, a pirate port designed for repairing ships built in a deep canyon, and Hero, a city on a flying island that drifted over the plains, riding a thunderhead. Lintumen provided an endless wealth of knowledge, it seemed, and so she did her best to plunder as much of it as she could. It reminded her of her father, but also left her feeling homesick.

Before Lintumen allowed Minerva to leave, he made her promise that he wouldn't see her again because of an injury for at least a month. She agreed, but negotiated him down to a preventable injury. When she dressed to depart, she noticed a cross of black thread holding her shirt together on its back.

Olbus retrieved her sometime after supper. He escorted her down to her cabin, refusing to look at her and speaking not a word between them.

Alone in her cabin, she could think of nothing but Olbus. How could he be so kind and yet so cruel, she wondered. For the better part of the night, she ruminated on the idea, but made little progress, so she went to talk to the only person that might give her an answer.

The climb to the top of the crow's nest proved to be particularly troublesome in her current condition. Several times, she needed to stop and let the pain subside. She was very glad that Nezzen was awake when she arrived.

"Come in," he beckoned, holding a hand out to her.

"Tell me Olbus' story, please," she said, not waiting for small talk.

Nezzen pondered her request before replying. "Did you bring the hairbrush?" he asked, and patted the floor in front of him when she provided it. Then he unwound the tangled mess that was her bun and began to brush her hair. She couldn't believe how gentle he was, as if he was soothing a savage beast.

"I heard that you and Jim had a bit of scuffle, and that you were given the lash for it."

"Please, Nezzen. Tell me about Olbus."

Nezzen sighed. "I imagine that you want to know how he could do that to you. A man that offered you a place on this ship to give you a home. A man that comforted you as he initiated you in private, to protect your modesty and peace of mind."

Minerva nodded, curious about how he knew her inner thoughts.

"In truth, I can think of no greater sacrifice on his part than allowing you to take the oath."

"Why is that?"

"He has never offered the oath to anyone, until you. He will perform it, but he will not offer it. I believe that he hates the idea of allowing anyone to be like him, but only he knows the truth. For you, however, he had no other option."

Minerva waited patiently for Nezzen to reveal the entirety of what he knew.

"Olbus, Olbus, Olbus." Nezzen mumbled the word a little less each time he said it. "Olbus, it is, from Ol' Boss before that. Old Boss, they called him. Most pirates start young, but he was already old when he came to us."

A few strokes of the hairbrush filled a gap in Nezzen's tale.

"He was a military man in a former life. Commander of a great force of men from the legions of the Linoran Empire, feared for their skill at arms and the power of the man that led them. He wasn't all strength and terror, though. His men respected him greatly. Loved him, even, as a comrade. He had a wife, too, and a daughter much like you, maybe."

The gentle scratching of the brush accented the pauses between Nezzen's words.

"One day he returned home from a great victory to find that his family had been taken from him. He searched for days, until he discovered that pirates were to blame.  Murdered, they were, and worse. It broke him. He abandoned his post, his title, and his men. He swore justice against those that had wronged him, but it wasn't justice that he sought. It was revenge. He did terrible things to those men in the name of justice."

Nezzen said nothing for the next while, leaving only the sound of a crackling fire and the soft scratch of the hairbrush to fill her mind.

"He sees them when he looks at you. You remind him of the monstrous things that evil men will do to girls, and he feels love and fear, and pity. He won't show it, the love especially, but he feels it. Imagine how it hurt him when he struck you. Imagine how great the pain in his heart must have been. Nevertheless, he knew that if he spared you the rod it would have brought the wrath of every man on this ship down upon you. Every man that he ever lashed to a mast and whipped. Every man that he struck down when they spoke up."

Minerva felt a cold guilt claw its way into her guts.

"You are in a bad place, Minerva. A girl on a pirate ship. Olbus knows that. He seeks to protect you, in what ways he can. In this way, he protected you from them. Perhaps even endeared you to them, at the cost of his own peace of mind. That's how it is, with him. He hardens his mind, grits his teeth and sneers, but inside he is dying. This is not the life for him, and it's killing him."

"Why does he continue with it, then?" she asked.

"Olbus is a powerful man, a smart man, but he is a broken man. He accepts an order willingly, because to think for himself brings only doubt and self-loathing. All his life, his superior officers dictated his goals. When he thought for himself, only once, he became that which he hated. An outcast. A deserter. A pirate. He has nowhere left to go."

When Nezzen finished speaking, he put the brush down beside her and handed her two beautiful picks of pearl and gold.

"For what do I deserve another gift?"

"For listening."

Perhaps it was the way she didn't reply, or the way she sloped her shoulders, that brought out his explanation. "Because you are in a bad place, Minerva. You are far from home. Surrounded on all sides by uncertainty and risk. I give you gifts, because what girl doesn't love gifts free of consequence?"

Minerva still didn't believe him. There must be something, she thought.

Nezzen smiled weakly for a moment, but relented. "All my life I've gathered trinkets and baubles. Treasured them for their luster and sheen, like a wily crow. I'm old, now, and my desire for such things is waning. I desire to bestow a gift upon all my guests when they come to visit. Gifts that they'll find useful, or meaningful. Not random wealth that they'd rather sell. How often do you think I see a girl of any age, while holed away up here on a pirate ship? I can finally rid my collection of some of the clutter that's been here for years."

Nezzen laughed along with Minerva as she accepted his gift, mocking her worried expression. She thanked him for his time and made for the ladder.

"Have you spoken to Jim yet?" he asked.

Minerva shook her head.

"Oh," Nezzen added with a knowing smile. "Goodnight, Minerva."

Haunted by the lingering thought of Nezzen's smile, it wasn't Minerva's wounds that kept her awake that night.

Chapter 24

Big Jim

It was well before the morning bell when Minerva stepped into the galley the next day. She smelled eggs and garlic, and the air had yet to warm with the breath of the crew. She sat down at a table and waited. Not much later, Jim made his way out of the kitchen with a large pot of boiled eggs in his hands. He looked over at her for a moment, and then continued on his way.

He was limping.

"Breakfast isn't for another hour," he commented, as he shoved the pot onto the table with his hip.

Prior to arriving, and in the few moments she had been alone in the room, more than a hundred possible conversations went through Minerva's mind. She wanted to say sorry, for many reasons, and in many ways, but now she felt stunned into silence.

"If yer lookin' for another scrap, it's a little early. How 'bout lunch?"

Jim threw the towel he used as a potholder over his shoulder and hobbled his way back to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry!" Minerva shouted, just as the door was about to close.

Jim turned to face her, halfway through the opening. "For what?"

"The rod, mostly. You could have struck me back, much harder than I did you, but you didn't. I see now why you didn't."

Jim laughed, but differently than before. This was a genuine laugh, a contagious laugh, and it fit him well. "Bosun strikes hard, don't he? No sense in addin' to it."

Minerva smiled big in return, and nodded, still feeling the sting of the rod on her back. Jim glanced once into the kitchen, and then lurched over to her table. His huge gut forced him to lean forward on one arm just to avoid falling backwards.

"Sorry about the leg, too. And the nose. And your—"

"Do ye know what tallow is?" Jim asked, abruptly cutting her off.

Minerva nodded. "It's what you get when you render fat."

"It's purity. This crew, we depend on each other for our lives. Weakness, fear, they're impurities, and they cost lives. On this ship, I'm the heat that boils the fat. I boil the crew to find the tallow."

The image of Jim's many scars came back to her. Regardless of his past punishments, he still quarreled daily with the newest crew, knowing there would be more in the future. Nezzen understood the sacrifice that Jim was trying to make. To force Minerva to prove to the crew that she was strong and able, in the most genuine way possible.

"You weren't fighting back, were you?" she asked.

Jim shook his head. "Never more than I must, but most sailors stop when the bosun shouts, so there's usually no whippin' in it. Ye just kept swingin', though."

Minerva couldn't recall hearing anyone shouting at her.

"I gotta say, Minnie, ye've got more fight in ye than o'er half this crew. I've been beaten on plenty, in my day, and less than a handful of 'em gave me a bloody nose, much less a limp and a mark. I'd hate to see what ye do to a man when ye've got a sword in yer hand. I told Nezzen ye'd make me proud, and ye did, no doubt."

Minerva smiled and blushed, not entirely sure how to thank one of her greatest enemies for complimenting her. "I still feel that I owe you, though. For the rod. I should have realized."

"But ye didn't. Now I don't mean to insult, but ye didn't hit me very hard."

"Still, I'd like to make amends."

"Alright," he relented, "what're ye gonna do 'bout it?"

The conversations in Minerva's head hadn't gotten this far. At best, they had ended in mutual silence, so she took some time to think about it. The bite mark she had left. The limp she had given him. They seemed like small badges of war on the great husk of his body.

"Do you get any extra ale as the cook?"

"No, and if I took extra, the crew'd lynch me fat arse."

Minerva tried not to smile when he said it. It was a serious topic, lynching someone. "Well, I've recently come into possession of an unexpected wealth of ale tokens. Would those interest you?"

Big Jim raised an eyebrow at her. "Yer offerin' me yer tokens?"

"I have fifty-nine in my room, and I don't really like alcohol. Would that make us even?"

Jim laughed warmly, appraising her expression for its sincerity. "Minnie, I'd be in yer debt."

Chapter 25

The Helm

Even after handing over her ale tokens, Minerva still felt guilty about her bout with Jim, so she consoled herself by helping him prepare breakfast. Jim enjoyed the benefit of a capable hand, and Minerva enjoyed the knowledge that she was good at something on the ship. Minerva also learned that Jim possessed an incredible set of skills as a chef, but lacked resources, leaving him to cook with mostly eggs, rice, and onions. He told her that the Royal Society of Chefs and Bakers in the Linoran Empire trained him. When she asked why he became a pirate, he said that he always had a big mouth and a quick temper, and had gotten into a brawl with the royal chef. In the empire, that was like attacking the crown itself, necessitating an immediate departure, or else he would be executed.

Most of her time Minerva spent up in the rigging, and usually ended up assigned to the mizzenmast with another slender rigger. The similarity of their body mass permitted them to lighten the counterweights.

Sitting in the rigging was easily Minerva's favorite part of the job. She could see for great distances in all directions, and if she desired, she could observe whatever was happening on the deck from a safe distance. On this particular day, she caught herself absentmindedly watching the captain at the helm, trying to figure out the unique purpose of all of the controls.

The helm of the Skyraker had one big wheel and two smaller ones, one on each side of the big wheel. The big wheel filled the same role as a wheel on a waterborne ship, that is, it determined direction, but she was having trouble figuring out the functions of the other two. While she watched, the captain retrieved a sextant from a case near his feet and held it to his eye to sight the sun. When he did, he looked directly at Minerva, quite unexpectedly. A strange sort of expression went across his face, and then he beckoned her to come down.

As Minerva arrived at the helm, Captain Glass greeted her with a warm smile. "Nice day, don't you think?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Very nice, sir."

"Much too nice of a day for formalities."

Minerva nodded, watching him slowly turn the giant wheel in his hands.

"You're wondering what does what in this maze of wooden cogs and handles."

"Yes, sir. I mean, yes."

"Come around, I'll show you," the captain said, in his wandering drawl. Captain Glass moved aside slightly to allow Minerva access. "The big wheel controls port and starboard but I bet you already knew that. This small wheel controls the fore and aft lift." Captain Glass spun the wheel a half-turn and caused the ship to lean forward. Minerva tumbled into him in response, but he only laughed and helped her stand upright again. "You try," he said, pushing her in front of him. "You don't notice it when you're in control."

A surge of power coursed through Minerva as she placed her hands on the wheel. After a tentative fractional turn of the big wheel, she felt the ship slide sideways beneath her feet, too slight to be noticed by anyone else. Her entire day instantly felt clearer and brighter, as she became wholly aware of her ability to determine the destination of the ship and everyone aboard it.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing to a glass ball in the center of the main wheel. Bands of color marked a wobbling sphere contained within the glass.

"A compass. It indicates heading. The lines show angle of offset, and one face aims towards the mountain range, although we usually just say range. Degrees to range, we might say."

"And that?" Beside Minerva was a tall glass tube that contained a series of small glass bubbles. The bubbles floated in an oily fluid, and an inscribed metal tag hung beneath each bubble, which was in turn anchored by a chain to the bottom. Within the tube was another central tube, much narrower than the outer cylinder, that contained a silvery metallic liquid. A miniature depiction of the Skyraker floated atop the silver liquid in the complex device.

"That is an altimeter. The bubbles are the height of landmarks, while we are the ship in the center that sits on the column of mercury. As we rise or fall, the height of the mercury will reflect the change. That is, it shows how high in the sky we are."

"How does it work?"

"That is a question for Lintumen, as I have no answer for you. All I know is that it is one of the most expensive parts of the ship, and I would appreciate it if you didn't tell the other sailors, lest they might try and hock it."

Minerva grinned, enjoying their secret, when she noticed a handful of additional etchings that scored the outside of the device.

"Close calls," Glass said lightly, sensing her curiosity, and then he pointed at one of the markings. "Ran her aground in the Riggersport canyon, not quite a year ago. Just a scuff, but it earned a mark."

The sheepish admission of failure by Captain Glass emboldened Minerva to inquire more aggressively. "This handle has grooves on it," she remarked, idly inspecting the only spoke on the wheel with a unique appearance.

"That's the sky spoke. It points upward when the rudder is straight."

"What are these levers?"

"Emergency controls and one-time triggers, mostly. Anchor locks, lift shunts, sail cutters." The captain carried on down the row, but Minerva lost track shortly after anchors. His oddly unbroken, monotone style of speaking was hard to follow.

For a while, Captain Glass allowed Minerva to control their flight, guiding her hand when required. For the most part, she didn't need his assistance. Flying high and straight was easy.

"Where's Riggersport?" she asked.

"Five days to sunrise and about twelve degrees to range. We generally head to sunrise until we hit the mountains, and then turn and sail to range until we see the river. Riggersport is a little into the mountains from there."

"Where's my home from there? The place where you were attacked by the Phoenix."

"It's back that way, in the empire. A long way away."

The captain's response felt evasive, but Minerva couldn't explain why. "If pirates are a problem for the empire, why don't they attack Riggersport?"

"That wouldn't accomplish much. Pirates rarely band together, even under the best of circumstances, but Riggersport is neutral ground. An attack there would provide a reason to cooperate, and could incite a war with just about every pirate in the sky. They would need to eliminate the sail supply in Reshampur to even have a chance, possibly combined with a full-scale invasion of Vangal."

"What's Vangal?"

"A very sad story," Captain Glass replied pensively. "Vangal is here. We are sailing over it right now."

"It's a country?"

"It was a country. These days it's mostly just a name and a memory."

Right then Minerva seized an old thought drifting in her mind.

"Why did Cloudscorch try to sink us? Why not try to plunder us?"

Minerva looked up at the captain when he didn't reply. He just stared off into the distance until she called out to him.

"Yeah," he said, snapping back from his thoughts. "I've got an old gambling debt, you see. I owe Black some money and he's out to collect it the hard way. I'll settle with him once we get to port. Would you like to learn how a sextant works?"

The sudden shift to a question made Minerva nervous. Even though she agreed to his offer, and delighted in the information that he provided, she could not shake her thoughts free of the fear revealed in his voice. Captain Black was out to kill Glass, and Glass couldn't win every time. That's why they were flying a damaged ship straight for the closest neutral port without a single day of rest. Cloudscorch was just the beginning.

Chapter 26

Scouts

"Scouts spotted 'em a few days out from Riggersport, sir."

Captain Black nodded at Squints. "Thanks, Squints. We'll anchor for a spell, resupply and repair, and then we can enter Riggersport from sunrise." The captain leaned back, not waiting for a reply. "Tell the twin ships to tie them down outside of Riggersport if they see them. If they can't, run them off in the direction of Hero."

"What if he won't leave Riggersport, sir?"

"Then I will kill him when I get there, if he even lives that long. Let the trade barons know that we are coming to port, and that we'll hire riggers for double shares."

Squints saluted with a twisted smile and hustled from the room.

After Squints departed, Captain Black pulled an ancient, tarnished coin out of his pocket. It possessed a front-facing head on both sides, rather than a head in profile, one of which wore a mask. Two tiny pinholes pierced the eyes of the heads, connecting through the coin.

Black toyed with the coin in his hands a few times, and then pulled over an exposed candle on the table. When he held the coin above the flame, tendrils of smoke flowed up through the eyes, expanding and forming the disturbing shape of a black and cloudy face upon the ceiling.

A face that spoke in the hollow voice of an echoing tomb.

AGENTS, ONE, CALLED TO THE ATTENDANCE OF CAPTAIN BLACK OF THE PHOENIX, OF THE BLACK AND RED CONSORTIUM. INFORM THE AGENTS OF THIS COUNSEL AS TO THE MATTER OF DISCUSSION.

The emotionless voice of the shadow imposed an unnerving deadness upon reality. Even in the quiet that followed its words, the absence of its speech suffocated any conversation that might follow, like a strangled throat begging for air.

"I'm calling in a favor."

AGENTS OF THIS COUNSEL RECOGNIZE A FAVOR OF INDETERMINATE WORTH OWED TO ONE CAPTAIN BLACK. STATE THE NATURE OF YOUR REQUEST.

"Captain Glass of the Skyraker. Kill him. Painfully."

A long pause wedged itself into the conversation.

UNDERSTOOD. THIS COUNSEL RECOGNIZES THAT, UPON SUCCESS OR FAILURE OF THE AGREED UPON FAVOR, CAPTAIN BLACK OF THE PHOENIX WILL REMAIN IN POSSESSION OF A FAVOR OF INDETERMINATE WORTH, TO BE REMITTED AT ANY TIME BY THIS AGENT AND ITS COUNSEL, AT THE DISCRETION OF THE OWNING PARTY.

When Captain Black looked up, nothing but smoke wafted between the rafters. What could have been a face moments ago was now just the eerie shadows of a candle dancing in the currents of an unseen breeze.

Chapter 27

Riggersport

Before reaching Riggersport, the Skyraker plundered a second ship, the Striped Hen, but Lintumen designated almost the entire haul necessary for repairs, leaving little-to-nothing for the crew. Minerva didn't mind, as she enjoyed browsing their ill-gotten goods almost as much as she did the idea of owning them.

To her surprise, Minerva found Big Jim lagging behind in the hold again. He approached her almost immediately when she arrived and asked her to pick out some things for his niece. He even offered to return the other goods taken from the Lily May, but she refused. Knowing that he had a niece, and that it wasn't a lie meant only to torment her, was something of a comfort.

Minerva spent most of her evenings alone in her cabin, or up in the crow's nest speaking to Nezzen. Sometimes Luff and Leech, or even Gunner, asked her to join them in the communal area where the sailors slept, but she always declined.

After a journey of several weeks at sky that began at Minerva's homestead, the Skyraker arrived at the entrance to Riggersport, a narrow, dark, and craggy canyon with a stream of water trickling out of it. As they approached, a terrible wind tossed the ship back and forth, which left Minerva clinging to her lifeline in the rigging.

While the trip into the opening was certainly bothersome, sailing up the canyon towards Riggersport downright terrified Minerva. The nearby rocks encroached much too closely on either side, and the entry wasn't so much a canyon as it was a tunnel. The cliffs on both sides bowed inward, leaving only a thin line of sky above them. All along the canyon floor, half submerged in the shallow depths of the narrow waterway, countless ships rotted in various stages of decay. The dams created by their remains generated terraced pools, each one pouring into the next. Many wrecks appeared to be recent, and it was obvious that a bad turn or poorly judged spacing could quickly send a ship into the waters below.

The further the Skyraker flew, the more the tunnel tightened, until eventually even the light of the sun fled from the deck of the ship. Small stone pylons, with brightly burning fires, dotted the upper reaches of the cavern. They gave the slow-moving river an eerie, ghostly look, and every sound from the ship echoed back at them in the cold darkness.

As they approached the port, Minerva heard all the chaos of a bustling city tumbling down the cavern towards her. The shouting voices of people, the sounds of construction and labor, and even the occasional gunshot. Then they passed the cannon towers. Deck after deck of manned and loaded cannons built into the walls and pointed outward down the canyon.

From there they entered the infamous city of Riggersport.

Constructed almost vertically, mostly haphazardly, and in many cases, entirely unintentionally, Riggersport defied all reasonable standards of engineering. Hundreds of ships, massive to minute, sat atop each other, anchored to the walls of the canyon on both sides by any material at hand. Many of the ships wore ragged weathered sails that supported whole columns of the city with the lift of their hammers.

Gangplanks, rope walkways, and even buildings, connected the ships, making it difficult to tell where one ship ended and the next began. In several places, where three or more hulls hugged each other, the whole of their decks combined into a single, massive surface on which even roads ran through. Endless ropes ran up and down the interlaced hulls of the city, acting as both elevators and scaffolding for repairs. Many ships moored upon the outer cusp of the city, clearly at risk of becoming a permanent fixture.

A lake filled the canyon below the city, wide and dark in the middle of the mountain. A few weak beams of light shone down from above, spotlighting a body of water choked with the debris of dozens of hulls, masts, and keels.

High above, strung between the shifting columns of wood and rope, hung an immense black sail, and it cast a dark shadow over all those below it. White markings depicted a dueling pistol and a fencing sabre that crossed over each other.

Throughout the wreckage of the city, people swarmed everywhere. People climbing, people working, people laughing, and people fighting, sometimes doing more than one at the same time.

Minerva felt the twins land on the spar beside her and pat her on the back.

"Welcome – to Riggersport."

Chapter 28

Crew Dismissed

The Skyraker moored in the coops near the bottom of the cavern, special docks used for long-term anchorage and repairs. Once there, the lead carpenter assessed the Skyraker and provided a cost estimate. Based on Captain Glass' reaction, the number obviously exceeded the value he expected. Shortly afterward, the captain dismissed the entirety of the Skyraker's crew, at which point they disembarked. Almost all at once, in fact. They jostled and shoved each other and joked about what they would be doing while in port. Mostly, the choice activity involved alcohol.

Minerva spotted Luff and Leech among the crowd and pulled them aside. "When do we come back?"

"Just wait – for crew call," they replied neatly. "To the Blowhole?" said one. "To the Blowhole!" shouted the other, before pushing off together and beckoning Minerva to follow.

A thousand questions raced through Minerva's mind, like where to acquire food and lodging, but no one lingered to answer them. Nearly in a state of panic, she gently reminded herself that Nezzen never leaves.

"I thought you'd come here," Nezzen said with a smile. "Scary place, isn't it?"

Minerva nodded, handing him the hairbrush, and then she sat down in front of him. "The captain dismissed the crew. Shouldn't we all be leaving?"

"Well," Nezzen said, in a slow drawl, as if he was winding up for a long explanation. "I'm guessing the repairs are going to cost substantially more than Captain Glass expected. That's a problem. Pirate crews aren't beholden to a ship. They come and go when they please, as they please, on whatever ship pays the best shares. When they have money, they stay here, indulging their vices. When they don't, they go out to sky on whatever ship will take them. If Captain Glass can't afford the repairs, then he's in a bind. A broken ship can't attract sailors or earn money, but if he can't pay, then he'll be forced to leave the ship here."

"Why doesn't the crew help pay for repairs? It supports their livelihood."

"No need. Plenty of other ships to take them. Olbus will be back, no doubt. He likes Glass, and Glass will choose him to be boatswain. That makes it his duty to choose a crew from the applicants, but if the sailors don't like the captain, or his boatswain, or they think there won't be any profit in it, they won't come. If Olbus includes you in the crew, then that's a sign of bad luck. No girls allowed, you might have heard."

It felt like Nezzen had something more to say, but he ended his explanation there. Rather than putting her at ease, as she had hoped, he had caused her tension to rise dramatically.

"So, I can't come back?" she asked. "Even if I took the oath, I'm still stuck here."

"I didn't say that."

"Not with those words, but you did."

Nezzen hummed but didn't reply. In Minerva's heart, a great pain swelled forth. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she felt a lump in her throat that would eventually leave her sobbing.

"Leave your things on board," he said softly. "It shows the captain, and the boatswain, that you intend to return. Of your friends, the ones that left just now, how many of them took their belongings with them? Most importantly, the ship does not provide a sailor with a hammock. So, did they take their hammocks, and not just their plunder?"

Minerva thought about who was carrying what when they disembarked, blocking out her fears. Lockjaw had a whole sack over his shoulder, but she already knew he wasn't coming back. Luff and Leech both carried small satchels. In fact, most of the sailors carried little more than what they would sell. The few that did have their belongings were mostly the ones that didn't like her.

"See," Nezzen continued, not letting her reply. "They'll be back, and they don't even care that you're here."

When Minerva turned to look at Nezzen, his sincere expression still wasn't enough to sway her back to comfort. "What about food? Where am I to stay?"

"That, I'm afraid, is a far more difficult question to answer. Once you leave, you're expected to stay ashore until crew call. You will need to sell your shares to pay your way until that time."

Minerva did not feel at all comforted by the thought of fending for herself in Riggersport for an indeterminate amount of time. Not only that, her only salable share was an intensely heavy wardrobe, and she couldn't even open it.

Still dissatisfied, she thanked Nezzen none-the-less, and made for the exit.

"Before you go," Nezzen said, reaching into his pile of treasures, but Minerva refused before he even offered. "You could sell it, to pay for room and board," he urged.

"No," she insisted. "You have given me enough gifts. I don't want to diminish their value through excess, and you said yourself that you would rather not give them away only to have them sold."

"Then how about some advice?"

Minerva nodded.

"Two things. First, you're a girl in a port city that is mostly men and mostly pirates. Second, pirates love stories."

Nezzen was like Lintumen, she decided. He didn't like to tell the full story right away, so she did her best to take to heart what he said.

"Goodnight, Minerva."

It was still daytime, she almost replied, but quickly uncovered the joke; daylight never fell on Riggersport.

Chapter 29

Seamstresses

The first thing to do in Riggersport, Minerva decided, was to find a seamstress. For some time, she had been dealing with clothes that didn't fit. She already hemmed a few of her garments to stay rolled or pinched, but now she had a genuine opportunity to find some properly fitted shirts and trousers.

When she asked one of the coop workers about a seamstress, he gave her an unsettling look, but he also gave her directions. Riggersport proved to be difficult to navigate by word, though, so she stopped several more times, and the response was always the same. The men all looked her up and down, and then gave her a very lecherous smile and directed her on her way.

They were all filthy, she thought. Every plank, every person, every surface was just covered in dust and dirt. Aboard the Skyraker, she had kept herself clean using water from the bucket room, when she could get away with it, but only a few of the other sailors did that. Yet here, despite the abundance of fresh water and easy access, no one seemed to bathe at all.

The place was utterly pungent.

With only a few wrong turns, Minerva found the establishment she sought. A handful of women stood outside a large ship-turned-building, and they pleasantly greeted all the men that walked by. They also modeled elegant gowns, although they were too low cut for her tastes. A large depiction of a threaded needle hung from the prow of the ship.

Minerva approached the women with as much courage as she could, eager to hear another feminine voice. "Excuse me," she said. "I'm looking for a seamstress."

A tall girl with black hair, somewhat well-behaved, turned and looked down at her. "For you? Or are you looking for work?"

The prospect of potential employment ensnared Minerva's interests immediately. If she could raise enough money, then she could not only cover any interim expenses, but she might be able to charter a ship to take her home, or at the very least, in the right direction.

She nodded, trying not to appear overeager.

"Hey, Roker," the woman shouted over her shoulder. "New girl out here! Wants work!"

It wasn't long before the man called Roker arrived to greet Minerva. He was tall and stately, with a handsome shaven face, but older, perhaps in his fifties. He wore a bleached white shirt, black leather shoes, and a tall white hat. When he saw Minerva, he smiled and bowed, taking her by the hand.

He was very clean, she thought, and he smelled like fine perfume.

"Come to work, have you?"

Minerva nodded again, thinking that he seemed like a good employer.

"I see," he said, looking her up and down and leaning sideways as though he was trying to look at her back. "Yeah, we might have some work for you. I know some customers that would pay extra for your services."

Roker then reached forward and gently touched Minerva's face.

The hair on Minerva's neck stood on end and her arms and legs went tense. The image of the stately man in white suddenly shattered, and her excitement turned almost instantly to terror. There was something very wrong with this man, but she couldn't see it plainly.

"Perhaps later, for the work, you see I'm just passing through for now, so I'm looking for clothes, new clothes, first, to buy."

It certainly wasn't the most elegant sentence she had ever constructed, but it sufficed. Roker gave her a wicked grin and said that he would be there when she came back, and then directed her to speak with a man named Thimbler that lived a few decks up.

Minerva took the information and left, doing her best to avoid running.

Unlike the Needle and Thread, where Minerva wondered if they even manufactured clothes, finding Thimbler's ship was much harder. The few men she did pass on the upper decks gave her troublesome glances if she asked for directions, and if she happened to mention that she was looking to make money, almost all of them told her to go back and talk to Roker, usually with the same unnerving smile.

To her dismay, she also discovered that several decks up was a very literal direction, as Riggersport lived up to its name. She found herself climbing whatever cordage or shrouds were available, just to reach the next level of the city. When she finally arrived at her destination deck, her scarred arm ached immensely from the effort.

Minerva rolled up her sleeve and began to massage her scar while she looked around, taking note of how everything smelled like smoke or peat up here. A little way down the deck, she spotted a small sloop buried half into the hull of a larger vessel. A very solid bell, dimpled like a thimble, hung outside the only entrance. A faint light shone through the dirty glass of the door, but she pushed on, hoping for a better reception.

Ding-a-ling.

The sound of the bell above the door bordered on insulting, Minerva thought.

The smell of musty old cloth smothered Minerva's mind inside the space. Within the small cabin, dresses and other womanly clothes cluttered the many racks and shelves that lined the walls. A few delicate shoes for women sat on a dusty box near the entrance, and several hats dangled from the ceiling. A row of fine corsets modeled on a series of wooden mannequins impressed her the most.

A moment after she entered, a red curtain at the back of the shop drew aside and a very tall and very thin man walked out pinching several pins between his lips. The low ceiling forced him to stoop through the door, and he wore a long shapely dress that boasted a full bosom.

"Hello, miss. Welcome to Thimbler's Fine Textiles. How can I help you?"

In her mind, Minerva said hello to the man, greeted him politely, and then complimented him on the design of his dress. In reality, she stood there making a stupid face.

Chapter 30

Lady Lost

"Get three – for us!"

One of the rigger twins tossed a departing sailor a few coins to pay for some drinks.

"You'll love this place. Good food. Good drink. Good song. Good times. Everyone will be here."

Luff and Leech turned to face Minerva, and then stopped as steady as stone, staring at the empty Minerva-shaped hole between them.

"Where's Minnie?" they asked each other.

Then they turned on the group around them, but no one replied.

"Did she – get off the ship?"

"Yeah," said one of the sailors as he was about to drink.

The twins had him by the collar before his lips hit the tankard. "Where did – she go?"

"Up to the nest. You know, Nezzen. Then she came down and left."

The twins leaped away from the table in unison. "I'll ask Olbus! I'll ask Nezzen!" they shouted at each other as they bolted from the table, bounding over the railings and almost falling down the infinite ladders of rigging towards the Skyraker.

Chapter 31

Thimbler

"Thimbler?" Minerva stammered, struggling to connect the fragments of a sentence together.

"Yes," he replied in a throaty voice, possibly deeper than any she had heard before.

"Um, I, uh, let's see—"

"Never start a sentence with filler," interjected the man. "Um, let's see, like, you know, any of those. Take a breath and think about what you want to say." He stood with his hand on his hip and let his body swing at a jaunty angle.

Minerva swallowed hard and inhaled fully. "I'm sorry," she said. "I've never seen a man in a dress before."

Thimbler smiled, apparently impressed by her honesty. "Many of the girls around here are my dress size, if not my height, so I tailor my products to fit them and then test them for comfort."

Minerva caught herself staring at his chest, but not before he noticed as well, in response to which he reached down the front and pulled out a small bag.

"Sand."

"Oh."

"What can I do for you, young lady?"

"Roker said I should come here for clothes."

Thimbler gave her a very stern look, and his body tensed. "You're one of Roker's girls?"

"No sir, not yet. He said I could work for him, though."

Her reply seemed to disappoint the man dramatically. "If you see anything you like, let me know and I can price it for you. I will likely need to hem it, though."

Minerva nodded and began to peruse the selection. She decided quite quickly that Thimbler was a great judge of color and style, producing excellent patterns and very appealing visuals. His stitching, however, was awful. His entire product barely held together, tethered loosely by large, sloppy stitches that were likely to burst under any amount of significant force.

"Um," she said, but caught herself when he made a face at her. "Did you sew these?"

Thimbler nodded proudly, and said that he had taught himself.

"Do you create your own patterns?"

This time he shook his head, and pushed some papers towards her. "I mostly try to copy what I find in here. If the crews bring back a dress, I buy those and copy them, as well."

Minerva picked up the papers and looked through them. They displayed many elegant patterns and styles from a place called Taladihn. She had never heard of such a place, but she loved it already.

"Do you sell needles and thread, too?"

Thimbler shook his head, sensing the true nature of her persistent questioning. "You don't like them, do you?"

"I do," she insisted. "It's just that, um—"

"What? It's not like I have a lot to work with here."

"No, they're great. I love them, but your stitching is, well—" Minerva struggled for a polite way to say terrible. "—not good."

Thimbler raised his brows, astonished and insulted. "Awful or not, if you're not going to buy anything, please stop wasting my time."

Quickly and decisively, Thimbler retreated through the curtain, out of view.

Great way to make friends, she said to herself, and then promptly told her other self to shut up.

Minerva looked around the cabin again. The designs really were wonderful, but even if the seams weren't atrocious, she didn't have any money to buy them. Even worse, she had the feeling that everything here had suddenly gotten a lot more expensive.

Stricken with inspiration, she spun to face the closed curtain. "I could teach you to stitch!" she called out.

Thimbler appeared again, drawing the cloth aside with only two fingers. "You know how?"

"Yes. I can do a fantastic backstitch—that's my best one—but I know lots more. My mother taught me."

"What would you get out of it?"

"I need a place to stay, and food, and I'm trying to make clothes that fit. I need supplies."

"I see," he said.

Thimbler twisted his jaw and chewed on the idea. The anxiety of waiting for his answer left her heart in her throat. While a little odd, he seemed like a much more agreeable person than Roker.

"I don't know you," Thimbler began, to which Minerva really wanted to interrupt and introduce herself, but he denied her the opportunity. "That means you must be new here, which is a problem in Riggersport. Plenty of sailors come and go, and trusting them to make good on their word is a coin toss at best. For all I know, you won't be here tomorrow. That means you need someone to vouch for you. Someone that I trust. Understand?"

Minerva understood all too well. His answer was a very wordy, but resolute, no.

Chapter 32

Loyal Knights

"Nezzen— Says. He thinks— She went. Off to buy clothes— And! Find work."

It was an odd sentence for the twins, as one of the pair gasped for air—having just vaulted up the mast to the crow's nest and back—while his brother urged him on. Olbus and the twins stood on the deck of the Skyraker, staring off into the tangle of ships that made up the port.

"What would she ask – if she was looking for clothes?"

Olbus looked over at the twins, who were clearly lost. Riggersport was home to them, and they could easily navigate its treacherous society, but they had no experience with the minds of teenage girls.

"A seamstress," Olbus offered.

Luff and Leech mirrored the wide-eyed gaze of the other.

"Roker," concluded the black man, gritting his teeth.

All together, they thundered down the gangplank and into the city, leaving an angry crowd in their wake.

Chapter 33

One of Roker's Girls

Outside of Thimbler's Fine Textiles, Minerva didn't know where to turn. It was getting late, and drunken pirates had begun to stumble about wherever she went. A few leaned towards her with grasping hands as they passed, sending her leaping away. Although she hated the idea, her only conclusion was to go back and see Roker.

When she arrived at the Needle and Thread, many additional girls loitered outside the ship. She realized then that they were all wearing clothes made by Thimbler. Some of the larger girls truly tested the limits of his handiwork.

"Welcome back," Roker said with a slick grin that made her skin crawl. "No new dress for you?"

"I couldn't afford one," she said, lowering her head in shame.

Roker bent at the waist and put his arm around her. "Don't worry, you won't need one. Come with me."

Leading her by the shoulder, Roker directed Minerva into his establishment. The open floor warmed her bare feet, and the infrequent carpets tickled her soles. Metal trimmings and stained wood gave everything a comforting glow in the dim lamplight. Leather couches and benches littered the area, hosting lounging pairs of women and men.

In the confined space, Roker's perfume overpowered almost everything else, and Minerva choked on the mixed scents of pipe smoke and alcohol in the crowded room. The men around her all smiled when they saw her, raising their eyebrows and nodding towards Roker, who returned their looks with a broad grin.

Deeper within the ship, they descended a staircase into what likely used to be the hold, and entered a long hallway filled with sturdy doors. Outside each door stood a fearsome looking sailor, nearly as big as Olbus. It made her feel like she just walked into a guarded fortress.

Minerva's inner voice was busy forming a multitude of objections to her current situation, including escape plans, when Roker stopped at a reinforced door at the far end of the hallway. Before she could find a polite excuse to leave, he pulled a long metal key from his pocket and opened the door, urging her through ahead of him.

Once inside, Roker locked the door and returned the key back to his pocket with a pat. "Come, sit here," the man in white said, motioning her towards a cushioned bench near an impressive, and roaring, fireplace. He sat down across from her on a leather chair with a high back, and removed his hat, revealing dark straight hair.

The smell of Roker and his perfume wholly permeated the space. It was a cozy cabin lit by a large golden chandelier, fully furnished by wooden liquor cabinets, fine carpets, and several leather chairs and couches. It boasted an immense bed, complete with massive pillows and dark red sheets, and an exquisitely crafted headboard.

"New in town?" he asked, watching her examine the room.

Minerva nodded.

"And you're looking for work?"

She nodded again.

"What sort of experience do you have?" His voice drawled smoothly, as if every word held great meaning.

"I have a lot of practice sewing. My mother taught me every stitch she knew." Minerva tried to keep her answers terse and focus on her strengths. Mostly she wanted to leave, but she also felt that a successful interview wouldn't do any harm.

"Oh," Roker said, tilting his head back a bit. "You're an experienced tailor?"

Minerva nodded again, but took note of the extra emphasis he put on the word tailor. Maybe he knew about magic, she thought, and considered revising her answer.

"I see," he said again, moving over to sit beside her, a little too close for comfort.

Minerva moved away slightly, but Roker put his arm around her and pulled her back. When she looked up at him, trying to figure out what he was doing, he brushed her hair and face with his hand. Her pulse spiked instantly and she shivered. Something about Roker twisted her guts the wrong way.

"No work in a dress?" he asked.

She shook her head, somewhat confused. It wasn't a normal question, but her answer seemed to make him happy.

"Never worked on bed sheets, I understand?"

"I made my own sheets when I was six," she explained honestly, worried that the answer went contrary to his hopes. Again, he was more than pleased. Disproportionately so, she decided.

Up until now, Minerva had been doing her best to ignore her inner voice, but it was growing louder the more that Roker spoke. It was telling her to leave, immediately. At this point, it was practically screaming.

Roker put his other arm on her leg and slid it up towards her hip. She put effort into stopping him, but he put more force into the act than she was politely willing to resist. The sensation made her writhe and gave her good reason to pull away from him, but his grip only tightened.

"Tsk, tsk, sweetie. Don't run, now."

Run! Now! Get out! Her inner voice commanded frantically.

"I need to go," Minerva replied quietly, and stood up. She pushed away from his grasp as best she could, but he spun her around suddenly, forcing her to stand between his legs, facing him. His long arms wrapped around her when she held him back.

"I'll be gentle," Roker snickered, slipping his arm down her back.

Right then Minerva reacted intensely to his unsolicited advances. Her body went tense, her emotions reeled, and violence became the only option she could conclude in a split-second decision. It wasn't the disgusting grin on his face, or the smell of fish on his breath. It wasn't the way he said one thing, but his eyes said something else. It wasn't the fact that he pinned her against him in a way that left no personal comfort space. None of this would have caused her to do anything more than protest verbally, or push him away politely.

It was the way he forced his cold hand into her pants, down her backside, and between her legs.

Roker reeled back swiftly from the impact of Minerva's forehead vaulting straight into his nose. When he did not immediately release her, she did it again, pulling hard on his collar for extra effect. Blood exploded onto her face with the second impact as the filthy man fell backwards off the cushioned bench.

Minerva ran for the door, turned the handle and pulled hard, but it didn't open. She tried again with a push, but again it stood resolute.

He's locked you in, her mind screamed. The key is still in his pocket! Minerva dashed to the opposite side of the room, putting the bed between them.

Roker stood slowly, wiping his nose. He snorted once, blowing a red streak across the carpet, and a wild flare sparked in his eyes.

"Just you and me, darling. I can wait all night."

He has no weapon, she thought. Make him give you the key!

When Minerva drew Velvet from her bun, her hair flew wild and free from its binding. She extended the sabre to its fullest length as fast as she could.

Roker stepped back, but his grin only widened. The blood from his nose had trickled into his mouth and stained his teeth. "Got some fight in you, girly."

With a flourish, he whipped a red-hot poker out of the fire, sending coals scattering across the floor, and then he advanced, swinging hard and fast. His first few blows went wide in the air, but the last one connected with a cabinet full of alcohol. The contents spilled to the floor in a shower of broken glass, and the poker hissed as the droplets fell upon it.

Minerva scrambled across the bed. When she looked back her vision was suddenly hazy, and the visage of a stately woman, with a dark and formless face, advanced upon her. Roker attacked again, rushing across the bed, but the image of the ghostly woman sent Minerva reeling away before he could strike.

Hot coals suddenly pressed against Minerva's bare foot and she screamed, falling sideways onto the deck. Roker left no quarter for her to recover, bringing the poker down fast. She deflected it into the floor with her blade at the last second, without even thinking about it. The moment he spent regaining his balance was just enough for her to limp backwards to the door.

Minerva's right foot throbbed in agony. When she turned around the ghostly woman was there again, and she was speaking, but her words were voiceless. Minerva couldn't understand, and the woman abruptly lunged at Minerva's head with a spectral blade. Minerva dodged instinctively, rolling away to the side.

Broken planks splintered above Minerva as a blistering poker embedded itself in the door. She did her best to circle around the room again, coddling her foot as she went, but alcohol covered everything around her. When her wounded sole touched down beside the broken cabinet, she hauled it back into the air beside her, stinging badly. Tears clouded her sight and a shard of broken glass bit into her other foot, leaving her balanced against the top of the cabinet with one hand.

"Tsk, tsk," Roker chided, laughing at her predicament. "Any more of this and you'll be damaged goods before I even get to you."

Whenever Minerva looked at Roker, a strange apparition fogged her sight. She couldn't concentrate on the threat at hand. The apparition of a woman blocked her thoughts, but while it did, the idea of persuasive words whispered in the corners of Minerva's memories. Minerva tried to listen. To understand. The woman was teaching her something, pointing to her feet and knees while crouching up and down.

Roker dashed forward, catching Minerva unprepared and driving the poker against her shoulder. An awful smell wrenched her back into the real world and she tumbled backwards between the bed and the wall with a painful shriek. She pushed herself back up into the corner, scrambling for balance and using her sword as a crutch to stand up.

No time for tears, her mind begged. She sucked in hard and readied Velvet in both hands to attack.

"You won't win," Roker said, stepping away and dropping his poker into the fire again. "You've got spirit, no doubt, but who doesn't like a mare with a little fight in her? Makes things fun while you break her in." Then he removed his soaked jacket and tossed it to the floor beside him before reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

The specter of a woman took Roker's place in Minerva's mind, replacing his words with its mysterious miming. While Roker spoke, Minerva listened to her tutor, obeying its desire for her to stand with her knees bent in a wide stance.

Roker threw his wet shirt aside and loosened his belt. For a thin man, he possessed an incredible build, and was obviously no stranger to violence. His scarred and tattooed flesh stretched tight against his sinewy muscles.

"Last chance, cutie," he said, slinging his arms to his sides and allowing his pants droop low on his waist. "Last chance to do this the easy way."

All Minerva felt in that moment was hatred for an ugly and disgusting man. He wasn't looking at her like a person, but like an object, and he wanted to hurt her. The more she cried out, and the more she resisted, the wilder he grew.

Minerva slowed her breathing, lowered her injured foot, and took the best bent-knee stance she could imagine.

Roker smiled with a spark in his eyes, and then removed his leather belt and flexed it in his hands, just as Olbus had done with the rod.

Minerva grit her teeth and locked eyes with the faceless ghost that veiled her opponent. When she blanked her mind, the idea of its words coalesced inside her thoughts, replacing her consciousness with its own and revealing its motives; it was showing her how to fight, and she needed to wait for an opening.

A sudden flick of the wrist sent a cord of snapping leather straight towards Minerva. Although his reach greatly exceeded her own, Roker's bloodlust left his body exposed, and Minerva leaned into his attack, stabbing the lanky man in the shoulder. He recoiled quickly with blood oozing down his front. If her arm had been any longer, he would have lost a limb.

"Ha! Eye for an eye, I see. Nasty sticker you got there."

Roker put his spare hand to the wound and pressed it closed, attempting to clot it.

Minerva shuffled hastily across the alcohol and glass onto open boards, doing her best to push the shards aside and block out the sting. As she moved, Roker snapped the leather towards her, baiting her into an attack. Unfortunately, he was skilled at feinting, and Minerva lunged at a bad angle. He seized the moment with incredible flourish, wrapped her blade in leather, and wrenched it from her hands as he spun her around himself. Unable to control her momentum, Minerva tumbled over the corner of the bed and into the wall near the hearth.

Roker shouted in pain as Minerva landed. A wide and wicked gash snaked its way up his arm. "That thing's sharp!" he cried.

Bloodied and red, Velvet clattered to the hardwood, shrinking quickly as Roker kicked it away into the corner. Minerva grabbed the hot poker that lay at her feet, doing her best to wield it as Roker had done. It was much heavier than Velvet and difficult to control, and no ghost appeared to aid her.

"My, you are a quick one. Rile me up, darling!"

Use your eyes, she told herself, while Roker cracked the belt in her face. As he moved, he put excess weight on his forward knee, locking it straight. On the third whip, she put both hands to the brand and swung hard and low. The belt stung very little when it clipped her ear. At the same time, sailing searing iron smashed into Roker's unbent knee, toppling him with ease. Minerva spun fast with the rebounding metal and connected again. Roker hissed angrily as the skin on his ribs melted away and the bone broke. While he lay writhing, she drew the poker up high and hammered it down into his jaw, tearing half his lip off in the process.

An iron rod is not a well-balanced blade, however, and Minerva lacked the strength to attack rapidly with it. While she prepared her next strike, Roker unfolded his good leg straight into her hips with the same power as an angered mule.

Pain shot down Minerva's back and legs as she bounced off the wall and crumpled to the floor.

Roker pushed himself to his feet with considerable effort, coddling his face and knee. "You bitch!" he barked.

Minerva's eyes searched frantically for a weapon. The fire poker lay where she dropped it, directly between the two of them. A terrible pain assailed her legs as she stood, forcing her to lean against the wall.

Roker shook in fury. "I'm gonna murder you!"

"Better men than you have already tried," she retorted with a sneer, withholding an urge to spit on the ground.

Right then, in the absolute heat of their standoff, a knock emanated from the door, loud enough to command the attention of them both. The second time it landed, a few shards of wood jumped off the doorframe, the iron hinges bent, and every glass in the room shook. Someone, or something, was doing its best to break into the room. Then it struck again, and the door caved partway. Whatever it was, it was clearly succeeding.

"What the—" Roker began to say, but was cut off as the remnants of the door exploded inward, showering the room in dust and debris.

Shirtless and hobbled, Roker did his best to pinwheel away from the bursting wood while something massive and dark rushed through the opening. It grabbed him by the throat and shoved him backward.

Through the flying wreckage, Minerva saw Olbus in a terrifying state. His whole body flexed beneath a light covering of dust, and he stood like a statue while Roker twisted in his iron grip. When Olbus turned to face her, she felt a sense of fear like nothing she had ever known. His lips peeled back and an unspeakably intense fury burned in his eyes.

"Leave. Now."

He said it slow and quiet, but it didn't matter. He could have said anything and Minerva would have obeyed. She did her best to exit quickly, leaning one hand against the wall. Outside the room, she discovered a mass of half-dressed men and women that had gathered, both curious and afraid, and a handful of burly guards that lay unconscious on the floor. Before she could decide what to do, Luff and Leech materialized from the crowd and lifted her into the air, rushing through the ship.

When her escorts lowered her onto a bench beneath the sign for the Needle and Thread, they began patting her down, seemingly checking for injuries. Their efforts quickly revealed the burns on her foot and shoulder.

"Hot poker – That sick bastard – I hope Olbus murders him."

They both looked angry, worried, and comforted, all at once, and they spoke over each other, damaging the regular fluidity of their speech.

"What were you – you doing – Minnie – in there?" they pressured, but she couldn't reply. Too much relief had pushed its way into her mind and she found herself laughing and crying at the same time.

After she caught her breath, and felt ready to speak, she told them how she ended up inside the Needle and Thread. As she was finishing, Olbus emerged from inside the building. He walked over to her, exchanged wordless glances with the two twins, and then patted her on the shoulder in a comforting way. In his hand, he held two weathered sticks and a dagger-sized sword. A look of total relief dominated his expression as he handed the objects to her. Without another word, he left.

Once Olbus was gone, a strange expression occupied the faces of the twins. "That old git. This is practically his fault. Who demands that someone vouch for a girl? Especially a teenager."

Minerva eyed the twins suspiciously. Hearing them speak to themselves conveyed a completely different sensation of unnerving.

"Come along, Minnie. Let's go – talk to Thimbler."

"Now?" she begged.

"Yes, now. We'll be – too drunk later."

It had been a long night, she decided, and she didn't have it in her to keep fighting, so they left for the upper decks together.

Chapter 34

Drunken Woes

Captain Glass' private cabin wasn't excessive or opulent, like the chambers of other captains, but he liked it that way. He kept a modest supply of liquors on hand for entertaining guests, and a few pieces of furniture that caught his eye throughout the years, but that was it.

Presently, he reclined in comfort in a high-backed leather chair that he enjoyed, and was doing his best to determine how he to pay the carpenters for their work. He counted and recounted the few coins in front of him, interspersing his stacks with swigs of his drink. For the fourth time in a row, he had failed to total a great enough sum. Nothing he owned, even if he sold all of it, covered the costs.

Glass stumbled out into the hall and unlocked the door on the far side. "Thish ish it, Lint," he slurred, as he flopped down on the bed.

Lintumen looked up from his book and frowned.

"There'sh not 'nuff money. We're shunk."

The few candles in the room flickered and dimmed to a more calming level, without being touched.

"Oh, I'm sure something will come up to cover it."

"Nope!" Captain Glass moaned, pushing himself up on one elbow. "Nothing left. Thi'sh 'ol girl is fine'ly fin'shed. She'sh part o 'th port, now."

Lintumen moved over and sat the captain upright. "You could ask Nezzen. He has enough to cover it, I'm certain."

"Why should he? That'sh hish money."

The captain suddenly bent double, as if he was about to vomit, but then relaxed. His neat, well-behaved hair flopped forward around his face, soaked with sweat. "I'm a failure, Lint." The captain's face hung low between his shoulders as he spoke. "Glass, they call me. Glass! Old Glass can't fight. Nope. He'll break." The captain hiccupped loudly and wiped his eyes. "All I wan'd wash a l'il fame. I doomed us'all."

The steady hand of Lintumen reached forward and pulled the wobbling man back into a sitting position.

"You're not a failure," Lintumen insisted. "You've made some decisions that you're now regretting. The measure of a man is not the mistakes he makes, but by what he learns from them. You were handed many opportunities to send young Minerva to her death, or worse, but you risked your station as captain to keep her safe. Only a good man would have done that."

"You think so?"

"Absolutely. Then there's the matter of Olbus, a man with some of the strictest morals I have ever encountered. He has stood by you when others might not. The stable crew that you've built around you includes some of the strongest and most deserving sailors I've ever known. They trust you, because you're good and honest."

"Yeah, he ish a good man, that Olbush."

"Go and rest. You have time to acquire the funds. Order the repairs in the morning."

"Yeah, that'll do. Thank'sh, Lint, yer a good man, too."

Lintumen helped the captain to the door, and then bid him goodnight. Inside the hall, Captain Glass made no effort to relock Lintumen's cell. However, the bolts remained fastened and the door sealed. It was as if time had simply forgotten the fact that Captain Glass ever went in to see his navigator. In his drunken stupor, Glass never noticed the discrepancy. Instead, he stumbled his way into his cabin and returned to his finances.

Chapter 35

Thimbler's Pocket

When Luff and Leech stood behind Minerva in Thimbler's tiny shop, swearing by her character and competence, Thimbler accepted her offer to tutor him. Only one detail remained, and Minerva brought it to the attention of the others as they were finalizing a payment schedule.

"Where will I stay?" she asked.

Luff and Leech murmured back and forth about various establishments in town where travelers stayed. Each time, though, they decided that such a place was not safe for her to sleep alone.

"You could stay with me," Thimbler offered. "I'll allow it for free, including meals, if you're willing to help cook and clean. My home isn't big, however, so you will need to share my bunk with me."

Minerva looked over at Luff and Leech, very wary about the idea of sharing a bed with a grown man.

"That's good," they said together.

"Really?" she asked.

"It's probably the safest bed – in all of Riggersport."

"Why is that?" she asked, quickly realizing that she was yet again the outsider in a circle of knowledge.

"Because I don't like girls," Thimbler said, as a matter fact. His reply left her with the impression that it was supposed to calm her, but quite the opposite occurred. She was rather certain that Roker didn't like girls, and that was probably the worst experience of her life.

"He doesn't like girls – the same way that he likes guys."

"Oh!" Minerva said with a start, and then blushed horribly, not sure what to say to a man that not only shared her hobbies, but her taste in romantic partners, as well.

"If such a fact doesn't offend you, the offer stands," Thimbler said.

Minerva felt good about the arrangement, and agreed. All the men in the room smiled and nodded as Thimbler shook Minerva's hand.

"I look forward to working with you, Minerva. Let yourself in when you come back and lock the door behind you. I'll wait up for you in back."

Minerva thanked him heartily, and then dragged the twins out the door by their arms. She wanted to run and skip all the way down to the Skyraker, but her injuries forced her to move slowly.

On the way, the three of them passed the Needle and Thread. Roker sat outside, surrounded by several girls who coddled him in their arms. At first, Minerva tried to avoid eye contact, but the closer she came the more his appearance stunned her into looking.

With one arm in a sling, and a crutch under his other, his jacket hung from his shoulders over his shirtless torso. Several long strands of cloth, stained red, wrapped around his ribs. One of his girls held a cold cloth to his eye, clearly doing her best to soothe a massive black eye that mottled even the lower bits of his jaw.

When Roker spotted the three of them walking by, he sneered wickedly at her, a look that only left pride in her heart. Several of his teeth were missing.

After retrieving her clothes from the Skyraker, and one final, tiring climb later, Minerva again stood in front of Thimbler's Fine Textiles. The lights were out, but instead of being relieved at arriving, her mood had soured.

On the way back, she saw Gunner outside the Needle and Thread with a woman on each of his arms. As much as she wanted him to pay attention to her, she avoided any contact, and passed without a word. Prior to that moment, she had elevated him above his associates. Only now did she realize her mistake. Gunner was, after all, just another sailor.

Luff and Leech handed Minerva her things when they arrived, letting her know that if she needed them they would be down at The Blow Hole, catching up with the other sailors on the nights festivities. Minerva thanked them both with a hug and wished them goodnight, doing her best to forget about Gunner and focus on where to start with Thimbler.

Behind the red curtain, she found a cramped, yet tidy, living space. Thimbler sat at a small table, wearing simple linen pants and a shirt. He was slowly counting his daily earnings, taking notes on a piece of paper.

Thimbler turned and smiled when Minerva cleared her throat politely. "Ah, welcome back. Did you lock the door?"

Minerva nodded and held out the key.

"I'm not sure what schedule you prefer, but I normally retire early and wake early. All I expect is that you're functional enough in the morning to perform via our agreement. That said, I overheard you claim that you don't like drinking, so that warning seems unnecessary, unlike those I might normally employ."

Thimbler then took her things from her, and led her to the bedroom. It wasn't large by any means, but it was certainly sufficient for a single person. A shelf-like extension hung out beyond the end of the bed, probably to accommodate Thimbler's height, which made it well suited to sleep two people who were both quite thin.

"I've cleared out a space in the wardrobe for you."

Thimbler began transferring her few belongings into the large cabinet when he stopped suddenly. He turned around with Minerva's orange and black birthday gown in his hands, admiring it lovingly. When he found the damaged seam at the shoulder, he frowned.

"Did you make this?" he asked.

Minerva nodded, suppressing her urge to request that he be careful with her only real possession.

"Young lady, had you shown me this, I would never have questioned your skill. This tear makes me think that quite a story goes with it. I must admit, I was wary before, but now I'm excited to see what you can teach me."

While he spoke, Thimbler ran his large, lanky hands up and down the dress, smiling and tilting his head back and forth, absorbing all that it had to offer. When he was done, he folded it carefully and gently placed it in her drawer with the rest of her things.

"Bath is through there, behind the curtain. It's private, but doesn't lock, so if the door is closed you should knock. We haul water from below, so drink sparingly unless you like the legwork. Should I wake you up when I rise?"

Minerva nodded again.

"I normally don't rouse in the night, so you can have the outside edge of the bed. There's a spare blanket in here that you can use if you get cold."

Minerva thanked him once more, and then left for the bath chamber to change. When she returned, Thimbler was already asleep, wedged close against the wall. To her aching body, his bed was soft and even, and a very clean scent suffused the blankets. She wondered for a moment about the material of its stuffing, but lapsed into dreamland before reaching a conclusion.

Chapter 36

Minnie the Tutor

Thimbler gently roused Minerva the next morning. Then she cooked him eggs and toast for breakfast, but found both his pantry and larder sorely lacking. When she asked him about it, he said that he wasn't a very good cook, and was mostly self-taught in that regard as well, so she offered to teach him something new each day for their meals. In exchange, he offered to increase her pay, but she refused.

After breakfast, Minerva began to instruct Thimbler on what she knew of various stitches. She had never tried to teach someone before, so his progress seemed quite swift. It made her feel self-conscious about how long she had been a rigger, and yet she still couldn't do all the knots or remember the names of all the sails.

Throughout the day, several customers interrupted the lessons. Usually women that worked for Roker, or sometimes a sailor looking to buy something nice for a love of his. Thimbler handled the final sale with the customers, but insisted that Minerva watch or assist, claiming that learning how to manage a sale was a very important skill.

That afternoon, a much-disheveled Luff and Leech came by to visit. Their speech broke badly between the two of them, and sometimes they repeated each other, or themselves. They invited her to come by The Blow Hole that night, but she preferred to stay in the safety of Thimbler's tiny sloop. It wasn't until after they left that she realized they were probably still awake from the night before.

When Thimbler closed for the evening, he took his daily earnings into the back and tallied them carefully. Minerva busied herself by tidying the storefront at the same time, and in doing so, uncovered the source of its dustiness. Not only was the environment bad, but Thimbler worked almost endlessly to keep his shelves stocked and his books in order, which left little time to clean or do much else.

For supper, she sent him to the butcher to buy whatever meat he thought would taste good, and a few vegetables to go with it. He returned with some chicken and a smattering of carrots and potatoes. She did her best to create a potpie, which he complimented, but she felt was a little dry. Whenever she told him something important about the recipe, Thimbler insisted on writing it down, claiming that he wouldn't remember it otherwise.

That evening, and over the next few days, she continued to teach him about stitches, textiles, needles, and which types of the three went well together. At the end of each day, Thimbler paid her from the daily earnings, and just after, sent her from the room while he stowed the profits somewhere that she didn't know.

Unable to contain her curiosity, she asked him what he did with his earnings that he didn't spend. Thimbler said that he saved them, waiting until someone came in with some good plunder for sale, but that was rare. The sailors hocked most of their items to the fences near the docks, long before they made their way up to him. Those that knew about his shop generally preferred to come there, as he offered a better price, but again, that was rare.

"So, you mostly just save it, then?"

"Mostly," he replied with a shrug, pulling a few weathered pages from the bottom of a nearby shelf, which he slid over to her. "I do hope that one day someone will plunder a ship with one of these collections on it, and will have the foresight to recognize their worth. I would empty my savings for such a prize."

"Has anyone ever brought you anything like that?" she asked, looking over the stained images. Even through the grime of age, they depicted elegant and stately attire for any woman of the courts.

"Once," Thimbler said, and gave her a sly grin. He bit his lip for a moment, and then went to the bedroom, returning with a long blue dress draped across both arms. He held it gingerly and avoided passing too close to any potentially dirty or ragged surfaces. "Feel this," he said, letting it hang from his hands in front of her.

It was softer than any material known to Minerva, and it shimmered. Even the slightest brush of her fingers left a dazzling display of changing hues across its surface, like staring into the depths of an ocean. It left no doubt that any woman lucky enough to wear it would have been the brightest star of any dinner party.

"It's beautiful."

"Isn't it? I've tried to copy it many times, but I've never even come close, and to sell it here would be to condemn it to a quick and ragged demise."

"Why can't you copy it?"

"I don't know. It never comes out right, even excluding my poor stitching. See how there are no seams? It's as if someone wove a dress, as a single piece, rather than sewed it together. I have yet to find this same material anywhere, in any color. So, it stays in my wardrobe, waiting for a day that will never come."

The longing in his expression revealed the truth to Minerva. "The day that you could wear it?" she asked.

"Perhaps one day," he said, gazing lovingly at his prized possession. "Certainly not here, though," he added with a frown, and then folded the dress over his arm and took it back to its resting place.

Minerva ran her hands across the images in the catalog, as if she could pull the fabric from the paper. "Looking at these reminds me of the store back in my community. The owner always stocked catalogs like these."

Thimbler smiled and looked over the pages with her. "You haven't told me, where is your home?"

"Far away." she replied with a frown. "This is my first time away. It's somewhere on the edge of Soraly, in the Linoran Empire, I'm told."

"Do you have a plan to get back?"

"I'm hoping to save up enough money that I can charter a captain."

Thimbler looked concerned. "Few captains will fly to Linora, and fewer crews will fly with a girl on board, unless it's a passenger ship, but those don't come to Riggersport. Do you know anyone that travels frequently? Maybe you could travel with them."

"My Uncle Caba does."

"Captain Caba? I don't know that name."

"I don't think he's a captain. Truthfully, I barely know him. I have only met him two or three times in my entire life, and I don't think my parents like him very much."

"What does he look like?"

"Big and strong, with a shaggy beard."

"That description applies to nearly half the sailors in the sky."

"I know. I was only nine the last time I met him, so it's hard to remember."

"What type of person was he?"

"Loud," Minerva replied with a chuckle. "Very loud."

Encountering her vagabond uncle by chance was likely never going to happen, and they both knew it.

"What are you doing here, Minerva?" Thimbler asked with a sigh.

"What do you mean?" she asked defensively, as if her predicament was somehow her fault.

"You spend all of your spare time cooped up in a tiny sloop with a man over three times your age. While I like to think that I'm interesting and amazing, I know I'm not. In light of your situation, I suspect that you're feeling very afraid and alone. I also believe that you have friends waiting for you down at the Blow Hole. Around here, I'm an old codger, and in my experience, being with your friends is the best thing for you when you're feeling afraid and alone."

Minerva hung her head. It was more truth than she liked to admit.

"I'll walk you down there," he offered with a smile.

Chapter 37

The Blow Hole

Thimbler insisted on escorting Minerva down to the dubiously named Blow Hole. Upon Minerva's reciprocated insistence, he agreed to join her for the evening.

For his part, Thimbler wore a blue woman's jacket, clean white dress pants with a blue vertical stripe, and polished black shoes. He complimented it nicely with a silk scarf. Minerva helped him tidy his hair, but declined to let him assist her with something other than a bun, claiming that he was likely to lose his brush in the attempt, and possibly a finger.

For herself, Minerva wore a men's dark red shirt with long sleeves that she hemmed to appear something like a dress with a pleat in the back. She chose shin-length black trousers to wear with it, trimmed to fit her, but no shoes, as she had gotten comfortable not wearing them.

When they arrived at the Blow Hole, Minerva encountered Luff and Leech outside on a nearby deck. They appeared to be trading with a man that they had cornered against the edge of the walkway. After handing the twins some money, the man immediately rushed off, which is when the twins saw Minerva. She wasn't sure if they had yet to achieve more than a few hours of sleep, or for that matter, where they might have slept. They were filthy, but very excited to see her.

"What was that about?" she asked, motioning towards the escaping man.

"Some birds took his money," they replied in a quizzical fashion, almost as if they were answering a different question.

"Okay," she replied, turning her attention to the humming establishment in front of her.

The Blow Hole itself was the skeletal remains of a large galleon, with its huge hull hollowed out for what was now an impressive tavern that she entered through a rupture in the side. So much pipe smoke filled the hall that she struggled to see her own hands, much less the faces of those around her, and the floor was sticky everywhere, for reasons that she hoped were spilled alcohol.

The burning smell of liquor permeated everything.

A hieroglyphic sign above the door indicated the prohibition of knives and pistols. At the far end of the space, a wide platform stood behind the serving bar, obviously intended to be a stage, although it was currently empty. A black flag, the same as the one that hung over Riggersport, bisected the stage, serving as both a curtain and a backdrop.

"I really should have worn some shoes," she said with regret.

"I think we are already overdressed," Thimbler added with a smile.

Together the four of them retreated to a comfortable booth in the far corner. All the seating was wooden, which was probably a good thing, given the mess of the place. Minerva enjoyed the seclusion, as plenty of the men that passed gave her and Thimbler a discomforting look.

All attempts to hold a conversation drowned in the cacophony of the crowd. To call the Blow Hole loud was like calling the sky big. Minerva often needed to yell, and had been sitting there for over half an hour before she realized that someone was playing music.

Over the course of the evening, Luff and Leech invited groups of people to their table to sit and talk. They might have known everyone in the place. Sometimes the guests stayed for a time, and sometimes they wouldn't, but every one of them gave Minerva a look that made her uneasy.

While eavesdropping on a conversation between the twins and a man that she decided was a local carpenter, she noticed that the other man referred to Luff and Leech by specific names. Luff for one, Leech for the other. Somehow, the visitor could tell them apart.

Not more than ten minutes later, a second man did the same thing. Only the names had switched. Luff was now Leech and Leech was now Luff, and yet both the twins responded to the appropriate name. If the man said Luff, only one of them turned their head or paid attention.

Maybe the smoke was getting to her, she thought.

Then another man joined the conversation, but he reversed the names again. Luff, who was later Leech, was now Luff again. Somehow, the two drunken twins could change their names for every person that they met, and yet kept track of it all in a single conversation.

"Hey, Luff!" she shouted, hoping for a measurable response. To her amazement, she got it. Only the twin closest to her made any effort to address her.

He turned his head and grinned. "Need a new drink?" he asked, looking confused.

Minerva jumped to her feet, jostling the table and startling a few patrons as she went. "It's the upright edges of a sail!" she shrieked into the din. "You're Luff, and you're Leech, because I'm the mast!"

Minerva pointed in sharp jabs at the two twins as she spoke, eventually growing self-conscious when a few nearby tables went silent.

"What's – the date?" they asked.

"What?" she stammered.

"Fourteenth? Twelfth?" they slurred, questioning the timekeeping skills of the other.

"The thirteenth, I think," she responded, and the two locals agreed with her.

"Well then – it's a draw."

"A what?"

The twins then explained how they bet on how long it would take each person to figure out the way to tell their names apart. As far as anyone knew, there really wasn't a reliable method for an observer to discern which of them was Luff and which was Leech, and they weren't keen on creating one. Therefore, the person speaking to them became the mast, and just like the vertical edges on a sail, Luff became the twin that was closest and Leech was the twin that was the furthest away.

The twins congratulated Minerva on not disappointing them, adding that most sailors took months, or possibly years, to realize the difference, if they even figured it out at all. Unfortunately, Minerva split the betting dates right down the middle, so neither of them won the wager.

Minerva sat down with a huge grin, feeling triumphant. The two brothers then declared that a congratulatory round was in order, and hobbled away with the local men to acquire their alcohol.

"See that sailor over there?" Thimbler yelled to her, but turned his head to conceal his face, attempting to be discreet. "The tanned one with the blue belt and dark hair."

Minerva nodded vigorously, imagining that she needed to nod louder, too.

"He keeps looking this way and it's making me nervous. Should we leave?"

The man was tall and muscular, with cropped hair, a scruffy face, and ragged clothes. He was certainly handsome, but his attire didn't sit well with Minerva, so she nodded again, less vigorously. "Let's go when Luff and Leech get back, so that they don't wonder where we went."

While they waited, Minerva caught Thimbler shifting in agitation. The man he pointed out earlier was heading towards their table. When he arrived, he leaned in close to Thimbler. "Hey, I'm Jack. May I buy you a drink?" he asked.

Minerva forced herself not to smile too much when Thimbler looked at her in shock. Thimbler invited Jack to join them, and he did.

With the return of the twins came a woman so tall and round that she made Big Jim look like a footstool. Her hair was long and thin, and she smelled worse than if she bathed in rum. She wore a surprisingly neat jacket, and clean trousers, although small bubbles of flab escaped from beneath her shirt wherever it could tunnel its way to the surface.

"That's Minnie," shouted two very drunk twins.

The massive woman leaned on the table with one hand, and the furniture groaned in protest as she extended the other arm for a handshake. Minerva's entire body shook when the woman lifted her hand up and down, introducing herself as Hogswipple, the proud proprietor of the Blow Hole.

"These two twits say you're the girl that took the oath from Olbus. That true?" Hogswipple nudged one of the twins, spilling their drink.

"That's on the house!" Luff demanded, but the huge woman remained focused on Minerva.

"I did," Minerva shouted, praying that Hogswipple didn't ask to see her mark.

"They say it's bigger than the cross on our dear old flag over there."

Minerva wasn't certain what to say to that, but she pointed to the limits of her mark, through her shirt.

"They say you saved their life, and that you stretched a rope three times its length to do it."

Minerva nodded, feeling interrogated. Witchcraft wasn't popular anywhere, as far as she knew.

"They say you're the one who saved the Skyraker from Cloudscorch, and sunk the flaming beast, too. They also say that you survived being crushed between two warships."

Minerva shrugged at the last one. It's not like she had a choice.

"They say you toppled Big Jim in a straight row, and broke his nose at the same time, and that you took two whips from Olbus for that without a fight. They even say you can cut a swabbie with your hair and that you're the one who put Roker on a crutch."

Minerva nodded each time Hogswipple mentioned a landmark event in her short pirating history. It was an extensive list, she realized, and she wondered where Hogswipple was going with it all, then the woman laughed loud and hard, and slapped Luff on the shoulder sharp enough to make him choke.

"I was beginning to think these two were making it all up! I figured you must be a siren from their dreams. If it wasn't for the fact that I've known them both since they were small enough to be punted overboard, I wouldn't have believed a word of it, but then here you are, clear as mud."

Hogswipple leaned back and crossed her arms, extending an overlong look towards Minerva that made her want to shrink into her seat.

"Merciful heavens, girl. Thanks to these two, you're already a legend around here. They won't shut up about you. I don't suppose you'd do me a favor and recant a story or two, for my benefit?" The huge woman pushed in beside Luff, squeezing everyone on the bench into very close quarters.

"No!" Leech interjected, gulping down his mouthful of drink. "Up there," Luff finished for his brother, and they both pointed at the stage.

Hogswipple raised an eyebrow to Minerva, who couldn't possibly imagine standing on a stage in front of all these people. She quickly realized, however, that the power of her imagination was about to be dramatically expanded. In fact, she was on her feet, pinched between the twins and Hogswipple, before she could even formulate a counterargument.

"Tell them – about Roker!"

"I'd rather not," Minerva begged, as the twins pulled her through the crowd.

"Do that trick – with a rope!"

"I'm not sure I can," she said, as they hauled her up the short flight of stairs to the stage.

"Show them – your mark!"

"No!" she screamed, stopping in front of the great black flag. "And stop asking!" she demanded, as she wrenched her arm from their grasp and twisted to face them both.

Just then, a hush had fallen over the room, and all the little hairs on Minerva's neck stood on end. Luff was waving at someone, and Leech smiled proudly over her shoulder, and she spun to see what held their attention. Below the level of the stage, more people than she had ever seen in her entire life turned their faces upward. Her own bellow had probably grabbed their attention, and now they were waiting for something interesting to happen.

Hogswipple trundled up the stairs to the stage, grinning broadly. She gave Minerva a sympathetic shrug before she arrived. Even she understood that Luff and Leech were a hard pair to handle when they had their minds set on something. The big woman did her best to comfort Minerva with a look, and then promptly dashed her hopes to crumbs as she sucked in a great volume of air and addressed the crowd.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" she shouted, but the crowd only laughed and jeered. "Right! Sorry! Wrong crew!"

The boom of Hogswipple's voice rattled the wood and rang the metal tankards, easily competing with Olbus for volume.

"You probably haven't met her, but I'm sure you've heard about her! For all their recent days, these two blowhards have regaled us with tales of a young maiden, strong and proud, who stands defiant in the face of danger and strikes hard at the foundations of her enemies!"

Some cheering. It was too much to process for a room full of drunks, Minerva thought.

"A young woman so fearless that she jumped from a burning ship to catch a falling sailor! Endlessly, they've told us about a girl, who with a broomstick and a fire poker, broke and branded the infamous Roker!"

Much cheering.

"The girl who defeated Cloudscorch with a blanket!"

Louder cheering.

"A pirate with an oath on both sides!"

The crowd exploded into rapture.

"She is here! Tonight!" Hogswipple lowered her voice, pausing for effect and allowing the crowd to cheer some more. "And so, it is my pleasure to present to you, the lovely lady in red, Miss Minnie Minerva!"

Two pairs of arms found their way under Minerva's legs and hoisted her into the air on their shoulders. She grabbed Luff and Leech by the ears as they lifted her, fighting for balance.

"Min-nie! Min-nie! Min-nie!"

Flagons of all sizes rose in time to the chant of her name, and the crowd of revelers surged up and down. In a show of defiance and excitement, a few pistols fired towards the ceiling without warning, and throngs of people pushed into the ship in response.

Minerva was beginning to regret her decision to go out.

"Now, listen here," Hogswipple continued, subduing the crowd, "I'm told that she's quite shy, and more than a little modest, so we won't ask to see her mark."

The twins raised their arms and pointed to Minerva's chest about where they believed her mark to be, and then did the same thing on their own bodies when she swatted their hands away. Waves of laughter rolled through the sailors below her at the antics of the two.

"I think, though, that if we ask her real nice, and act real good, that she'll tell us a tale of excitement and adventure, first hand!"

The crowd began to chant again, and the walls shook and rattled with every holler, as if the whole vessel was breathing on its own.

"What say you, miss?" Hogswipple asked, as the twins lowered her to the warm floor again.

Part of Minerva wanted to just sit down and close her eyes, praying that everything could go back to the way it was, but another part of her wanted what they wanted. She wanted to show them that she was strong and brave, and to confirm the truth in the rumors. She wanted to showcase the faults in everyone that had tried to hurt her, and that hated her for nothing more than being a girl. Then she saw Lockjaw in the crowd below, and he raised his glass to her. Gunner was also present, and he nodded with a charming grin, alongside Big Jim at the back of the room.

A pirate is brave, she thought. With her own voice, she had promised as such, and there were no mirrors in this place to frighten her.

Minerva nodded once in a snap motion as the twins put her down, wringing her hands in front of her and shifting from one foot to the other. "What should I say?" she asked.

There was a brief debate, but Hogswipple won out.

"Tell us about how you got here, miss. We know all about your time with these two slabs of mutton, but nothing about where you came from."

Minerva agreed, laughing with the crowd as Luff and Leech both bleated like sheep.

"Um, let's see," she started, filling time while Thimbler laughed. "It was my birthday, and a ship hit me in the head. Right here," she said, pointing to her forehead, to the mirth of the crowd.

Then she told them about her birthday, the appearance of the Skyraker, and the battle that ensued as she hung from the side of the ship. She did her best to explain events in an exciting manner, and Luff and Leech re-enacted the scene, lightening the mood for both her and the crowd. To end the tale, she showed them the scar that distorted her left arm, which earned many gasps.

When she finished, most of the patrons remained, and they rewarded her with hearty applause. It wasn't cheers, or hollers, or gunshots, but honest and real applause. She did her best to return to her table, but stopped after almost every step as excited patrons shook her hand, or offered a drink, or patted her shoulder.

Minerva didn't know them, but now they knew her. It was a feeling both empowering and terrifying.

Chapter 38

Straight Shooter

When Nezzen first told Minerva that pirates loved stories, she didn't really understand what he meant. Now she did. After three days, Thimbler benefited from nearly triple the number of customers. Most of them came to see Minerva, with no intention to purchase anything, but they often left with the promise to return with plunder or patterns that he could use.

Luff and Leech adopted a daily habit of visiting near lunch. Sometimes they were still drunk, and sometimes they were still drinking, which worried Minerva greatly, but they wouldn't listen to her protests. One day they arrived more sober than usual, joined by Gunner. Compared to the twins, Gunner looked lovely, and he gave Minerva his signature smile and nod.

Did he ever wear a shirt, she wondered, thinking that his body seemed slightly more sculpted than usual. Part of her hated Gunner, but she couldn't help wanting to see him more.

Luff thrust a pistol straight into her hands before she even knew what she was holding. "Take this."

"A dueling pistol?" she begged. "Why?" It felt to her like he just handed her a murder weapon.

"For your protection," added Leech.

"How did you know it was a dueling pistol?" Gunner interjected. Most people couldn't tell an ordinary pistol from one designed specifically for dueling.

"My father has a collection. He doesn't let me shoot them, though."

Gunner glanced at the twins, who nodded curtly. "We were thinking that I could show you how to load and handle it," he offered.

"Okay," Minerva agreed, fast enough to startle the twins.

Thimbler was more than happy to have Minerva leave his home for a few hours. His new boyfriend, Jack, had become something of a fixture in the tiny apartment, so Minerva promised not to be home until well after supper.

On the way to the lowest docks, Gunner and Minerva walked past the Needle and Thread. As they did, a trio of girls immediately set upon Gunner, wrapping their slender arms around his waist and neck, and gripping him tightly. They whispered in his ear and pushed their bodies against him.

What about me, Minerva wanted to scream, but was left standing silent and furious. For as long as she could, she endured the torture of the three of them fawning all over her date. Okay, it wasn't really a date, she admitted to herself, but she wanted it to be a date, and they were completely ruining it. When she could stand it no longer, she pushed through with her chin held high and her fists clenched.

Gunner managed to extricate himself from the mess of swooning women and caught up to her. "Sorry about that."

Minerva doubted that very much.

"Seems like I can't walk within twenty paces of that place without at least two of them trying to drag me in."

"Then maybe you should go back."

"What? No way."

"Why not? You done with those girls? Looking for someone new?"

"I, what, no," he stammered.

Minerva suddenly didn't even want to see him, much less talk to him. She spun on her heel and began to march back towards Thimbler's. "Take me home," she demanded.

"Minnie? What's the matter?"

"The problem is that you're just as bad as Roker!" she shouted, pointing an accusatory finger. "You need a new girl every night, right, so now you've come to me?"

Gunner looked both stunned and angered, but she turned fast again not waiting for a response. Tears were welling up in her eyes that she didn't want him to see.

"Hey!" he shouted, spinning her around by the shoulder. "If someone has been telling you things about me and Roker, they aren't true."

"Yeah, then why do those girls all want you in their arms? Why do they try to drag you in?"

"I don't know, maybe they like a sailor with his shirt off?"

Minerva was in no mood for jokes and tried to twist out of his grasp, but he wouldn't let her.

"Look," he said, with his face rigid and focused, and intensely dire. He gripped her hard and leaned in close. "I wouldn't be caught dead in a place like that. Roker treats those women like livestock, and probably half of them could leave if they wanted to, but they don't."

"But," she started, struggling to uphold a rapidly fading resolve to hate him.

"I understand if you feel strongly about Roker and his girls, but that's not me. If someone has been telling you that I trade in women like he does, then I'd like to know who, so I can knock their teeth out."

Just a stupid little girl, Minerva thought, trying to contain herself. Everything that put her in a rage moments ago had shifted to gladness. Gunner was merely an innocent passerby trying to go about his business, too polite to be rude. Almost too easily, he melted her heart against her will.

"Come on, let's go shoot something," he said, as a genuine smile graced his face. "That always helps me relax."

Gunner and Minerva descended through Riggersport together, arriving at a twisted wharf at the very bottom of the canyon. A short distance below their feet lurked a terrifying black expanse of water without a shore, as the canyon went straight up from the edge of the water. Driftwood and foam accented its disturbingly calm surface. Whenever Minerva stared into it for too long, a cold feeling gripped her stomach and she imagined a monstrous creature rising from the blackness to swallow them whole.

"Shove off!" Gunner yelled, directing his ire at two men sitting at the end of the dock. The men gave him and his holstered weapons an appraising look, and then stood and left.

Minerva avoided eye contact as the pair went by. "Couldn't you have just asked them to leave?"

"Soft soil soothes all souls," Gunner said, almost to himself.

Minerva smiled and her spirits lifted. His words were a quote from her father's favorite book. Colloquially, it meant that nothing surpassed being kind when fostering friendships and easing tension in a relationship.

"My father says that," she said happily.

"My mom liked it," Gunner replied, grinning broadly at the unexpected camaraderie in their history. "I always thought it was a weird thing to say, though."

"Why?"

"It sounds nice, but soil and souls don't really have anything to do with each other."

"They do," Minerva replied. "If you're barefoot."

Gunner squinted in confusion, and cocked his head curiously. "What?"

"Haven't you ever walked barefoot in soft sand? It's very soothing."

"Okay?" Gunner replied, failing to understand her message. "I still don't see what that has to do with souls."

"Soft soil feels nice on the soles of your feet," Minerva said incredulously, stupefied by his failure to comprehend such a simple concept.

An awkward surprise slapped Gunner in the face, and then he groaned in a strangely satisfied way, smiling and laughing. "Soft soil soothes all soles!" he shouted.

Minerva nodded along, silently questioning his mental health.

"I thought it meant souls, like your spiritual soul!"

For a time, Minerva and Gunner shared a deep joy, until quite unexpectedly, his expression hardened and he frowned painfully.

"Not around here," he said, drawing the dueling pistols from his satchel. "Around here, you earn respect with a loud voice and a strong backhand. Fighting is part of the pirate life, whether you're fighting for fame or fortune, or just your next meal, us pirates have to fight."

"Why?" she asked, as he handed her a pistol.

"Because nobody wants us. We're the damned of the world, and nobody is going to give us anything without a fight."

"I want you."

Minerva blushed immediately and felt a rush of dread course through her. She intended to keep that thought inside.

"No, you don't. I'm not worth it," he said with a frown, clearly not understanding how serious she was. "Anyway, I've been talking to the crew, and we thought that someone should teach you how to fire a pistol. So that you can defend yourself. From what we've seen, you have a straight head on your shoulders when it comes to a hectic situation, and that makes you special. Plenty of good sailors die because they don't act when they should."

As Gunner spoke, he loaded the pistol. Minerva admired the way he coddled the gun like a child to do so.

"This might be unnecessary," Gunner said. "But what do you know about gun safety?"

"Not much," she replied.

"There's only one rule that I use. Never point it at anyone, including yourself, unless you're aiming to kill them."

A blast of heat and thunder widened Minerva's eyes as Gunner squared up his aim and fired the pistol, splitting the wood of a nearby piling with a whack. Gunner let out a raucous howl, invigorated by the power of his weapon.

"Alright, your turn," he said, handing her the other pistol.

"Is it loaded?" she asked, looking down at the weapon. She couldn't recall if he had loaded both, or only one.

"I don't remember."

Minerva felt annoyed at his lack of concern. Without knowing for certain, she bent down and smacked the barrel into the planks at her feet. Nothing happened.

"Smart," he said, raising his eyebrows. "The wadding would have kept the shot in, but you checked without looking down the barrel, and that's what matters. It isn't loaded, by the way."

"That's not funny. Why did you say you didn't know?"

"It wasn't supposed to be funny. That's how my father died."

Minerva gasped, uncertain of how to reply.

"He agreed to a duel while he was drunk," Gunner explained. "Drunk enough that he couldn't remember if his pistol was loaded or not, so he looked down the barrel and pulled the trigger. It was."

Gunner appeared somewhat sullen but not overly upset, leaving Minerva feeling eerily adrift within the conversation.

"Most people laugh when I tell them that."

"What? Why? That's horrible."

"That one there, in your hands. That's the one that killed him."

What was moments ago a mundane construction of wood and steel suddenly weighed tremendously in Minerva's hands. It was old, but well maintained by hours of love.

"You kept it?"

"The duel was over a gambling debt, and seeing as he lost, he never left me anything. I had already lost my mother and my siblings, so after my father died I had no one to turn to. I stole both pistols and worked my way up from there."

Gunner's history as an orphan pushed Minerva into a contemplative mindset, particularly regarding her own situation.

"Would you still be a pirate if you didn't need to be?" she asked.

"No, but that's the same with most pirates."

"What would you do if you weren't marked?"

Gunner smiled apprehensively. "Have a family. A wife and kids. A little house on a hill with a nice view, maybe. Sounds dumb, doesn't it?"

"I think that sounds wonderful. Why don't you do that?"

"You say that like it's just that easy. All I'm good at is guns, but there's no way I could join a regiment. I'm marked."

Minerva wished she knew of a better option for him.

"See," he mocked. "I'm a pirate, and I'll be a pirate until the day I die. No sense worrying about it. Come on, your shot."

The conversation had died, and Minerva couldn't think of a way to revive it, so she let him teach her what he knew best. As time went by the wooden pilings of the wharf began to look like badly grated cheese.

"You're very good for a first timer," he offered as a compliment, as he was wiping down the pistols.

Minerva felt filthy. Soot and the scent of gunpowder covered her body. "I smell like a gun," she complained.

"Yeah, that's why it's nice to shoot down here. You can just wash in the lake."

Gunner strolled over to the edge of the dock and dove into the water. A sense of panic washed over Minerva immediately, fearing whatever sickly monsters might be lurking in the depths. Monsters that at this very moment were undoubtedly about to consume her Gunner. She dropped to her knees, ready to assist in extricating him from whatever gaping maw he had just leaped into.

Gunner stood up. "Come on in!" he called, throwing back his hair and wiping water from his face.

"I don't know how to swim," she protested.

"It's shallow. I can touch the bottom, even in the middle."

"My clothes will be all wet, and I'm not taking them off," she continued, determined to avoid entering the mysterious abyss.

Unfortunately, Gunner seized upon her moment of hesitation and hauled her off the dock by the collar. The water was cold. Much colder than she imagined, and it sucked the breath out of her.

Minerva found her footing in the soft sand of the bottom and pushed her head above water, gasping for air and shivering violently. "It's freezing," she screamed, doing her best to punch Gunner under the water.

Gunner pushed her away, laughing. "What's the matter? Is the mighty destroyer of Cloudscorch afraid of a little cold water?"

Minerva splashed his face in response, still adjusting to the sudden chill. They didn't spend much time together in the lake before she could stand it no longer, so she washed fast and got out. The cold made her scars ache.

Gunner picked up the pack of supplies he brought along and pulled two towels from it. "Here, take your clothes off."

Minerva's overtly dumbfounded expression prompted him to explain himself.

"I'll light a fire. Take your clothes off so they can dry. You can wear this towel."

In a reversal of opinion, Minerva now appreciated Gunner's direct approach to removing any bystanders, and he complied when she demanded that he look away.

Wearing nothing but towels, the two of them sat down on some low benches at a nearby fire pit, apparently built for the exact purpose of drying off anyone daring enough to go swimming in the frigid darkness. Minerva did her best not to stare at Gunner's exposed back while he crouched down and lit the fire. He didn't seem to mind the cold at all.

"If you're going to be a sailor you need to get over being bashful," he said.

"Why? I'm not a boy. It's not appropriate."

"Appropriate or not, there's not much privacy on a ship. There will be times where you'll have little option."

"Little option is not no option."

Gunner glanced over his hunched shoulder and shook his head at her. "They gave you the mate's quarters, did you know that?"

"What are the mate's quarters?" she replied.

"Sailors bring all their own gear aboard. Even the hammocks are ours. No hammock, you sleep on the deck. The mates are special, though. Experience and skill earns them the reward of a cabin bed. Except that Captain Glass kicked us out to make room for a girl."

Minerva quickly discovered the heartache that accompanied a lecture from someone she respected. "Us?" she asked. "Does that include you?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod. "I don't mean to upset you, but at that point you hadn't done anything to set yourself apart. I'll spare you the details, but you joining the crew was the high point on a bridge between two terrible options. The crew almost mutinied, and I was readying for a bloody fight. It was Olbus that demanded the private cabin, and well, I'm sure you understand why the boys are afraid to get on his bad side."

Minerva sat in silence, not sure what to say. She felt bad for taking away a reward meant for other sailors.

"The point is this," Gunner added softly, recognizing her dejection. "If you want to be crew, then be crew. Stop hiding."

"You mean I should just let the any sailor in the world see me topless whenever they ask to see my mark?"

"No, not exactly. I realize that you're a special situation, since I've never even heard of a girl taking the oath before, but when a sailor asks to see your mark, show them the same way you showed us. Among pirates, your mark is your only proof that you are who you say you are. It's also a great way to make friends if you impress them, which you will."

Minerva looked down at her mark beneath the towel, yet again surprised by how far and wide it cut across her chest.

"Is it really that impressive?"

"Are you kidding? It's the biggest mark anyone has ever seen. You should have heard the boys that night. You were all they could talk about. For a girl to take the oath was one thing, but to have her mark be, well, what it is. You put us all to shame. Most men do a little scratch, like mine." Gunner puffed out his chest, pointing at his tiny cross-shaped scar. "See, it's barely visible anymore."

Gunner laughed when she blushed and looked away.

Minerva's clothes dried quite swiftly once the fire was roaring. Gunner's hair dried quickly as well, and once again flopped about in a very well-behaved manner. Meanwhile, Minerva wrung her own strands out like a mop. She should have brought Nezzen's hairbrush, she thought.

After that, they enjoyed the heat of the flames and talked until it was late. Eventually they decided it was time to retire, and he escorted her home. All the lights were out at Thimbler's as she and Gunner stood outside the door.

"Um, goodnight, Gunner."

"Goodnight, Minnie."

"Thanks for teaching me how to shoot."

"You're welcome. I had a good time."

An awkward silence stood between them until Minerva went into the shop, unable to find a way to drag the conversation on any longer.

Chapter 39

Practical Sciences

"Anything special on the menu tonight?" Thimbler called through the curtain to Minerva, as he stowed the daily earnings. "Or should I just get the usual?"

"Just the usual stuff, but get a triple," Minerva replied as she entered the back of the sloop. "I want to teach you how to cook for a big table."

"What are we going to do with the extra?"

"I'll take it to the Skyraker. I'm sure they'll appreciate it. You can subtract the cost from my wages."

"If we're making extra, and you're going to be away, well, I don't suppose you could stay out even later?"

Thimbler paused very uncharacteristically during his question, and Minerva gave him a wry smile.

"Is Jack coming over?" she asked.

"I was hoping to invite him, yes. It sounds like he'll be heading off soon, and I thought it would be nice."

"I'll come home late."

Thimbler thanked her with a smile of his own as she pulled out the cookware. When Thimbler returned from shopping, the prep work was already done, and he was quick to make himself useful. With very little guidance, he completed a heaping meal of food, easily capable of feeding ten hungry sailors.

Jack arrived just as they were setting the small table. "Wow, Minnie, this looks great."

"Actually, Thimbler cooked most of it."

Jack sniggered, clearly not believing her.

"Seriously," she stated.

Jack looked at Thimbler, who nodded, and then back at Minerva.

"Just 'cause he likes men doesn't mean you gotta turn him into a woman."

"Hey," Minerva snapped, and stomped her foot. "If you lot think you can teach me how to be a pirate, then I can certainly teach you how to be women."

Jack stepped back and raised his hands in defense. He gave her a charming smirk, and eyed the nearby food. "That's fair. It certainly seems to be paying off," he said.

Minerva wasn't sure if he understood her point, or if he was merely worried about not getting fed. She put the thought aside as she packed up the food for the crew, including her own portion.

"You're not eating with us?" Thimbler asked as she went for the door.

"No, I'll eat with Nezzen. Enjoy your date," she said with a wink.

Chapter 40

Food for Thought

"Oh, Minerva," Captain Glass said with surprise, as he opened the door to greet her.

"I have some extra supper here, and I thought you might like a home-cooked meal."

The captain thanked her with a sigh, and stared longingly into the small box as he peered inside.

"Is it okay if I talk to Lintumen?" she asked, not sure if she should interrupt him. "I have some supper for him."

"Yes, that's fine."

Minerva wondered about the protocol of entering Lintumen's cabin as she slid back the bolts. It was a locked cell, but a home, as well. She settled on knocking, and the voice of Lintumen beckoned her inside. The old man sat in a characteristic pose, with a book beneath his nose and a magnifying lens in hand. He shut the book as she shut the door.

"I brought you some supper. I thought you might be hungry."

"Thank you," he replied, and gestured towards a small patch of empty table. "I must save it for later, however. I just ate."

Minerva nodded as she set the box down. Her father was the same, when he was studying. "I know you're not eating, but mind if I do?" she asked. Warily, she approached the side of his table, dinner crate in hand. "I wanted to ask you some things."

"Please do, on both counts," he said.

Minerva opened her food and grasped the utensils, but only stared, wondering how to ask the thing she needed to know. "A man named Roker attacked me," she said, as an opener.

"I heard. I also heard that you retaliated quite viciously."

Minerva didn't reply.

"Not unlike what happened when the swabbies attacked you."

"I had help," Minerva confessed, as she drew Velvet from her bun and laid the sword upon the table.

"Tell me what transpired," Lintumen said, and he licked his lips and his eyes widened, eager to learn.

"I saw a ghostly woman. I couldn't think straight whenever I saw her, and I thought she was attacking me, but I think she was trying to help me."

Lintumen grinned wide and fierce. "The Assassin's Bane. Who needs a guard to save you when your sword can fight for you?"

Minerva always felt unnerved by Lintumen's smile, and the effect was particularly profound in this moment. His gaze locked onto Velvet as he spoke. However, his interpretation directly aligned with her own.

"It was like I wasn't in control of my own thoughts," she said with a swallow. "How did she do that?"

Lintumen's face relaxed as he leaned back and looked down at her. "Magicians call it the Equality of Will. She wanted what you wanted, and that alignment of thought allowed her to exert her will upon you. The ghost was merely a phantom of your mind. A hallucination. She was a way for Velvet to communicate her intentions. However, unless you are much weaker of will than I imagined, it would have been very difficult for her to control you directly. So, think carefully about her actions. You said the ghost tried to attack you. When? Was there a pattern?"

Minerva reluctantly went back in her mind to the night she met Roker. "Always immediately before Roker did."

Lintumen nodded contentedly. "Those that forged your blade undoubtedly saw fit to imbue her with the knowledge of a master of arms. I suspect that she was reading his posture, and used this knowledge to preface his attack with an attack of her own. Without the ability to control your body directly, she could still control it reflexively."

Minerva furrowed her brow as she put a steamed carrot in her mouth, fixing her gaze on Velvet in the same way that Lintumen had done. "So that I could dodge in time," she mused, chewing thoughtfully.

"Precisely, my dear."

Minerva huffed. She hated the idea of being manipulated like that, but she couldn't deny the facts. Without Velvet's help, she probably wouldn't have fared quite so well. She ate the rest of her supper mostly in silence, while Lintumen rambled on about the principles of magic, delving deep into the meandering philosophies of relics and willpower. She didn't follow much of it, and was more interested in the quality of Thimbler's meal.

"I think I should go see Nezzen for a bit," she interjected, cutting off Lintumen.

The navigator appraised her posture as she closed her supper box and stood up. "Very well," he said, and went back to reading his book.

Lintumen never replied when Minerva said goodnight, leaving her feeling guilty for abandoning him. She suppressed the emotion with a sigh as she passed by the open door into the captain's cabin. She was going to wish him goodnight, as well, but he seemed to be busy working on something at his desk, so she left him alone.

Nezzen, on the other hand, she was willing to climb up a mast to meet, just on the chance that he would talk to her for a few minutes. She was nearly to the nest when she spotted something moving on the deck down below. It was difficult to tell from where she was, but it looked like a patch of oil drifting across the boards. It slipped quietly up the gangplank and slithered up to the doors that went to the quarters of the captain and Lintumen. Once there, it soundlessly oozed inward through a space much too small for human passage. Something about the way it moved put every hair on Minerva's body on end. It was not, by any extent of her imagination, natural.

"Nezzen?"

"Yes," he replied, from out of view.

"Did you see that?"

"I did."

"What was it?"

"I have no idea."

Minerva put her hand to the pistol that hung loosely around her waist. "Do you think they're in trouble?"

"Lintumen? No. Captain Glass? Well, let's just say his last name isn't Glass."

Minerva sucked in her courage, contemplated the itch of the rope between her toes, and then hastily descended to the deck. She crept to the side of the stained-glass doors, loaded her pistol, and then drew Velvet in the other hand before pushing the door open quietly.

A faint light shone out from the captain's chambers. Lintumen's room was black beneath the door.

With every step closer, Minerva felt her heart rise in her chest and her pulse quicken. Her eyes darted to the dark corners of the short passage, expecting to see a patch of flowing tar rushing towards her. After several steps into the hallway, a tiny piece of torn paper shuffled out from under Lintumen's door.

It's just a cloak!

From what she had seen of it, Lintumen normally wrote in a delicate and flowing script with near perfect linear alignment, and yet these four simple words were scrawled across the back of a page that had been torn from the first book at hand.

Minerva eyed the locks on Lintumen's cabin, wishing desperately for any additional assistance or wisdom he could offer, but the nature of his note told her far more than the words written on it. The captain was in danger. Right now.

Chapter 41

Cloak and Shadow

Minerva didn't know what she was going to see when she opened the door to Captain Glass' cabin. Whatever the creepy shadow was, it went in without a sound. At first, she didn't see anything unusual. The captain sat at his writing desk, some paces away. He held a large feather quill in his motionless hand. A few lanterns burned in the room, casting a warm glow over the simple treasures that Glass stored in his private quarters. The gentle smell of the captain's cologne suffused the cabin with a sense of familiarity.

Then his shadow moved. Not like an object, or water, or an animal, or anything within Minerva's scope of reality.

The thing before her held no clear form but that of a shadow that couldn't decide where it should start and where it should end. It stretched into the corners and grooves of the room, and washed against every surface it touched. The only definition in its entire body was a perfectly smooth white mask that bobbed and weaved across its inky surface.

Minerva's throat seized in fear as the shadow flowed up behind the captain and her lungs bucked for air. It was holding a dagger, but she didn't know how. It had no hands. She trained the pistol on the mask, stalling in want of a conclusive target.

The dagger drifted upward, pointing downward at the captain's back.

"No!" she shrieked.

It wasn't what she meant to say or do, but it was loud and alarming, and it worked. Captain Glass leaped from his seat with a tiny scream, and fell out of his chair as a wicked slice of steel pinned his letter to the table.

Minerva aimed for the mask and pulled the trigger. White dust exploded into the air and the captain shrieked again, covering his ears and curling his legs against his body as he drove himself into the corner.

The writhing darkness snapped away. Its single flat face, now cracked and broken, flicked back and forth between her and her captain. Then it rushed Minerva, over a small railing between them and around a chair. Its body didn't move so much as it just existed in more area than before, and then less area afterward, transposing itself from one location to another while its emotionless facade jerked wildly across the entirety of its shapeless form.

Minerva dashed sideways, bringing Velvet to her writing hand and doing her best to keep the blade trained on the only part of her opponent worth hitting. Velvet's ghost flickered into existence between them, but the shadow stretched tall and wide, and in a flash of darkness, engulfed the specter. Minerva felt Velvet's hilt freeze like ice in her hand as the darkness sprinted towards her.

The thing spread outwards and around Minerva, consuming the light of her entire world. Minerva lunged in response, striking blindly in a bid to escape. Velvet met with little resistance as Minerva sliced straight through the blackness, and light sprang forth, revealing the room beyond. She dove into the opening, bashing her shins on a chair and tripping, and then scrambling up to the captain. He had managed to get to his feet, propping himself up in the corner, between the wall and the desk.

"Load this!" she urged, placing her pistol on the desk while the creature reeled to face them.

This time it approached much slower, weaving back and forth. The gash Minerva inflicted moments ago twisted and shrank, and then vanished.

"Load it!" Minerva screamed at the dumbstruck captain. She stood between Glass and the shadow, desperate for Velvet's ghost to reappear.

"What is that thing?" the captain begged, as he fumbled with the pistol. His voice cracked high with fear, and he spilled powder all down his nice clean pants.

He's drunk, her mind informed her kindly, necessitating the creation of a plan that did not include the captain. "It's just a cloak," she said quietly, recalling Lintumen's advice.

The cloak-thing crawled onto the ceiling with its mask-face twisting in circles.

"It's just a cloak," Minerva repeated with strength, mostly for the sake of her own conviction.

The shadow halted just beyond Minerva's reach and transfixed its black and empty gaze upon her. Something cold and metal touched her shoulder, and she jumped. Captain Glass moved to hand her the pistol, but interrupted himself with a panicked cry. Minerva realized too late that she had taken her eyes off the threat, and the shadow slammed into her, knocking her to the side.

Minerva crashed headlong into the wall, sending splitting pain into her eyes, but she rallied fast, desperate to keep the danger in focus. A flash of silver flickered from within the flowing mass of blackness as it reeled on her.

It has its dagger again, she realized. It pushed her aside to take it from the desk. What at first was a terrifying thought became a revelation. The dagger is in its hand!

For a moment, a black glove on an arm of black cloth appeared, holding the weapon. Minerva stabbed triumphantly at the limb, but was far too slow. The cloak danced away and the dagger vanished from view. The shadow immediately distanced itself from Minerva, giving plenty of time for the illusion to complete itself again.

"I can see you!" Minerva yelled as assuredly as possible, lying completely. "You're a man wearing a mask, and black clothes," she taunted, swinging her sword at the creature, hitting nothing.

No man appeared in the darkness. It simply waited, dodging and feinting each time she struck at any notion of a perceived detail. Never did it move within her reach. Never did it leave an opening. If she lunged it pulled back. Wary of falling into a trap, she kept her distance, but it always followed from just beyond the tip of her weapon.

Minerva raced through a thousand ideas that might explain the actions of the shadow. With a smaller weapon, and possibly outnumbered, it was simply wearing her down. Minerva felt the soreness in her legs and the fatigue in her mind. Her breath was fast and heavy, and her mouth had gone dry. It was faster and stronger, and almost unseen. Eventually she would tire, and falter, and then it would have her.

Captain Glass cowered in the corner. The image Minerva once held of her captain, with his beautiful clothes and polished buttons, standing majestically at the helm of the Skyraker, entirely crumbled. His last name isn't Glass, is what Nezzen said, and just like glass, he was fragile. He had lived up to his name.

Minerva turned her attention to the creature, driving it back each time it drew close. "It's just a cloak!" she screamed defiantly, pushing forward again, desperate for a plan.

The shadow drifted around the table as its white mask bobbed low and high, and then side to side. The lamp on the table cast a terrifying glow across the gentle curves of its broken face, but failed to illuminate the abyss of its body.

"The lamp," Minerva cried, grabbing for its handle. She ripped the cover open and exposed the flame. "You might be a shadow, but your darkness does not hide from the light." Minerva dropped Velvet from her hand and worked feverishly to uncap the oil-filled reservoir. "It's just a cloak made to look like a shadow," she sneered triumphantly. "And all cloth burns!"

Before she finished her sentence, Minerva flung the contents of the lamp outward across the table in a wide splash. In response to her attack, the shadow didn't dodge or a parry, or perform a coordinated response. Instead, it flailed in panic, retreating frantically from the threat of being set ablaze.

Minerva threw herself forward with the abandon of a cornered animal bent on survival. Desperate and wild, the white mask whipped about the room, darting for the exit, but Minerva swung her light in a wide arc. She intercepted its retreat, sending it fleeing backwards.

Seeking refuge, it crawled up the wall into the furthest corner it could reach. Minerva approached slowly, sliding her feet along the carpet while keeping her eyes locked on her foe. Her reach was short, but even along the ceiling it could not escape her. Between her own heavy gasps, she heard something familiar; the darkness was breathing.

Minerva stopped, stricken with wonder. Those heavy panicked breaths—an entirely human sound—revealed everything.

The illusion of a shadow vanished, and Minerva beheld a woman braced against the walls in a feat of incredible athletics. Black seamless cloth covered everything that could reveal her as human, and a massive dark cloak shrouded her entire head and body, stretching around her in all directions. Covering her face, she wore a featureless white porcelain mask, although it now bore an accented scar of ragged edges as inflicted by a gunshot.

Minerva's jaw fell open. "You're a woman," she stammered.

The veil of darkness faltered entirely, and the cloaked woman gasped heavily. Oil soaked her clothes, and for a moment, they merely stared at each other. Minerva thought of the fight with Cloudscorch, and of the terrible stench of burning flesh and the horrible death that fire could bring to a person. She suddenly doubted her ability to inflict such a cruel punishment upon another person, even one that had tried to kill her.

Then the tiny wick in her hand, deprived of its fuel source, went out. The shadows in the room shifted and the veil of darkness on the wall reformed, emboldened.

Minerva stood weaponless before a nightmare.

Rather than resume the fight, the mask defied Minerva's expectations. It turned into its own darkness with a snap, and then the shadow folded into nothing, like water disappearing down a drain. The remaining light flowed in slowly, filling the void in reality.

Minerva snatched Velvet from the floor, searching frantically for any sign of movement. She found only Captain Glass. He stood wide-eyed and terrified in the corner with a loaded pistol clenched in his shaking hands.

Chapter 42

The Counsel of Shadows

"What was that thing?" Captain Glass demanded.

Lintumen leaned back from the captain's ale soaked breath and caressed the torn page of his book, doing his best to replace the scrap that Minerva had returned to him. "A counselor," he said.

"A what?"

"A counselor. Powerful magicians capable of wielding fear and darkness as a weapon, to incredible effect, as I'm sure you noticed."

"There is more than one?!" Glass shrieked.

"Perhaps, and there we meet the most peculiar aspect of their identity. You see, it is difficult to discern the true intent of their homonymic title. Is it the counsel of shadows, as in advice, or is it the council of shadows, as in a group of people? No one knows for certain. However, in light of their considerable power, I struggle to believe that more than one exists."

Glass breathed in heavy gasps and his eyes darted about the room, still vigilant against any possible appearance of the shadow. The elderly sage appeared oblivious to the distress of his ally.

Minerva sat on the bed, doing her best to stop shaking.

Captain Glass rubbed his face and pulled his hair with both hands, lost in worry, until another thought overtook him. "Why don't you have any lights on?" he muttered.

Minerva noticed it right then as well. The only illumination in the room came from the open door into the hall.

"A shadow cannot form in the darkness," Lintumen replied through a wry grin. "Truthfully, you're lucky that Minerva happened to interrupt its attack. She saved your life."

Captain Glass nodded, but his demeanor slumped, as if someone had just lowered an immense weight onto his shoulders. "Thank you," he said, but he frowned for an instant before turning his attention back to Lintumen. "What do I do about this man? This assassin?"

"Woman," Minerva said, correcting Captain Glass.

"I'm sorry, say again?" said the captain, dumbfounded.

Even in the dim light, Minerva spotted the smile that swept onto Lintumen's face. "It was a woman, not a man," she said.

"How do you know?" the captain urged.

"She unveiled her," Lintumen explained. "Or more accurately, she unveiled her own mind, stripping away the illusion at the same time."

"It wasn't me," she responded dismally. "Your note said it was just a cloak. I just kept trying to see what was really there."

"And you remembered my advice, even in that situation, and pierced the illusion. I offer you my compliments without reservation."

"What do I do, Lint?" Glass wailed. "He's sending shadows to kill me!"

"If he's resorting to the counsel of shadows, then there's not much that can be done, except maybe staying out of port."

Captain Glass nodded in small jerks, and then strode from the cabin without warning.

"You both said he," Minerva urged, after she heard the sterncastle doors close. "Who were you talking about?" she asked, as she handed Lintumen his scrap of paper.

"Captain Black," he replied, thanking her as he diligently aligned the paper with frayed edges of the gap from which it was torn. Then he rubbed his thumbs over the broken seam, and lifted his hand with a flourish, revealing a wholly repaired page.

"Why does Captain Black want to kill him?"

"Captain Black wants Captain Glass dead for reasons that only Captain Glass can tell you. If you truly wish to know, you should ask him."

Minerva chewed on her lip, observing Lintumen as he continued to read his book in utter darkness. "He told me it was a gambling debt," she said.

"Ah," Lintumen replied.

"Is it a gambling debt?" Minerva demanded, dissatisfied.

"You should go and pack, and then return to the ship as hastily as possible, or you'll have nothing to wear."

"What?"

"The captain has gone to find Olbus, who will prepare the ship for departure. Once the preparations are complete, which should require only minutes, he will issue a crew call for the Skyraker. She's lacking repairs, but she can still fly. Seeing as the captain also plans to abandon the repair fees, it would be good to leave port, or you might face the wrath of the locals as a member of his former crew."

Minerva lingered in her thoughts for the precise duration required for a person to stop thinking about one thing and switch to thinking about something far more important, such as the Skyraker leaving without her. She was almost clear of the cabin when Lintumen called out to her.

"Lock the door once you're out, won't you, my dear?"

Chapter 43

Crew Call

Minerva caught Captain Glass just as he was finishing a hasty conversation with Olbus.

"Collect your things. We're leaving," Olbus ordered.

"Now?"

"Now! Go!"

Minerva lacked the conditioning necessary to pack and leave on a moment's notice. Her mind crowded with thoughts of Thimbler and the twins, and wondered if anyone would inform any of them. She was barely three decks up through the city when the sound of a loudly smashing bell split the calm of Riggersport like thunder. She looked down at the Skyraker to see Olbus on the deck, ringing the alarm bell with all his might.

"Crew call! Skyraker!" He bellowed loud and clear, certainly loud enough that the entire port could hear him.

As Minerva climbed and ran, the ringing and the shouting only seemed to grow louder. A crescendo rose throughout the city, repeating the call from every bell that hung within the canyon. When she reached the lone bridge that crossed the chasm, the whole city had come to life in a terrible cacophony of clanging and shouting.

Minerva met Luff and Leech on the other side of the bridge. "Wrong way – Minnie!" they said playfully.

When she went to move past them, Luff grabbed her by the hand and stopped her.

"I need my things!" she urged. "I need to say goodbye to Thimbler!"

"Will you be there? Can we vouch for you?"

Minerva nodded vigorously, and Luff released her hand, allowing her to run free once more.

That's the Blow Hole, she thought, as she passed the fractured hull. You're halfway there!

As she passed the rigging that led down to the dock, where she had spent an evening with Gunner, bleary-eyed sailors of all ages began to emerge from the ships around her.

Minerva met Big Jim just as he was closing the small shop he used to sell food while in port. He handed her a bag and threw a massive load of pots and utensils over his shoulder, and then rushed off in the direction of the Skyraker. He stopped after a few strides when he realized that she wasn't following.

"Are ye not comin', girl?"

Minerva gasped between her words. "I need – my things!"

"Ye got a sailor to vouch for ye?"

She nodded hard with her hands on her knees, struggling for air.

"Ye better hurry, or ye won't make it," he added, retrieving his bag from her.

Minerva ran off at once. The Needle and Thread appeared on the deck ahead, and she shoved her way through the throng of sailors outside, drawing angry yelps from the crowd. As she crested the final railing, she saw Thimbler up ahead in his nightclothes, carrying two large satchels, one over each shoulder.

"Your orange dress and other effects are in this bag!" he said, thrusting the package into her arms and slinging the strap over her head as he did.

That's not too bad, she thought, worried about the weight of the load.

"This other one is some things I thought you might need."

That one is heavier, she thought with a grunt, sagging under the weight.

"I'll take that one," Thimbler added, watching her wobble.

They were barely beyond the Needle and Thread when Thimbler was already lagging behind. Burdened physical exertion was not his expertise. Regardless, it was certainly faster than she would have gone on her own.

Down below, across the chasm, the Skyraker's sails began to unroll.

"Minnie!" A panting Lockjaw ran towards her. "The twins sent me. You need help?"

Thimbler didn't wait for further conversation. He practically threw his bag at the swabbie.

Minerva turned to face her employer and friend, suddenly realizing that she needed to say goodbye. "Thank you, for everything," she said.

"You better hurry," he urged.

Unsure of what else to say, Minerva hugged him hard and sudden, squeezing out any remaining air.

Thimbler nodded, smiling with sincerity. "Thank you, Miss Minerva. Now go!"

Minerva gave him one last quick hug, and then hastened off in the direction of the bridge.

"Did you get someone to vouch for you?" she asked Lockjaw.

"No need. Apprenticed myself to a carpenter."

Minerva didn't know if she should be happy for his success, or sad that he wouldn't be joining her.

As they reached the edge of the bridge over the chasm, Minerva slowed her pace. The bridge over Riggersport wasn't so much a bridge as it was a tightrope made of planks strung out in a line. It swayed and creaked if she so much as winked, saying little of what happened if she tried to run across it. It didn't help that it was so long that the citizens had commissioned a small sloop to support it in the middle.

The fear of arriving too late to board the ship, and the fear of falling, dueled in Minerva's mind, from which the idea of haste won out. The pair of them bolted out onto the planks, much to the dismay of the bridge, which swung wildly from side to side in protest.

An elderly woman stepped out to stop them as they reached the sloop. "Easy! Yer gonna knock us all down!"

"Sorry, ma'am!" Lockjaw shouted.

"Crew call," added Minerva.

"For the Skyraker? Ye already missed it."

The woman pointed off down below at the dockyards, but Minerva didn't want to look. The bells ceased ringing sometime after meeting Lockjaw. When she convinced herself to peer over the edge, she saw the Skyraker in the last stages of departure. Its hammer sails were already full of lift, dragging it out into the middle of the chasm.

Minerva slumped down on the sloop. She watched with sadness as the Skyraker pulled out, far below. She could see the sailors on deck and the riggers in the sails, and even Nezzen in the crow's nest, and she felt leaden with sorrow.

At least she had one last chance to wave goodbye, she thought, and she waved dolefully at Nezzen as the Skyraker approached, not sure when she would see him again, if ever.

Minerva's heart strained and she started to cry when Nezzen didn't wave back, but his reaction prefaced a curious display. Instead of waving, he shouted at the riggers below him. Luff and Leech appeared from behind a sail and scanned around before catching sight of her. They didn't wave, either. One of them, possibly Leech, grabbed a rope and dropped down a sail or two, shouting and drawing the attention of Olbus. He pointed at Minerva, and Olbus turned to look, followed shortly by the captain. A few more shouts went back and forth, and then the Skyraker began to rise.

"They're coming for you!" Lockjaw cried out.

"Them gits are gonna tear the bridge down!" warned the woman on the sloop.

"Give me a rope!" Minerva demanded. When no rope presented itself, she snatched a coil from a heap on the deck and threw the fastest, sturdiest knot she could think of around the nearest cleat.

"Minnie?" Lockjaw's voice wavered with concern. He was there when she jumped off the ship to rescue one of the twins, giving him good reason to question her actions.

"They vouched for me. I need to get on that ship."

"Well they can't stop up 'ere," scolded the old woman.

"Right, which is why I'm going to swing down there as they go by."

Minerva picked up her two satchels from the deck and slung one over each shoulder. They might provide a soft landing, she thought. She was busy estimating the speed of a moving ship, compared to that of a falling thirteen-year-old girl hanging from a rope, when Lockjaw broke her concentration.

"You can't be serious?"

There really wasn't a good answer to that, she decided, so she didn't say anything. She merely took the end of the rope, threw a quick knot into it for grip, and then hustled back down the bridge, pulling the cord to its fullest length.

Lockjaw stared at her, wide-eyed.

Minerva gave him a quick and sincere smile, hoping with all her heart that he would interpret it as a thank-you-very-much-for-your-assistance-but-I'm-leaving-now kind of smile, and then focused her mind.

Her rope felt a lot less long than the ship did down.

As the Skyraker tacked towards her, Minerva threw her legs over the rope rail of the bridge and stood on the opposite side, ready to drop off. Maybe it was the bridge, or maybe it was her legs, but everything felt extra wobbly. Once positioned, she had plenty of time to line up her arc, and likewise, plenty of time to deeply contemplate what she was about to do.

This is, by far, the stupidest thing you've ever even considered doing, scolded her mind.

Minerva pushed the thought away and leaned off, trying to judge the angle.

No, really, you're going to die. Assuming you miss, which you will, landing in the water from this height will be like diving into a pile of rocks.

Minerva tossed a few loops around her arm for a better hold.

Even if you manage to hit the ship, where are you going to land? The deck? That'll be messy. The sails? That'll just put you down on the deck, after you whack a few spars, of course. The crow's nest? Go for it. You couldn't hit a bee's nest with a rock at five paces.

"Oh, shut up," she snarled under her breath, confusing the people around her.

Then the ship was there, right below her. The moment was upon her.

Minerva let go of the bridge and clamped both hands onto her lifeline. While she intended to step off in a carefully coordinated display of acrobatics, in truth, she just leaned out and let physics do the rest.

For a moment, she thought that maybe she could fly like the incredible plummite stone that Lintumen had shown her. Free of the bounds of gravity. Free to sail on the winds in any direction she chose if she simply believed in herself.

Gravity, she discovered, really liked to be right. What she felt was rushing wind, and what she saw was the sails of the Skyraker growing larger with alarming speed.

Minerva met her target somewhat higher than intended, yet not quite high enough to miss entirely. One of the riggers ducked under her knees. Then her rope caught the rigging above her and snapped taught at the end of its length, launching her majestically through the air into the middle of the mizzenmast.

The last thing she remembered was the sound of her own lungs running out of air. Not even the fanfare of her own scream heralded her impact with the sturdy wooden deck of the Skyraker.

Chapter 44

The Certainty of Probability

"Are you certain?"

A cracked white mask, broken in one corner, drifted in the darkness of a room fit for a king, weaving back and forth like an overstrung marionette.

PROBABILITY OF ASSURANCE EXCEEDS ANY REASONABLE POSSIBILITY.

"What about unreasonable possibility?" retorted Captain Black.

COMPLETE CERTAINTY FAILS TO EXCEED THE RIGOR OF FEASIBILITY WITHIN THE RANGE OF ALL POTENTIAL POSSIBILITIES. THIS AGENT SEEKS TO REVISE ITS INITIAL ASSESSMENT, IN CONSIDERATION OF ADDITIONAL THREATS. SHOULD THIS AGENT, AND ITS COUNSEL, INVOKE AN EXPANSION OF CONTRACT TO INCLUDE UNNAMED ASSOCIATES?

"No. Absolutely not. Glass is my only concern."

UNDERSTOOD. THIS AGENT SHALL ENDEAVOR TO ELIMINATE THE ASSIGNED CAPTAIN GLASS WITHOUT HARMING ASSOCIATES, ACQUAINTANCES, OR ALLIES OF THE TARGET.

Captain Black ground his teeth and squinted. "No. Nullify the contract."

UNDERSTOOD. THIS AGENT RECOGNIZES THAT, IN CONSIDERATION OF PAYMENTS MADE, CAPTAIN BLACK OF THE BLACK AND RED CONSORTIUM REMAINS IN POSSESSION OF A FAVOR OF INDETERMINATE WORTH WITH THIS AGENT, AND ITS COUNSEL.

When it stepped away and turned its face, the shadow vanished, leaving only the flickering light of a candle to lazily fill its hollow shape.

Captain Black twisted the ancient coin in his fingers, cracking his teeth together. "Squints!"

Squints appeared in the doorway with startling swiftness, as if he had been standing directly outside. "Aye, Captain."

"Get word to Apples and Fletch. Do not engage the Skyraker."

"Sir? The twin ships could easily down her."

Black turned an appraising eye to the man before him. "I want to slit Glass' throat myself. Tell them to wait."

"Aye, Captain!" the small man replied, as his face twisted with glee.

Chapter 45

Bartleby Montgomery

Minerva bolted into a sitting position, and promptly completed the scream she began before losing consciousness.

Lintumen jumped to his feet and struck his head on a rafter. The elderly man coddled his injury while Minerva slowly registered the familiar room around her, and its cinnamon scent.

"I'm alive?"

"Amazingly, yes," he commented, inspecting his palm for blood.

"Oh," she said, expecting a lecture. "Thank you, again, for the care."

"I didn't do anything."

"Then how did I survive?"

"Your mother, I might guess. Or your father, perhaps."

Right then the scope of the conversation escaped Minerva. "Pardon?" she asked.

"Your hair, my dear. When you fell to the deck, you landed on your back. While you sustained a few bruises to your body, most of those have already healed, thanks to your youth, and any serious injury you might have sustained to your head was prevented by your impressively dense bun."

Minerva touched the back of her head, feeling mocked by his use of the word dense.

"However, I would argue that any willingness on your behalf to attempt a boarding action via rope swing is indirect evidence of a former, and rather serious, blow to the head."

Minerva did her best to scowl, but couldn't hold back a smile. "How long was I out?"

"I'm not certain. You were asleep, not knocked unconscious."

"Where are we going?"

"To Reshampur, in the Loftwood. It is a settlement that harvests spider silk where we can finish our repairs."

Minerva laid back down, remembering that Captain Glass previously mentioned Reshampur. "What time is it?"

"Early in the morning, maybe. I don't know."

Questions about Lintumen's sleeping habits again came to mind, but Minerva thought better of asking. Instead, her mind wandered to the thoughts of the flowing shadow she fought in Captain Glass' cabin.

"I want to know more about magic," she said.

"We all do."

Minerva sat up and glared. "Please?"

"I seem to recall that I attempted to teach you in the past, but you were reluctant to listen."

"I know. I'm sorry. It's just that I hadn't really seen something like that before. Everything else you showed me seemed so—"

"Believable?" Lintumen offered, when she paused for a word.

Minerva nodded in agreement.

Lintumen smiled his knowing smile, as he always did when she said what he wanted to hear. "As it is, with magic. Seeing is believing, as they say."

"I keep thinking that there's more to it than that. More than just believing. Even if you couldn't convince yourself, couldn't you manipulate almost anything into happening by changing the beliefs of the people around you?"

Suddenly Minerva understood more than she wanted to.

"It always comes back to that day with the rope! You wanted the crew to believe that I was a magician, and now they do, so now I am!"

Lintumen's eyes twinkled with excitement, betraying his calm demeanor.

"Don't forget that you stretched that rope the first time," he said. "You did that before anyone suspected a thing. Your own ignorance sufficed in place of a belief. I simply helped the matter along from there."

"But why?"

"Because I am a seer. I see things that others cannot. When I met you, I saw a young girl standing at a crossroad of life, willing and able to travel many roads, and yet uncertain of her path. I can see in you unmitigated potential, but only if you believe in yourself. I want to see your goals made real, whatever you choose them to be, so I do what I think will help."

Minerva thought in silence for a time. She couldn't decide if Lintumen was really trying to help her, or just entertaining himself.

"The woman attacked Captain Glass. The assassin. Why did she run away? Why didn't she kill me when she had the chance?"

"By your estimate, how many enemies pierce the shadow of deception that a counselor creates?"

"Very few, I would guess."

"None."

"Why none?"

"Because those that see through it are either recruited or silenced, neither of which leaves enemies."

"Neither of those are options that I like."

"No, I don't suppose you would, but I doubt they want you dead. If they did, and they thought they could kill you, they would have already done it."

"So, they want to recruit me?"

"That is the most likely conclusion. You clearly demonstrated several skills that will be of great interest to them."

Minerva imagined that Lintumen intended to comfort her. Unfortunately, he failed stupendously. Rather than dwell on the matter, she moved the conversation forward. "Isn't there a danger in just changing the way the world works on a whim?" she asked. "What if someone lost control of it?"

"We call that phenomenon going rogue," he said with a heavy frown. "A rogue magician has lost the ability to discern imagination from reality. Some argue that this is a higher state of magic, and many would agree, if not for the fact that nearly every rogue magician ever to exist has needed to be eliminated."

"That seems a bit harsh."

"Imagine a person with the ability to turn your head inside out, just by thinking about it. Can you control your thoughts so perfectly as to protect everyone around you? Everyone you love? Do you ever have nightmares?"

Minerva's eyes went wide. "I see."

"You want to ask me if I have ever seen it happen."

She nodded.

"I have. Once. A novice magician went rogue when I was still in training, many years ago. In his imagination, everyone was a murderer, or a thief, or worse, and that's what they became. The city fell into chaos, and crime ran rampant, for a time."

"What happened to him?"

"My tutor attacked the matter directly, permanently solving the situation."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Minerva replied, hardened by the assumption that Lintumen's tutor executed the man.

"It was necessary."

"What was his name?"

Lintumen stopped to appraise her sincerity before replying. "Bartleby Montgomery."

"I didn't mean to bring up a painful memory. I'm sorry."

"His memory is not painful to me. He will forever be a good reminder to remain vigilant against the frailty of my own mind. It's just that, in all my years, you're the first person to ever ask for his name."

Chapter 46

Proper Attire

"Minnie!" the twins bellowed from above. Luff and Leech always radiated exuberance at the sight of Minerva, and they dropped out of the sails to embrace her in a three-person hug as she emerged from the sterncastle.

"Nice leap. Very professional. Even the landing."

Minerva blushed. "Thanks for vouching for me."

"Sure thing. You owe us."

"You never said anything about that!"

"You never asked."

Debts were apparently standard commodities for Luff and Leech.

"Okay, what do you want?" she asked. "I know you already have something planned."

The twins grinned wickedly.

"Come to the common – this evening. The new crew – wants to meet you."

Gunner's words rang in Minerva's mind. Be crew. She reluctantly agreed.

"Great! See you tonight. We put your things – away in your room. Thimbler left a note. Go read it – and hurry back. We're short on riggers."

It seemed so long ago that anyone had called her a rigger. They didn't even ask if she was planning to work with them; they just assumed. Minerva hurried down to her room, thinking about their assumption, and concluded that she liked it.

Minerva's room remained exactly as she remembered, including the smell of wood that lingered everywhere inside the Skyraker. A small package of miscellany sat on her bed. The twins must have put her clothes away, so she checked the drawers. Shirts in the top. Pants and belts below. Underthings in the third drawer. Minerva suddenly felt very embarrassed at the idea of the twins putting away her underwear. At least they organized everything in a reasonable manner. She opened the very bottom drawer, expecting to see only her lonely orange and black dress waiting for her.

Beside her sturdy and elegant gown, that she cherished more than anything else, she found the most stunning blue dress she ever had the pleasure of holding. It shimmered without movement, and a small letter, tenderly sealed with wax, lay silently on top.

Dear Minerva,

I want you to know that I've spent most of my life hiding from who I am. Only now do I see how foolish that was. I owe you for that, and so, I want you to have this dress. It means a great deal to me, but I know that you will treat it with the respect and care that it deserves. I'm giving it to you not because I no longer want it, but because I desire for the world to see how beautiful it is.

I want the world to see how beautiful you are.

All I ask is that if you ever find a time to wear it in your travels, please come back and share your tale with me. I invite you to visit whenever you please.

Thimbler

P.S. I included some shoes that I think will go well with the dress. I hope they fit.

Minerva carefully closed the letter and set it aside, and then lifted the dress to reveal a pair of dark blue dress heels with an open toe. They fit perfectly. The heels weren't very tall, but she felt much taller in them, and a lot less stable.

Already late for her shift, she resigned herself to practicing walking in them later, and then returned the items to the drawer and made her way to the deck to help with the sails. The rest of her day was filled with teasing calls from the twins to scrub harder and stop gawking, but she was too lost in the thought of one day wearing the wonderful blue dress and new heels.

The first supper aboard the Skyraker was beyond busy. Big Jim had his hands full with the new crew, and Minerva could already see the hatred boiling in the eyes of some of the younger ones. More than a few of them gave her twisted glares when they realized that there was a girl on board, leaving the galley to once again be split into haters and fans of the infamous pirate girl.

Surprisingly, it didn't bother her as much as she thought it would. She saw Spit at another table, pointing at her and undoubtedly spinning wicked lies about her witchcraft. He sneered at her when she looked, and she wondered why he even bothered to board the ship.

Luff and Leech alleviated Minerva's tension by dragging her over to sit with them, and a cloud of familiar, alluring smells assailed her as Gunner sat down beside her.

"Did you see - her dive?" the twins asked excitedly.

Gunner looked down at Minerva with a smile, forcing her to blush. "Sure did. I've heard her shout before, but that scream was something else. I bet the whole of the port caught wind of that. Probably thought a banshee had come to carry them off."

Minerva stewed in her shame while the rest of them laughed.

Then Gunner put his arm around her. "Luff and Leech say you're going to come by for a visit this evening."

She nodded stiffly, trying to wish his arm into sticking there permanently.

"It will be good to see you there," he said, and then he picked up his plate and walked away to a table of friends.

Something of a conversation occurred afterward, but Minerva didn't hear much of it. Gunner was looking forward to seeing her. Should she wear the blue dress, she wondered.

Even though Minerva's visit to Riggersport felt like a whirlwind of work and celebration, she still managed to collect a decent wardrobe. For her evening with Gunner and the twins, she settled on wearing a practical outfit of shin-length shorts meant for a grown man, and a simple shirt with a button down front. The shirt allowed her to modestly reveal her mark, as she wore a tight top underneath it that covered only her breasts.

When she arrived in the common—a cramped deck full of hammocks, crates, hushed voices, and the warmth of bodies stifled by the smell of tobacco—she was surprised to find many of the sailors asleep. She previously imagined that they spent their evenings embroiled in fistfights and drinking contests until the wee hours of the morning.

The ship creaked quietly around the slumbering men, rocking their hammocks while they slept.

In the middle of the space, a pile of personal effects had been pushed together to form a crude table. Luff and Leech sat with a few others, gambling for ale tokens. "Hey Minnie," they said quietly. "Come sit."

Minerva planted herself atop a stack of burlap sacks laid over a large trunk.

"This is Woody. Our new carpenter."

A heavyset man with overly bushy eyebrows and tanned skin nodded respectfully at her.

"This is Gags. Able body."

Gags was perhaps in his mid-twenties with a dark complexion, and was generally nondescript, other than his mouth, which sloped directly down into his neck, completely robbing him of a chin. He smiled kindly and Minerva smiled back.

"You made it sound like everyone would be awake right now. I don't want to wake someone up," she whispered to the twins.

"The first day – is always hard. They'll come around. Only old hands – stay up at night."

Minerva's chest swelled with pride. She was an old hand.

Someone moved behind Minerva and the scent of gunpowder revealed the identity of the newcomer. Gunner gave her a comforting pat on the back as he sat down on an overturned bucket.

"Deal me in."

"One deck. Two-bit ante. Three in the hold. Two in the sky. Aye?"

"Aye."

Minerva doubted the validity of their sentence as containing real words.

"You in – Minnie?"

"No, thanks. I don't know how to play, and I don't think I'd enjoy gambling."

The twins dealt the cards without her, and even the sound of the shuffling cardstock seemed excessive. Gentle snoring all around the gathering kept the conversation to a minimum, although several other broken off conversations and similar games occurred nearby.

"Hey, what was with that crew call?" Minerva asked. "I must have seen over a hundred ships go through Riggersport. None of them ever made that much ruckus."

"Most ships don't do crew calls," Gunner explained. "Only when a ship disbands its crew do they need to do a crew call. Then it's first come first serve, unless someone can vouch for you. If someone does, you're on the hook to come through. It's a pretty big favor to ask."

Minerva smiled. The twins and Jim both offered to vouch for her without questioning if she would make it aboard.

After a time, the men let her play a few hands without a bet, so that she could learn how. She found it more enjoyable than she thought it would be, and agreed to wager on the last hands of the night. She lost them all, but didn't feel bad about it.

As the evening went by, she engaged in kind conversations with both Woody and Gags, and quickly grew to like them both, although Gags rarely spoke at length. He had been born with an underdeveloped jaw, and so speaking was laborious for him, often leaving him gagging on his own tongue.

The nickname Minnie suddenly felt a lot less painful, she decided.

"Can we hurk see your hurk mark?" Gags asked.

"We told them – how big it was," Luff and Leech said proudly. It was a statement of fact, not an apology.

Minerva longed for acceptance. She was weary of being an outsider in a strange world, so she unbuttoned her shirt and revealed her mark. A thin band of cloth covered her top, concealing only a small portion of her mark while dutifully upholding her sense of modesty.

Woody made a very round face with an open jaw. Gags gagged in shock.

"Now that's a mark, aye," Woody exclaimed.

Minerva hastily buttoned her shirt, trying not to look ashamed. She didn't like the reactions garnered by her mark, but felt shamefully proud when both Woody and Gags handed her an ale token.

"Told you," Gunner said, in a somewhat comforting manner.

"I should probably get to bed," she said, hoping the others would agree, which they did.

As she made her way out, Minerva spotted the dark-skinned feet of Olbus retreating up the stairs ahead of her. How long had he been there, simply watching, she wondered. In the darkness, she stumbled over someone sleeping on the floor, apologized profusely to the man who probably didn't even wake up, and then made her way to her cabin.

Four empty bunks greeted her.

After seeing the other sailors forced into such a small space, there was no way she would be able to sleep soundly in a room with three empty beds.

Chapter 47

Everything

Normally Minerva wouldn't even consider bothering Olbus at night, but she had seen that he was awake. She knocked softly on his door and it opened.

"Yes, sailor?"

Olbus never bantered, a mannerism that completely disrupted the natural course of a conversation and forced Minerva to be blunt.

"I want to give up my room."

"No."

Olbus shut the door so swiftly in response that Minerva needed to shove her foot into the gap just to maintain contact.

"Ouch! Wait, look, they're cramped down there. Some of them sleep on the floor and there are four bunks in my room. I only need one."

Minerva realized halfway through her explanation that Olbus already knew everything she was telling him.

"I said no. Go to bed."

"Stop that!" Minerva snapped, nearly suffering a second crushing of her foot. "You can't just say no and slam a door in someone's face. At least hear me out!"

Olbus released the door and crossed his arms. Imposing was an understatement.

"Okay, what if Luff and Leech and Gunner stay in the room with me? I can trust them."

Forcing Minerva to wait for a reply demonstrated very clearly the power the large man held over weaker minds. When she held her ground and said nothing, he spoke. "No. On both counts. It's not proper. You're a lady."

A lady, she thought. That sounds nice.

"They are good men," he said. "But they do not worry about you like they should."

"Not like you worry about me?" The words were out before she even thought about them. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that. Nezzen told me about your family."

"Then you understand. You will stay where I can observe you. Even men that appear good might only be concealing their nature."

A profound sadness clung to his words. This was not where she wanted the conversation to go.

"Return to your bunk, sailor."

As the door closed for a third time, frantic desperation took root in Minerva's mind. She had solved nothing. She had gained no ground. She was exactly where she started and possibly a little further back; Olbus could have been seriously offended. She needed to say something comforting.

"You're still a good man," she whispered.

Absolute sincerity in a moment of fear. The door stopped, and Minerva took it as an invitation to keep talking.

"I didn't realize it at first, but you've always been there whenever I needed you. Even when I didn't, really."

No response. Keep going, her thoughts urged.

"I know that my family is worried about me, but I'm certain that if they could see you, and how you protect me, that they wouldn't worry nearly so much. And," she said, but choked up suddenly. "And I think, right now, you're the closest thing to a family that I've got. So, I'm not sure what else I can say, except thank you. Thank you for everything, and for what it's worth, I forgive you."

With her heart laid bare and nothing left to say, Minerva stood alone in the quiet hallway. No response came from within the cabin behind the door, but something about the unresolved openness beckoned her inward.

The boatswain's cabin looked much like her own, except that two of its four bunks performed the duty of storage, while the other two sat made and ready.

Olbus sat on his bed. He balled his hands into tight fists and leaned his mouth on them, with his elbows on his knees. Silent tears streamed down his face and splashed to the deck as Minerva closed the door.

"What were their names?" she asked. "Your wife and daughter."

"Akinyi, my wife, and Aisha, my daughter."

"Tell me about them. Your family."

Olbus did exactly as Minerva requested. He started talking, and didn't stop, until his voice was hoarse and his tears were dry. She realized then, that between his rage and regret, Olbus' iron military heart had never mourned.

Chapter 48

August Rain

"It's late. You will be exhausted tomorrow."

Minerva wanted to reassure Olbus that she would be fine, but her heavy lids and the sensation of having sand in her eyes told her she was wrong. When she stood to leave, her attention fell upon the readied bed on the other side of the cabin. Something about it tugged at her mind, but she was too sleepy to figure it out.

The next morning, the twins woke her by bantering and screaming like a couple of apes. The experience was entirely as terrifying as she remembered. Before she could even grunt and flail at the two of them, they pulled open her drawers of clothing and were throwing pants and shirts at her.

"Gonna get wet today. You better dress warm."

As her senses collected themselves, the scent of rain filled the cabin. Minerva dressed in a hurry and scurried off to the galley to help with breakfast. Big Jim was waiting for her, looking rather harried.

"Ah, there ye are, girl. Was worried ye'd forgotten about yer fat friend!"

"As if I could! What's on the menu?"

"Porridge and eggs. Soup and dumplings for lunch. Stew for dinner. As much hot food as we can scrape up. It's going to be a wet one, and the boys will need to keep warm."

"Can't we just stay inside?"

Jim laughed hard. "If ye want to sink, aye. The sails won't hold their lift for long in this weather. It's going to be a hard day in the rigging. Ye better eat a big breakfast."

Minerva did as Jim suggested before heading off to her shift, but even still, lunch could not arrive soon enough. Keeping the sails lit in the rain was almost impossible. The riggers constantly needed to wring out their brooms to keep them dry. At least half their scrubbing effort went towards sweeping water off the sails, never mind getting them to lift. Every hand assisted in draining water from the ship, drying cloth or brooms, and generally fighting a difficult battle against the elements. On several occasions, the Skyraker drifted dangerously close to ground, and one time it clipped the top of a tall tree.

Minerva was very glad to be wearing three shirts.

Luff and Leech said they normally wouldn't keep going in weather like this, but the captain wanted to reach Reshampur as soon as possible. If they knew what he was running from, she thought, they would gladly be pushing much harder. Every time she neared the top of the mast, she wondered how Nezzen was faring up in the crow's nest.

The captain stood at the helm the entire time, soaked through to the skin. He smiled when he saw Minerva looking at him, but the fear that clouded his mind hung apparent in the wrinkles that never left his brow.

When lunch finally arrived, the riggers split off into shifts, leaving Minerva to eat alone while the twins staffed the sails. Regardless of how badly she wanted a break, she gave herself just enough time to eat and change her clothes before returning to the masts. By suppertime, she ached everywhere, even in places she didn't know could ache.

It was the quietest meal she had ever seen aboard the ship. Even Jim kept his abuse of the new sailors to a minimum. The rain abated about an hour before the meal, but the crew still had plenty of work to do.

Luff and Leech kept the crew in good spirits with silly antics and constant joking, but even that fell to the wayside once they were in front of their plates.

Minerva flopped down on her bunk after eating and let her eyes wander to the various parts of her nearly empty cabin. The small stash of gifts from Nezzen on the table. The monstrous gilded cabinet that she still couldn't open. The three empty bunks that waited for someone to sleep in them.

She thought about how hard the twins worked, and how they slept in the communal area with the other sailors, because of her. Everything about the empty beds seemed like it was perfect for them. Like if she left it ready, they would come to sleep in it anyway.

Minerva leaped from her bed and yanked the door open, heading for Olbus' cabin, and nearly ran straight into his back. He was at his door about to enter, and looked rather startled by the sudden appearance of Minerva behind him. He said nothing, giving her the time to decide what she was going to say. She licked her lips, uncertain if she should reveal her realization.

"You keep the other bunk made because of me, don't you? In case I need to sleep where you can protect me."

Olbus took a deep breath, and ever so slightly, his chiseled expression cracked. The truth was out. He couldn't deny it. "Yes," he confessed.

"Well, if you would allow it, I would like to stay in your cabin from now on. The men work hard, and I feel really guilty about taking away the beds that they've earned."

A smile. A genuine, honest smile shattered his perfectly formed facade. "Yes!" Excitement sounded odd in his baritone voice.

Olbus threw the door open and rushed in. His arms grasped about aimlessly, as if he was trying to make everything ready, but didn't know where to start. "It's a little cramped. You can have that bunk. Or mine. That one is softer. This one is firm. They're not perfect."

"I'll take that one," she said, pointing at the unused bunk. "It's even ready for me."

The huge man pulled open one of the attached drawers and scooped up nearly everything in it in one swoop, throwing it onto the bunk behind him. After emptying the second drawer the same way, he turned to her and sucked in a massive chest of air, letting it out slowly. A mountain of tension expelled from him immense frame, and he nodded as he relaxed.

"I'll get a rope and a sheet. We can hang it down the middle. For privacy."

"Should I start moving my stuff?"

Olbus nodded as he exited the cabin, beaming with gladness.

Minerva went to her old room and pulled out the first drawer of clothing to take it across the hall.

Luff and Leech arrived just in time to find her going back for the third drawer. "Finally asked you – did he?"

"No. I asked him."

"That's very nice of you. Should make him very happy."

"I hope so. I must worry him a lot."

"Yeah – you do."

Always a comfort, these two, she thought. "Okay, if you're not going to help, get out."

The twins disappeared immediately, whooping as they scattered down the hallway.

As Minerva cleared the bottom drawer of the cabinet in Olbus' cabin, she discovered a gleaming white military uniform, complete with boots, gloves, and a cap. Not a single thread or accessory of the entire ensemble was anything but the purest white, with two exceptions. A patch of blood stained the cuff on the left arm, and a dirty hole tore through the right side of the chest.

A white badge, carved entirely from ivory and shaped like a coat of arms, lay atop the uniform. Two feathered wings spread up in an arc from the base, with the tips meeting at the peak. A pair of rearing lions flanked the shield in front of the wings but facing away, as if the disc were resting on their backs. A single intricate crown, wreathed in interwoven patterns, graced the center of the shield.

An otherwise inconsequential memory burst to the fore of Minerva's mind. In a secluded wooden trunk, buried behind a bookshelf and tucked beneath a collection of pistols, Minerva's father stowed a small chest of similar objects. Inside the chest, little winged shields had been carefully pinned to a wide sash. Meticulous embroidery recorded names and ranks, annotating the cloth beneath each ivory shield. For ensigns and commanders there were many. Captains were few, but notably frequent, while a single commodore graced the head of the collection. She had never seen a mark like this before, nor one quite as ornate.

Olbus cleared his throat.

Minerva jumped to her feet and dropped the badge into the drawer. The big man lowered a blanket and some rope to the floor, and then strolled over. He picked up the uniform with the utmost care, moving it safely to a new home in the opposite cabinet.

"You're an officer of the White Fleet," Minerva said.

"Was."

Minerva stood stunned by his casual dismissal. "Nezzen said your men loved you."

"Maybe they did."

"I don't imagine they stopped."

Olbus caressed the white cloth with a gentle hand. "The leader they loved is gone."

"Maybe the leader they loved is hoping they will forget about him."

"They should. He abandoned them."

Against her better judgment, Minerva spoke her mind to the imposing man. "And what does it mean if he abandons the memory of them?"

Olbus sighed. He wasn't winning and he didn't like it. "Lintumen wants to see you. Go."

Conversation. Over.

Chapter 49

Fork in the Road

Lintumen waited patiently for Minerva in his cabin.

He can't leave, she thought.

The realization hit her suddenly. Lintumen always looked like he was waiting for a guest, yet clearly had no choice in the matter. The subtlety in his efforts was impressive.

"Good evening, my dear," he said in a raspy tone.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. I find my mind is sharpest when it rains, and I would like to engage a worthy opponent in some mental dueling."

Minerva decided that his statement was a compliment and sat down beside the crinkled old man. "What did you want to talk about?"

"This and that."

Minerva reached over and closed the book he was reading. "Stop being obtuse. I'm really tired, I think I might have just angered Olbus, and I'm really not up to dueling, so what did you want to talk about?"

"I doubt that."

"Doubt what?" she demanded, exasperated.

"I doubt that you angered Olbus. From what I've seen, there is little emotion remaining that would permit becoming angry. Or happy. Or possibly even sad."

"You're wrong. I've seen all three of those emotions."

"Then you've certainly seen more of him than most people ever will."

Minerva remembered the fury on Olbus' face on the night she met Roker, and his sadness from when she asked about his family. "Okay, I get it. I'm a magical little girl that can change even people. Is that it? Can I go now?"

Lintumen smiled smugly. "No, that's not it. Well, not entirely. You're certainly magical, or at least blessed, and you've certainly changed a few hearts, but not by any combination of the two."

"Then what is it?"

"In the world of magicians, I am known as not just a seer, but as a lumen. I am someone that can shine a light where once there was none, granting vision of events both seen and unseen. In a sense, I can see and experience an event without needing to be present. Often these events haven't even happened at all."

"You mean that you can see the future?"

"I can see possibility."

Something about the statement gave Minerva the impression that he was about to tell her something bad.

"I have seen a possibility that disturbs me greatly, and I would like you to entertain a hypothetical situation for me." Lintumen paused, considering his words. "What would you do if you knew that you were going to lose a friend?"

"Do you mean to say that they're going to die?"

"Perhaps. What I can tell you is that I can see two futures. One in which a continued friendship endures through great strife, but through which its participants remain content with the companionship of the other. In the other future, well, I'm not sure you want to know."

"The future is never a certainty."

"Do you not believe in fate, my dear?"

"Destiny is for those that lack the will to change it," she said in the voice of her mother.

The old man paused and idly adjusted the books and vials in front of him. Minerva couldn't decide if he was dodging the conversation or creating some form of magical expectation.

"The trouble is, sometimes the future is certain. Sometimes even clearer than the present. You can tell me that I'm wrong, because you don't believe me, but you will not convince me. I have tried, time and again, to change what I have seen, and it never works."

"You said yourself that seeing is believing. You can't change it because you've already seen it. That doesn't mean that someone else can't."

"Perhaps," he said, with a victorious smile. "If you remain curious, the other future is, from a personal standpoint, the desirable future. It is everything a person could ever want, and more, but at great cost. Which would you choose? To maintain a friendship or to gain a perfect future?"

Lintumen observed Minerva's reaction with a blank face. Meanwhile, she wanted to scream at him. Even the idea that someone would want their friend to die for their own benefit infuriated her. Her skin boiled with rage and she went for the door.

"Minerva."

"What?" she growled.

"This is not your choice to make."

Minerva smacked the door with her palm. "We're done. Let me out."

Captain Glass opened the door, shooting a stern glance at Lintumen when he saw the expression on Minerva's face. After the door closed and the locks were sealed, Lintumen sat in the dim light for a time, and then he pulled out a large magnifying lens and went back to reading his book.

"Show me the truth again," he said to the paper.

Then he leaned his nose down to the page, carefully analyzing the slightest nuance of every stroke.

Chapter 50

Mad Men

Wind and rain hammered down across the deck of the Phoenix, washing in sheets over the sides of the huge red galleon. No amount of scrubbing could possibly put the huge ship in the air, and so her fires were out. Two men of short stature held a sloppy salute as Captain Black's peg leg thundered over the soaking planks. They wore dark red coats, stained and frayed.

"At ease," Black said.

The two men relaxed and shook Black's hand when he stretched it out to them. Both their faces bore heavy scars, and one of them wore an eyepatch.

"Captain Apples." Black nodded at the man without an eye. "Captain Fletch."

"Good to see you again, Black," said Captain Fletch.

"Your ships. Are they skyworthy in this weather?"

"The Arbalest is at your service, sir. Our riggers'll fly a hurricane if the boatswain says so."

"Aye, and the Ballistae, sir," said Apples. "I'll dance on a cloud if we can't catch a damaged frigate half-stocked on riggers."

"Good. Head setward. Glass will fly to the Loftwood to plead with Lord Arach." Captain Black squinted against the wind in the direction of the Loftwood.

"Do ye think the lord will protect him?" asked Apples.

"Aye."

"What shall we do if he won't come out?" said Fletch. "We are not welcome in Arach's woods."

"Simply wait until they fly again. If he sits in port, I can kill him myself. Tie them down once the spawning ends, and I will bring the Phoenix up behind. "

The two men sneered maliciously and then left for their vessels. Captain Black watched the two sleek coast runners rise into the air against the rain, making their way towards the Loftwood.

"Captain Black?"

A less accustomed man might have been surprised to find Squints unexpectedly standing behind them.

"Aye?"

"How far will ye chase 'im? We've already lost Cloudscorch."

"To the end of the sky, if I must. Either he dies, or I do."

Chapter 51

The Meaning of Sailor

Minerva slept late the next morning. She realized this fact when she peeked around the curtain and Olbus was already gone. Throwing on her clothes as fast she could, she ran to the galley, but found it empty.

"Jim!" she called.

The fat man appeared in moments. "Minnie? Ye better get topside or ye'll really get it from the bosun!"

Minerva's skin crawled. She didn't just sleep in; she completely missed breakfast. Jim tossed a couple of fresh buns at her before she ran from the galley. She had just reached the deck when Luff and Leech dropped from the sails like a couple of lions moving in for a kill.

"Well – well – well. Look who's finally here. Had to get your beauty sleep?"

"I know! I'm sorry. I'm here now, though."

"So, you are. So, you are." The twins echoed each other lazily, obviously amused.

Minerva reached for a broom, but the twins blocked her efforts. "Please move," she begged. "If Olbus catches me I'll be in deep trouble."

"We know. Extra hours."

Luff and Leech crossed their arms and barricaded Minerva's path as she lunged for a broom handle.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" she demanded.

"Crew aren't allowed – inside the bosun's cabin," they said with a smirk.

The boards of the deck groaned behind Minerva as the body of a heavy man weighed down on them, and her skin prickled. She hunched her shoulders in fear, waiting for Olbus to haul her away.

"Boatswain! Good to see you – this late in the morning."

With a sick sense of joy, Luff and Leech watched Minerva squirm under Olbus' stern gaze.

"Why are you late to your duties, sailor?"

"I slept late, sir."

"Then you will make up the time. Mates, when did this sailor's shift start?"

"Two hours – and fifteen minutes ago."

"Five extra hours as punishment. Is that clear, sailor?"

Minerva bowed her head in shame, but nodded. Five more hours, on top of yesterday, without a breakfast. This wasn't just punishment, this was torture, and she really wanted to wipe the smug grins off the faces of her friends.

"However," Olbus continued. "Jim requested aid in the galley. It is your choice, sailor. You can work your hours in the rigging or in the galley."

"Hey!" Luff and Leech shouted at once, shoving themselves between Minerva and Olbus.

"We're already – short in the sails. We need her – up there."

"Then I suggest that one of you learn how to cook," Olbus replied, leaning forward and forcing the twins to step back.

"Thank you, sir." Minerva interjected, breaking up the standoff. "I will work my extra hours in the galley, starting now, and then I'll return for the evening shift."

Minerva truly didn't want to work in the rigging. She was still tired, hungry, and her whole body hurt from the day before, but more importantly, this was a chance to retaliate against the twins for getting her in trouble in the first place. It wasn't the best revenge she could think of, but suitable enough.

"Yer back and walkin' already?" Jim asked, as Minerva entered the kitchen. He dropped a large pot into a washbasin with a splash. "Are ye runnin' from the bosun, or just lucky?"

"I got extra hours for sleeping in, no thanks to Luff and Leech, but Olbus said you were shorthanded and let me choose to work here."

Jim chuckled. "Those gits'll do that when they want someone's company, but shorthanded? No more than usual."

"You didn't ask for help?"

"No, ma'am."

Wicked guilty pleasure washed over her.

"Sounds like Olbus cut ye some slack. That's how it is with 'im. Hard to tell when he's grateful, or in a good mood. Ye still hungry?"

"Very."

"Ye can do the loaves for breakfast tomorrow while I whip somethin' together for ye to eat. We can switch for suppers."

Minerva wiped the counter where she was to work and tossed out some flour. She was about to mix some dough when Big Jim plopped eggs on toast down beside her.

"Wash yer hands when yer done."

"Won't I get in trouble? It's not meal time."

Jim gave a jolly laugh. "Ye think I got this big eatin' only at meal time?"

Minerva couldn't help but look him over. He really was a gigantic man. She took the sandwich and sat down to eat it.

Big Jim approved with a smile. "Shouldn't no one complain. Yer still growing."

"You don't think Olbus was mad?" she asked, after swallowing a big bite.

"Nah, Olbus is a hard man, aye, but he's a good man. Best way I know to tell his mood is by the way he says sailor. It's like a special kind of word to 'im. A sign of respect. If he's mad, he says it hard and fast, as if he's cussin'. If he's happy, he says it real slow, like thick honey."

Minerva had noticed the differences before, but never really paid any special attention to them.

"What, don't ye trust me?" Jim asked playfully.

"I don't know, seems a little suspect."

"Ha! If ye can't trust a fat cook or a grey-haired captain, who can ye trust?"

"If that's the standard measurement of trust, I think I'll surely spend my life labeled a scoundrel."

Jim laughed hard and wobbly, patting his big belly. "Eat like I do, and ye'll fill out, just like me."

Minerva looked him up and down again as she washed her hands. "I'm not sure I want to fill out quite that much."

Jim struggled not to laugh as he replied. "Well, maybe ye'll fill out a bit up top then," he added, cupping his hands to his own ample boson.

"Hey! You just said that I'm still growing!" Minerva snapped, whipping him with the towel at the same time.

"Uh huh. Look, all I'm sayin' is that if yer tryin' to catch the eye of a gunner, it's not a bad idea to have a few cannonballs hanging around."

Minerva blushed and turned to victimize some vegetables with a knife. She didn't realize that anyone else knew about her feelings for Gunner.

Jim laughed again, but it was starting to sound like his mean laugh. "Ah, don't worry, girl. Ye'll grow into a woman, one day."

Minerva's knife connected firmly with the cutting board a few times while she thought. One day seemed like a painfully long way away.

"What if I don't?" she asked. "What if I'm this size forever?"

"Yeah, what if? Ye can what if yerself till the day ye die."

"Seriously, Jim. Do men really care that much about, um, the size of my cannonballs?"

"Aye, some do. Some don't. Now, ye might catch a sailor's attention with a bit o' endowment, but yer personality is what matters most. Hard to believe, I know, when ye look at how us pirates carry ourselves, but it's true. Besides, any sailor that concerns himself only with the size of yer cannonballs ain't a man worth showin' yer cannon to."

When Minerva returned to the deck after lunch, Luff and Leech met her again, and were very repentant. "Sorry about – this morning," they said.

"Yeah, you are now, I bet." Minerva made an angry face and pushed Luff into a large spool of ropes. "How is it today?" she asked, once they were up in the rigging.

"Overcast – but dry. Lots of scrubbing – but the lift holds."

The Skyraker was sailing high in the air, and off in the distance she could see a tall forest ahead of them. A much shorter forest spread away from it in all directions.

"Is that where we're headed?"

"The Loftwood – and Reshampur."

"For repairs?"

"If we're lucky."

"Why do we need to be lucky?"

"Lord Arach runs the place – and he is fickle. Not always friendly – to crews with marks. We won't know – until we get there."

"Is he actually a lord?"

"Yeah, but — it's also a sign of respect. Without Arach – there's no silk. Not for pirates, anyway."

"So, all the pirate sails come from there?"

"Most of them."

"Why are the trees so tall?"

"Because they float. Thanks to the spiders – that live in them."

"Spiders?"

Somehow, Minerva never had made the connection. The sails were made of silk that came from spiders. There would be plenty of spiders wherever the silk came from.

Luff and Leech spotted her apprehension immediately, and jumped to either side of her. "They're bigger than – a man's head, too."

Minerva squirmed in place, trying not to think about it.

"Sometimes they swarm – in the thousands."

Her knuckles went white.

"They fly, too! And one bite – could kill you!"

Luff and Leech clamped their hands down on her arms with a smack.

"Okay, that's nice. I'm going back to the kitchen now." Minerva grabbed the nearest rope and made to climb down.

"Wait. Don't go. We really do – need you."

"You have a poor way of showing it," she barked at them.

"Okay. Okay. No more stories."

Minerva climbed back onto the spar and yanked her broom from Luff with as much of an indignant glare as she could manage.

"Did you know—" one twin started, but Minerva punched the other one in the shoulder before he could add to his brother's sentence.

Chapter 52

Optional Comprehension

By sundown, Minerva was more than ready for bed. She still offered to deliver Nezzen's food to him, despite her fatigue, because she watched Big Jim do it once, and resolved to never let him do it again. Throughout the event she was certain that he was going to fall to his death. It was as much a service to her own nerves as it was to him.

"Ah, Miss Minerva, welcome. How are you this evening?"

"Very tired," she said, handing the elderly man his supper box along with her hairbrush.

"I heard you received extra duty."

"I did. I spent it working with Jim, though, so it wasn't too bad."

"I see. How are your lessons with Lintumen? He is still teaching you about magic, is he not?"

Minerva's hair scratched softly under Nezzen's expert strokes.

"I think so. I'm not really sure, to be honest." She wanted to say no.

Scritch. Scritch.

"Everything he says is so cryptic," she said, carrying on without a reply. "It's like he'd rather just have me learn it on my own so that he can do that stupid I-knew-you'd-figure-it-out smile that he does."

"Lintumen is a difficult man to understand. He knows a great deal, about a great many things. Often, he does not understand what it is like know less than he does. To him, there is no greater pleasure than seeing another mind expand and grow. He can't help himself."

Scritch.

"So why doesn't he just tell me what I need to know?"

"Is an apple not that much sweeter when you've climbed the tree yourself to get it?"

"I suppose."

Nezzen almost never urged Minerva to say more than she wanted to. In effect, it made her want to say more than she thought she would.

"He told me something bad, the other day," she said.

Scritch.

"He said that he saw two futures for me. One future sounded normal. In the other, my friend would die, but I would get everything I've ever wanted. He said I didn't get a choice in which future it would be."

"Which future would you choose?"

"I would sacrifice myself to save my friend."

"I see. What if the choice, as Lintumen said, is not your own? What if your friend makes the same choice to sacrifice themselves, as quickly and easily as you just did?"

Minerva conceded defeat with a sigh.

"The death of a friend is always a sad thing, but it is not always a bad thing. For the sick and ailing, death might be a blessing that eases their pain. Similarly, courage and sacrifice are both choices that can lead to death. Would you fault a friend for choosing either of them?"

Minerva took the brush from Nezzen. "Lintumen was showing me the options, not interpreting them for me, is that what you're saying?"

"Only a fool would assume that they could fully interpret the ramifications of a choice that had not yet been made."

"Thank you, Nezzen. I feel better now." Minerva slid forward to drop out of the nest, but Nezzen stopped her.

"Before you go, there's something I want you to see." Nezzen brought out a beautiful, leather-bound cylinder from beside him. "Take this."

"Please, Nezzen. No gifts tonight. I really don't feel like I deserve it."

"It is not a gift." At that, he opened the case to reveal a spyglass made of polished brass and black-stained wood. A gold tasseled rope coiled around it loosely. "Look through here, to the horizon behind me, and tell me what you see."

Minerva peered through the thin gap between the cloth roof and the wooden rail of the crow's nest, allowing time for her eyes to adjust to the fading light. In the distance, near the horizon, she saw two silhouettes.

"I see two ships," she said.

"What colors are they?"

"I'm not sure. Red and green, maybe. It's really hard to tell."

"Mast count?"

"Two. On both of them. Who are they?"

"The Arbalest and the Ballistae," Nezzen said. "Two of Captain's Blacks allies. I doubt he's with them, however."

"Did they fly through the rain, too?"

"Most likely. They've been behind us for some time now. I suspect the captain has seen them, as well."

"Will they attack us in the Loftwood?"

"Unlikely. Lord Arach does not tolerate confrontations in his forest. It disrupts the spiders."

"Then what do we do? Can we outrun them?"

"Maybe. Maybe it won't matter what we do."

Minerva leaned back from the edge. She was much closer to Nezzen than ever before, and from this distance, he looked more ancient than Lintumen. She could hear him laboring to breathe under the weight of his own chest, and she suddenly realized that unless he could get someone to carry him back up, his next trip down from the nest would likely be his last.

"I'm sorry, Minerva. I lied to you."

"About what?"

"My gifts. They are not gifts that I give because of any selfless desire to comfort someone. I give them because they represent everything I hate about myself. They are the embodiment of my own selfish fear. I want to get rid of them."

Minerva couldn't respond. All the shining golden beauty around her suddenly sounded like a heavy burden to bear.

"Did you know that this ship is cursed?" he asked. "If you believe in such things."

"In what way?"

"Cursed to be alone. We pirates say that the ship itself will accept command from no man. I have been up here a long time, and I have seen more captains come and go than I can count. But I am a coward, Minerva. Not once have I fought to protect her. Not once have I used a weapon against any man that sought to take her as their prize. I stole my spoils from the shares of my fallen comrades and dragged them up to my nest. All my life I have chosen cowardice over courage. Selfishness over sacrifice. Now I am old, and I no longer have the option."

"You are not dead, Nezzen. You always have the option."

"Do you really think so?"

"I cannot accept any alternatives."

Nezzen smiled warmly. "I cannot see the future like Lintumen can, but I can see the present far better than he ever could. We will complete our repairs in the Loftwood, and when they are complete, we will run. We will run for our lives, because we cannot fight the force that Captain Black has sent against us. There may yet be an opportunity for courage and sacrifice for us all."

Chapter 53

The Loftwood

From a distance, the Loftwood bore the appearance of any other forest, except with exceptionally tall trees. As the Skyraker drew closer, however, it became apparent that the height of the trees significantly exceeded any reasonable expectation.

The ship also began to encounter spiders flying on nets of webbing strung between their legs. Sometimes they landed on the sails, or even on a person, before being quickly shooed away. Minerva did her best to ignore the arachnids. If they landed nearby, she moved to another part of the sail and kept working.

As they neared the edge of the woods, the tree line completely dominated the landscape. The trees were not only floating in the air, held in place by countless strands of webbing strung between their canopies, they were also massive. Each single tree was composed of a monstrous mass of writhing trunks, sometimes wider than the length of the ship.

Under the canopy, the sun quickly vanished, and spiders flew everywhere, like grotesque fish of the skies. Minerva was slowly losing the ability to ignore the increasing size of the spiders, and she began flicking them off her clothing. Luff grabbed her arm unexpectedly as she moved to swat a spider the size of her foot from her shoulder. It was still climbing towards her face when he gently picked it up and placed it on a sail.

"Their bite – really is lethal," the twins said warningly. The way they said it made it clear they weren't playing games this time. "They're harmless – unless provoked. Just pick them up – and put them on the sails."

Minerva hated spiders, as she hated all things with more than four legs, and she really wanted to get down from the masts where the creepy beasties seemed to enjoy landing with the most frequency. As the ship flew onward into the dark, she pawed at her shirt, sweaty-handed, every time she saw one of the critters fly by, and her stomach refused to descend from her throat. To compensate, she buried her mind in her work, doing her best to disassociate from what was going on around her.

Soon it was so dark that the crew needed to light lanterns on deck to move around. Random shards of light that pierced down from above accented their path deeper into the woods.

"How does Captain Glass know where to go?" Minerva asked Luff.

"He's following – the spiders. See the sparks – from where they fly? We can fly – where they can fly."

Minerva took her eyes away from concentrating on the sails for a moment to look at the pitch-blackness around her. Every so often, a tiny streak of blue sparks streaked through the air. The shadows cast by the arcing electricity easily revealed the trees around them, lighting the way for the Skyraker. With every strobe of energy, she saw thousands of shadowy spiders flying about in the darkness.

The thought of the numbers made Minerva's skin crawl, but she couldn't look away. There was something so curious and terrifying about them. Sometimes they flew between the masts and sails, sending tiny bolts of lightning into the cloth around her. She could feel the ship tremble as it received a sudden burst of lift, and the further out she looked the more it felt like gazing off into a living canopy of stars.

"What's that, out over there?" she asked, pointing towards a dim cloud of light in the depths of the trees.

Luff followed her outstretched finger, but didn't reply. As the light grew slightly brighter, Leech skipped over to his brother. The twins whispered to each other quietly, and Leech walked to the end of the spar for a closer look.

A few sparks of lightning bounced out from the mass into a nearby tree, and the faint sound of a crackling buzz found its way through the boughs towards her.

"Riggers! Get down!" Leech ran back up the boom as fast as he could, yelling frantically. "Get off the sails!"

Luff grabbed Minerva by the shirt and dragged her screaming off the spar. Luff controlled their descent with a counterweight held by his other hand, but they still landed hard on the deck below and tumbled aside. Minerva felt her hair stand on end, and the crackling sound rapidly transformed into a cacophonous thunder.

"What is it?" she asked, standing up and looking around, but no one answered.

Luff hauled her back down again by the arm, hard enough to send pain shooting through her scar.

"Ow! Hey!"

"Stay down!"

As the other riggers descended, the twins lay frozen in place, stricken with fear. Even Cloudscorch hadn't driven them from the sails in such a hurry. Minerva wanted to get a better look at what had them so terrified, but all she saw over the port side was a growing cloud of lights.

That's not lights, she realized, and her eyes went wide. That's lightning.

What she was seeing wasn't a cloud at all. It was millions of spiders, shocking and blasting their way through the trees in a massive swarm. As it approached, it swelled in apparent size, until even the Skyraker must have seemed like a miniature toy caught in a sea of fireflies.

The twins ran for the helm, shouting for the captain to cut loose the top sails. Captain Glass stood silent and stricken, staring into the lights. The twins began to repeat their command, but Minerva heard only the first half. The cloud of spiders had reached the Skyraker, and everything around her went bright as the whitest snow, drowned in the chorus of a million blistering bolts of lightning. Her nose filled with the scent of burnt metal and the Skyraker shuddered. What she felt was numbing agony coursing through her body.

Chapter 54

Spider Storm

Minerva struggled to move. Every time she tried, her arms and legs jerked uncontrollably. She couldn't hold her head up without suffering painful shocks to the ears and cheeks, but she could see the twins pushing for the helm. They moved in lurches, standing and falling to their knees, striving valiantly.

Someone grabbed her by the leg, dragging her away, and she turned to see Gags hauling on her foot as he pulled her towards the sterncastle. He swatted at the tiny wisps of thunderstorm all around him, barely able to keep his legs upright. They were almost into cover when the rocking of the Skyraker grew unmanageable, and he fell beside her. Together, Minerva and Gags pushed and dragged each other into the cramped space beneath the stairs of the sterncastle, seeking refuge from the onslaught. Gags pulled in his arms and feet, choking hard from the exertion.

Tiny spiders swarmed every open space of the ship. They flew in circles, never landing, and the more they grouped the larger their bolts became. When they struck the sails, a white-hot flash lit the darkness, and the ship quaked in response. Something old and wooden splintered, adding a deep crackling rumble to the storm.

Overburdened with energy, the Skyraker lifted hard and fast. Nobody was in the sails, and nobody was at the helm. A small tree caught in the path of their ascent tore down through the rigging as they rocketed upwards. It cratered spectacularly on the deck, sending a spray of twigs and debris everywhere.

The Skyraker listed sharply from side to side as the spiders swirled around. At the far end of the deck, Olbus dragged sailors to their feet and threw them into cover. Gags grabbed Minerva by the arm, holding her back when she went to help Olbus.

Above the chaos, the twins continued to cry out. "Cut the hammers! Loose the main!" they bellowed.

"What does that mean?" she shouted at Gags, hoping he could find the strength to talk.

"They need hurk to release hurk the hurk hammer sails. Let them hurk go."

"Let them go? Separate from the ship?"

Gags nodded, gripping his throat. "Less. Lift."

The twins explained very early in Minerva's rigging lessons that they specially bound each spar of the hammer sails to the base of the mast, allowing the entire construction to come free, if necessary. Controls at the helm, called sail cutters, could also perform this function, albeit somewhat less reliably. Upon reflection, the twins never explained why this might be necessary. Worst of all, after the earlier rain, nearly all the sails were hammers, from the top sails to the course sails.

The Skyraker bucked as a large bolt struck the sailcloth, and white shards of daylight punctured the canopy above the ascending ship.

Luff landed in front on Minerva as he jumped from the aft deck, rolling towards the mainmast. Leech bounded down after him, and together they struggled to release the bindings of the sails. Another tree impacted the uncontrolled ship as the twins worked, and it knocked them aside. They tumbled wildly towards the side before catching themselves on the railing.

Minerva hated herself for her inaction. Everyone was doing something to help—anything to help—and she was just hiding. Her heart ached as she watched Olbus and the twins labor against a force they could not hope to overcome, and she decided to act. She pulled herself out from cover, just as the Skyraker struck another tree, rolling the ship and knocking Minerva's head into the stair. The impact left her vision twisting as badly as the deck, but she refused to go back down, and drew Velvet from her bun.

Gags recoiled in fear when Minerva extended Velvet to her full length.

"You didn't see that," she said, and then ran for the mast.

Minerva clamped down with both hands on the hilt of Velvet to avoid dropping the weapon. It was drawing sparks from the cloud around her, numbing and weakening her hands. The ropes encasing the mainmast sliced easily, and a severed string streaked up past her face as the staysail hauled itself off into the sky.

Daylight engulfed the Skyraker as the ship crested through the top of the forest, sailing higher and higher into the noonday sun. As they escaped the world of darkness below, so too did the swarm of spiders remain behind, reluctant to depart from their home.

Minerva didn't notice the absence of the threat, so she continued her efforts to free the sails. Whole groupings of rope severed cleanly beneath the sharpness of her weapon as she denuded the mast of its bindings.

"Stop!"

Minerva looked over her shoulder as the twins rushed forward.

"Stop!" they repeated, as she sawed away at the last few lines.

With a vibrant twang, the remaining stretch of hemp that bound the sails escaped overhead, leaving a forest of ropes dangling in the wind. Minerva followed the gaze of the twins upward as they watched five liberated sails ascend majestically away from the ship. Five sails finally free of their prison, to float where they pleased and come down where they desired. The scent of fresh ozone blew in and the Skyraker slowed its climb.

The twins put their hands on their hips, watching the sails carry on without them. "Well now – that's terrifying," they said.

Minerva gasped heavily, leaning on the mast. "I know. I was scared for my life."

Luff and Leech eased their attention in her direction. "Was?" they asked incredulously, and then they looked up again, waiting for her reply.

"Yeah, I mean, there were spiders everywhere, and they really hurt when they, um, when they—" Minerva stammered as her mind took the time it needed to reorient itself to what they said. Once complete, shrew grew suitably distraught, and dashed over to stand behind the twins, looking up at the masts as she counted the remaining lift sails. "How many are still rigged up?"

"Two on the fore. One on the mizzen. A smattering of jibs – here and there."

"Is that enough to get back down?"

"Of course. We'd come down with none."

Minerva felt her body lighten as the ship slowed at the peak of its arc. "This is no time for jokes," she replied.

"When's your next – laundry day?" they asked.

"What? Why?"

The two of them gave her a wicked smile, and Minerva felt the weight of Velvet diminish in her hand as the Skyraker crested before its descent.

"Because we hope you've got – a fresh change of underwear."

There it was, all over again. The unmistakable sensation that she was truly flying. Sadly, gravity still wanted to be right.

Chapter 55

Coming Down

Minerva screamed as a massive wooden trunk tumbled past her. She frantically scrubbed the lone hammer of the mizzenmast, and darkness engulfed the ship once more as the Skyraker smashed through the forest canopy. Captain Glass wasn't steering the wheel so much as he was clinging to it.

"Able bodies to the sails!"

Olbus commanded the crew with a disturbing level of calm. He didn't even flinch when the ship bucked sideways as they caught the top side of another tree.

"Tie kites! Fly the jibs!" the twins ordered to the men down on the deck.

Sailors of every age scrambled to control the Skyraker's descent, lashing spare sails to the rails. They scrubbed the additions fast and hard, and released them into the rigging as free-floating kites.

A flurry of foliage exploded out from beneath the Skyraker as it landed on the crown of a tree, sending swarms of spiders fleeing away.

A little help now would be nice, Minerva thought spitefully, as several branches lodged in the hull netting.

The debris pushed the Skyraker aside and sent the ship tumbling into a titanic slab of bark on the port side. The huge tree effortlessly sanded the blue siding off the ship, spraying dust and splinters across the sailors. Minerva clung to her safety line to avoid falling from the boom, leaving only one hand for scrubbing. It didn't help that the strength of the wind rushing upwards put the sails in a wild state, making it impossible to lay down a solid stroke. For all her effort, they didn't seem to be slowing down much.

Far away, ahead of the bow, Minerva saw a small gathering of lights. Soft golden lights, like a city.

The Skyraker spun wildly as the kites pulled up, and the ship struck another tree on the port side. The jagged monstrosity shredded half the rigging on the fore mast, tore off several kites, and sent the entire vessel listing sideways. Every sailor aboard scrambled for a handhold, and those that failed to find one fell overboard. Minerva clung to her safety rope with all her might, and accidentally released her broom; she watched it fly down into the darkness. Before she could regain her footing, the thrashing tree severed her rope and she sailed off the boom faster than she could blink.

In quiet contemplation, Minerva watched the Skyraker twist away from her, as she went one way and it went another. However, before it separated entirely, the tumbling ship crashed into another tree and spun around. Minerva fell perfectly onto the aft deck as a result, directly behind the helm. The railing at the back of the deck kindly halted her roll, bestowing a broken nose upon her at the same time.

Captain Glass dangled from the helm, doing his best to retain control while the wheels whirled back and forth. Minerva ran to assist him, horrified by the state of the instruments. The traveling contents dipped up and down in the column, offering no assistance whatsoever regarding the current altitude of the ship.

A sudden violent lurch vaulted Captain Glass over the controls and tossed Minerva into his former place. Without hesitating, Minerva grabbed the main wheel, but she couldn't restrain the force of the flapping rudder, and promptly bounced off the wheel beside her as she flew sideways. Minerva rallied fast, stomping her feet down flat and snatching the spinning wheel with two hands. An explosion of clarity struck her vision, overtaking her thoughts with a powerful emotion of fear and hatred. She clenched her teeth and struggled against the motion of the controls.

Everything creaked and groaned under Minerva's command, as she fought with all her strength to prevent the ship from descending unhindered to the forest floor. Another tree clipped their starboard side, flinging her to the side like a rag on a stick.

Not far away, Captain Glass clung to a shroud on the port side, striving to return to the helm, but the extreme slant of the deck made a better ladder than a floor. He called out to Minerva in concern as she fell, and when their eyes met through the whirring spokes, he directed her attention to the knobs and extra controls. He pointed frantically at the row, but she couldn't hear him over the noise, and so she didn't understand his message.

Minerva pulled herself up in a daze, gazing in confusion at the unknown mechanisms. One of these must do something, she thought. Running with the assumption that she couldn't make the situation any worse, she pulled every lever she could see. Each of them let out of a satisfying pop, before she yanked the next one. Metal clanked, wood creaked, and the panels and planks shook beneath her feet.

The sound of a winch unwinding trumpeted the release of an anchor that immediately ensnared itself in the branches of a passing tree. Deck, railing, and siding, all along the starboard of the Skyraker, shattered like glass as the anchor found the end of its tether and pulled upward, sawing its way through the wood.

The Skyraker bucked like a stallion, sending Minerva sprawling as she slid towards the prow of the ship. Entangling the flying tree didn't halt the falling ship, but it did resist the plummet of the vessel, slowing its descent.

Near the sterncastle stairs, Minerva saw Olbus climbing his way towards her. He practically jumped from the stairs to the helm, passing Captain Glass without a glance. Once there, he gripped the main wheel so firmly that one of the pegs snapped off. Under the powerful might of the boatswain, the Skyraker levelled off, but still descended recklessly, dragging half a forest with it.

"All hands to cover!" Olbus bellowed at the crew.

Minerva scrambled for the railing, sat flat on her backside, and entwined her limbs through the spindles. In front of the Skyraker, she saw the docks of the city that she had seen from afar. The settlement crowded around the base of an incomparably massive tree. Hundreds of colorful cloth tents scattered around the huge growth, connected by seemingly endless paths, bridges, and wooden walkways.

If spiders could build cities, this is what they'd look like, she thought.

"Brace!" Olbus ordered, in the final moments of their approach.

Still moving at a tremendous speed, the Skyraker clipped the furthest piling of the protruding dock and smashed the post to pieces as the bulk of the vessel rumbled onward. From there it fell to the roots of the great tree, landing with an ear-splitting crack. Minerva bounced over the railing of the sterncastle and down onto the main deck. She felt the rumbling of the Skyraker beneath her as it shuddered to a stop between two immense roots.

The ship rocked gently for a moment, swaying between two points of support along its keel. When it finally came to a standstill, leaves, seeds, and splinters rained down upon the deck, falling like confetti on a parade.

Chapter 56

Reshampur

The climb from the crash site to the broken pier of Reshampur required hours of effort from Minerva and the crew of the Skyraker. They salvaged what they could, and carried it piecemeal up to the docks. All the while, almost every eye of the crew lingered on Minerva, leaving no doubt in her mind that they blamed her for their predicament, completely disregarding the fact that she saved them from total disaster by releasing an anchor into a tree.

"Women are a bad omen."

"I heard she's a witch."

"We're lucky that Olbus broke her spell."

The sailors weren't whispering the things they said. They wanted her to hear them.

"Nice work – with the anchor," Luff and Leech offered, as they helped her up onto the dock.

"Thanks," she said, still feeling ashamed.

Spit spat on Minerva as she brushed some debris out of her hair, and the twins made a quick motion to strike, but the swabbie didn't retreat. "You two clowns going to throw your lot in with the witch?" he asked, in a menacing tone.

Many of the former crew stood behind Spit in solidarity.

To Minerva's amazement, the twins did not back down. Instead, they traded a quiet look and subtly adjusted their posture. In a flash, something undetectable about the twins had wholly changed, and Minerva felt her arm hairs stiffen as her guts went cold. At any moment, they could have grabbed Spit by either arm and hurled him off the dock to his death. However, whatever it was that she felt, Spit felt it too. He diminished his boastful stance and shirked away, but not without spitting at Minerva again, catching her bare foot. Then he walked off with his kit under his arm.

"Where are we?" Minerva asked, once again surprised by Spit's accuracy, but wanting to change the subject.

"Reshampur. The City of Silk."

"Is this where Lord Arach lives?"

"That's him – over there."

The twins pointed at an olive-skinned man with mottled patches covering his body. He was old, bald, missing several of his teeth, and generally quite ugly. In exception to his appearance, he wore robes of fine silk, all in brilliant hues of varying colors that made him look like a prince. He also wore soft shoes of elegant design, and carried a dark cane with a jeweled pommel. Four huge men in swaths of clothing, armed with sabers and pistols, guarded him as his retinue.

Lord Arach was currently shaking his cane viciously at Captain Glass, and shouting obscenities. Captain Glass said nothing in defense. He merely sat on a sack of flour he had carried from the ship, holding the side of his head.

Minerva joined the crowd that gathered around the conflict.

"Look at the damage!" Lord Arach shouted, motioning towards the trees above him, many of which now drifted at odd angles or bore heavy scars across their bark. Whole branches sometimes fell from above, acting as a loud yet gentle reminder of the events that transpired. "You've caused more harm in the past ten minutes than a year of hurricanes! I'll be lucky if my spiders produce silk within a week! It could be months! Tell me how you plan to fix this! Tell me, Captain, how you plan to repay me?"

Captain Glass glanced around solemnly. His only real asset, the Skyraker, lay in tatters, and right now, it hung dangerously close to a cataclysmic fall that would surely end it.

Lord Arach whacked Glass on the head with his cane when the captain did not respond, and the sound made Minerva jump in her skin.

"We can work," Captain Glass offered shamefully.

"You damn well better," Arach snapped back. "Or I'll send you flying from this dock without a ship!"

From there, the crew of the Skyraker joined the people of Reshampur, sentenced without a trial to live among them. Over the next few days, Minerva learned that the citizens of Reshampur essentially lived as slaves. All the people, in each their own way, owed Lord Arach a debt, and he collected by way of employment. Surprisingly, most of the citizens seemed comfortable with the arrangement. Lord Arach covered all their expenses, from food to housing, and expected only that they work as instructed. They did not appear in want of anything, excluding their own freedom.

Minerva and Big Jim went to work in the bakeries, and the rest of the crew accepted suitable assignments. Gunner to the armory. Olbus to the docks. Luff and Leech to the warehouses. Lord Arach also ordered his private fleet to recover the Skyraker for repairs, but also claimed it as his own, and many of its former crew spearheaded the task.

Only Captain Glass received a truly harsh treatment. During the day, he was tasked with the worst jobs in the city. Not once did he pass by Minerva without a heavy burden on his shoulders or a whip at his back. In the evenings, while the others gathered in public spaces to hear music or tell stories, Glass left the city to gather firewood or perform other menial tasks designed only to rob him of relaxation. At night, his guards chained him to a wooden post in a space that served as the town square. He slept outside the tents, while everyone else enjoyed warm beds under soft covers.

The sight of the captain's suffering wore on Minerva's heart each time she saw him. She felt that he was a good man, and that he didn't deserve such a fate.

Chapter 57

The Commodore

A solid crunch blasted out across the deck of the Arbalest as an arrow split an apple with a whack, sending two halves tumbling off the crown of Captain Fletch's head.

"My turn," said the man beneath the applesauce, clearly not worried by the high-speed projectile that nearly struck his forehead.

"I hope ye've been practicing," scolded Captain Apples.

"Of course."

"Good. I don't want to lose the other eye."

Apples picked up an apple from a bucket and balanced it on his head.

Unable to progress into the Loftwood, because of the spawning spider swarms that downed the Skyraker, the Arbalest and the Ballistae moored on the outskirts of the forest.

"How's the wind?" asked Fletch.

"Lightly abeam, blowing port."

Fletch pulled back on the string and let the arrow fly straight and true, sundering the apple cleanly in two.

"Is this what you two do for entertainment? Narrowly avoid killing each other?"

A tall man, of middle age dressed in stately white and black attire, observed the actions of the two captains with dismay.

"Captain Barracks?" asked Captain Apples, eyeing the man as he stepped off the gangplank. "Black said you'd come. I'm Captain Apples. This is Captain Fletch."

Captain Apples held out his hand, ready for a handshake, but stood waiting for nothing.

"Commodore Barracks," the newcomer replied stiffly, obviously offended. A massive ship-of-the-line drifted quietly in the distance behind him, ominously overlooking the exchange. "Captain Black says that you're hunting a fugitive."

"Aye. Captain Glass of the Skyraker. Black says he entered Linora without treatise," said Apples.

"Yes, he did," Barracks replied. "I am forced to wonder, however, are your two ships insufficient in the task of bringing down even a single frigate?"

"They entered the Loftwood," Fletch explained, "and by the luck of their stars, have landed in Reshampur. Unfortunately, it's spawning season, and we don't trust our luck to be so generous."

"You seek a blockade?"

"Not exactly. We are to inform you that we will continue to pursue the Skyraker, once it is safe to do so. We have reason to believe that Captain Glass desires refuge in Hero. You need only be willing to receive him."

The commodore nodded at the scarred and smiling faces of the two men, withholding any emotion he might feel.

"As the might of my vessel demonstrates," the commodore said warningly. "The White Fleet does not lightly engage in interactions with Captain Black, which leaves only one question to be answered. What has Captain Glass done that would draw the ire of the infamous Captain Black?"

Chapter 58

Breaking Point

"Get up, cur!"

Minerva recognized the cracking sound of the whip that dogged Captain Glass throughout Reshampur. She looked up from her station to see her captain stooped to one knee with a large barrel strapped to his back. His once-lovingly tended shirt and pants had sullied and frayed, and several rips ran as high as his knees. His boots were missing entirely.

On this particular occasion, Lord Arach himself held the whip. After another strike landed, Glass hoisted the barrel, stepped once, and then collapsed entirely. His face struck flat against the ground as he flopped over like a scarecrow without a post.

Minerva took a step forward, reflexively.

"Don't do it."

Big Jim stood in the doorway to the bakery, giving her a warning look.

"They're torturing him," she pleaded. "In front of everybody. Why doesn't somebody do something?"

"Because they don't want to be in his place. I say again, don't do it."

Glass didn't move as the whip came down with a crack, and Minerva clenched her fists in anger.

"Get up, Glass! You owe me more than your life!"

Crack.

"Get up!"

Crack!

Minerva flinched each time the leather struck the captain's shirt, imagining in herself the pain that he must be feeling, and the powerlessness of being too exhausted to fight back. Clearly frustrated with the captain's lack of effort, Lord Arach kicked the captain in the thigh, causing him to groan and roll over.

"Felt that, did you?" he said, and then handed the whip back to the usual guard. "Whip him until he gets back to work, or until he dies."

The angry lord then cocked his leg back and kicked the captain square in the face, drawing a stream of blood from the downed man's nose.

"Hey!" Minerva shouted, as her feet pushed her forward against her better judgment.

The nearby crowd turned to face Minerva, including Lord Arach, who glared sternly. "Is there a problem?" he asked.

"I'm sure he'll work better if you stop beating him."

"Is this one of your crew?" Arach asked of Glass.

Captain Glass looked over at Minerva, and then nodded after a pause.

Lord Arach gave a hard, cruel laugh. "He looks like a girl."

A very indignant hatred twisted its way into Minerva's body. "I am a girl!" she bellowed, seeing no reason to be ashamed of the fact.

Shock, and a tiny dusting of dread, settled upon the gathered citizens. Lord Arach turned his full attention towards Minerva and stepped forward. He wasn't much bigger than her, but he was far more intimidating. His wicked cane clacked on the boardwalk as he approached.

The desire to protect herself started to find ground, and Minerva readied the will she would need to draw Velvet.

"Really? A girl and a pirate?" he taunted.

Minerva held her head high and met his gaze.

"Show me your mark," he ordered casually.

Minerva stood stunned. Nobody demanded to see her mark.

"Hard of hearing, girl? I said show me your mark."

"Why should I?"

The crowd immediately stepped away and pretended to work, wordlessly demonstrating that talking back to the Lord of the Loftwood wasn't what people expected to see.

"Because I said so," he snarled.

Minerva hadn't put her special top on today. She looked over her shoulder at Big Jim, who had strategically distanced himself from her. Even there, she could see the fear.

Don't anger him further. Do what he says. That's what Jim would have said, she thought.

Minerva put her hands up under her shirt to cover herself, and held her chin up.

"Go ahead. Lift up my shirt."

Arach smirked. "Pardon?"

"If you wish to see my mark, so be it, but that's all you'll get to see."

The old man leaned on his cane with both hands, matching the intensity of her stare. Then he stretched the pommeled end forward and hooked it under her top, lifting the cloth. Two deep and jagged scars crossed from her shoulders to her hips.

Lord Arach only minimally reacted, with a disconcerted sort of curiosity, but the crowd certainly filled in where he lacked. They whispered in the hushed tones of suppressed awe.

"Why do you cover yourself?" he asked.

Minerva felt her face flush and her temper rise even further.

"Are you ashamed? I thought pirates didn't have shame."

Minerva saw Olbus step to the front of the crowd behind Lord Arach. He looked at her for a moment before casting a malevolent look at the lord.

"I mean really, it's not like you've got anything to hide," Lord Arach said. "Your body is like that of a child."

"Because I'm a lady!" she snapped, defending her pride and swatting his cane away. Olbus had said so, and he was right here to agree with her. She caught herself stepping forward for a pre-emptive strike as she scowled at the old man.

Lord Arach shifted even closer, sending the smell of wood chips and something sweet into her nose. "You're a lady, are you?"

"Yes!"

"A pirate and a lady?"

"Yes!" she replied with even greater conviction.

Lord Arach laughed wickedly in a manner far worse than anything Big Jim could achieve. "What's your name, miss pirate?"

"Minerva."

Lord Arach cackled further and stepped back. "I think I know why your ship crashed," he said mockingly to Captain Glass, and then he looked back at Minerva, clearly enjoying the fury it instilled in her. "Alright, Miss Minerva, the Lady Pirate. If you can prove that you are, in fact, a lady, then I will hear any plea, persuasion, or argument you might utter to sway me against squeezing the life out of this useless man. Entertain me for an evening, as a lady, and I will concede that you are in fact the world's first lady pirate."

Minerva wasn't exactly certain what he was requesting, but she wasn't about to give up on Captain Glass, either.

Lord Arach gave Minerva a pat on the shoulder when she agreed to his challenge. Many golden rings, studded with gems, pinched the flesh of his fingers.

"Wear something nice," he sneered, and then winked at her in an unkind way. "That is, if you even own a gown."

Chapter 59

Little Blue Dress

Minerva stepped out from behind the curtain in Olbus' cabin. She felt very naked beneath the strangely lightweight cloth of Thimbler's little blue dress. It draped straight and flat across her frame, leaving little to the imagination.

A heated debate occurred among her friends as to whether she should even go to dinner with Lord Arach, but her own decision won out. She would go because she had to. Not for herself, but for her captain.

Upon reviewing her ensemble, Minerva felt that she needed a clutch, but didn't have one. "How do I look?" she asked of the half dozen men in front of her.

Woody whistled sharply, probably out of reflex. A few of them wore very embarrassed expressions, perhaps on her behalf.

"Is it bad?" she asked. She had attempted to tie her hair up in a stylish bun, including her sword in dagger-form, and accented it with a pair of earrings, some nice bracelets, and a ring that Nezzen had given her.

"You – look – like – a—" The twins stalled on each word, probably trying to leave the final adjective in the hands of the other.

"Lady." Gags finished, on behalf of the twins, and the rest of the men made grunts of agreement.

Olbus gave her a warm smile. "You look very formal, sailor."

The way he ended his statement, with a slow and calming 'sailor', reminded her of warm molasses running down a spoon. Now she knew it was good.

Chapter 60

Dinner for Two

"We'll be – right outside. Just scream – if you need us. Like that time – in Riggersport." The twins forced a smile from Minerva, but they were serious.

Olbus knocked hard on the solid wooden door to the palace, one of the only legitimately walled structures in the entire city. Everything about it was beautifully crafted out of dark wood or polished brass.

A tall, elderly gentleman in formal attire opened the door almost immediately. "Lady Minerva, for an evening with the lord?" he asked.

Olbus nodded stiffly.

"Come inside, My Lady."

Olbus gave Minerva one last look of reassurance before stepping back to allow the door to close.

Minerva found herself inside a large open space lined with carpets of silk and walls of cloth hung from ropes. The ceiling above her formed an incredible tapestry; a single sheet, hundreds of times her own height, draped away from the tree like a web. Colorful lamps hung from the vibrant surface at various points, like the meals of a spider wrapped in silk spun from rainbows.

Fine wooden furniture and antique collections filled the hall, and a comforting warmth permeated the air, leaving the smell of fine spices throughout. Several flying spiders of varying size flitted about the pavilion, making themselves perfectly welcome among the silk decorations.

Lord Arach rose from a writing table on the far side as she entered. He wore an assortment of silken cloth, and a complimentary pairing of shirt and trousers with only a small amount of jewelry. He was clearly dressed to entertain.

"The lady, Minerva, here to dine with you, My Lord."

Lintumen had given Minerva a hasty course in noble etiquette and formal dining, and so Minerva responded to her introduction with a short curtsy. Lintumen's lesson mostly amounted to speaking in full sentences, and saying 'my lord' where she would normally say 'sir'.

"Thank you, Ubadah." Arach didn't look at the servant as he dismissed him. His eyes firmly rested on Minerva, but in a kind way. "How are you tonight, My Lady? You look very elegant."

Then the mean, nasty, bald man that Minerva already hated took her hand and kissed it softly, supporting her fingers as gingerly as one might hold a boll of cotton. The scent of his perfume wafted over and caressed her senses at the same time, leaving her feeling both enthralled and surprised. Minerva really wasn't sure what to do in response. Her curriculum hadn't covered the reversing of expectations.

"Come, have a seat at the table. Dinner is nearly ready to be served." Lord Arach pulled out a chair beside the head of the table for Minerva, and waited for her to sit. "May I serve you a drink?"

"Water please, My Lord."

Arach looked confused for a moment, and then ordered his servants to fetch a decanter of water. "Do you not drink wine?" he asked.

Minerva shook her head. "No, My Lord. I am not fond of the taste."

Silence throttled the ensuing conversation, while Lord Arach and Lady Minerva waited for the drink to arrive, and they occupied themselves by watching a tiny spider make its way across the table. Arach cleared his throat awkwardly, while Minerva said nothing. Lintumen had provided no advice at all on how to manufacture convenient small talk.

"Do you like spiders?" Lord Arach asked.

"Not so much, My Lord. They frighten me, to be honest."

"That's a shame. Incredible creatures, really. Not counting what you probably already know about their silk being used to fly, it has many other astounding properties. Did you know it can be stronger than iron, and a single heavy rope of spider silk could hold down a galleon rigged full of hammers?"

Minerva looked around at the many tiny webs in the room, thinking about how easy it was to snap them, given her comparable size.

"If put to task, you could stop a flying arrow with just a thinly woven sheet."

"My friends told me that one bite could kill me, My Lord."

"That is true, for some of them. Flying spiders hunt and catch their prey with a web between their front legs. If they don't kill things quickly they could be seriously injured waiting for their meal to die."

"That sounds awful."

"I think it's merciful. We all have to eat."

Minerva's mind went back to the day that the spiders stormed their ship. It hardly made them seem harmless. "What about when they group up in a big cloud?"

"Well, that's different. The young ones do that on their maiden flight, although sometimes the adults will do it if they feel threatened. It's a defensive measure used to ward off predators. Most ships know better than to enter the Loftwood during the spawning season. You're lucky to be alive, honestly."

"How long does the spawning last?"

"A week or two. They started hatching only a few days before you arrived. We host a nightly festival here to commemorate the event."

The conversation halted as the appetizers came out, and Arach didn't speak as he ate. Minerva felt certain that he normally ate alone, as most of the time he didn't even look at her. It was a blessing, in a way, as it left her time to remember which fork to use.

As they finished their main course, Minerva reminded herself that she was supposed to be entertaining Lord Arach. She was to win his favor. "Do you have a wife, My Lord?" she asked, trying to make eye contact with him.

"I was married once. No longer."

"Do you keep a mistress, then?"

Arach first responded with a look of confusion, before replying. "No. No mistress. Just Ubadah and myself, and the few servants that cycle out every so often."

Minerva felt her face flush and she started to fidget with the square cloth that guarded her lap. "Perhaps then, if it pleases you, we could dance?"

Arach slumped back in his chair with his arms across his chest. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

Minerva blushed and crumpled up the napkin in her fingers. She didn't know what she was doing.

"If that is the case, then carry on," Lord Arach teased. "Perhaps at a different time I might have been shocked, or even offended, but it is clear to me that you have very little practice in the field. As such, I'll allow you to continue, for your own benefit."

Minerva swallowed hard, trying to regain her courage. "Am I not appealing to you?"

Arach laughed cruelly. "You look stunning in that dress, I must admit, and maybe some would take you up on your advances, but you're barely a young woman, and I am a very old man."

"I'm sorry, My Lord. I didn't intend to offend your sensibilities."

"As I said, I am not offended."

Minerva felt terrified and very uncertain as to what she was doing with Lord Arach at the table, and he kept talking in lieu of her response. He leaned forward onto the table, and spoke in a dour tone. "You would have struck me when we met earlier today, wouldn't you? Had I insisted on striking your captain. That look in your eye, and the way you clenched your fist. You would have done it."

Minerva recalled the moment and how furious she felt. "Yes," she admitted.

"Nobody does that," he said. "I rule this city, and this forest, without reproach. Perhaps I could attribute your conviction to the impetuousness of youth, but I don't believe that to be true. Without any doubt in my mind, I believe you fought very hard to be accepted as a member of the Skyraker's crew. I'm certain of this because some of those men were willing to fight their fellows to protect you. That's not a level of respect that you can stumble into, and I think you would stand by them in return, even if the hells themselves opened up to take them from you."

"They're all I have, right now. I would rather fight and lose than have nothing to fight for."

Lord Arach flashed a yellow, toothy smile, in a rather menacing way. "That there is precisely why I invited you to dinner."

Chapter 61

Lord Arach of the Loftwood

"I want to show you something," Lord Arach said, as he rose from the table.

Minerva followed Arach as he exited the main pavilion and entered a tiny, winding hallway. Polished, hardwood flooring filled what space it could through a tunnel of natural root and rock. Quiet rooms, sequestered by curtains of thick silk, branched off at frequent intervals.

"Where are we going, My Lord?"

"I am going to show you something that I have never shown any of my guests. I will show you this, because you have shown me something that no guest ever has."

"What did I show you?"

"True courage."

As they walked they descended many flights of stairs, passing through doors and rooms, some hidden and others locked, until at last they entered a small balcony, beyond which Minerva could see nothing but darkness. The vastness of the space revealed itself in the coolness of the air, and the deep echo that returned their footsteps after significant delay. Like the waters of Riggersport, she could only imagine the horrors that dwelled in the darkness.

Lord Arach lit a candle on a small table, revealing some papers on a stand and the wooden case of a musical instrument. She observed him curiously as he withdrew a violin from the case, handling it as lovingly as a father with their child.

"When I was much younger, I was a musician and a member of the royal court. I played daily for the nobility. Sometimes I dined with them and sometimes I danced with them."

Lord Arach flipped the stringed instrument up to his neck and pinned it against his shoulder with his chin.

"I even met a princess, and we grew close."

Then he pulled the bow across the thickest of the strings, drawing forth a wonderful sound that instantly captured Minerva's heart. The air seemed to brighten in response.

"I was already married to my wife at the time, not that I held any interest in marrying a princess. She would never have lowered her standing to be with a lowly house musician. My wife was a tailor. A fine woman that I deeply loved. We were to have our first child, and I was awash with excitement."

From the second string, he drew forth a lighter sound, soulful and young. Sparks of gladness erupted across the yawning chasm beyond the balcony.

"Then the king died and the princess inherited the throne. Some said it was murder, but they always said that. The new queen was crowned at the age of twelve."

The third string, soft and sweet, brought gentle waves of lightning down from the heavens, but they vanished when he halted.

"The new queen, being just a young girl, hated spiders, and was badly bitten one spring. As a demonstration of her authority and immaturity, she ordered the extermination of every spider in her realm. I tried to convince her otherwise with my friendship, but she ignored me."

From the thinnest string, Lord Arach called forth a high-pitched, wailing sound, but not an unpleasant one. The powerful tone revealed the room to Minerva, somehow creating a light from nothing.

Minerva stood on a tiny balcony overlooking a wide pit inside a monstrous and hollow tree. In all directions, she saw spiders of every size, climbing, flying, and weaving their silks into great, massive sheets of cloth. They spun colorful tapestries, brilliant white sails, and shimmering robes of delicate hues. The threads of their webs shone like starlight, suffusing the air with light.

"Since the day I first learned to call this a violin, I have been able to speak to them through my instrument. When I play, the spiders listen."

Lord Arach's bow bounced a few times, testing the strings, and the spiders played back, in their own vibrant way.

"My wife made the most wonderful dresses from the silk that the spiders wove. The queen killed her, and my child. Put to death for the absurd crime of housing the spiders that I so dearly loved."

Lord Arach spoke no longer, and began his song. Minerva could find no words to describe the beauty in what she saw. Millions of spiders worked in unison to create elegant weaves, lighting their way by their own showers of electricity. With every surge and pulse through the myriad webs, the whole of the room throbbed with the glory of a blazing sunset.

When Lord Arach stopped, stifling darkness hid everything once again. "I didn't fight for the life of my wife like I should have. Like I could have. My nation is no more, because on the day she died I played for the spiders. I played until they came to me from across the skies and over the horizons. I played until everything burned, and ash covered the fields, and the rivers dried, and the city lay in ruin. Then I fled. I brought them with me, and here we live."

"You're a magician," she gasped.

"I've been called that, yes. Those that know of such things label me a composer. I show you this because we are very much the same. These spiders are all I have, and I would die to protect them. The anger you felt towards me is the same anger I feel after seeing the damage caused by your arrival. Many of my friends died that day, and others will never recover."

Minerva wanted to see the spiders again. The lights. The patterns. All of it. She suddenly felt that Arach was committing a terrible crime by hiding such splendor from the world.

"Shall I play for you?" he asked, noting her expression of absolute longing.

Lord Arach began to play once more, and the room overflowed with life. Somewhere, deep in Minerva's mind, she remembered the song that he composed. Her throat cramped and her heart rose in her chest. She knew the words, but not their origins. They hung foreign and silent in her mind, yet clear as the words to any prayer.

Tears found their way into her eyes as she watched the spiders work, filling the room with flowing waves of radiance. The music began to overtake her, and she felt she could not bear it. Her heart and body ached, but there was no release. She wanted to sing the song that her mind had found. Her throat seized and her breath stuttered until she succumbed to its power.

And then she sang.

Minerva closed her eyes and let her voice find its own way into the world. Together with Lord Arach, they composed a song lost to the world. A song both sad and sweet, of love and loss. When they finished, Lord Arach held the final note, letting her voice find its way back to her in waning wonder.

"I don't understand," she mumbled. "Why was I singing?"

Arach grinned as he lowered the violin. "That's the power of my magic. I can set a mind to a task, even against its will. For the spiders, it makes them weave. For you, it apparently makes you sing."

"Am I any good?"

"Well, to be delicate, I wouldn't say you were terrible."

Minerva frowned, immediately recalling her opinion of Thimbler and his stitching, while Lord Arach chuckled.

"At worst, your only fault is that you're rather flat," he said.

Minerva snapped back from her thoughts. She felt it was an incredibly cruel thing to point out, and it wasn't the first time he had done so.

"Here," he said, as he tapped her in the chest with the tip of his bow. "You're not using your diaphragm."

Minerva couldn't believe his audacity.

"Try to put more strength into it. Use your whole chest."

"You'll have to excuse me, My Lord, but I don't think my personal efforts are going to change the situation any time soon."

"It's mostly just practice. We can work on it right now. I will start again." He began to play again, but stopped short when she didn't join in. "Have I offended you, My Lady?" he asked, looking over the violin at her as she fought to hold back tears.

"How could you not?"

"There's no reason to get upset. If you can't handle a little criticism, how do you expect to improve?"

"With time!"

"Not without practice, you won't."

"Practice what, exactly?" she snapped.

"Singing," Arach retorted, but his voice trailed out of confusion.

"I, but, pardon?"

"You were flat. Practice will improve that," he repeated.

Were. That's past tense, she reminded herself. "Forgive me, My Lord, but are we talking about my singing, or my chest?"

Just then, Arach connected the two halves of the conversation together, and he started to laugh hard and wild. Minerva stood indignant, wishing that she didn't need to endure his company any longer. He had started to show his cruel side again, she thought.

"Forgive me, My Lady. I swear on my life that I did not intend to offend you. When I say that you're flat, I mean that your notes are flat. They are too low. The opposite of which is sharp. Let me show you." Then he played a note for her, and as he did, he leaned his finger back and forth on the string. "Flat. Sharp. Flat. Sharp. See?"

Minerva's neck and face flushed with unresolved anger, and she looked down to hide her shame.

"My Lady, you have made a liar out of me. Just now, you have seduced the whole of my heart. Perhaps I will accept your offer, after all."

Chapter 62

Lessons in Love

"Put your foot over here."

Minerva repositioned herself as Lord Arach took her hands and clasped them gently.

"Now move your hips in time with mine."

She did her best to keep in motion with the older man.

"Good."

With a broad smile, he signaled his approval, and she smiled back.

"You can take off your shoes, if it's more comfortable," he offered.

Minerva kicked her footwear gently to the side, leaving her feeling vulnerable.

Lord Arach held her close, and began to move once more. He smiled all the while, serenading her with a gentle song that relaxed her greatly.

They moved in rhythm together with their bodies held close enough for her to smell the resin on his shirt, and she couldn't help but laugh. Every day since she awoke aboard the Skyraker had been a tense and terrifying journey in an unknown world. For the first time, she could fearlessly submit to someone.

Arach yelped, exaggerating his wound as she caught the top of his foot.

"I'm sorry, My Lord."

"Formalities come off with the shoes, I say," he joked.

"I think you'll find that I am no better with my feet than I am with my words. They both move without thinking."

"Perhaps, but at the very least, you are smiling."

In this way, they danced. Slow and steady. Step by step, he taught her the comfort of a steady stride in the arms of a trusted friend. When it was late, and they were tired, they went to a high ledge overlooking the city. Minerva watched in wonder at the beauty of the spider storms, rising and rushing through the forest on their way to a new home.

Fireflies didn't look so beautiful.

"Do you swear by your mark that you're a pirate?" he asked, leaning over to scrutinize her response.

"Yes," she answered.

Lord Arach frowned sorrowfully. "How long do you think it will be before you murder someone? How long until you watch all that someone is slowly drain from their eyes?"

The thought horrified her. "Have I upset you?" she begged in wonder.

"Quite the opposite. You have exceeded my expectations in every feasible way."

"They why say such things?"

"Because you are something of an enigma, Minerva. You bear the mark of a pirate, and you swear by the life that they lead, but the life of a pirate is one of lying, cheating, thieving, and murder. It is a life of violence. You have proven tonight that you possess all the qualifications to be one of the finest ladies, and you have also proven that you have what it takes to be a murderer."

A stern glance emphasized his point before he continued.

"To live with pirates is to be taken by their vices, and yet you resist. In your efforts to remain modest, you revealed to me your fear of your own blossoming womanhood. To which I wonder, will you remain a lady, or will you become the criminal that you swear to be? The reason I invited you here tonight, without any word of deceit, was to see for myself which version of you was the real one."

"What have you decided?"

Lord Arach shook his head. "Nothing. Perhaps you really will be the world's first lady pirate."

Nearly the entire city was dark when Arach escorted Minerva back to the main hall, where Ubadah waited with a jacket.

"I doubt you know this, but that dress you wear was woven for my late wife."

Arach idly stated his fact as Minerva donned the jacket, and her body froze.

"I know this because the spiders that weave that hue of silk no longer live. The child that ruined my home also brought about the extinction of a beautiful creature, and there was none other that could have sewn it. I don't know where you found it, but I thank you. Thank you for letting me hold my wife in my arms, one last time. You have given me a greater gift than I ever could have imagined. I hope my company wasn't too much of a burden, this evening."

"Absolutely not, My Lord."

Ubadah opened the door, and as he did, several cold and weary sailors jumped to their feet. The crew of the Skyraker roused at the same time as the wicked and cruel Lord of the Loftwood bent to one knee and gingerly kissed Minerva on the hand. In one swift, collective motion, their jaws fell slack.

"Goodnight, My Lady."

Chapter 63

A Dagger in the Dark

"What did – you do?"

Minerva smiled at the twins and tossed her head back. "Oh, you know. This and that."

For the first time ever, the twins gave her a very angry look, and she relented.

"We had supper, listened to some music, and then we danced and talked."

Olbus stood ready to escort her back to the Skyraker. "You did well, sailor."

"I bet the captain – gets better treatment now."

Minerva wondered just how right the twins were as she went to sleep that night.

The next morning was like any other morning in Reshampur, only this time the post that normally restrained Captain Glass sat empty. Minerva learned that Lord Arach took the captain to the palace, and her entire day flooded with dread, fearing that somehow, something she had said or done had resulted in a much worse fate for the captain.

"Ye want to throw some dice around with the boys, tonight?" Big Jim asked as he swept the floor.

"No thanks, Jim. I'm worried about the captain. I don't think my conscience would let me enjoy myself."

"Aye, fair is fair."

Reshampur, just like Riggersport, never benefitted from direct sunlight. Street lamps burned constantly in many places, leaving the vibrant colors of the tents and tarps muddied and subdued. When she left the bakery, Minerva found her way to a lonesome outlook, and waited for the nightly clouds of spiders to spawn. She sat on the ground and straddled a post, dangling her toes over the edge of the terrace. The rope between the posts hung at just the right height for her to drape her arms over it and relax.

After more than an hour of contemplation, she heard footsteps behind her. Minerva turned to see Spit, Patch, Grunts, and several girls that she didn't recognize, just as they entered the small balcony. Her arm shot for Velvet's hilt, but not fast enough. Spit wound his arms around her head and neck, pinning her against the post.

Minerva bit down on Spit's forearm, filling her mouth with blood. Spit howled in pain and drew his arm back just far enough that he could strike her. His fist connected with her temple, stunning her thoughts while his other hand firmly held her bun, locking her only weapon in its hilt. Minerva wrapped her legs around the post as tightly as she could and screamed for help, struggling to hold on.

Severely outnumbered, the young men easily overpowered her efforts and dragged her to her feet before pushing her out towards the edge. Spit punched her hard in the gut, causing her to cough and wince in pain. The post on which she rested only a moment ago pushed into her thighs, causing her feet to lose their grip, and she grabbed Patch's shirt by the back, hanging on tight.

"Wait-wait-wait," the swabbie cried while he attempted to dislodge her, twisting in his shirt.

"I'm taking at least one of you with me!" Minerva growled, as she felt the fingers of one of the girls trying to peel her hand open. Pushing her foot to the other side of Patch, she smashed the girl in the thigh, forcing her to the ground.

Minerva tightened her grip as Spit hit her again, and she screamed for help again, forcing herself to keep her eyes open, ready to dodge the next strike. If they set their minds to it, they would have little trouble rendering her unconscious and throwing her off the balcony. She needed to remain alert until help could arrive.

Several more blows landed in her stomach, knocking the wind out of her, stifling her ability to call for aid. A real sense of fear grew within her mind. No one was coming to help her. She was going to die right here. Almost in a state of panic, Minerva saw something far more unsettling than the fate waiting for her at the hands of the swabbies.

In the shadows of the branches overhead, a white porcelain mask twitched and twisted. Its broken facade darted back and forth in a mass of flowing darkness.

Spit grazed Minerva's cheek as she locked eyes on the assassin.

"Let me go. Please." She whispered the words quietly, unable to draw a full breath.

Then the shadow drew closer, washing down the side of the tree and flowing up behind the feet of the swabbies. One of the girls saw the thing as it moved, and she scrambled wordlessly backward from the scuffle.

"It's just a cloak. It's just a cloak. It's just a cloak." The phrase echoed hollow in her voice. It wasn't working. She couldn't look away. Her last meeting with the assassin felt so long ago, and yet the terror renewed itself full fury. She kicked her legs, thrashing to free herself.

"Hold her still!" Spit yelled, while the other two huffed and grunted from the effort.

A dagger, sleek and wicked, slipped out of the darkness, rising slowly into the night.

"No! No!" Minerva protested in vain.

As the dagger bit down, the third girl screamed, as only a girl can scream, and then she ran.

Spit gurgled.

Patch and Grunts released Minerva at once, and she almost scalped herself as she readied Velvet. The shadow withdrew swiftly and blocked the only exit. Patch panicked, his voice broke, and he ran straight towards the darkness, seeking to push past it. Where they met on the path there was a twist of the mask and then Patch was gone. He simply vanished into the shadow.

"Patch!" Grunts howled at the thing, stepping forward.

"Don't go near it!" Minerva begged, trying to pull him back.

"Get away from me!" he shouted as he pushed her aside, trying to distance himself from the agent as it rounded on him.

Minerva slashed forward, but the assassin moved as quickly as she remembered. It dashed to the side, and then lunged in, quick and low, neatly placing its polished blade straight into the gut of Grunts, who collapsed at once.

The remaining girls attempted to flee, but the shadow caught them in their steps. It threw a sweeping wing of darkness over them both, engulfing them. There wasn't even a scream, just a cloud of nothing over two whole bodies, followed by absolute silence.

Minerva bit back tears as the mask turned to face her. She thrust again, attempting to create an opening for escape, but the thing kept a safe distance from her weapon.

Then a glove appeared in the darkness, and another, and from the infinite abyss below the mask, a bound scroll of parchment came forth. The paper was so dark that it seemed to be made of a single sheet of ash, and the assassin held the missive out to Minerva.

"I don't want it! I refuse! Go away!" she replied.

A sharp whistle sounded in the distance, and the mask pushed the scroll closer.

"No. I don't want it. Leave me alone," Minerva pleaded, wanting nothing more than to see two young girls fall safely from beneath its shadowy veil.

A chorus of footsteps thundered towards Minerva and another whistle blew. The nightmare lingered shortly, and then slid the scroll back into the darkness and tossed itself over the edge of the city.

Minerva looked at Spit and Grunts, and the thick pools of blood forming beneath them. Her body began to shake, and she cried. Five armed guards exploded onto the terrace with their weapons drawn, and she dropped her sword and collapsed to her knees, unable to offer any reasonable explanation.

Chapter 64

The Choice of a Lady

The door to the palace closed as the guards departed, leaving Minerva and Olbus in the central pavilion below the ceiling of rainbow silk. The boatswain comforted Minerva by standing behind her seat with his hand on her shoulder, as her vigilant bodyguard against unseen threats.

Lord Arach gave Minerva a solemn look while they sat near the hearth. "Did you do it?" he asked.

Minerva shook her head.

"Then who did?"

She wondered if he would even believe her.

Lord Arach sighed and slumped down in a chair opposite hers.

"Will the boys live?" Olbus asked politely.

"One will. The girl that ran away says it's the same boy whose idea it was to throw Minerva off the ledge. Even if she did it, I wouldn't blame her. Self-defense is not murder."

"I didn't kill them," Minerva insisted, hating the way that Arach talked as though she wasn't right in front of him.

"Okay, you didn't kill them," he said. "Unfortunately, neither you nor the other girl can offer an explanation, and the boy is still with your surgeon. The girl said it was like the moon had grown a face and come down to kill them."

Not a wholly inaccurate description, Minerva thought.

"Can you at least tell me where their bodies are? Were they thrown over? If nothing else, a proper funeral is in order."

Minerva couldn't reply. She didn't know how an entire person could simply vanish. In her stead, a distant voice spoke from across the large chamber.

"It was an assassin."

A weary Captain Glass entered the pavilion at the far end, lifting Minerva's spirits at the sight of him.

Glass coughed as he walked forward. "Wasn't it, Miss Minerva? It was that thing. That shadow."

Minerva nodded at him, glad that he was safe and glad that someone would believe her entire story.

"A shadow assassin?" Lord Arach asked, looking at the two of them.

"Assassins and magicians. My navigator tells me that they wield the darkness like a weapon. We've seen it before, and Minerva saved me back then. Captain Black has sent them to kill me. I'm sorry for what has transpired on my account."

Arach appraised the sincerity in his three guests. As a magician himself, he could easily believe many things. "Then you can't stay in Reshampur."

"I will leave on the first ship that will take me," Glass offered.

"No ships will come this way for several weeks. Our only option is to repair the Skyraker."

Captain Glass shook his head. "I cannot afford that service."

"Then I have a different offer for you, Captain. I will assume the cost of your repairs, and release your crew, on one condition. I want Minerva to stay with me in the palace, for her own safety."

Minerva felt Olbus' hand go tense.

"I'm sorry, Lord Arach, but I cannot agree to that. She is a welcome member of my crew, so long as I have a crew. I cannot make that decision for her."

Lord Arach turned his attention to Minerva. "What about you then, Minerva. Will you stay here and allow your captain and crew to escape the confines of their debt?"

"I see the choice that you are forcing me to make, My Lord," Minerva said thoughtfully. "You are asking me to choose between being a pirate and being a lady."

"I think I would have been disappointed if you did not. Do you accept?"

Minerva thought about leaving Olbus and the twins and Big Jim. She thought about how long it would be until she could see Thimbler and Lockjaw again. Then she thought about all the people that would be free to live their lives outside the burdens of servitude, because of one simple choice.

Perhaps her uncle would come through Reshampur, one day. In the end, it was the words of Nezzen that helped her decide. She would choose sacrifice.

"I do."

Chapter 65

Prima Donna

Luff and Leech were, to say the least, unhappy with Minerva's decision.

"Take it back! Right now!"

"I can't."

"Yes. You can. Tell him!" They pointed adamantly at Lord Arach, who stood behind Minerva.

"This is her choice, men. Leave her be," Olbus urged.

The twins shook their heads and walked away, kicking at the dirt.

Minerva wanted to cry. "Are you angry at me?" she asked Olbus.

"You made a difficult choice. Neither option was in your favor."

"That's not an answer."

Olbus looked down at her, stern and cold. "It is the only answer I will give." Then his mouth opened and paused, as if he wanted to say something more, but he never spoke. Afterward, he gave her an affirming pat on the shoulder, and left.

He never said sailor, she thought, as Lord Arach put his arm around her, trying to comfort her.

"I only want to help them. Is that so wrong?"

"They care about you, that much is clear, but you made the right choice."

It didn't feel like the right choice.

"Come, you can choose which of the rooms you would like to make your own."

Chapter 66

Tea Time

Life with Lord Arach was difficult for Minerva. She was not accustomed to being waited on, and she decided quite quickly that wearing fancy gowns and doing up her hair wasn't very much fun when she was required to do it all the time. The room he provided came equipped with everything she had ever wanted as a child, which somehow made everything less desirable. It also had mirrors everywhere, a fact she somewhat hated.

If Minerva left the palace, Arach assigned her a retinue of armed guards, for her own safety. She still saw the twins and the others on a regular basis, who thankfully overcame their frustrations. She was surprisingly glad to have them tease her about the whole situation. Neither Lintumen nor Nezzen were surprised to hear of the change in station. Lintumen encouraged her to engage Lord Arach as inspiration in the world of magic. Nezzen thanked her for giving up her future with the crew, and he was the only one of her friends to do so.

The repairs to the Skyraker progressed quicker than anyone expected, partly due to the large workforce that Arach assigned, and partly due to the Skyraker sustaining less damage than it seemed.

Tough old girl, the men remarked.

Of greatest benefit to Minerva was the selection of goods and services in Reshampur. It may not have been as grand as the place called Taladihn that Thimbler had shown her in his catalogs, but the selection was still magnificent.

Only when in her room at night did Minerva feel truly alone. The palace was exceptionally quiet, and quite large. Often, she would lay for an hour or more and gaze into the depths of a standing mirror at the foot of her bed, waiting for her dreams to find her.

It quickly became a ritual of hers to choose one of the knots in the wooden planks that she could see in the mirror and follow its gentle curves around in circles until it met with another line going somewhere else. Her entire goal was to find the other mirrors in the room, and connect as many as possible without leaving her bed. The waning light of the hearth provided just enough illumination to soften all the contours and relax her mind.

On her second pass beneath a large picture frame, ready to close her eyes and drift away, Minerva noticed something beside her bed. A white porcelain mask hung against the wall above her headboard. As her eyes met the blank void of its stare—instantly recognizing the broken corner of its facade—it turned to look down at her laying on the bed.

Minerva flew to her feet out the far side of the bed and ran for the cover of her nightstand. She was already reaching to draw Velvet before she realized that her weapon was on the vanity; the vanity currently buried in shadows.

"What do you want?" she stuttered, wielding a nearby hairbrush as a substitute.

The shadow didn't respond. Its broken visage hovered lazily in the sea of its darkness, and Minerva sprinted for the door. All too effortlessly, it sealed off her exit, and she reeled back, fearful of the bottomless abyss it called its body.

"Leave me alone! You're not welcome here!"

The twisted mask bobbed back and forth as its body stretched towards her. Minerva snapped the lamp from her bedside table and pulled the top off as fast as she could, only to realize that she lacked a way to light it unless she wanted to grab a fistful of hot coals.

"Why are you here?" she demanded, scuttling away.

In response to her question, a gloved hand emerged from the body of her foe. It held out a letter, black as ash and flecked with white lettering.

Minerva felt her pulse quicken uncontrollably. "What is it?"

The shadow said nothing.

"Whatever that is I won't take it."

The white mask twisted down towards the paper and then back towards her. It shifted closer and pushed the letter out further. The lack of hostility in the action gave Minerva the fortitude to put a full thought together.

"If you want to discuss something, then I will at least know who I am dealing with. Put that on the table and sit down."

To Minerva's complete and utter amazement, the terrifying monster looked back and forth between her and the table, and then it moved over and set the letter down. Enveloping half the table, and the entire chair, it draped itself over the furniture.

Minerva first lit the lantern on the table using a smoldering ember held in tongs, and then she crept slowly up to the edge of the blackness. The agent pushed forth the letter once more as Minerva sat down.

"I told you, I refuse to acknowledge anything you bring me until I know who I am dealing with."

If a faceless marionette could show emotion, this one was certainly trying. It seemed quite uncertain as to what exactly it should be doing. The whole scenario reminded Minerva of her first dinner with Lord Arach. It nudged the paper a few more times, but Minerva didn't respond. Instead, she focused her mind on not screaming and running in fear.

Lord Arach's manservant, Ubadah, always brought Minerva tea at night, to help her sleep. The pot was still on the table, and was probably still warm enough to serve. Its presence proved instrumental in comforting her nerves as she poured a cup for her and her guest. She sweetened her cup to her liking, and then did her best to sip it without allowing her hand to shake.

"Will you insult your host by refusing a cup of tea that has been poured for you?" she asked.

The mask looked down at the cup for a moment, and then back at Minerva, before it formed two hands that reached up and gripped the sides of its mask. Then it removed its face and placed the porcelain device on the table beside the parchment.

Minerva's mind raced. Sitting directly opposite her was a beautiful woman wreathed in formless shadows. Her disembodied face floated in the space of the nothingness around her, and shifting strands of inky night slid around the gentle lines of the teacup as the woman reached out for it. Then she raised it to her lips sipped.

"I'm sorry, but could I ask that you remove your cloak?" Minerva asked. "I can stoke the fire for you if you are cold."

The bodiless face of the woman shook at the mention of a fire before she slowly lowered her flowing cape to the ground, revealing the skintight clothes that clad her body. Then she pulled back the cloth that covered her head and neck, releasing long, straight, silver hair that fell across her shoulders.

Minerva's cup started to rattle as the silver-haired woman reached forward and nudged the letter once more with a perfectly black glove.

"I'm sorry, miss, but how should I address you?"

Minerva's tea partner moved her lips, but said nothing. After a moment, she tried again, but Minerva still heard nothing. A life lived in complete silence seemed to have robbed the woman of her willingness to speak.

"Sa—" she started on the third attempt, but the rest of the sentence trailed off into nothing.

"Pardon?" Minerva urged, striving desperately to learn more about the strange assassin.

"Sable," the woman said, in a voice both smooth and gentle.

"Good evening, Sable. My name is Minerva. What is the nature of the letter on the table, and who is it from?"

THIS AGENT, AND ITS COUNSEL, SEEK TO ADVISE YOU OF THE POSSIBILITY OF YOUR—

"Thank you, Sable. I will read it now."

When she got into whole sentences, the way that Sable spoke made Minerva's spine shiver. It sounded both hollow and tense, like metal scraping in a washbasin, but in a tone as low and pervasive as thunder. It was clearly not her natural voice, but Minerva could not explain where it emanated from.

Minerva reached out to the pick up the letter. It felt as cold as ice when she touched it, and she had to cover her hand with a cloth meant for the teapot.

This counsel seeks to advise Lady Minerva, cardinal lady of House Arach of the Loftwood, and her lord, of her successful selection from a school of choice candidates. The lady is invited to demonstrate her utmost capacity to this counsel, and its clients.

Pursuant to the indicated meeting with this counsel, this counsel accepts that the lady may willingly decline this invitation, and asks that the lady consider an offer of amnesty and nondisclosure with this counsel. The terms of this offer are to be adjudicated at any future date by which the lady finds herself in need of this counsel and its agents.

Sincerely,

The two things that struck Minerva were how the letter failed to include an addressee, and how it wasn't signed by anyone. The rest of it sounded like a whole mess of words carefully chosen for their meaning, not the order that worked best in a sentence.

"I'm sorry, Miss Sable, but I do not know what this letter is asking of me. Could you explain it?"

THIS COUNSEL, ON BEHALF OF WHICH THIS AGENT OPERATES, INVITES YOU TO ATTEND A GATHERING OF CANDIDATES SELECTED AS PROSPECTIVE AGENTS OF THIS COUNSEL.

Minerva held her breath as Sable spoke, somewhat wishing that she could breathe for her. "You want to recruit me?"

Sable nodded.

"What if I refuse?"

THEN THIS COUNSEL, BY NEGOTIATION OF THIS AGENT, SEEKS TO SET FORTH THE TERMS OF A SETTLEMENT.

"I understand."

Truthfully, she didn't understand.

Sable reached into her darkness and withdrew a second letter, sealed in the same nature as the first. Minerva expected a flying dagger.

By contractual offer to the Lady Minerva, cardinal lady of House Arach of the Loftwood, in exchange for her continued discretion in the matter of this counsel, its agents, and its practices, this counsel recognizes a favor of indeterminate worth owed to the lady at any future date of her preference.

As Minerva unrolled the last of the letter, a small bronze coin depicting an uncrowned woman on one side, and a masked face on the other, dangled from a black thread at the bottom. The heads faced forward, rather than sideways, as if looking at the holder. The coin itself dangled from the paper, sewn into the parchment through two holes that perfectly aligned with the eyes of both faces.

"Above a flame of lesser length, cast a shadow of great strength," Minerva said, reading the inscription on the coin. "You're buying my silence?"

Sable nodded.

"What if I refuse? Will you kill me?"

THIS AGENT RECOGNIZES A PROBABILITY IN RECESS OF ALL REASONABLY ASSESSED RISK, PURSUANT TO THE PREMISE THAT THIS AGENT COULD ACHIEVE THE INDICATED TASK. THIS AGENT ACKNOWLEDGES NO CONTRACT THAT ACCEPTS SUCH RISK.

Minerva caught her breath in heavy gasps and swallowed hard. "I understand. You want to recruit me because you think I'm dangerous, and you won't kill me because—" Minerva stumbled on the words in her mind. "—you think I'm dangerous." The weight of the phrase pressed down on her conscience as she contemplated the raw power wielded by Sable.

Sable reached across the table, taking the coin from Minerva and positioning it over the flame of the lamp. Minerva watched as a shadow consumed the woman's face, only for her image to appear as a smoky haze tumbling upon the ceiling above her.

THIS AGENT RECOGNIZES A FAVOR OF INDETERMINATE WORTH OWED TO THE LADY MINERVA, UNDER THE ASSUMPTION THAT THE LADY ACCEPTS THE TERMS OF THE AGREEMENT SET FORTH BY THIS AGENT, AND ITS COUNSEL.

Sable's voice echoed hollow and distant throughout the room, dampening Minerva's courage in the meager light.

Minerva suddenly understood the true power of the fear that Sable controlled. It was the same fear that choked reason from the lost and homeless and ruled the drowsy minds of children. A fear more base and profound than any other, common to every sane man, woman, and child that found themselves lost in the wilds at night.

The fear of the dark.

Minerva nodded in acceptance, too afraid to speak.

Chapter 67

Departure Recital

Lord Arach arranged a concert for the day of the Skyraker's departure. The ship lacked complete repairs, but the spawning season neared its end, necessitating an early sailing. Captain Black could be coming for them any day now.

The amphitheater chosen as a venue for the event afforded Minerva the best seat for the show, not because of its location regarding the stage, but because she sat in the middle of her friends. Most of the crew dressed formally for the event, at least a little, anyway. They donned their best shirts and trousers, as best as could be expected for pirates, except for Gunner and his stubborn insistence on being shamelessly topless. Minerva, however, did not complain.

The formal gown that Minerva wore was not as fancy as Lord Arach would have liked, but much fancier than any of the crew expected.

All music was performed by Lord Arach and an accompanying band. The first piece was a rather slow bit of orchestral work, which did little to capture the audience. It reminded Minerva of how sad she truly felt, but she managed to keep herself from crying. Thankfully, the second piece was much livelier, and many of the spectators began to tap their toes or clap along.

As Lord Arach launched into the third piece, a loud and raucous fanfare, a member of his guard interrupted his performance. The guard whispered a hurried message into Arach's ear, and then Arach mouthed something back. The guard nodded sternly, and Arach turned to the crowd in response.

"It appears that our celebration must be cut short. Captain Glass, a word with you, please."

Confusion, unrest, and a great deal of murmuring took hold of the crowd. Minerva watched as Lord Arach descended from the stage and spoke closely with Captain Glass and Olbus. When he finished, their response was clear, as the captain ran for the ship and Olbus began rallying the crew.

"Come with us! No one will notice!" Luff and Leech whispered into Minerva's ears, tugging on her arms at the same time.

"I can't. I promised."

The twins looked utterly crestfallen by her choice, but smiled and nodded, and hugged her close. "We'll come back. We promise!"

Big Jim thanked her with a hug, before thundering off, and Gunner gave her a solid nod. Gags and Woody both shook her hand while Minerva did her best to follow quickly in her fancy dress, hoping to wave at Nezzen and maybe steal a hug from Olbus.

Lord Arach put a comforting hand on her shoulder as she stared longingly at the beautiful blue frigate waiting at the docks.

"Why do they have to leave?" she asked.

"The Phoenix has entered the Loftwood."

A whole new wave of sorrow washed over her.

"Will they be okay? What if I never see them again?"

"Are you regretting your decision, then?"

"No," Minerva replied, with a little thought. "Your offer was a gracious one. I simply wish I could stay with them and keep them safe."

Lord Arach sighed heavily and pulled her around to face him. "This isn't really how I wanted to resolve this day, but I suppose it will do. The concert today, it wasn't for them, it was for you. I wanted to give you a gift that will help you remember me."

Minerva didn't understand why she would forget about him if she would be living with him.

"Go with them," he said, smiling painfully.

Lord Arach feigned injury as Minerva clamped her arms around him in a hug. "That's very unladylike behavior," he said with a cough, but she just hugged him harder.

"I have nothing packed! I'm not ready!"

"Your things are already on the ship. Now hurry, before they pull up the plank. Only your captain knows."

Minerva gave Arach a second, sturdy hug, but part of her didn't want to let go.

"Remember my songs, Minerva!" he called, as she ran for the ship.

"I will. I promise!"

"You will always be a lady in my house. Never forget that."

"I will. Thank you," she called back.

Ubadah and Lord Arach watched from the docks as Minerva climbed the ramp and boarded the Skyraker. The captain nodded at her from the helm, and called for the gangplank to be lifted. Several sailors complied, quite confused, but pulled the plank up behind her. Once aboard, Minerva stood at the aft rail and waved to the two men on the dock as the anchor lifted, the moorings unwound, and the Skyraker drifted away. Minerva blew Lord Arach a kiss in the last moment before her ship carried her out of view.

"She looks very much like your late wife, doesn't she, My Lord?" Ubadah said, standing beside his master on the dock.

"Truly, she does. If I didn't know better, I would say she was my granddaughter."

"You tried to make her just that, didn't you?"

"I did. I really did."

Whole lives had come and gone between these two men, and yet they rarely spoke so openly to each other. They were both lost in their own memories when Ubadah pointed at two ships approaching from the depths of the forest. "Customers, sir?"

Lord Arach squinted at the new arrivals. One red, one green, and a black and red flag on each of their masts.

"No, my friend. I think the time has come for us to plea to the gods for the safety of our lady."

Chapter 68

Chest of the Heart

"Your attire is completely unsuitable for ship work, sailor."

Sailor, the word Olbus had been withholding, washed over Minerva with an unexpected sense of warmth, and Minerva held back tears of joy.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll change."

Minerva ran down to her cabin, seriously concerned that Olbus would assign her extra shifts for being late. She sat down on the bed and opened one of two large cases that contained her clothes.

When she popped the latches, the lid almost hit her in the chin as it flew open. The case had been stuffed beyond capacity with dresses, shirts, trousers, and every other article of clothing a girl could ask for, all woven from the finest silks Lord Arach could offer.

A brilliant white letter, embroidered in red, lay atop the contents.

My Lady Minerva,

Every lady should possess a full and comfortable wardrobe, so by the grace of my friends we have woven you a complement of gifts that I believe will fit you nicely. Should you ever find yourself in need of a change, perhaps because you've grown, we will gladly replace them for you.

Lovingly,

Arach

Minerva's first thought was not about which clothes to wear, or which colors went well with which shoes, but of Thimbler. He lived so close to Reshampur, and yet he never knew of the beauty found there.

When she unpacked the second case, Minerva uncovered an elegant harmonica wrapped in a note.

For when you're flat, or just feeling flat.

She put the harmonica to her lips and blew. It produced a nice, vibrant sound.

After slight deliberation, Minerva chose a pair of golden trousers and a golden button-up top. Luff and Leech burst into the cabin just as she was buttoning the last button.

"Minnie!" the twins shouted in unison, and hugged her so hard that she couldn't breathe. "Look at you! All lady-like – in princess fashion," they remarked as she gasped for air.

Minerva smiled warmly as they pat her on the shoulders and ruffled her hair.

"Come along, short stock – let's scrub some sails."

The trio was about to leave when Luff blocked the exit. He turned back into the room, suspiciously eyeing the massive white wardrobe. Then he waggled a pointed finger between the new cases of clothes and the wardrobe, giving his brother enough time to see what he saw.

"How come you don't – use the wardrobe?" they asked.

"I can't. It's locked," she replied, moving towards the door again, but Luff held her back.

"So, open it – with an axe!" they demanded.

Minerva slouched to one side and rolled her eyes. "Look at it, and then look at me. I'm fairly certain that much larger sailors have already tried."

The twins admitted that it was a very sturdy case. "It doesn't even – have a keyhole," they remarked with confusion, pawing at the front of it. Then they stretched up on their toes or crouched down on their knees, inspecting the case like two curious kittens, continuing to do so as sailors arrived to confirm the rumor that Minerva was aboard. "The front – kind of looks – like buttons," they mumbled, ignoring the din of cheers and congratulations in the room.

Minerva glanced over her shoulder, only mildly interested in the wardrobe. The winding mechanisms with all its gears and holes really did look like buttons. The holes were all strange, though. They didn't line up.

"You'd need to use an odd stitch on a button with holes like that," she said, but immediately spun around as she said it. "They're stitches!"

The other sailors didn't seem to understand, and stared blankly.

"Those gears are stitches!" Minerva shouted again, pointing exuberantly at each of the unique metal contraptions.

"So?" Gunner asked.

"That's probably how it's locked! You need to stitch the gears together."

Minerva's companions turned to assess the case once more, with more than a few nodding approvingly.

"I need rope!" Minerva shouted, and dashed from the room. She returned quickly and dropped a coil to the floor. "Okay, herringbone first," she said, as she threaded the end of the rope through the first hole and carefully drew it through several teeth and winches, until the stitch was complete. When she pulled its ends, the wheels turned and spun effortlessly. Metal clicked and scraped and a loud pop followed as the massive knot pulled tightly into shape. The crew gasped and pushed in closer.

"Right!" she stated, putting her hands on her hips. Then she chuckled to herself and eyed the twins. "Sailing knots are just big stitches for big threads, right?"

The twins replied with a wink, and Minerva put the rope into place once again, beginning to sew. She had just started the fourth stitch when her rope snagged on something that she couldn't see before falling cleanly into two pieces.

"What happened?" Jim asked.

"I don't know."

"It looks like – something cut it," the twins offered, playing with both ends of the sliced rope.

"Who cares? Try again," Gunner added. He appeared more excited than she was.

Minerva inserted the rope once more, but again it cut in half.

"Maybe there's an order. Try a different button-thing."

Minerva did as Gunner suggested, but the same thing happened.

"Something is cutting it, like—" Minerva said, but like what, she wasn't entirely certain, so she carefully examined the severed ends. "—like a seam ripper," she concluded. "It's a small knife-thing you use to undo stitching," she added, when the crew just stared at her.

"You think something is cutting it?"

Cutting a rope in one slice, especially without touching it, was probably almost impossible, she thought. However, no other explanation presented itself. "I think so. I don't know how to stop that, though."

"What if you use a stronger rope?" Jim asked.

There wasn't really anything else available. The rope for the rigging was the thickest on the ship that still fit in the holes.

Minerva looked around her, working for an idea. She closed her eyes and let her two best senses guide her. The softness of her silken attire quickly came to mind, along with a potential solution.

Rifling rapidly through the drawers that contained her new clothes, Minerva pulled up a glimmering white gown with a laced corset. She unleashed a triumphant cry as she retrieved the braided thread of spider silk. Then she pulled her thin white rope through the holes of the wardrobe. It wasn't nearly as thick as the rigging, but this was spider's silk; it was much stronger.

Halfway through the stitch, at precisely the same point that it had happened before, the thread suddenly went taut, straining under the weight of an unknown force.

"Stronger than iron!" she sneered, holding on tight. "Help me pull this!"

The case shook violently as Minerva's tether yanked back and forth beneath the force of an unseen edge. With each knotted click, small showers of sparks tumbled out from behind the gears. When she finished the final tugs of the backstitch, the whole of the wardrobe was rocking and jumping so badly that several of the other sailors had joined in to hold it down.

As the last latch closed tight against its partner, every gear twisted on its axis, drawing her threads into the depths of the mechanism and rolling away beneath their covers. It moved so smoothly that it was like watching sand fall through an hourglass. When it stopped, two seamless doors swung outward on hidden hinges, revealing all her lengths of rope spooled perfectly onto huge shining bobbins.

Beyond the outer layer, a flattened porcelain mannequin, in the curved shape of an adult woman, lay flush with the wooden body of the wardrobe. Its multi-hued face, and thin arms, completed a brilliant rainbow between its hands, while a single uniform line formed an opening for its mouth. Centered upon its chest, two golden shapes inset with rubies marked the location of its heart, cut to resemble two sundered halves. From the top and bottom of the heart, a narrow seam bisected the entire body.

In one hand, it held a golden needle. In the other, a bobbin of red thread that appeared to shift from bright crimson to almost black.

Minerva reached out and brushed the beautiful red gems. The instant that her fingers fell upon the stones, a strip of cloth vomited out of the mannequin's mouth-slot, unfurling like an overlong tongue. Minerva jumped backward faster than she could scream, landing carelessly in the arms of the twins.

"I think there's something written on it," Gunner said, pointing at the strip. "Can anyone read?"

All at once, every head in the room swung down to look at Minerva, still hanging in the arms of Luff and Leech. She couldn't recall demonstrating her ability to read to any of them, and yet none of them doubted that she probably could.

Minerva gently tugged on the cloth tongue, unspooling it from a hidden bobbin inside. It felt rough in her fingers, and eerily warm. Embroidered upon the weave, a message slowly revealed itself, and Minerva read it aloud.

"You demonstrate skill with needle and thread. Inanimate tools for inanimate works. A true tailor can mend any rift. In any material."

As Minerva spoke, she continued to pull, until the tongue dangled as low as the mannequin's heart.

"Are you a tailor of more than cloth?" she read.

Minerva glanced at her friends before continuing. The words seemed written specifically for her. As a magician, she could tailor reality to her liking whenever she willed it.

"Show me," read the tongue, pulling taut at the limit of its length. "Mend my broken heart."

Minerva looked at the golden needle and the rubies. Sewing it together seemed like the most obvious conclusion, given the clues, but gold is a very soft metal, and she couldn't possibly pierce a stone with a needle that she could bend with her fingers. With no other options in mind, Minerva attempted to pull a length of thread from the bobbin, but the length she drew burst into ash in her fingers, sending a small trail of smoke into the cabin around her.

The nearby sailors glanced around in confusion.

Minerva tried again, but again the thread caught flame and burnt itself to ash as she held it.

"You do that really fast. Try it slowly," someone offered.

Minerva repeated the draw, slowly this time, but the thread went brittle and turned to dust. On her fourth attempt, she pulled out just enough to pierce the needle and wet it with her tongue. As she did, the mysterious red line went slick in her mouth and melted. "What is this stuff?" she said, wiping the remnants from her lips.

"Maybe it's – a riddle."

"Okay, let's figure this out. There must be a clever trick involved. How do you mend a broken heart?"

"Jewelry."

"Gifts."

"Flowers."

The train of thought was obvious, and somewhat insulting. None of Minerva's friends offered any meaningful ideas on how to mend a broken heart, especially not a literal ruby heart. At best, they barely knew what it meant to break one emotionally. Ultimately, Gunner offer the best idea.

"Apologies," he said.

The rest of the crew congratulated their ally on their epiphany.

"What should I apologize for?" she asked.

After much deliberation, the best suggestion was for opening its locks without asking, so Minerva proceeded from there.

"I'm sorry I opened your case and broke your heart," she said. "Please allow me to mend it."

When Minerva pulled the thread in her hand, she did it nice and perfect. Not too fast. Not too slow. She stretched it to the needle, poked it through the eye without wetting it, and folded it back. Then it snapped and sparked, and sent another puff of smoke into her face.

The crew exhaled heavily at her failure.

Frustration slowed the thoughts in Minerva's mind, struggling to make sense of it. The thread wrapped around the bobbin, so someone had worked it somehow. If she pulled too fast it burned. If she pulled too slowly it broke. Wetting it did seem to help, but it melted when too wet. Speaking to it probably wasn't the answer, since it wasn't alive. It must be something that she did to the thread.

Minerva licked her lips as she pondered aloud. "A kiss," she mumbled.

Eyebrows raised around her.

"You mend a broken heart with a kiss!" she declared with conviction.

Very delicately, Minerva put the spool of thread to her mouth and gingerly pressed her lips against it. Then she pulled again, unwinding it smoothly in her fingers. She kissed it again as she ran it through the eye and folded it back, and it held its shape without breaking.

With its thread secure, the golden needle began to glow. Its tip went white hot, yet remained cool to the touch. Minerva moved forward to the ruby heart, kissed it softly, and then drove the needle down into it. It slid straight and clear, plunging into the depths of the stones and passing cleanly through to the other side.

Across the fissure in the heart, Minerva wove a large, loose stitch through the two halves. With the loop complete, she pulled the ends of the string. The gap closed effortlessly, and with a satisfying clack, an airy sigh escaped into the world from the body of the wardrobe itself.

Two elegant handles, formed from the golden frame that encircled the heart, snapped out to the sides. The crew crowded in around Minerva as she put her hands to the handles and pulled them open. The bisected mannequin separated in the middle, leaving its heart fully on its left side as the doors swung open.

With the contents exposed, everyone gasped and Minerva stood stunned.

"Even Nezzen would climb down for that," Big Jim joked.

Chapter 69

Seeds of the Sun

Minerva hurried to the deck, eager to inform Nezzen of her find. She passed Spit in the hallway, who gave her a wicked glare. Many of the less favorable crew had returned to the Skyraker, eager to escape their debt in Reshampur, Spit included. They would be less than thrilled to discover Minerva on board, yet again. She held her head up high as she passed, and even managed to dodge his murky assault.

Captain Glass waved when he saw Minerva climbing the shrouds, clearly impressed by her golden attire. He was a man that could appreciate a well-groomed suit.

The wind shook Minerva's hair and the ship felt strong and stable beneath her, while mighty boughs sailed silently by in the quiet gloom of the forest. Arach may have given her a house, in the truest sense of the word, but right now, the Skyraker was her home.

"Nezzen!" she called, as she climbed to the top. "Nezzen, you won't believe what just happened!" she shouted exuberantly.

Minerva was within reach of the opening into the crow's nest when a bright flash of heat turned her head upward. The Skyraker had broken through the barrier of the canopy, into the light of the sun. When she opened her eyes, she squinted hard and basked in the warmth of the day. Before she turned back to her task, she noticed two dark spots within the halo of the sun. They seemed to be growing, as if they were falling slowly.

The sound of a bell smashing loudly beside Minerva's head nearly startled her off the ropes. Nezzen was holding a small ringer in his hand, flailing it with all his might. When she looked up again she suddenly understood what Nezzen was seeing.

A huge, green-bellied ship was pushing its way down through the tops of the forest.

The Arbalest had found them.

Minerva bounded down the spars and threw herself across the narrow walkway that connected with the mizzenmast. In response to the warning, Captain Glass tacked the ship to its starboard side, veering off and away from the green ship as it came down.

In the general principles of aerial combat, as explained by the twins, attacks came down from sources that were above. If a ship could rise above its opponents, it became untouchable. In many cases, the ability of a smaller ship to climb over a larger one was all that saved it. Riggers might not fight in the melee on the deck, but they could certainly win a battle from the masts.

As the Skyraker climbed higher, memories of the spider storm that grounded the vessel weeks before came flooding back to Minerva. In between strokes of wild effort, a tiny yet important thought struck her. There were two spots on the sun, not just one.

"Stop scrubbing!" she shouted, but only Luff turned to look at her. "There are two ships! It's a trick!"

Luff held his gaze upward, looking for the second ship.

"Archers on the fore! Take cover!" shouted Olbus.

Minerva turned to see rows of men aboard the green ship armed with drawn longbows. The men on her own ship shuffled quickly behind whatever barriers they could find. If riggers could win a battle, archers could end it; she had nowhere to hide.

The Skyraker rocked as Gunner let loose a warning volley, and the Arbalest sailed off, putting a large island of foliage between them. Then the arrows sailed. Not from the Arbalest, but from the Ballistae. Hidden from view until now, hanging in the blinding light of the sunny day. A shaft of nail-straight wood pierced the mast beside Minerva. She ducked to the other side only seconds before another attack struck her cover.

Screams of terror and pain erupted from the riggers, and someone fell past her in a flash of dark cloth. She couldn't remember who was working the upper sail and began to panic. Then a third volley struck the Skyraker, flooding the forest with the sound of splintering wood. The sailors below went for the safety of the lower deck, and several lay motionless on the planks, pierced clean through by wicked slivers from the heavens.

Olbus bellowed commands to those around him, but the crew wouldn't listen. They were already running for their lives.

Luff and Leech were still scrubbing the sails when Minerva began to climb down. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"We're giving Gunner – his one shot!"

Captain Glass had already abandoned the helm, and yet the twins were willing to risk their lives to give Gunner one chance to win it all.

"Get off – the sails!" they called to her, when she turned to tend her own sail.

"Right after you!" she called back, doing her best to level off the lift on the mizzenmast.

Two arrows streaked past her on both sides, and she felt like a golden bull's-eye on a wide white target.

"Ladies! First!"

The Arbalest angled away to port, flanking the Skyraker from up high. If the Skyraker could rise between the two sloops, Gunner could probably take them both.

"Why thank you, my knights!" she replied sarcastically. "I'm sure the lord of the house will reward you handsomely for your kindness!"

"Get off! The sails! Minnie!"

"No!"

In only a moment, the Skyraker rose level with her assailants, perfectly within range. Starboard boomed, loud and clear, and the ship listed in response. Wood split, the forest trembled, and the foremast of the Ballistae bent and twisted wildly.

The Arbalest, unfortunately, was already familiar with Gunner's effectiveness, and pulled away before the cannons could level against them. The enemy ships rose ever further, regaining the advantage of height. Three lone riggers on a frigate could never hope to catch them.

"Okay, time to get down," Minerva said, and the twins agreed.

Chapter 70

Nurse Minerva

Minerva and the twins almost fell into the hold beneath a crash of wooden hailstones. The remainder of the crew gathered the wounded in the galley, and sailors everywhere called for the surgeon, but Lintumen was locked in his cabin on the other side of the arrows.

The smell of sweat permeated the galley, and the thick iron scent of blood plugged Minerva's nostrils as she entered. The odor reminded her of her father and the wounded that sought his treatment.

A man screaming in agony snapped her attention to the now. A sailor beside her had forcibly removed an arrow that pierced his upper arm, and blood gushed from the open wound.

"Don't pull the arrows out!" she ordered, and rushed forward to stop another man from doing the same.

"Are you a surgeon?" the first sailor asked in desperation.

Minerva nodded as she pressed down on the wound in the sailor's arm, applying as much pressure as she could. She had aided her father enough to know far more than the average person. "I need sheers, or clippers, or a saw," she said to the men around her.

The man on the table went white with fear at the idea of whatever she was planning, and struggled to pull away from Minerva.

"I need to cut the cloth," she whispered diplomatically, and he relaxed noticeably.

"What else?" the twins asked together, bounding up to her.

"Thin rope. Splints. Blankets. Needle and thread. Get the last two from my cabin." Minerva looked around at the many wounded men, realizing that she couldn't possibly triage them all. "Jim!"

Big Jim rumbled over from the far end of the deck towards her.

"Do you have any boiled water? We need clean water, and strong alcohol to clean the wounds."

Jim nodded and hurried into the kitchen.

The ship lurched suddenly as it clipped a tree, knocking over benches and sending sailors sprawling. The crew whispered in fearful, hushed voices.

"How do I help?" Olbus asked, surprising Minerva with his presence.

"Don't let anyone pull the arrows out. We need to stop the bleeding first."

"Sailors! Pay heed!" The walls shook when Olbus unleashed his voice. "Leave the arrows in the flesh! Do not withdraw the ammunition until cleared by the surgeon!" At the end of his command, he gestured at Minerva, drawing an inordinate amount of unexpected attention upon her.

It was then that Minerva noticed a gathering of men in the far end of the galley. Her skin crawled and she went closer, recognizing the type of gathering that occurred around a dying man when no one knew what to do. When she pushed through the circle, she found Woody laying on the floor with an arrow pierced through his upper thigh. Nobody moved to help him, and he lay on the ground, panting heavily.

Minerva went forward but the crowd held her back.

"There's nothing you can do," they said. "Let him die in peace," they insisted.

Minerva looked down at the man she called a friend. He breathed in stuttered gasps, and his eyes stared off into nothingness.

Treating the dying is as important as treating the wounded. Minerva heard her father's words echo in the back of her head as she shoved her way into the center of the group and knelt beside Woody, lifting his head to rest on her lap.

"Mom?" he asked feebly.

Minerva said nothing, granting Woody his delusion.

"I'm cold, mom."

She pulled a nearby blanket over his body, trying to warm him. "What's your name, sailor?" she asked.

The crowd fell into a murmur, objecting to her ignorance. They all knew his name was Woody, and so should she.

"Warren. Cobbler." Woody struggled to push each word out, pausing overlong between them.

"You did good, Warren. Thank you for all your hard work. I'm very proud of you."

A weak smile spread slowly onto Woody's face, and one last sentence formed on his lips, but he lacked the strength to issue it into the world.

Minerva wiped the tears from her eyes and pulled the blanket over the face of her friend. The crowd around her stood hushed and parted to let her pass, but she couldn't just walk away. "Nobody wants to die alone," she said.

Chapter 71

A Cloak of Courage

Captain Glass called a meeting of the senior crew in the kitchen. No one invited Minerva, but Olbus retrieved her when she didn't attend on her own.

"What are your orders, Captain?"

Captain Glass looked at Olbus, uncertain. Olbus did not reply, and the ship shook in the silence, spilling a nearby pot of clean water. "I don't know," the captain said. "How are the men?"

"Holding together," Jim said.

Minerva sat on a sack of rice in the corner, doing her best not to think about the sailors dying on the floor outside. A sound like hail scattered across the deck above them.

"What are they doing?" Gunner asked. "We've been pinned in here for almost half an hour, but they haven't boarded us." Nobody replied to Gunner's question. "I mean, if someone could take the helm, and get some lift, we could easily destroy them. Those ships are as brittle as eggshells. I just need a clean shot."

"If they board us – we have the advantage. We outnumber them – almost two to one." Luff and Leech weren't strategists, but the numbers spoke for themselves.

Something outside the ship scraped slowly up the hull, silencing the conversation with its callous interruption. The Skyraker had been losing lift since the enemy first pinned them down. It would only be a matter of time before they hit the forest floor.

"They are waiting," Olbus explained. "It's a siege."

"What are they waiting for?" asked the captain.

"For Captain Black to arrive," Minerva concluded.

None of the others denied the truth in her statement, and Gunner turned angrily upon the captain. "Black has been on our aft for months now, ever since we entered the borders of Linora on that little errand of yours. What were you doing out there, anyway? What did you do that was so bad that he has his whole fleet hunting us down?"

Captain Glass looked around sheepishly, and his eyes lingered on Minerva. The Skyraker's stop at Minerva's house was also the first encounter with Captain Black. "I was there to see my mistress," he said.

"I don't believe ye," Jim professed, looking like a butcher with an apron covered in blood.

"Black and I have the same mistress. We kept it a secret from him, and now he's mad."

"That's a load of – bilge water! No pirate – gets that angry – because of a woman."

The twins rounded the stoves to the other side of the captain, cornering him. Then he glanced at Minerva again, long enough this time that Gunner connected his gaze.

"Why do you keep her on board?" Gunner wondered aloud. "The crew has almost mutinied twice now, and yet you always go back for her. Why? Is it so that Olbus can keep his new daughter around? Is she your mistress?"

A flurry of accusatory glances went about the room.

Olbus stepped forward with a shout, shoving everyone away from the captain. "Mutiny when you have the time. Not right now."

"Maybe the captain is all Black wants?" Jim mused. "Maybe we should offer him up and see what happens."

The others joined in on Big Jim's statement, and an intense argument quickly erupted. When Minerva could suffer their inaction no longer, she went for the door.

"Where are you going?" Gunner asked, spotting her escape.

"To save the ship."

The men looked at her in amazement.

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"I'm going to take the helm, and then I'm going to fly us out of here, or I'm going to die trying. Either option is better than sitting around and squabbling like chickens in a henhouse."

Six grown men stared at their feet in shame, humbled by the lecture of a thirteen-year-old girl. When they said nothing, Minerva stormed from the kitchen in the direction of the hold. She didn't know what all was in it, but there had to be something that would help her.

"Hey – short stock."

"Don't call me that!" she barked at the twins, as they ran up behind her.

"Sorry. Can we still – call you Minnie?"

"That's fine."

"What can we do – to help?"

"I don't know. I'm going to the hold to find something that might get me to the helm. A large crate that I can hide in, maybe, I'm not sure."

The twins followed Minerva down into the hold and lit a lamp, revealing many piled boxes, crates, and sacks of supplies, and Gunner joined them shortly afterward.

"Sorry about what I said, Minnie," he said. "I didn't mean to insult you."

Minerva accepted his apology, completely won over by his perfectly sculpted everything.

"I don't think any of these boxes are going to work," Gunner said with dismay, after ten minutes of tromping around in the bowels of the Skyraker. "They're all too thin or too heavy. An arrow would go clean through them, and none of them are small enough for any of the men to fit into."

"What about – sacks of flour – for cover? Those would – stop the arrows."

"Too heavy," said Minerva, having already considered the prospect. She often faltered when hauling a single bag to the kitchen.

"What about – the sails?"

The twins pointed at the stack of sails piled near the stairs. Arach supplied them with a full set of spare hammers for every mast.

"Nah, those things are lighter than a loaf of bread," Gunner responded. "It would be like shooting through paper."

Minerva suddenly found her solution. She grabbed the smallest of the sails and ran upstairs to the common room. She passed Olbus and the captain on the way, who followed her and the twins to where she draped the cloth over a small table. Then she ran to the galley, reclaimed what needle and thread remained, and returned with her supplies.

"What are you doing?" the captain asked quizzically.

"I already told you. I'm saving the ship."

Minerva flipped the corners of the sail over to form a triangular shape and rammed her needle back and forth through the cloth. Considerable resistance held back her efforts to pierce the tightly woven fibers, but she preserved, even without a thimble for pushing the needle.

"Minnie?" Luff said, approaching her warily. Her pace was frantic.

"Yes?"

"What are you making?" Leech asked.

"A cloak."

"Out of a hammer sail?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Minerva reached over and pulled the sabre from Captain Glass' scabbard. Then she swung down hard on the cloth in front of her. On the third swing, she lay the weapon flat and scraped it across the sail. A wave of sparks exploded into the air, sending a wild fountain of blue and green fireworks towards the ceiling.

The men stood stunned.

"Arach taught me a lot about spiders," she said, as she picked up the corners of the sail and held it up to reveal a perfectly intact sheet of cloth. Minerva whipped the shroud around her shoulders and pulled the makeshift cowl over her head. It hung long and low on all sides, covering every visible surface of her body. "He taught me that a thin sheet of spider silk could stop a flying dagger, and this is a lot thicker."

In the ensuing silence, Minerva went for the stairway leading topside, but the captain stopped her halfway up. His face furrowed, fraught with worry. Arrows were for killing.

"Captain, do you know what Lintumen told me the night that I fought the shadow in your cabin?" Captain Glass shook his head fearfully, and Minerva gave him a sly grin, doing her best to reassure him. "It's just a cloak."

Minerva left the captain behind, ascending the stairs but stopping short of cresting the deck, still within protective cover. Several long arrows jutted from the railing that encircled the staircase. Part of her rapid pace up until this point was an effort to quell the fear that gripped her. If she didn't go now she might never convince her feet to carry her onward.

The weight of another body on the stairs drew Minerva's attention away from the deck, and she turned to see Olbus watching her nervously. She could see in his face exactly what he wanted to say. He wanted to go with her. He wanted to protect her, but she simply couldn't allow it.

Minerva pulled the cloth of the sail in tight around her body, and she felt secure and warm within it.

Courage and sacrifice, she thought. Go for it.

Minerva sprang from the opening, sprinting for the stairs over the sterncastle. A knee-height forest of feathered arrow shafts littered her path. She couldn't recall the number of times she had made the trip to the mizzenmast in the past, and yet every step she took dragged slowly in her mind. Wooden shafts and stiff feather fletching cut her shins and jabbed her feet as she ran through the miniature forest. She hit the stairs running, stumbling up them and bearing down fast on the helm.

Off in the quiet distance she heard a row of longbows pulling back. Someone shouted, and the enemy loosed their ammunition. The first arrow to strike glanced straight off the top of her head and she tripped, rolling into the rail at the side of the deck. She hauled her feet in fast under the cover of the cloak and spun to her stomach, covering her body with the spread of the sail.

Deadly shafts rained down on her, pounding off her shield and deflecting into the wooden surfaces around her. A tiny screech of pain escaped her lips each time she bruised from the impact.

It doesn't hurt, her mind insisted, urging her onward.

Minerva righted herself to her knees and sprinted once again for the controls of the ship. She grabbed the starboard guide wheel as she ran, flinging her body into the enclosure of the captain's platform.

Unfortunately, her plan hadn't gone much further than this. There was no way to scrub the sails and fly the ship at the same time. Several minutes passed as she crouched under cover, waiting for the hail to stop, but it never did. The rain of arrows only slowed until she moved, at which time the assault renewed full force once again.

Then a single arrow, straight and true, landed right between her unprotected toes. Her foot jerked back beneath the sail as pain shot through her limb and blood began to stream out.

"What do I do? What do I do?" she begged, coddling her foot in both hands.

A quiet clank redirected Minerva's attention to something behind her, and she scanned the deck, trying to isolate the source. A small golden coin had landed amid the hail of arrows. Then another landed near it, and she turned to see Nezzen in the crow's nest. Her whole body erupted in fear and anger at his inability to find shelter.

Nezzen smiled when their eyes met, and then he disappeared into the crow's nest. He soon reappeared holding something in his hand, glanced around to see if he was clear, and then hurled the object towards her.

A separate attack on the crow's nest drove the elderly man back into his hiding place. Minerva spotted his projectile as it landed a short distance away. It was a simple golden necklace with an anchor on it, and she looked back up at Nezzen in search of guidance, but he simply could not reappear without risking his life.

A necklace, Minerva thought, beginning a conversation with her own mind. Not just a necklace, Nezzen owned plenty of necklaces. He chose this one for a reason. An anchor? What do I do with an anchor? It will fall into the forest. Then what? It hits a tree. Don't be stupid. Of course, it hits the trees. Is that the point? What's in the trees? Spiders.

Minerva jumped to her feet and hauled on the lever that she pulled on their wild descent towards Reshampur. The familiar sound of a heavy cord unwinding with abandon came back to her. Then she heard a soft crash as metal hit foliage, followed in moments by the unforgettable sound of a thousand tiny bolts of lightning crackling into existence. She suddenly had all the riggers she would ever need.

Chapter 72

Anchors Aweigh

In the belly of the Skyraker, the men heard the anchor fall, and the sound of the enraged spider swarm that it awakened. The captain looked at Olbus, who looked at the twins.

"Secure the injured!" Olbus commanded.

They men had barely entered the galley when the Skyraker bucked so hard that tables jumped, lanterns overturned, and every man aboard her fell to the floor in a heap.

Up on deck, Minerva pushed herself to her feet and took hold of the main wheel. The muted green leaves of the forest instantly burst with vibrant color, and all the far-off corners of her vision fell away. Everything close grew tenfold in importance, and the power of every sound became as resounding as the words of a king to his people.

As the swarm vaulted the Skyraker towards the canopy, it caught the Arbalest and the Ballistae within its outward edge, and they shot up together. While they ascended, Minerva could find no escape to either side, so she cranked the wheel, flying sideways into the Arbalest. Keel met hull, mast and siding shattered and broke, and all the sailors aboard the deck of the broad vessel flew into the far rail, or over it. Minerva heard them scream as they plummeted to their deaths, and she screamed in triumph, responding to their horror with a fury detached from her own mind.

Below the deck of the Skyraker, every uninjured hand did what they could to fasten down the contents of the ship.

"What is she doing?" Captain Glass shouted, as he bound an injured crewmember to a heavy table.

The higher the ships climbed, the stronger the winds grew, pushing them faster and faster through the forest. The Ballistae moved in swiftly to aid its ally. Minerva veered back to meet its approach, and the satisfying sound of splintered wood erupted where they met.

Up above the Skyraker, the swarm waned. The wrath of the spiders didn't persist unless they were young, and so Minerva let her second anchor smash down, renewing the flock of riggers that would sail her to freedom.

Still surrounded, Minerva lunged into the Arbalest for a second time, but they were prepared. Metal hooks flew from the deck of the green-hulled ship, tethering themselves to her by way of rope and grapple. If they couldn't drive her from the helm, they were going to tie her down with their own weight.

Minerva hauled on the wheel, hurling the Skyraker wickedly from side to side, far worse than even the greatest hurricane winds. The smaller ship twisted and dangled on the end of its lines, unwilling and unable to break free.

"Tie down the cannon! Plug the powder!" Gunner called to his men, but a sudden lurch in the deck sent him tumbling off balance. His head struck a beam, causing blood to leak from a fresh wound above his eye.

On the starboard side, the Ballistae resumed its efforts to assist, throwing grapples of their own to tie down their thrashing prey.

Minerva responded by pushing the lever for the anchors back into place, readying them for another descent. The sound of machinery and metal, spinning and clanking, issued from the home of the anchors below the helm.

Several of the crew looked about in confusion.

"What's that sound?" Jim asked, wholly alarmed in a way that exceeded the connotations of his question.

"It's the anchors – winding up," replied Luff and Leech. "All on – their own."

The conversation that followed contained no words, and yet it held more meaning than anything the group of them had ever said to each other. Their faces and eyes wordlessly agreed on a profound truth that now stood resolutely broken.

That's impossible.

Thousands of spiders swarmed the decks, sails, and helms of all three ships. They crawled across Minerva's cloak, wandering inside and landing on her shiny golden clothing before flying off. They attacked the two sloops with abandon, lifting and dragging their fragile frames through the trees.

"Get off me," Minerva snarled, searching for a way to dislodge the ships from her rails. She spun the wheels and pulled her levers, and her whole frame shuddered and shook, flying wild and unbroken between the two smaller vessels, hammering back and forth like the ringer in a bell. Then she lifted her anchors and dropped them again, pulling ever more assistance from the forest. A powerful wind filled her sails and she pushed onward, straining on her bindings.

On the port side of the Skyraker, where the Arbalest hung by its tethers, a massive tree emerged from the darkness of the forest. Minerva pushed over with all her might and smashed the annoying pest that clung to her flesh into the huge slab of timber. Wood slivers and paint blew skyward and outward from the impact, and several of the grapple lines snapped.

"Get off me!" she repeated in anger, crushing the insignificant thing that hung weakly to her sides.

"Lintumen!" Captain Glass cried, clinging desperately to the wall and screaming into the brass cone on the gun deck. "Lint! Answer me!"

Minerva heard the voice bounce its way out of the tiny tube. "Fire the cannon!" she commanded in response, as she threw herself into the hull of the Ballistae; its crew screamed and fell from the deck with the impact. "Fire!"

The tiny, terrifying voice of Minerva bounced into the bewildered ears of the men on the gun deck.

"Gunner! Sir!"

Gunner spun to face his crewmate, who stared dumbfounded at the cannon in front of him. The bloody, shirtless gunner immediately recognized the scent of a burning wick. "These guns are not to be loaded!"

The man turned a blank stare to his superior, and shrugged. "They aren't."

Forty-five cannons, unloaded and unlit, unleashed the full wrath of a broadside payload into the siding of the Arbalest, still strapped to the side of the Skyraker. The shattered skeletal form of a once glorious ship fell away beneath Minerva's keel, drifting silently into the darkness until the forest floor claimed its corpse.

Minerva spun herself against the currents, and against the heading of her sails. Like a top in the wind, she lifted the Ballistae into the air beside her. She writhed and twisted in the sky, dropping the whole of her side into her assailant, and still, the lines refused to break. Her attention bent full fury on the thing beside her as she threw herself into the fight. Below her deck, her people cried out in fear.

"Lintumen! Help us!"

Chapter 73

Rogue

"Get! Off! Me!"

A young girl's voice, shrill and wild, careened through the cabin that smelled like cinnamon. Lintumen sat in his usual seat with a series of strings woven between his fingers. When the ship shook, it shook only lightly in this room, while the bindings on his fingers jumped and snapped.

The voice of Captain Glass summoned Lintumen over to stand near the brass cone on the wall. "Yes, Captain?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Lint! What's happening? How is she doing this?"

Lintumen pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment, while the sound of crashing metal echoed through the tube and into the room.

"Lint! She's going to tear the ship apart!"

"Is Big Jim with you, Captain?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Jim, when Minerva attacked you in the galley, what was that like?"

The captain looked over at Jim as the fat man fought desperately to keep his girth upright.

"Like fightin' a rabid weasel," Jim shouted.

"Vicious, then?" asked the calm voice in the tube.

"I think she'd fight to the death, if she had to."

"Olbus, are you present?"

"Yes, he is!" Captain Glass replied on behalf of his boatswain, as the large officer was doing his best to prevent a cannon from flying around and crushing someone.

"Tell us about Roker and the night he met Minerva. What state was he in when you found him?"

Olbus didn't reply. Theoretically, he had saved Minerva, but there remained significant doubt as to whether she even needed saving. Considering Roker's broken nose, broken knee, broken ribs, broken jaw, and his badly wounded arm, Olbus was reasonably certain that Minerva was winning.

"Minerva didn't need your assistance, did she?"

"No."

"What would have happened if you hadn't arrived?"

"I think she would have killed him."

The crew stared in awe at Olbus. It was a part of the story known only to him. Everyone else assumed that Olbus had inflicted the damage.

In the middle on the conversation, the ship rocked with a fresh impact. Dust erupted from between the floorboards and light spilled in through a widening crack in the hull. If Minerva could hear the conversation, she wasn't replying.

"Captain, how much of this ship is controlled by cloth or rope?" Lintumen asked casually.

"I don't know. Why does it matter?"

"Captain, it matters."

"Everything!" Gunner yelled from the gun deck, as he joined the conversation with his own brass cone. "The sails, the hammers, the rigging, the anchors. The ropes that pull the rudder. Even the sacks of powder in the cannons. Everything!"

"Exactly. Everything."

The ceiling suddenly cracked in response to a particularly violent collision, and an unattended battery of cannons fired again. The eruption hurled the sailors that restrained them to the side, leaving the men sprawled across the floor.

"What you are facing, Captain, is the precise reason that magicians are feared for their power. This is what happens when you unlock the shackles on reality. Minerva has taken control of this entire ship purely by the power of her imagination, but she's not letting go."

"What do we do, Lint?"

"A young mind is a fragile and beautiful thing. Like steel in the hands of a blacksmith, it can be reshaped or strengthened, and it can be broken. In place of the smith's hammer, a magician needs only words. This is the result of a mind that refuses to believe in its own limitations."

"Lintumen, please!" Captain Glass screamed into the cone, dragging the name long and shrill to interrupt the navigator. He was begging for an answer that would end everything.

"You are losing her, Captain. Minerva stands alone and afraid at the helm of your ship. She seeks to win at any cost, but she is losing the ability to distinguish imagination from reality. She needs someone to stop her. Someone she trusts. If you do not, she will be lost forever. You will lose the little girl that needs you to protect her, to guide her, and to love her. Right now, she needs you more than ever. All of you."

The men glanced at each other, and then pushed, pulled, and dragged their way to the stairs leading topside. As they climbed to the deck, they found the Skyraker spinning on its side with the Ballistae bound to her starboard.

"Free that ship!" Gunner called, pointing at the tethers.

In rapid succession, the men slipped down the slanted deck to the rail lined with grapples, and hacked at the bindings that held the coast runner in place until it slipped free into the darkness. From there they found Minerva at the helm, swaddled tightly in a white sail with her hands on the wheels.

"Minerva!" the twins called out as they rushed forward.

Luff and Leech placed their hands on the shoulders of their friend, to draw her attention, but Minerva wacked at the arms of the twins, knocking them aside. Her gaze whipped to face them, revealing an expression contorted with fury and hatred.

"Get off me!" she snapped.

It was a command so powerful and raw that the Skyraker bucked with each syllable, and Minerva spun the wheel wildly, sending the ship spiraling sideways. All but one of the men collapsed to the deck as their legs swept out from under them, as if they stood on a shifting carpet. Only Luff remained upright, as instead of falling, a length of rope from the rigging had snaked down and coiled itself around his leg, hauling him upward.

Gunner shouted for Olbus to intervene, as he himself was clinging to the railing, doing his best to avoid an unwanted ejection from the spinning Skyraker. Olbus hurled himself towards Minerva, but halted abruptly, as a wooden spar twisted down like a young branch in the wind and knocked him flying.

"Minnie! Let him go!" Jim bellowed as he fought to free Luff from the constricting vine around his foot.

Minerva turned her attention to Jim. Every plank between Minerva and the chef warped, jumped, and tore itself free of its nails, sending her friends tumbling. At the same time, the rigging exploded to life and grabbed the crew, lifting them up or tying them down, constricting their hands and arms and throats. Up in the sails, the lines of rope twisted themselves into expansive nets and fell over the deck.

Olbus forced himself to his feet against the onslaught, and focused on Minerva. A mound of debris on deck flew towards the defiant boatswain as a sail calmly reached down to pick it up, like the gloved hand of an invisible giant. Metal strapping cracked and folded as Olbus caught the largest piece, and the boards beneath his feet creaked and buckled when he raised his arms to interrupt a boom that descended from overhead. Large bruises formed immediately on his elbows and chest, and nets followed the attack, but he escaped their grasp using the remnants of the barrel as a shield.

Then he surged forward. Every binding between him and his quarry did its best to slow his approach, and failed. The Skyraker kicked and rolled while Gunner and the twins writhed in the rigging, choking to death. Cords snapped, boards broke, and still, Olbus pushed forward.

Minerva screamed her command one last time, but the voice that resounded through the wilds was not her own. It was deep and terrible. The voice of a ship that rattled its planks and beams across each other to form a terrible bellow in the hollows of its hull.

"No," Olbus replied with a sneer. "You give her back." With a final thrust, the barrier broke and he plunged into Minerva, tackling her in a tight embrace. "Take the helm!" he shouted at Captain Glass, who cowered on the stairs.

Minerva thrashed under the weight of the man that pinned her down, throwing barrels and beams and ropes at him from all directions. Wide and wicked bruises appeared all over his body, but he refused to let go. His face pressed up next to Minerva, hugging her tightly. Captain Glass struggled to hold the rudder in position as the wheel fought for control against him.

Unable to break free, Minerva cried out in pain. She screamed until her scream became a wail, and her wail became a sob, and she sobbed until all that remained of her fury was a young girl crying with all her heart.

Olbus held Minerva close until she was finally quiet and he felt her wrap her arms around him for comfort. He wreathed her in her cloak, dried her tears, and waited until she returned to him at last.

In a dim room that smelled of cinnamon and candle wax, Lintumen sat back in his seat and dropped his strings to the table. He looked down at an open book displaying the portrait of a beautiful frigate, crowned in brass trim and painted a striking blue and white.

"And so, the hand of courage has lifted the veil of doubt, and the road becomes clear. I am forced to wonder, however. Did you choose the Skyraker, or did she choose you?"

Chapter 74

Bruised Apples

"You want to talk about it?"

A badly bruised and injured Captain Apples looked over at his partner and employer, Captain Black. Bandages lined his arms, one ear was missing, and both his legs were in splints.

"We just did what we always do. Some cover fire to drive them below deck. If they don't stay down, we weigh them down."

Captain Black surveyed the wreckage of the Arbalest. Not a single board of it remained intact. "But this, Captain. How did this happen?"

"I don't know. They had someone at the helm and they swiped us once. Not too bad, I say, and we got the lines on it after that. Fletch caught the flank, and then it was as if the ship came alive. We couldn't get it under control, and we couldn't break free. It thrashed as hard as a gull in a net. I've never seen a ship move like that."

The nefarious captain stroked his beard thoughtfully, appraising the state of his friend. "Get some rest. I'll go after them."

"Go after them?" Captain Apples moved to stand, but his injured legs wouldn't allow it. "Cloudscorch went up like a flare when you set it against them. The Arbalest and the Ballistae are in ruins. Ruins! When is it enough, Black? When is it time to give up?" Apples lost his focus and his voice wandered. "The Ballistae is gone. Fletch is—gone."

"Then it is my errand to complete. I will not risk any more men that are unwilling. The Phoenix will carry the survivors to the nearest port and I will send a ship to collect you."

"What did he do, Captain? What was so bad that you would toss your whole fleet to ruin for revenge?"

"He took something very important from me. I want him to suffer for it."

"Is that it? Plunder? You risk life and limb for the sake of a trinket?"

Captain Black's face reformed the scowl that most often graced it, and Captain Apples looked away under the realization that he had just crossed a line.

"He took far more than a trinket, Apples. He took something that I cannot get back, and I will bring all the hells to his doorstep if I must. Get on the Phoenix. Your legs will mend. We can replace your ship. You will fly again."

Black turned his back to his friend and walked away, but Apples didn't move to follow.

"No, I don't think I will. I will go with you to port, but from there, we are finished. I hope luck finds you, sir. You're going to need it."

Chapter 75

Mirror Mirror

Olbus eased open the door to his cabin, carrying a plate of hot food in his hand. The bowl from the morning still sat beside Minerva on the floor, untouched. For a time, he considered leaving without speaking, but the profound loneliness that suffused the space prompted him to act.

"Is she still there?" he asked, standing beside Minerva and exchanging the old bowl for the new one.

Minerva sat with her knees pulled in tight to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. She stared blank-faced at the image of a weary girl in a full-length mirror. Sometimes she flicked her toes.

"Is who still there?" she asked, speaking for the first time in three days.

Olbus moved to her side, looking down at her reflection. "The scared little girl."

"No. She's gone."

Olbus lowered himself to the floor, sitting exactly as Minerva sat, adding his own solemn reflection to the mirror. "What do you see now?"

"A murderer."

It was a heavy word. A powerful word. Olbus gave it time to disperse, and then he stretched his arm out and pointed at the Olbus in the mirror. "He's a murderer, too, because he broke a promise."

"What promise?" Minerva asked, looking only into her own eyes.

"The promise to be a good man. He promised someone he loved very much that he would care for her, and never leave her. But he did leave her, and he lost her, because he broke that promise."

"What did he do after that?"

"He let anger consume him, and he became obsessed with revenge."

"Is that why he became a pirate?"

"No. He became a pirate because it was already too late to be anything else."

"Why can't he go back? Why was it too late?"

"Because it is too late to forgive. Too late to forget. For a long time, all he felt was regret. However, one day he met someone very special who taught him that it was not too late for some things. That if he wanted, he could still be a good man."

Minerva leaned her head over onto Olbus' shoulder and he put his arm around her. "What does he feel now?"

"Sadness. Fear. And always regret."

"Why?"

"Sadness, because he cannot give a very special girl everything that she deserves. Fear, because he knows that sometimes he cannot protect her. And regret, because he has learned far too late what it means to be a good man."

"Is that all he feels?"

"Sometimes, in rare moments when he is the most vulnerable, and only if he permits it, he feels hope."

"What moments?"

Olbus turned down to face her and waited for her to look him in the eyes. "When she smiles."

Minerva felt a single ray of light pierce the complete darkness of her saddened heart, and she smiled back. "Does it ever go away? The regret."

"No," he sighed. "Regret is like a scar on the minds of good people. It fades with time, but it never heals."

Chapter 76

Drawing a Line

After four days, Olbus refused to bring Minerva food. He said, as kindly as he could, that the crew was very worried about her, and that hiding from them was only worrying them further. Therefore, she found herself in the galley, arriving late to a very quiet dinner.

A suffocating silence overtook the galley as Minerva entered, stifling even the scent of the freshly cooked meal. Every sailor observed her intently, but indirectly, as she took her tin plate from the pile and went to get her food.

Big Jim said nothing while he loaded it, and as she turned to seek a seat, she saw the twins at their table. They sat with a gap between them, beckoning her over with a friendly face and a warm hand. When she sat, they went back to eating. After a time, they all went back to eating. Nobody wanted to be the first to say anything, so no one said anything. In time, the dinner dispersed and the sailors went to the places that off-duty sailors go. Minerva went to the crow's nest.

Nezzen gave Minerva a broad smile as she climbed into his home. She hadn't brought her hairbrush, and he didn't ask for it.

"Thank you for your help," she said, after carefully considering how to start the conversation.

Nezzen nodded. "You looked like you could use it."

"Was it that obvious?"

"No, but what kind of lookout would I be if I didn't see what others could not?" Nezzen always employed a totally deadpan delivery on his jokes, and they fit her mood just right.

"I was really scared," she said. "I thought I was going to die. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"You would have done everything you could think of because that is who you are. You are the type of person that suppresses their courage, rather than rallies it."

"The more I hear about it, the more that courage sounds like a fancy explanation for a poorly executed plan that borders on stupidity."

"There's a fine line between bravery and stupidity."

"Oh? What is it?"

"Success."

"Ha! So, the line is drawn only once you've crossed it?"

"Precisely. And since you're still sitting here, I would say you haven't crossed it yet."

"Is it not possible to be brave and still fail?"

"It is. But that is a far harder line to find."

"I think you're just making things up, now."

"Maybe. Maybe I'm just saying whatever I think will make you happy."

"Well, not to encourage you too much, but it might be working."

Nezzen opened the belly of the tiny stove and eased another piece of wood into the coals. He really did have everything up here. Everything except his friends.

"Here, I have something for you," Nezzen said, as he opened a sack and withdrew a large ball of thin strands, all wound together. It had a solid brown color to it.

Minerva took the ball from his hand. It was soft, wiry and light. She recognized it immediately, but feared acknowledging the truth. "Where did you get this?" she asked.

"From the sails, after the spiders were gone. I thought it was silk when I first found it, but it's not. Bundles of it streamed from the shrouds, and interspersed the threads of the sailcloth. It's in the wood around the helm. On the gun deck. In the galley. Jim says the men are finding it in the dark corners of the hold, between the layers of the hull and all throughout the boards. It is a completely new part of the ship, never seen before. Now it's everywhere, binding the Skyraker together. It's the only reason we are still able to fly."

Minerva felt the strands carefully, caressing it and brushing it with her palms. "What would have happened if nobody came to rescue me?"

"I don't know. But I know someone who does."

Lintumen, she thought, and she sighed, fearful of how that conversation would go.

"Have you spoken to him yet?" Nezzen asked.

Minerva hung her head and tried to pretend that she didn't know what Nezzen meant. "I'm afraid to," she said, when her efforts failed to dodge his question.

"He will try to help you, Minerva. I promise."

"I know. That's exactly what I'm afraid of."

Minerva felt the fuzz in her hands a few more times, stretching and squeezing it between her fingers. There was no mistaking what she was holding. The color. The texture. It was a massive tangle of her own hair.

Chapter 77

The Navigator

Lintumen beckoned Minerva into his cabin, motioning for her to sit at the table in the opposite chair. She could see that he had been waiting for her to arrive, possibly for quite some time. After she sat, he didn't immediately say anything. He merely held a triumphant expression, making her wish that she could crawl out of her own skin and hide behind it.

"Good evening, my dear. You come seeking answers, of course. I must say, you have impressed me."

Minerva felt her temper rise. He said it like it was a good thing.

"Please, ask away, and I will gladly answer your inquiries."

Minerva contemplated what she wanted to ask and considered the responses she might elicit. "How do I stop being a magician?" she finally said, in a very pointed way.

Lintumen balked and stuttered on his words. "You don't want to be a magician?"

"No. I don't want it."

"You desire to be—less than you are?" he asked, and a profound confusion wrinkled his brow.

"I don't want to know about magic," she said, a lump of regret choked her throat. "I don't want to be that kind of tailor. I don't want to be able to change the world on a whim. I don't want assassins of shadow trying to recruit me into their murderous councils. I don't want to fly ships with my mind, or kill sailors by only thinking about it! I don't want to know how any of this works! I don't! Want! Any of it!"

With every word, Minerva's voice grew in strength and volume, until at last she was standing rather than sitting, and was screaming with all her might into Lintumen's startled face. Minerva breathed deeply, attempting to calm herself, but remained on her feet.

"I just want to be ordinary," she begged.

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"It is possible!" Minerva slammed her hands upon the table with enough force to bounce and scatter the contents. "You said I could do anything if I could imagine it! How do I go back?"

Lintumen had never looked so defeated. "I suppose, if you can convince yourself—that is, truly convince yourself—then I suppose." Lintumen tapped his fingers idly on the table, following the grooves and avoiding her eyes. "Then I suppose you have."

"That's it? Just like everything else, I just need to believe?"

"That's all there ever is."

Minerva eased back into her seat, awash with relief. "I'm scared, Lintumen."

Lintumen didn't reply. Perhaps out of fear himself.

"I killed those men because I couldn't control it. It felt like I was fading away. I could see and hear, but it was different. Everything far away was dull and grey, and everything close to me was bright and terrifying. I could move things without touching them, and do things without being there. But I couldn't control it. All I felt was anger, and it took me over. I've never been so scared." Minerva pulled out the weave of hair that Nezzen had given her and put it on the table. "I don't want to feel that way ever again. I never want to be able to do that."

Lintumen lifted the hair from the table and held it thoughtfully in his hands, pulling it apart and poking a hole in its center before pushing it back together again. "Do you know what a bezoar is?"

Minerva shook her head.

"It's a collection of indigestible material that develops in the stomachs of many creatures. They can be composed of many things, although hair is certainly one of the most common. In many cultures, a bezoar is said to capture demonic spirits and absorb unwanted emotions."

Lintumen ceased toying with the mass in his hands and turned it over to her.

"Sometimes, a thing that is not a person can have a will of its own. Much like the magical sword stowed in your bun, this permits the object to perform its own kind of magic, in its own way. Rarely do we experience such a will directly, but it can manifest openly, if the will is strong enough. Often it is an obscure thing, such as a series of events that over time form a pattern. Those who witness the pattern are likely to label it a curse."

Minerva recalled the way that Velvet could appear as different objects to different people, without any assistance.

"Do you remember when you asked me about Velvet's ghost, and I told you about the equality of will?"

Minerva nodded.

"Usually this equality is a good thing, but as with most of the mystical arts, a darker side does exist. Objects with a will of their own are just like people, in that they have emotions of their own. They have fears and desires, just as we do. They can love and hate, just as strongly, and when those emotions align with the emotions of a nearby person, it becomes possible for the two to merge. When they are both afraid. When they are both angry. When they both have the same, single-minded, all-consuming desire for freedom. Eventually, one person, and one object, become a single being. In all cases, however, only one form can remain, and sometimes a whole new form is born, amalgamated from its predecessors. It becomes a question of who has the stronger will to persist."

Minerva frowned, trying to understand his lesson. "Are you saying that the Skyraker was trying to eat me?"

"In a sense, yes. Both of you were fighting for absolute control of the other."

If not knowing something was frightening, then knowing the truth could be downright horrifying. Before her own imagination could run away from her, Lintumen interrupted her thoughts.

"However, certain parts of you are apparently very difficult to digest." Lintumen gave her a wicked smile, tainted with glee, and pointed at the brown matted mess of hair on the table. "By my estimate, your troublesome mane has always carried an incredible will of its own, and that may very well be what saved you. The Skyraker, strong as it is, was trying to absorb two wills, not one."

Minerva couldn't help but stare. For all the struggle and strife her own biology had inflicted upon her, when she really needed a savior, there it was.

"I suggest that you keep that. Put it under your pillow and it should absorb your fears and regrets, and keep at bay any shadowy nightmares that come to call."

Minerva stuffed the furry beast back into her pocket. It was the least she could do, if even half of what Lintumen was telling her was true.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," she said, wanting to apologize right away.

"No room for more regrets, my dear?"

"Please don't mock me when I'm being sincere."

"Ah, now I am the one who is regretful. My apologies. I must ask, however, what are you planning to do? I have never known a magician that eliminated their own power. Admittedly, that could be because none have ever done it, or it could be because they were so successful that nobody knows they succeeded."

"I don't know. I'm just scared, is all. What good is power if you can't control it?"

Lintumen sat and pondered for a moment, and then stood up and walked over to the far wall. "You do what must be done. You learn to control it." At that, he pulled a large needle from his pocket and pushed it against the wall with a show of effort. "Come, look through here."

Minerva went over to where he was standing, but couldn't see anything. He merely pointed at a tiny dot on the wall.

"Nothing? Let me make it bigger." Lintumen pushed again with extraordinary effort, grunting and twisting his wrist like a drill. When he pulled back, a tiny pinprick of light shone through the wall. "Better?"

Minerva put her eye to the hole, and was delighted to see a pinhole view of the mountains on the horizon.

"Do you see that city in the distance?" he asked.

Minerva shook her head.

"An order of magnitude may improve that, then. One moment, my dear."

Returning to his table, Lintumen retrieved his loupe—the small magnifying lens popular among jewelers—and then placed the loupe against the wall, indicating for Minerva to look through. When she did, the landscape certainly appeared bigger, but no city came into view.

"I see," Lintumen said with a sigh. "Perhaps it is best that I demonstrate the full apparatus. Hold this in place, please."

Minerva held the small lens against the wall while Lintumen hammered two nails into the wood beside it, but only enough for them to stick. Then he tied the lens in place with a string that he wound around the nails. Next, he went to the opposite side of the cabin, where a patch of light glimmered on the opposing wall, and he pushed his clutter away to make room for a standing mirror that reflected the light into Minerva's eyes. From a case on a shelf, he acquired a crystal in the shape of a teardrop attached to a string. He then hung the crystal directly before the mirror, which caused rainbow patterns to dance and spin around the walls.

"You're not afraid of heights, are you?" Lintumen asked, as he moved a waist-height wooden stand to the center of the room. In his other hand, he held an intricate magnifying glass that looked suspiciously like the one destroyed in the plummite incident.

"Not really, I—" Minerva began to say, but failed to find the words when Lintumen clamped the magnifying glass into the stand in the path of the light.

The walls, the floor, the ceiling, and the entirety of the Skyraker vanished as the landscape of the area washed across the walls with such absolute perfection that it was like standing on nothing. Minerva's heart leaped into her throat and the discomforting sense of falling gripped her body. She stumbled to the floor and kicked backwards on the hard, flat nothingness until she almost bowled Lintumen over.

Lintumen retrieved a sextant from the table and turned his attention to the sky, although it looked to Minerva as though he reached into empty air and a sextant materialized in his hand. He flicked his wrists a few times, as if he was cleaning a dusty shelf, and the clouds in the sky were swept over the horizon and out of sight. The brightness of the sun flooded the cabin until Lintumen placed a darkened sheet of glass over the mirror against the wall; daylight transformed into nighttime, as the sun disappeared and all the twinkling stars came out.

"Ah, much better. See there, that really bright star?" Lintumen pointed into the sky and waited for Minerva to acknowledge him. "That's the Pole Star," he said, while peering through the eyepiece of his sextant, adjusting its angle. "Hero, then, should be over—" Lintumen interrupted his sentence to reference a book, and after running his finger down a table of numbers, took hold of the teardrop prism and rotated it, causing the landscape to spin wildly. "—there."

When Lintumen shifted the position of the magnifying glass on the stand, what was at best a meaningless speck in the distance rocketed forward to fill Minerva's view. In doing so, he revealed the flying acorn-shaped city of Hero.

Layer upon layer of wood and stone stacked high into the air to form the city, bulging and flexing with every new addition that had been applied to the massive structure. Hundreds of sails pulled up on thick chains spread around a wide plateau of courtyards, parapets, fountains, and walkways, that accented the flying metropolis. Public stores bigger than Waxley's, and monstrous manor houses that dwarfed the trees around them, all huddled together, while a river of gardens and interwoven streets meandered between their eaves. A network of bridges crisscrossed the landscape, completely disregarding the conventions of elevation, with houses and parks sometimes crouched like trolls beneath bridges, or docks and piers laid upon rooftops.

At the very peak of the floating island, a white marble citadel dominated the already marvelous skyline. Below the city, a raging thunderhead sparked and flashed, sending bolts of lightning into long chains and anchors that dangled from the bottom of the city, gathering the power of the storm on which the whole city sat like a queen on her throne.

Minerva found her voice as it struggled to escape her gasping chest. "That's Hero?"

"Beautiful, isn't it? A shining jewel in the skies. Undeniable proof that ingenuity, creativity, and imagination can surmount any obstacle. This is what we magicians can accomplish when we master our power."

Minerva found her way to her feet and stepped forward with her arm stretched out in front of her. Hero loomed large in her vision, as if she could be there by simply stepping out of the sky and onto its endless piers. She wanted to be there. She wanted to feel it, and smell it.

Then she found the wall, the room reasserted its own existence, and reality smacked her on the bottom as she fell backwards. In her tumble, she knocked away the stand in the middle of the cabin, destroying the illusion.

A troubled expression remained transfixed upon Lintumen, and when he turned to speak to her, the lines of his face pinched with worry. "Did you see those ships with the white flags flying in formation?"

Minerva nodded. She had seen many ships, but a vast fleet of warships formed a halo that surrounded the city. They all flew the same white flag and their hulls were painted the same vibrant white.

Lintumen drew a heavy breath. "I must inform the captain. A change of course is required."

"Why? What are those ships?"

"The White Fleet. The queen's navy of the Linoran Empire has formed a blockade."

"Who are they?"

Lintumen paused as though he intended to reply, but then went to a shelf and searched through the titles, scanning down the rows with a bony, outstretched index finger. When he found the tome he sought, he laid it open upon the table, revealing a map.

"This is Vangal," he said, pointing at a small patch of territory, no bigger than a coin. It was nestled between the imposing Divara mountains on one side, and a vast sea on the other. "And this is Linora."

Lintumen pointed at the page, moving away from Vangal towards sunset on the map. However, upon deciding that he needed a less precise method of indication, spread out his fingers and gestured with his palm in the vague direction of almost everything that was not Vangal.

Minerva felt her skin grow cold, fearing the direction of the conversation. "They're our enemy, aren't they?" she asked.

Lintumen returned his characteristic grin, but a deeper sense of sadness distorted its edges. "The skies of Vangal are an extremely valuable shipping lane. Traffic from the Sunrise Ports and the Provinces, and even more distant destinations, must travel through the Vangal Corridor if they are to reach Linora."

"And we steal from them," Minerva concluded.

Lintumen nodded, and his eyes twinkled as a grin swept across his face. "To enter Hero now would be suicide."

Chapter 78

Meeting of the Minds

When Lintumen informed Captain Glass about the presence of the White Fleet, the captain called an emergency meeting, inviting only a select few. Those chosen gathered in the captain's cabin, but the rumor spread quickly, and the whole of the crew arrived on deck. So instead, the meeting moved to the galley.

Captain Glass stood on a table to address his men. "Sailors of the Skyraker, a matter of some importance has come to my attention. As such, we will be discussing the future course of our ship and exactly how we are to deal with the challenges that we will be facing as a result."

The crew murmured back and forth. The lack of details in the statement aggravated them. "What happened to Hero?" a man in the back called out.

"There is a prevailing condition in the city of Hero right now that prevents our entry."

"Out with it! What's in Hero?" a different man shouted.

Captain Glass looked about nervously. "The White Fleet has formed a blockade." A stampede of voices burst forth, and Glass was forced to speak over them. "I know this looks bad but we have been through worse scrapes before."

"Like what?" and "since when?" were the two most common sentiments.

Captain Glass wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. "We simply need to find another course. There are other ports where we can repair."

"Where?" Spit snarled at him from the front of the crowd. "What other course do we have? Back the way we came, into the waiting cannons of the Phoenix? How about across the range, cutting against the wind the entire way, until we're circled in by the rest of his fleet? Or maybe we'll fly through the endless squalls that cap the mountains this time of year? The White Fleet is as much of a death sentence as any of them!"

Many voices spoke out in agreement, and Captain Glass stuttered and balked, forming and ceasing countless sentences in the span of a few seconds. The longer it took him to speak, the more riled the crew became.

The twins attempted to usher Minerva from the room. "You should – get out of here," they whispered, but she resisted. "There's mutiny on the rise. You need to leave." Their words meant nothing. Something told her that she couldn't leave. An unspoken will that bubbled in the back of her thoughts.

Minerva found herself standing on the table beside Captain Glass before she even realized that she put herself there. As she stood before the crowd, an anxious feeling tingled in her scalp, as if her hair was being brushed. She had grown accustomed to doubting the voice in her mind, but this time it said nothing in objection. If the crew mutinied, it would be useless to hide, and things were escalating fast.

"Death by lightning!" she shouted.

Over one hundred angry men shifted quietly where they stood, transfixing their attention upon her.

"Why should we follow a witch?" Spit growled, while he worked up a good gob in his throat.

"Because I'm the pirate with the biggest mark in this room," she shot back. "Because I'm the one whose hair is growing in the walls. Because I can summon my shadow to kill for me! Because I'm a witch! Because I said so! Because if you don't, then death has already found you."

Minerva eased forward on the table as she spoke, emphasizing each statement with a rising crescendo of power. Somewhere down the hall, a porthole blew open and a frigid wind careened through the galley; it tossed her clothes recklessly and snuffed several lamps as it passed.

Outnumbered more than one hundred to one, Minerva leaned into the hatred directed upon her, and in response to her advances, the crew stepped back.

"There is no winning choice," she urged. "We are gambling with our lives. So, do we bet on one of three certain losses, or do we choose the one option, that no matter the odds, might win it all? I have seen Hero with my own eyes. An entire city seated atop a thunderstorm. There is no reason that our ship cannot do the same. All you need to do is stand behind your captain, as you have so many times before. Together we can weather any storm. We are brave. We are strong. We are the unclaimed!"

Chapter 79

A Nameless Gift

"I can't believe – they didn't mutiny!"

Luff hauled Minerva in close and hugged her hard, rubbing his knuckles on her head at the same time.

"Ow, stop it!" she protested, shoving him off and straightening her bun.

"Ye really had us riled, girl! I felt the fury of the heavens in yer voice! Do ye honestly think we can do it?" Big Jim asked.

Minerva held her head up high and smiled with confidence. "Of course. I can fly a whole ship by myself. A thunderstorm is nothing."

"How do we do it?"

"We do what Hero does. We catch the lightning."

The gathering of men questioned if such a thing was even possible for their ship.

"Tell me about the White Fleet," Minerva said, changing the topic.

"What's to tell?" Gunner asked rhetorically. "They hang pirates without a trial."

"Okay, but how would they even know that we're pirates?"

Gunner pointed at the scar that marked his exposed chest, inducing a mild wave of panic in Minerva. The mark of a pirate wasn't just an oath, it was an admission of guilt to the judges of the White Fleet.

"What are they doing in Hero?" she asked.

"They serve the queen of Linora, and Hero is controlled by the Linoran Empire, even though it's in our sky. There aren't any restrictions on entry, but their laws still apply. If you're marked, you hang. Normally they don't search the crews, but sometimes they set up blockades."

"Why?"

"To assert their dominance," Jim said, revealing his spite. "And because they can."

"Why were we going there, if it's that dangerous?"

"It's like ye said. How would they know we're pirates? Well, some sailors, and some ships, are too famous. Captain Black and the Phoenix, they'd know 'im on sight. He can't get in, but we could."

Minerva nodded at the men and smiled, feeling camaraderie in their company. Despite the many differences among them, they shared the same plight.

The next twenty-four hours afforded little sleep and no rest for the crew of the Skyraker. Every hand worked fastidiously to ready the ship for what was certain to be their most perilous journey. The plan Minerva put forth was to use the flagpole as a lightning rod, and by stringing long lines of silk rope between the rod and the sails, they could fish for a lightning strike. To combat the winds and the rain in the squall, every sail on every mast was rigged with a hammer sail, and numerous kites lay waiting on the deck, tethered to the rails.

Minerva carefully estimated the number of lightning strikes required to launch the Skyraker up through the top of the storm. She considered the factors of size and weight, comparing them against the size and weight of a city like Hero. Then she mentally appraised the spiders of the Loftwood and the force of their sparks propelling the ship upward. Although the extensive notable factors affected her estimate, in the end, she arrived at a decisive conclusion.

One.

In fact, by her estimate, they'd be lucky if it didn't just tear the masts off and snap the lines that held down the hammers. The crew tripled the yardage on every sail, as a precaution.

As the day wore on, the air grew cold and the sky darkened. Luff and Leech said that it was always the same this time of year. Few ships ever challenged the squall-riddled passes of the mountains.

"How long until we get there?" Minerva asked Nezzen, sitting on a boom outside his nest. It was almost nightfall, yet even in the waning twilight, she could see the rolling storms in the distance.

"About twelve hours. Sometime around noon tomorrow, at the latest. I wouldn't sleep too soundly, though. Those storms move fast."

Minerva shivered in the chill, so she joined Nezzen in his home, soaking up the warmth of his tiny stove. "You're going to climb down before we enter the storm, right?"

"Of course."

"Good. Do you need any help?"

"No, I'll be fine."

Minerva smiled at her friend. "I've been wondering, why do they call you Nezzen?"

"Way back, it was just Nesting. Pirate tongues are lazy, though, and soon it was Nestin', then Nessen, then just Nezzen."

Nezzen patted the floor in front of him and held out his hand. Minerva gave him the brush and sat down, taking in the beauty of the wealth all around. "Are you really going to just give this all away?"

Scritch went the brush as it filtered through Minerva's hair.

"I think so. I want to give it to someone special, though. Someone who will respect it."

"I told you, I'm not taking it."

"Fine, fine. I tried. There is one thing, however, that I will not allow you to refuse?"

"Oh?"

One last scritch went through before Nezzen put the brush down. Then he grasped Minerva's hair in his fingers and twisted it in circles, forming an extremely tight bun. The result clung to Minerva's crown, strong and neat, far more effectively than any technique she knew.

"How did you know how to do that?" she asked.

"I have a daughter," he said.

"That's why you always want to brush my hair, isn't it?"

Nezzen stayed his hand, mid stroke. "It is. Every night before bed, I brushed her hair. I hope that I haven't upset you, to use you in her place."

"Not at all, I don't mind. I enjoy it. Where is she?"

"In the empire, with her mother. Long ago, I provided them with funds from my exploits. As the empire tightened their borders, and I could no longer freely travel to see them, I lost the ability to transfer my wealth. And so, I hoarded what I could, always intending to send my spoils their way."

"Why haven't you?"

"At this point, I don't even know where they live. I haven't seen them in over twenty years. My daughter will be old enough to have given birth to grandchildren by now."

A melancholic state overcame Minerva, and she desired to know a great deal more about the man that had become her friend. "Nezzen, what's your real name?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to know your story, and I hate nicknames. Mine is the worst."

Minerva let him take his time in deciding if he wanted to share or not.

"Ezra."

"That's a nice name," she commented.

Nezzen cleared his throat, indicating an end to a conversation that she didn't expect to encounter.

Chapter 80

Storm Chaser

Squints burst into the cabin of Captain Black, interrupting the huge man as he read charts at the table.

"What is it, Squints?"

"Th' Skyraker, sir. They headin' into th' squalls!"

Captain Black thundered out onto the expansive deck of the Phoenix, spyglass in hand. At the fore of the ship, he yanked the lens out to scan the horizon. Cool winds blowing down off the mountain slowed their pace dramatically, so the Skyraker lingered within sight. When his eyes focused on the tiny blue hull of his quarry, he ground his teeth and cussed.

"That daft fool is gonna fly right into it."

Squints grinned his wicked, face-distorting grin. "Pro'lem solv'd then, aye cap'n?"

"No Squints, it's not!"

The small man recoiled in fear at the impressive boom in the captain's tone.

"Take us around the rock and into Fly Stone Pass. We'll cut them off before they enter Rahama."

"We could lose the ship in that pass, sir."

"Do it anyway!"

Squints swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "What if they fly 'nother way, sir?"

"They won't. Captain Glass is a coward. He's running out of luck, and he knows it. If they survive that storm, he's going to take the safest route to the closest port that he can find."

Chapter 81

Victory Smile

"Okay, Mr. Barrister, where do I start?"

Minerva looked down at the coils of rope laid out before her. There was probably enough in the room to go from the top of the mainmast to the deck and back about twenty times. Twice what she figured the ship needed. A stack of her own clothing lay behind her, as Lintumen hinted that she would probably need it. Her goal was to transform the hemp rope into silk rope, a feat necessary for her plan to work.

"I usually start by closing my eyes," Lintumen said. "If seeing is believing, then allow the belief to begin in the eye of your mind."

Minerva closed her eyes and knelt on the floor in front of a hefty spool of rope. "Now what?"

"This is where the difficulty begins, and there are a few important considerations. First, repetition builds expectation. Such as when you stretched the rope in front of the crew. It worked because you expected it to not pull tight, and everyone else expected it to stay with the captain. The only option left was for the rope to stretch. In that regard, think of an act that will build expectation in your mind."

Minerva furrowed her brow in confusion. "I can't think of anything," she said.

"Let's identify your best senses, then. Imagine that you're in your cabin. What's the first thing you remember?"

"The straw mattress. It's prickly, and the smell reminds me of horses."

"What is the first thing you think of when I mention the galley?"

"Onions. Everything smells like onions, and the floorboards always feel warm from so many feet."

"The common deck?"

"Tobacco smoke and body heat."

"My cabin?"

"Cinnamon and candle wax, and your soft sheets."

"The rigging?"

"The grain of the spars between my toes and the feel of the woolen broom; and the scent of fresh air, of course."

"Well, this is easy. You identify your memories most strongly with scent and touch. Olfactory and tactile, if I wanted to be professional."

Olfactory sounded like a neat word, she thought.

"Think of a way to use those senses to build up your expectations."

Minerva contemplated Lintumen's advice. With her eyes closed, she experienced almost everything as touch or smell, so she began by picking up the rope in front of her. Her fingers felt the sturdy winding ridges that formed its spiral, the loose hairs that pricked her skin, and the burning sting of running it over her palm too quickly. Then she held it to her nose, inhaling the scent of the fibers and the musty odor of the hold in which it had been sitting for many months.

In contrast to the rope, Minerva retrieved a blouse from the pile of silken articles behind her, and enjoyed the infinitely smooth softness of it gliding through her hands. When she sniffed it, it reminded her of soapsuds and a fresh spring day.

"They're very different," she said.

"So, find a way to make them similar."

Minerva wrung the shirt in her hands, causing it to mimic the ridges of the rope.

"Good," Lintumen said. "Repeat that for as long as you can."

Minerva felt the rope, then the silk. Fully experiencing the coarse binding of the hemp versus the slick softness of the silk; the scent of must and fiber contrasted by cleanliness.

Rope. Countless twisting ridges.

Silk. Cool and comfortable.

Rope. Dusty.

Silk. Slippery.

The sound of Lintumen clapping startled Minerva's eyes open.

"What? What is it?"

Lintumen gestured at the rope in her hands. It was clearly made of soft, elegant silk.

"I did it!" she cried, in disbelief.

"You did. Well done."

"When did it change?"

"When I moved them around so that you picked up the rope instead of the silk, thus believing that you should be holding silk."

"You switched it? When?"

"If I tell you, it might not work next time."

Minerva's cheeks pulled back suddenly, forcing her to flash a wide smile. "Very clever, old man. Very clever, indeed."

Lintumen laughed, wearing an earnest happiness. "This time, do it yourself. Don't wait for me to interfere. Relax and choose from the articles that you have available, but not always the same two. Let go of the memory of where you release each article and concentrate only on the feel and scent. Go back and forth until you lose all certainty of the item in your possession, save for the sensations in your hands and nose."

Minerva did as he directed, switching between twisted silk clothes, silk rope, hemp rope, and back again, until she held a silk rope in her hands once again, and she opened her eyes. A second, sturdy length of beautiful, gleaming web hung between her fingers. "Did I really do that, or was that you?"

"Sometimes, my dear, you ask entirely too many questions," he scolded, more mischievous than stern. "You are sitting here rewriting the truth of reality. Why in all the heavens would ask someone else to edit the facts for you?"

"Okay, next line."

Minerva went from coil to coil, slowly converting the ropes in the room. After several hours of crawling around on her knees, her focus waned. It was taking longer and longer to transform each piece, and success became elusive.

"This is taking so long. I'm barely halfway done," she complained, stretching to unwind a muscle cramp.

Lintumen surveyed her progress through the massive tangle of lines. "How many did you start with?"

"Twenty lengths."

"You've already completed sixteen. That's far more than half."

Minerva looked back in her memory, but the details lingered in a hazy fog of uncertainty. Then she inspected the pile again. It certainly seemed like more than half, now that she took a second pass at it.

"Do you think that will be enough, my dear?"

"No," she replied with confidence, "I know that's enough."

A sudden realization dawned on Minerva, and she tallied the lines again. With one simple statement that her exhausted mind refused to refute, Lintumen had used her own interests against her; he brought about the transformation of the rope by merely contesting her ability to count.

Lintumen rewarded Minerva with a bright, victorious smile, as her discovery became apparent.

"Oh, you're good," she said.

Chapter 82

Thunderhead

A crack of thunder split the sky, washing over the crew of the Skyraker in the shadow of a looming thunderhead. The day limped towards mid-morning, but a dark and dreary world engulfed the Skyraker, concealing the sun. As they approached the storm, wild crosswinds cut through the rigging, pushing the ship off course until it could be corrected.

Minerva stood exposed to the elements on the mizzenmast, attempting to estimate the distance to the storm. The twins gave her nervous glances every now and then, dividing their attention between the riggers and the massive wall of grey and black clouds. "Riggers. To the deck," they called, less vibrantly than usual.

Minerva obeyed the order of the twins, taking her place among the crew. Numerous hammer sails lined the deck, prepped for scrubbing for the sake of lift, eliminating the need to be in the masts. She pushed her way through the crowd, from the aft of the ship to the fore, to stand with Olbus at the prow.

The Skyraker shook violently as thunder rolled over it, silencing the sailors on board, and Olbus gave her a somber look as he glanced back at the crew. Every one of them turned in her direction, but none of them looked directly at her. Rather, they looked up to the sky, the clouds, and the storm. A harsh chill lingered in the air, and many of them shook, but not for the wind that cut across their skin.

When Minerva looked at the faces of the men, she saw anxiety and uncertainty. When she looked into their eyes, she saw nothing but fear.

"Why does the last line of the oath say to die with a smile?" she asked, turning back to Olbus.

"The oath is a declaration of freedom," Olbus replied. "Freedom from a war that has plagued this country for decades. When the only life you've ever known is conflict, death is the only freedom."

Another crash interrupted Olbus as he spoke, and the Skyraker shook as the ultimate terror of the skies burnt white hot in their vision. Several of the crew cried out in panic.

"To die with a smile is to die by choice," Olbus continued. "Not because of a war that someone else started."

The hair on Minerva's neck stood on end, and the scent of fresh rainfall assailed her nose.

Up ahead, lightning flashed and ripped through the body of the bestial cloud, echoing across the plains and quieting the tiny men on their floating island. Darkened skies went bright as day in brief blinding moments of clarity, sending the sails of the ship thrashing on their tethers, like chained animals desperate to escape their fate. Every bolt and binding in the whole of the Skyraker strained beneath the power of the thunderous roar, as though it understood the torture that awaited it.

Except the course was set, and the rudder held fast. The crew remained at their stations on the deck as the storm grew larger within their view, until at last the bowsprit of the Skyraker pierced the body of the cloud. Soundless and smooth, the thunderhead washed over the ship, seeping into every tiny crack and engulfing every surface, sequestering the ship from the world outside. Terror, absolute and undeniable, clawed its way into the heart of every man aboard as the terrible titan of the skies swallowed their insignificant vessel.

It was as though death itself had opened its arms to welcome them into its embrace.

Chapter 83

Courage and Sacrifice

Hailstones crashed down on Minerva's exposed neck and back, hammering her skin and freezing to her hair. She swept a kite at the aft of the deck, scrubbing until her arms and lungs burned. Horrifying blasts of thunder and lightning tore through the skies around the ship, as if a furious beast was throwing its deadly breath into every cloud. The world pulsed in and out of existence in response, and when the ship fell without warning the men did the same, but Minerva never saw them fall; they were on their feet and then not. Up above, the wind tore across the sails, hurtling the ship in all directions as the crew scrambled to compensate. Then the rain came down in sheets, washing across the deck, so deep that Minerva's ankles froze beneath the tide.

Minerva turned her head up to the tiny rod held high upon the mast, sick with the feeling that the storm was alive and trying to kill them. The iron pole stood in place, dangling its silken streamers throughout the ship, luring the thunderhead to bite.

"All we need is one," she pleaded to herself.

As they pushed deeper into the storm, powerful winds transformed the falling water into driving sleet. Captain Glass and the riggers on deck fought to control the lift, but a violent updraft tore several kites off the port side, and Minerva felt the ship list and sink. Sailors ran to secure the broken lines as the Skyraker writhed in the air, but the lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and a massive, black shape swam through the mists.

The Skyraker heaved as the crest of a mountain ridge tore through its hull. At the same time, violent winds ensnared the kites on the high side, threatening to capsize the ship, until Luff and Leech cut them loose.

Minerva watched in despair as the flickering reflection of the sails sprinted upwards into the darkness. Like every other sailor, she stood breathless, and her thoughts and muscles seized, frozen by the intense cold.

"You're trying to kill us, aren't you?"

Minerva spun to see a sailor behind her with tears streaming down his cheeks. She didn't recognize him.

"What did we ever do to you?" he begged, coming towards her.

"It's not me!" she shouted, as she took a step back, but a powerful wind silenced her voice. As it blustered through the men, it picked up loose ropes and articles on deck and flung them overboard. When Minerva opened her eyes, the man was gone, likely blown to his death over the edge.

"What in the hells was that?" another man whispered, wide-eyed, while the others around him stared at her in horror.

The anxiety of them singling her out of the crowd chilled her further. "It's not me! It's just a storm!" she yelled, but her protests meant nothing. They had seen something that she hadn't.

Minerva was about to repeat her claim when lightning rippled up the side of the ship behind her, leaving a trail of thunder in its wake that shredded the sails and sent splinters of wood raining down. A foggy image remained burned into the eyes that gazed upon it, still visible against the black backdrop of the sky. The image lingered in the eye, winking into existence each time a person blinked. To Minerva, its shape reminded her of a bird.

"What was – that thing?" the twins cried out, and they gave Minerva a concerned look that lingered a little too long.

"It's not me—" she said, for a third time, but trailed off as realization dawned.

Minerva turned to the clouds that now crackled and sparked without pausing, showering the deck in dim light. In the darkness beyond, an immense form swam through the clouds. She could hear the low rumble of its passage tumbling through the air around her. "It's us," she whispered.

"It's what?" Luff asked.

"Our fear is making it real," Minerva explained, but the twins didn't understand what she meant. "We need to get out of here or the storm really will be alive!"

Minerva barely finished her sentence when something burst upward from the depths of the squall, striking the keel of the Skyraker. It rushed down the length of the ship, thrusting it upwards before hauling it back down. Sailors, sails, and rigging flew from the deck and down into the darkness. If not for the twins gripping her leg, Minerva might have been among them.

"All hands to cover!" Olbus bellowed, ordering the sailors below deck, just as he had done in the forest.

A second assault from the thunderhead pushed the Skyraker nearly on its side while the men hurried into safety. Powerful winds whipped everywhere, and the ship creaked and groaned as it twisted in unnatural directions.

"Get to cover!" Olbus commanded once more, as the last of the crew stumbled below deck.

Minerva lingered near the mainmast, disobeying the command as Captain Glass rushed past her. She turned her face to the sky, allowing the wind and freezing rain to wash down her cheeks. "Do it!" she screamed at the heavens, feeling the numbness in her lips. Her chest tightened as her anxiety swelled, imagining that the rod atop the mast had fallen off, but she couldn't see it from the deck. "Just one," she pleaded.

Then the monster in the darkness exhaled hell into the world, revealing the worst of Minerva's fears. The rod dangled loose, whipping freely as the ship swayed. Their only spark of hope was snuffed. A lightning strike now would tear the ship apart.

Minerva ran for the shrouds, while howling winds thrashed the ropes. As she gripped the first of the rain-slicked stirrups, Luff and Leech yanked her off by the collar.

"Are you – insane?"

Minerva pushed herself up from the soaking deck. "The rod came loose! I have to fix it!"

Luff grabbed her again before she could attempt the climb, while Leech leaned back and waited for a moment of clarity to confirm her statement.

"We'll do it," he said over the roar of the thunder, as an incomprehensible shape smashed the spars together over their heads.

Minerva caught the scruff of the nearest twin before he was off. "This was my plan!"

"We're – stronger!"

"Please!" Minerva begged, horrified by the idea her two best friends climbing up into the heart of destruction. Not just friends, she thought. They were like brothers.

As the three of them shouted their convictions to each other, the life of the storm hurled fury and wrath, drowning their arguments. However, the voice of Olbus silenced their dispute, and at his command, they turned their attention back to the sky. High in the sails, at the very peak of the swaying mast, a wiry old man was climbing towards the fallen rod.

The storm roared and Minerva's voice seized. Nezzen's frail and withered body clung to the top of their world. He reached out for the metal shaft, tucked it beneath his arm, and then climbed even higher.

The wind blew like frozen blades, rain fell in pools across the deck, hail pounded into the siding, thunder and lightning screamed in the darkness, and in the middle of it all, Minerva's world stood still.

Luff and Leech attempted to drag Minerva off the shrouds for a third time, but she thrashed her feet at their chins until they released her. Her voice cracked and tears slipped down her cheeks as Nezzen reached the top of the mast. Angry thunder growled at the audacity of the man that dared to climb into its world, and the Skyraker lurched in violent thrusts. In the wind and the rain, Minerva could barely move as she reached the first of the spars.

Nezzen hugged the mast with his arms and legs as the motion of the ship flipped the wizened old man like a scarf on a stick.

Minerva quaked under the strain on her heart, and her frozen limbs refused to comply with her will to climb. It was then that Nezzen looked down at her. When their eyes met, he smiled with confidence. Then he turned his attention to the sky and stretched his limb, lancing into the clouds with his metal spear.

The storm bellowed in anger. Its arms of light crawled out from its body, crackling and snaking through the ether of the clouds as it adopted the shape of a monstrous bird looming over its pitiful prey. Its body lit the whole of the Skyraker as it shone in the darkness, and Minerva stared in awe of the behemoth that had grown before them. Then it dove down with abandon. Feathers of light pulled inward in a flash as it closed its wings, forming a single bolt that descended straight onto the weapon of the daring hero.

Ash and splinters erupted down the mast in explosive waves, and a golden halo of molten glory burst from the remnants of the crow's nest. All the elegance of a lifetime of collecting flew from its resting place in a blast of gleaming, searing beauty that streamed down across the darkness.

Minerva fell from the shrouds and crashed to the deck, hurled downward by the sudden ascent of the ship, as the thunderhead boomed in pain. The dying breath of the storm drove every sailor to their knees, while the blood of the beast coursed through the webs that would captured it forever. White light lit the deck of the Skyraker as the sails glowed like alabaster wings of unnatural elegance. The ship vaulted through the clouds, leaving the howling death throes of its fallen enemy washing across its body.

As the ship climbed, the sails dried quickly, issuing forth a sound both sad and jubilant as they unleashed an aria of pain for a fallen comrade. The Skyraker itself sang like an angel as it bore the soul of its oldest friend to his final rest in the heavens.

Chapter 84

Fly Stone Pass

Captain Black stood at the helm of the Phoenix, guiding the monstrous vessel through a tight, winding canyon. The sweat of the exhausted riggers sprinkled to the deck below as they worked to lift their ship above the narrowest spaces. All around the ship, tiny boulders drifted freely in the air.

Squints stood at the side of his captain, far more worried than his pilot. "Captain, sir, wit' all due respec', this might be a bad idea. This is a high pass, sir, an' we've not yet crossed the peak. The men are gettin' weary an' the stones are gettin' bigger."

The captain ground his teeth. Every half hour or so, Squints reminded him of the dangerous course he had chosen.

"All I'm sayin', sir, is that Glass'll be back. There's nay much for a pirate t' do in the Provinces. If he wants t' make a livin' he has t' come back."

Squints waited for the hollow grind of a stone beneath their hull to cease its objections to their passing, the telltale sign that the ship needed additional altitude.

"Or maybe we could wait a few days. The stones 'ere don't always fly this high. Why don't we wait for low tide?"

Captain Black drew a deep breath and peered down his beard at Squints. "You think we can't go over the pass, is that it?"

Squints smiled apprehensively, appreciating the only sign of hope given to him since he began his protests. "I think we can, sir, but the men will be in no condition to fight. It's too high for us."

Captain Black surveyed the landscape of ever-rising rocks and boulders. Far below them, in the depths of the writhing canyon, thousands of flying rocks hung in the air. Substantially larger ones remained near the bottom.

The base of the pass offered much lower passage than any other passes in the range, but the plummite monoliths that blocked the canyons could fly higher than the peaks of the mountains themselves. Only the lightest ships could fly high enough when the tide of bedrock rose to its peak, and a captain never knew when one of the majestic titans would suddenly ascend while their ship was above it, or worse, descend while below it.

"Fine, Squints. Have it your way."

Squints exhaled with relief. "Thank ye, Captain. I will tell the men. Shall we tack 'round at the next widenin'?"

"No."

Squints glanced around with a sheepish grin, trying to decide if Black was mocking him.

"If we can't go over the pass," Captain Black said, as he flicked his arm down from the wheel and punched a lever. "We'll go under it."

A loud snap, followed by the rushing husk of a rope escaping into the sky, heralded the release of the topmost sail on all three masts. As the sails lifted away, the huge and lumbering form of the Phoenix creaked and groaned in the wind, and then dove nose first into the sunless depths below.

Chapter 85

Heaven Sent

Endless blue skies draped over a sea of rolling cloud and thunder. High above the violent and powerful tides, a tiny blue ship drifted in the emptiness. The sails of the Skyraker shone with an inner beauty that cast a wondrous, luminescent glow across the tops of the almighty squalls below them.

A wide crack split the mainmast of the Skyraker, from the skysail at the top to the course sail at the bottom. Small flames still licked it from within, dancing like a tongue within a lengthy smile. White ash, graced by a few vibrant sparks of gold, drifted in the frigid air above the mountains.

Minerva inhaled the sweet scent of burnt wood mixed with the acrid odor of burnt hair. The ash that landed on the deck felt warm and soft, and she left footprints as she strode across the dried planks in stunned silence, staring only at the shattered remains of the crow's nest. At her feet, the twisted shards of a life lived in fear landed on the deck. Earrings, bracelets, necklaces, rings and more had all flown from the crow's nest as it erupted. Tiny specks of molten gold lay splattered everywhere, infusing the wooden planks of the ship. Minerva's hands shook in sadness as she reached down to retrieve a pair of golden cuff links from between her toes. On their outward side, a small golden owl, with silver trim and sapphire eyes, gazed back at her. Ethereal wisps of smoke still clung to their bodies.

The twins came to her side and put their arms around her. She was grateful for their company when the strength in her legs gave out. Luff and Leech led her down to her cabin and lowered her to her bed. They sat beside her, saying nothing while she wept. Her brothers in grief wrapped their arms around her and held on tight.

Minerva put her hands on her head and pulled at her hair. It was all her fault. She convinced the crew to weather the storm. She never should have believed him when he said that he would climb down.

The twins left her when she asked to be alone. After they were gone, Minerva opened her cabinet and looked at all the gifts that Nezzen had ever given her. She took the beautiful hairbrush from its resting place and sat on the bed. She wanted to feel the comfort of his perfect stroke one last time, but she couldn't replicate it. It wasn't until the bell for supper rang that she gave up and returned the brush to the cabinet.

When Minerva arrived in the galley, an exalted rally of voices burst from the crew. They jumped to their feet and chanted her name. She did her best to reciprocate, but there was no joy in it for her. She accepted her supper but only nibbled its corners, until it was cold and she sat all alone in the empty space. In the quiet of the galley, she realized that Big Jim had yet to return to the hall to handle the dishes.

The door to the kitchen creaked softly as Minerva pushed it open.

Big Jim leaped to his feet and wiped his forearm across his eyes. "Look at that, ye caught me cuttin' the onions," he said, and he faked a laugh as he pulled a red potato from a box and searched for a knife.

Minerva hopped up to sit on the counter. "Those are potatoes," she pointed out.

"Ah, yeah, so they are. Busy day, I guess. Got me all flustered."

Minerva watched the big man struggle to contain his emotions for a time, and let him come to grips with himself on his own. After a moment, he pulled a silver ring out of his pocket.

"He gave me this the first time I brought 'im supper. I was worried, ye know, since I hadn't seen 'im come down. He didn't have much back then, but I always brought 'im his supper. Everyone deserves to eat. After a while, I started to refuse his gifts. I always felt like I was taking somethin' from 'im and givin' nothin' in return."

Minerva understood exactly what Big Jim meant as he turned the ring over in his fingers a few times.

"Doesn't fit me no more. I got a lot fatter since then, an' it gets full of dirt and grime. No good in a kitchen. I always keep it on me, though." Then he turned towards her, very stern and serious. "Were ye there? Did ye see him?"

Minerva nodded.

"He was brave, then?"

"The bravest."

Every flabby wave of Jim's body wobbled as he wept, straining to contain his sadness. "I always knew that old coot would do something stupid one day. He could've warned me. Selfish ass. I might've liked to say goodbye, at least."

Minerva laughed in sorrow with her friend.

"Crazy bastard never could climb down. Been up there more than ten years. Caught like a cat in a tree. Don't know how he managed without me. I suppose ye set things right, though. I should thank ye."

The words struck Minerva with a heavy sense of guilt. Not even the tiniest sliver of her mind dared to accept any thanks for what had transpired.

"Probably would've died up there, one day," Jim said. "Ye gave him what he always wanted."

"What did I give him?"

"The chance to be a hero."

In that way, Minerva understood why Nezzen turned into the storm, facing his death and choosing to die. He seized the opportunity to show his gratitude to all the people that endured the long and arduous climb to visit him, and to fight for his home, just once.

All he needed to do was climb a little higher.

"Ye know, for as long as I knew 'im, Nezzen always said that courage and sacrifice were a choice. That it didn't come naturally to nobody. The last time I talked to 'im, though, he said that he was wrong. That for some people it's not a choice. It's just how they live."

"He talked to me about the same thing. I think I get it now, why it was so important to him."

Minerva looked Jim in the eye when he didn't reply, and he smiled wide and glad, but shook his head in disbelief.

"He wasn't talkin' to ye, Minnie. He was talkin' about ye."

Chapter 86

Over the Mountain

The next day, Captain Glass informed the crew that they would be flying to the mountain city of Rahama Matha. From there they would resupply before flying further into the range, eventually seeking port within the foreign lands of the Provinces. Any sailor that wished to remain in the mountain city was welcome to do so.

Minerva sat in the rigging, contemplating the ramifications of the decision presented to her. Would the others choose to stay, or would they abandon the wounded ship in favor of another, she wondered. Despite their high altitude, scrubbing the sails required no effort in the chilly air, and the currents flowed with a gentle softness.

"How far is Rahama Matha?" she called to the twins.

"We'll be there – by nightfall."

Minerva looked forward to sitting down and relaxing somewhere. She didn't have much money, and she didn't know how she was going to cover her expenses, but it would be nice to escape from a ship that had seen so much pain and suffering in such a brief time. Perhaps the Skyraker really did carry a curse, she thought.

As they slipped through the stony passages, the captain kept the ship close to the mountains to hide. Completely disregarding their daring flight through the thunderstorm, he still feared that Captain Black and the Phoenix could come at them from around any corner.

The further they progressed the more anxious Minerva felt. She wanted to see Rahama Matha. The twins said that a sect of monks carved the city entirely from the mountain, and built it more than a thousand years ago. The way the crew talked, it sounded like a magnificent place to start a new life of adventure and wonder. She still longed to find a way home, but as time went by, she only felt further away from that goal.

As the day grew late, the moon rose high above the frozen peaks and the sun retreated from its presence, leaving its golden rays to fall softly across the sails of the ship. Several times, the Skyraker passed small stone houses that overlooked the passes.

"What are those lookouts for?" Minerva asked.

"They watch – the blind passes. They warn the captains – if there are other ships."

"To prevent a collision?"

The twins nodded in unison.

Nearly an hour later, the Skyraker was rounding a lookout post on their starboard side when Minerva noticed the man inside waving a large yellow flag.

"Captain!" she called to the helm. "Yellow flag to starboard, sir!"

Captain Glass observed the man and then turned back to her. He replied with a nod and a vague salute.

"What's the yellow flag mean?" she asked the twins.

"There's a ship – below us. Let's rise – a little higher."

Minerva brushed the sail and felt the ship lift roughly half its height.

Soon, the Skyraker rose over a tight spot near a jagged ridge, where they would be closest to the other ship as it rounded under them. Just as they neared the edge, the shrill cry of a sharp whistle split the air.

Minerva snapped her attention to the lookout to see the same man waving a large red flag. He was pointing emphatically at something that only he could see on the far side of the ridge. Naturally, her eyes followed his outstretched hand to where a black and red flag was rising over the top of the lookout, chased swiftly by an ascending mast. Minerva shouted in panic, but she was too late.

The hulking prow of the Phoenix smashed into the keel of the Skyraker, ripping the spar out from under Minerva as the ship twisted away and inertia rooted her in place. Her hand shot out for the guide rope that was always there when she needed it, always in her hand when she expected to be holding it, and then it was. It lashed out, many times its own length, and placed itself gently in her palm. Unfortunately, in doing so, the line needed to grow in length, many times over.

Minerva swung down towards the deck, and her knees met the chin of Captain Glass, sending them both tumbling into the rails. Quick thinking and experience brought her arms up in front of her face before she broke her nose a second time. Captain Glass was not so lucky, and lay unconscious in a heap beside her. The helm stood empty, beckoning a strong arm to break the slide and bring the ship under control. Minerva shook the captain, desperate for him to awaken, but his only motion was to slip slowly to the aft, as the ship rolled further back. She called for Olbus, terrified by the thought of guiding the Skyraker again, but the boatswain wasn't present. Desperately, she scanned for Luff and Leech, and found them dangling precariously in the rigging, fighting to maintain their grip.

There was no one else. In moments, the ship would capsize, and the crew would fall to their deaths, so she jumped forward and gripped the guide wheels.

A terrible sense of power overtook Minerva as her hands wrapped around the pegs. The red siding of the Phoenix shone as bright as crimson coals in a roaring hearth. The sun went dim, as if behind a haze of yellow smoke, and the mountains vanished from existence. She heard screams of fear within her body and shouts of anger and murder aboard the Phoenix. Everything, everywhere, was as the Skyraker could see it.

At the same time, a primal rage that she could not comprehend consumed her mind. It assailed her will, forcing her own thoughts into hiding.

Minerva unleashed her hair from its prison. It threw itself wild and free into the wind and flowed around her head on all sides, stretching to touch all that it could in its shining moment of freedom. Then she stabbed Velvet into the wooden rail before the helm and held tight to the wheel, stomping her feet down for balance as she assumed control.

Wood splintered and groaned as the Skyraker slipped off the nose of the Phoenix. The frigate toppled sideways, throwing the bulk of its masts and sails into the rigging of the massive galleon, threatening to entangle the two ships. Minerva ran a hand through her hair, pressing it tight against her scalp as she went. The rigging of the Skyraker pulled back in response, as if an invisible hand held it away from the Phoenix, narrowly avoiding a catastrophic mess.

Fire the cannon, a voice inside her head screamed, but she slipped her hair into mouth, dousing it like a wick in water, and the thought abated.

Olbus appeared upon the stairs just then, but stopped when he saw Minerva at the helm.

"We need lift!" she demanded, breaking his trance.

Minerva spun the wheel and banked away, breaking off in the opposite direction of the Phoenix as Olbus nodded and ran back the way he came, ordering the riggers into the sails.

The winds of the mountain passes turned in favor of the Skyraker as it retreated, saving them from any possible attack by the Phoenix. The huge ship of Captain Black chased the fleeing bird, and the damaged mainmast of the Skyraker failed to provide viable support for lift or momentum. The Phoenix rammed the Skyraker from behind, smashing the rudder and forcing the Skyraker into the cliffs. With little effort, the bulk of the Phoenix forced itself past the smaller ship, tearing the elegant blue paint from the carved wings that formed the figurehead of the Skyraker.

Howls of pain filled Minerva's mind. She wanted to scream and thrash, and tear every insignificant plank of wood from the body of her opponent. On her port side, a high cliff pinned her against her the galleon, crushing her between a wall of stone and a broadside ship-of-the-line. Minerva turned to face the horrifying red hull of the Phoenix, and squared off against seventy-five cannons in lines as neat as garden furrows.

Minerva stepped to the side, placing herself between the barrels of two of the destructive weapons. Then she put her hand to the rail that surrounded the helm, caressing it gently. "I'm with you," she whispered.

Hair might not be as strong as spider silk, but if woven tightly enough, it can form a surprisingly sturdy cloth. Strong enough, perhaps, to hold back a flying cannonball.

Smoke and fire exploded into the sides of the Skyraker with deafening effect. The sound of tearing fabric echoed back amid the cacophony of spark and powder, and Minerva felt the incomparable sensation of standing between two flying rounds of cannon shot as they sailed past her. The smell of gunpowder and the heat of the round washed across her body on both sides as the port guide wheel burst into splinters. The deck sundered, sails ripped, and the masts cracked and moaned. Then the shaking stopped, and Minerva held her breath as an army of men descended from the elevated deck of the Phoenix. Ropes and grapples flew from the ship to land among the rigging and masts of the Skyraker, creating the bridges that allowed waves of sailors to pour down. Weapons rang, voices cried, and Minerva ran to join the fray with Velvet in hand.

Crashing shouts and banging steel spread like wildfire across the deck of the Skyraker as a menagerie of bodies battled in front of Minerva. Daggers and pistols flashed and boomed in the waning light of the day. Silhouetted over the bodies of her foes she saw countless wavering ghosts. One spirit of Velvet for every enemy. As Minerva entered the melee, she dodged and weaved beneath the lunging specters, focusing only on their translucent forms while axes and daggers fell upon the boards around her.

Minerva found Olbus with two men at his front, while a third man crept up from behind like a circling wolf. However, even two men together could not match his size and strength, and he flung them away, but remained oblivious to the man at his back. Minerva rushed forward, knocking the third man down as he aimed a thin slice of metal at the spine of her boatswain.

Perhaps because of her size and appearance, or perhaps because of her weapon, few men approached Minerva. Taking advantage of their folly, she knocked them down from behind, or pulled them off balance in time for Olbus to send them sprawling in heaps.

Soon into the fight, Luff and Leech arrived from above, swinging down and bowling several men over as they landed. They held their brooms like weapons, employing them masterfully to both guard and attack. They fought as a single person, using each other to move faster and strike harder than a single man ever could.

Then Gunner and his crew arrived, brandishing pistols and muskets from the gun deck, and the smoke from their efforts choked the battle.

Across the Skyraker, the men howled like wild animals and tore at each other with abandon, and Minerva felt as though she was lost in a sea of murderous apes.

A sudden crack of thunder pounded through the scrum, and something heavy landed behind Minerva. She spun fast, ready to attack, but stood stunned into silence as the massive girth of Captain Black loomed over her. In his right hand, he held a macabre pistol. Its golden barrel carried the shape of a gaping viper ready to spit its ashen might over any that would oppose it. A mundane dueling sword hung at his waist, still sheathed.

Velvet's ghosts gathered around the giant man in droves, lunging and swinging, urging Minerva to act, but their attacks passed harmlessly through her.

Minerva gawked at Captain Black, with her mind racing. The twins shouted for her to run. Gunner called for her to clear his line of fire. Olbus knocked a weakling sailor to his knees in a single blow, surging forward to help. He would have been upon the enemy captain in less than a second, but Captain Black caught Minerva's arm in his open hand and twisted her around like a hostage. Then he clamped his meaty palm across her wrist, hand, and hair and leveled his pistol to Minerva's temple.

"Enough!" Captain Black bellowed, loud enough to loosen the stones of the mountains.

Olbus slowed to a halt, and both the crews ceased their fighting.

"Got a bit of a soft spot for the girls, don't you, Old Boss?" Captain Black remarked with a sneer.

Every muscle of Olbus' body flexed and wracked, but held fast, restraining him.

Captain Black called for Squints, and when the wicked nostril-beast appeared, he lowered a gangplank to the Skyraker. "Get Glass and put him in the brig! Phoenix crew, get back on the ship!"

Olbus brimmed with fury, pondering his options, as several crew of the Phoenix came down to drag Captain Glass away.

Minerva didn't resist Captain Black's hold. "I'll be fine," she assured Olbus, after which she walked freely up the gangplank to the deck of the Phoenix. She gave a nod and a smile to Olbus as she went, reaffirming her statement. "I'll be fine," she insisted.

"If any of these men move, shoot them," Captain Black said, appointing Squints to guard the gangplank by handing him the frightening pistol.

Although no one moved to approach Squints, the cracking sound of Olbus grinding his teeth shattered any perceived level of calm in the air.

When Minerva arrived in Captain Black's private cabin, she held back tears and took deep panicked breaths. "Uncle Caba?" she whimpered.

Captain Black gave her a joyful smile. "Minnie! You're alive!" Then he pulled her close in a tight embrace.

Why wouldn't I be, is what she would have asked, if she wasn't too busy enjoying the strength in his arms and the smell of tobacco in his beard. "What are you doing here?" she managed to stumble out, utterly confused.

The enormous captain leaned back, appraising her innocent expression. "You don't know," he declared, not as a question.

"Don't know what?" she asked.

Captain Black took a deep breath, and guided her over to sit on a plush bench. "I have something incredibly important to tell you, but first, tell me how you ended up with the likes of Captain Glass."

Chapter 87

Lintumen the Lion

"What're they doin' in there?" Squints mumbled to himself.

Over half an hour had passed, and the crew of the Skyraker took to sitting down or milling about at the far end of the ship, with some exceptions. Olbus stood at the base of the gangplank, baring his teeth. The display noticeably affected Squints, and the small man frequently slid backward, one imperceptible fidget at a time, distancing himself from the imposing man.

Luff and Leech approached their leader and gripped his shoulders. "Minnie can – take care of herself."

Olbus calmed slightly, looking over at the twins. "I can't break a promise. Not again."

"You're not," they replied together, sharing the statement for added effect.

Olbus lowered himself to the deck, glowering at the hull of the Phoenix as it weighed down on the battered husk of the Skyraker.

"That girl is – tougher than jerky," the twins joked, as Leech kicked a piece of rock. "How many crews have survived – a broadside hit from the Phoenix?"

Olbus spent some time admiring the mostly intact Skyraker. It was by no means in optimal condition. In fact, it would be lucky to fly, but compared to other ships that fought the Phoenix, it was within the vicinity of functional.

Gunner came to sit beside them. "Is this it?" he asked. "After everything that's happened, this is how we lose her?" The perfectly sculpted gunner flipped his elegant hair back and forth. "All guts and glory, that girl."

The twins nodded in agreement.

"What do we do if we want to get her back?" Gunner asked.

"We wait," said Olbus, once again staring at Squints with his teeth bared. "Because there is nothing else we can do."

Therefore, they waited, saying nothing. Gags and Big Jim, and a few others, joined them shortly after, sitting and staring.

Squints started to sweat.

An unexpected noise from the entrance to the sterncastle of the Skyraker drew the attention of those in the crowd. It sounded like several locks releasing their restraints, all at once. A moment later, Lintumen Barrister, in his grey and wrinkled splendor, stepped out into the light of the setting sun.

"Don't move!" Squints barked, squinting at him.

Lintumen squinted back, working to focus his eyes in the sunlight. "Or what?"

"I'll shoot."

"No, you won't," Lintumen replied, as he shuffled up to the foot of the gangplank.

"I'll do it!" Squints shouted, brandishing the pistol.

"No. You won't," Lintumen said, as calm as a slumbering bear. Then he took a slow and deliberate step up the gangplank.

"I really will!"

Lintumen halted when he reached the deck of the Phoenix, nearly standing upon the Phoenix herself. He hung his toes over the edge of the plank, all but boarding her.

For a time, Squints fumbled with the trigger of his weapon, but he never fired. He shook hard and licked his lips, and then lowered the weapon to his side. Much of the Phoenix's crew still stood on deck, but all of them retreated from the presence of the powerful magician.

Lintumen then turned his attention to the aft of the Phoenix, and affixed his stare upon the wall of captain's cabin. Seemingly satisfied with his inspection, he looked at the crew around him, raised an eyebrow, and then turned around and walked back towards the Skyraker.

The crew of the Skyraker overheard Squints' sigh of relief, but the crowd that Lintumen returned to wasn't exactly welcoming to his presence. Lintumen was a prisoner for a reason, and seeing him walk out of his own cell was like watching a caged lion step calmly through the bars of its confinement.

"Something of an issue appears to have arisen, sailors. It seems that I've lost my captain."

The men pointed at the Phoenix.

"It also appears that I've lost my apprentice."

Again, they pointed at the Phoenix.

"There is also a minor matter that perhaps you can help me clarify."

Every arm in the crowd shot towards the Phoenix.

"Ah, no. You see, without a captain, his sentence no longer restricts my actions. That is, I am free to leave this ship and do as I please. Moreover, I am no longer required to keep his secrets. Secrets that, at this very moment, could be very enlightening." He paused for a moment, allowing his words to be processed. "Would you like to know my secret?"

Chapter 88

Revelations

Minerva sighed in a heavy, shuddering way, overwhelmed with relief as she completed her story.

Captain Black waited for a long time before speaking, searching for a way to tell her what he needed to say. The big man took a deep breath in preparation, and then wasted no effort on softening the facts.

"Captain Glass murdered your mother and father."

Minerva's guts twisted. Perhaps it was his total abruptness, or simply the unexpected nature of the news. Either way, her mind reeled. "What?" she gasped.

"I thought he killed you as well, but I never saw your body. That's why I've chased him all the way here. I wanted him to die in the worst way possible, and I put all my best efforts into accomplishing that task, but somehow I failed every time."

Minerva wanted to interrupt him, but she couldn't will herself to speak.

"After Cloudscorch fell, I sent an assassin to kill the captain in Riggersport. When it returned unsuccessful, it warned me that it encountered a person of similar likeness to myself. I didn't believe it, but still, I changed my tactics. I had no issue with hurting the captain, or the crew, but I assumed that if you were alive, then you would be a prisoner in the depths of the ship. So, I sent the Arbalest and the Ballistae to anchor the Skyraker in the forest."

Minerva was still struggling with the news of her parents when Captain Black leaned in close to hug her.

"Never did I imagine that he would make you a member of his crew. And now, to learn that you're the reason my plans were failures, well, what a story this will make."

"You're a pirate?" she begged, seeking any topic that might distance herself from her thoughts.

"Aye. So was your father. When we first met, we were rivals. Two big dogs with their own pack of hounds. He was the smarter one, though, and pushed for a merger. Together we formed the greatest pirating fleet in the sky, the Black and Red Consortium."

"He was your partner?"

The conversation was helping Minerva to avoid breaking down entirely.

"Aye. That's how he met your mother. At first, I hated him for his affection towards her. I am the older brother, after all, and she was always so little that I often forgot she didn't need protection. In time, though, I relented, and they fell in love. Red retired after that, and left his half of the consortium to me. I kept the name, out of respect."

"Why did he retire?"

"Because thirteen years ago his life changed forever. For the better, he always said." A furry smile ruffled the beard of the immense captain as he let his words take hold of Minerva. "When you were born he said that owning the skies and raising a daughter were irreconcilable. He wanted to be somewhere that no one would know him, or seek to challenge him for his fame. He wanted a good life for you, away from all of this, and did everything he could to ensure it."

Minerva sniffed and wiped her eyes, vividly recalling the love that her father lavished upon her.

"But Captain Glass learned of his location, and then went to kill him for the fame. I received a warning of his plan and went to stop him."

"I don't understand. The captain is so gentle. He's not a murderer."

Black shrugged. "Sometimes men find the courage to do the things they normally couldn't, and sometimes they regret it for the rest of their lives. Perhaps we'll never know what really happened, but he's alive and they're dead. There is no one else to blame."

Captain Black reached over and picked up a folding frame from inside a nearby cabinet. Inside it, Minerva saw a painting of a woman in a pretty, yet sturdy, dress. She was petite beyond compare, and bore a striking resemblance to Minerva in almost every aspect, right down to the way her hair was wrapped into a tight bun. On the other side of the frame, a tall and stately man with a red flowing beard and wiry ginger hair looked back. He wore fine silks and looked very dashing with a sword and pistol at his side.

"Elspeth and Rhett, as painted on their wedding day. My sister took your father's name, of course."

Minerva touched the portrait, and her heart ached. "What are you planning to do with Captain Glass?" she asked.

"I don't know. Torture and kill him, most likely."

"What if I asked you to spare him?"

Captain Black gawked at Minerva, but Minerva now knew why Captain Glass always came back for her. Why he smiled a weary smile whenever their eyes met, and why he never once raised a hand in opposition to anything she did.

It never goes away, the regret.

"If you asked," Captain Black said, "then I would spare him. I must wonder why, though?"

"He gave me an opportunity that no one else would. The chance to show my courage, and to fight for something that I cared about. He could have left me behind, or killed me without trouble, any number of times, but he never did. You might not be able to forgive him, but I owe him for his efforts."

"He murdered your parents, Minnie."

Minerva thought of the decades that wore heavy on the mind of Olbus. "I want to be able to forgive him before it's too late," she said.

Captain Black clucked his tongue and drummed his fingers, considering her words. "Very well. His fate is yours to decide, but if he ever crosses me again, I will plunder his ship and hang him from my bowsprit."

Minerva thanked the huge man she realized she knew nothing about, and began to consider the fate of her friends. "What are you going to do with the Skyraker and her crew?"

"I have no debt to settle with any of them, so they are free to go after they choose a new captain."

"Will you not keep it?"

"Certainly not!"

The captain feigned insult, as if a terrible travesty had just occurred.

"Why not?" Minerva demanded. The Skyraker was a good, strong ship, she thought.

"Some time ago, I had fifteen ships in my fleet. Now I have twelve. I dare not recruit only one."

Minerva blushed and understood. Thirteen was an unlucky number.

Chapter 89

Toss of the Hat

When Captain Black returned from his meeting with Minerva, a panicked Squints promptly assailed him.

"Here ye go, cap'n, sir, yer gun."

Captain Black holstered his weapon and appraised the crew of the Skyraker. "Are you the navigator?" he asked, pointing at Lintumen.

"Yes," Lintumen replied, addressing Black without a shred of worry in his voice.

"Ah, I see," Black replied, and then turned to the others. "Crew of the Skyraker, by the rights of plunder I claim your ship and all of its bounty. However, I choose not to take your vessel, or its contents. Boatswain, present yourself." When Black spoke, his voice carried so powerfully that it shook bones and rattled boards. "Bosun," he said, when Olbus approached. "Lead a vote for a new captain. When you are done, we will assist you in traveling to port."

Captain Black nodded curtly at Olbus, and then walked back to his own ship. He was halfway up the gangplank when Olbus called out to him.

"Captain. I cannot."

"Are you unfit? If so, I shall appoint another."

Olbus cast a sideways glance at Lintumen and the rest of the crew. "I am fit, sir."

"Then explain yourself."

"One of our crew is absent."

Captain Black understood, and a moment later, he escorted Minerva by the hand, down to the crew of the Skyraker. She was easily convinced to return for the vote, as the health of her friends worried her greatly.

"Are all of your crewmen now present, bosun?"

Olbus nodded in relief and gave the frazzled Minerva an uneasy look as he moved to the head of the ship. "Skyraker crew, listen close! The time has come to choose a new captain. The chosen sailor shall become responsible for this ship and her name, and all her deeds. Is there any opposition to a vote?"

The men exchanged apathetic glances. For many of them, this was probably their first experience with a democratic process.

"I see no opposition! For the role of captain, step forward with your nominations!"

A few sailors cleared their throats and shuffled their feet, and a crowd gathered on the deck of the Phoenix to observe the proceedings. Not a single sailor spoke, and Minerva could see why. Being responsible for the Skyraker was probably a bad idea. It was barely flying, and even that was mostly because it was pinned to the wall by the Phoenix.

"In the absence of a nomination I will present a single name, and you will vote between myself and that sailor."

A few men shrugged, or nodded, still disinterested in the proceedings.

Minerva looked around at the crew while Olbus waited for a response, wondering if he would choose Gunner, or maybe Big Jim. They might not be capable captains, she thought, but they were good men. She couldn't imagine either of the twins doing it, unless they did it together. Olbus knew the crew better than her, though, and probably knew of a different man who would fill the role quite adequately.

"I nominate the rigger, Minerva!"

While the crew kept their peace moments earlier, an explosion of conversation burst forth.

"I have named your nomination!" Olbus barked, to quiet the crowd. "Minerva, stand on the steps over here."

Minerva looked out in fear at the gathering of men while Olbus went to stand on the opposite stair. If Olbus sought an easy win to claim the ship for himself, he certainly chose the best candidate, she thought, unless of course he really did think she was capable of being captain.

"Stand to the side of your chosen captain!" Olbus demanded.

Luff and Leech ran to Minerva, and Gags wasn't far behind. Big Jim took his time, mostly because he was fat and slow. Spit and his fellow detractors were quick to move to Olbus' side, although it was clear that they saw the choice as the least disagreeable of the options. A few stragglers lingered in the middle of the deck, and Gunner was with them. He looked at Minerva, then at Olbus, and then back at Minerva. She blushed but didn't look away. She wanted so badly for him to vote for her.

Minerva's shirtless hunk flipped his wonderful hair around while he contemplated his choice. "A girl? For a captain?" he begged. "You can't be serious? She's not even a woman."

Gunner wasn't so much speaking to Minerva, as he was the rest of the crew. Many of them shrugged when he looked at them. Minerva did her best to entice him with a smile, when she caught his eye, but it didn't seem to have much effect. She really did need to practice some seduction, she decided.

With a mighty sigh, Gunner shook his head at her before looking at Olbus one last time. "This won't end well," he said with a grin.

Minerva did her best not to squeal with glee when he stood with the others on her side.

Once the crew had split, it was clear that someone needed to count the sailors, as no clear winner could be determined.

"Navigator, tally the votes," Captain Black ordered.

Lintumen looked once at one side, then once at the other. For less than a second each. "It is even, Captain. Forty-one sailors on both sides."

Captain Black stepped forward to address the crew, somewhat startled as he clearly expected the count to take much longer. "Your vote is split. If any man sees fit to change their vote, they may do so now."

Several men from both sides exchanged places.

"Navigator?"

"Even, sir. Forty-one sailors each."

Captain Black let out a loud groan. "So be it, as the captain of the ship with the right of plunder, I will cast the final vote."

Spirited voices sprang into opposition.

"Would you like to discuss the rights of plunder, sailors?"

Captain Black's voice reminded Minerva of a father scolding children, and then he eyed Minerva and Olbus, concealing his emotions behind a beard and a scowl. The family connection weighed on his mind. While he sat in dispute with himself, something landed with a soft flop on the deck behind Minerva, and she looked over her shoulder to see a large, tricorne hat. It was a dark, navy blue, with white trim. Pieces of white ash and spattered molten gold still clung to it. When she picked it up and held it in her hands, it felt warm to the touch.

Captain Black looked up at his crew on the deck of the Phoenix. All of them looked up at the masts of the Skyraker. "Squints?" he asked.

"Not us, cap'n. It came from th' riggin'," Squints replied, as he pointed up towards the burnt and shattered crow's nest of the Skyraker.

Captain Black shuffled sideways for a better look. "Boatswain, is your lookout still in the nest?"

"No, sir. He was lost in the storm."

"Is that his hat?"

"He owned many treasures, sir. It appears to be."

Captain Black gave one long look to the rigging, after which he shrugged. "Is there any man here that objects to the casting of this hat as a vote, on behalf of your fallen lookout?" There probably would have been, if not for the way he asked the question. "Navigator! Tally!"

Lintumen surveyed the groups again, purely for entertainment, and then proclaimed the results. "Forty-two to forty-one, in favor of the rigger, Minerva."

Half the crew exploded into cheers and hoots as Luff and Leech hoisted Minerva into the air on their shoulders. Minerva looked up into the rigging and the sails and smiled. She took the hat and placed it on her head, where it fit wonderfully snug.

"Thank you Nezzen, for everything," she whispered to herself. Not that anyone could have heard her over the din of the men around her.

Chapter 90

Quiet Time

"Three cheers – for Captain Minnie!" the twins shouted, hoisting their drinks into the air.

"Minerva!" Minerva scolded. "If you're going to say captain, then it's Captain Minerva."

The twins grew despondent, not even sipping their drinks.

"But you can still call me just Minnie," she offered with a wink.

At that, they drank with abandon.

As the crew danced and sang, Minerva found her way to a quiet side of the galley to hide in her thoughts. She was grateful for the solitude, until her uncle approached her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine, I suppose."

Captain Black eased himself onto the bench beside her, bowing it beneath his girth such that it automatically angled her onto his shoulder.

"Call me surprised, but you haven't really cried. Myself, I'm a bitter old man, and I've been a pirate for a long time. I've grown accustomed to losing the ones I love. But you, you're young. Last I knew your parents loved you, and you them."

"I just can't believe they're really gone."

Captain Black hugged her close, bristling her face with his enormous beard, and she enjoyed it for a moment before pushing away.

"I think I need to be alone for a while longer," she said.

Black covered her exit from the galley with his broad side as Minerva wandered out onto the deck of the Skyraker, and soon found herself behind the helm. The moon and stars shone bright and clear, illuminating the disaster around her. The splintered wheel. The scarred and pitted deck. The shattered mast and scorched crow's nest. She felt the pain of the Skyraker as a tangible force in her mind, and she longed to comfort it, as she herself wished to be comforted, but she could not find the way. Broken and bereft, the two of them stood together in the darkness, taking solace in the presence of the other.

For a time, she sat and gazed out across the mountains and the tops of the clouds. When she was ready for what she knew she must do, she went into the sterncastle, not towards the captain's cabin, but to Lintumen's.

The bars and locks on the door stood as resolute as ever, and twice she reached for them but twice she failed to unlock them. Much later, Olbus found her sitting on the floor as he let himself into the dark space. She greeted him with a glance and a smile that he did not reciprocate. His open presence indicated to her that he wanted to tell her something, so she waited for him.

"Lintumen told us what happened. I'm sorry. None of us knew why we went there." He appraised her expressionless face, judging her reaction. "He knew everything."

Minerva pulled her knees in close and wrapped her arms around them. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. "I know."

It was exactly as she feared. Exactly what she had been thinking while she tried to convince herself to open the door. Lintumen knew everything, and told her nothing.

"They're both in there. Do you need me to escort you?"

Minerva shook her head and stood up. Then she slid back the bolts, unlatched the locks, and stepped into the cell.

Chapter 91

Into the Lion's Den

Captain Glass jumped from the bed as Minerva swung the door open, but he turned his face to the floor when their eyes met. Lintumen, for the first time ever, didn't bother to look up from his studies. Minerva closed the door quietly and waited for the locks to seal behind her. She didn't know how to start the conversation she desired. In truth, she barely knew what she wanted to say. What she did know was that she wasn't going to say it to someone that wasn't listening.

"Look at me," she urged.

Both men raised their faces in the candlelight to meet her gaze. Captain Glass sported a massive black eye and several fresh cuts across his cheeks. Souvenirs from her uncle. He stood hunched and twisted with his arms pulled in close. Lintumen's face was as emotionless as ever.

"Did you do it?" she asked.

The captain tossed a sideways glance at her from beneath his furrowed brow, and he nodded once.

"Did you speak to them before they died, or did you ambush them?"

He nodded again, and whispered a choked reply. "We spoke."

"What did they say to you?"

Glass gasped for words, desperate to avoid answering. Minerva allowed the silence to speak for her.

"Don't hurt my daughter, your mother said, and I promised. I did. I promised I wouldn't." He spoke slowly, but stumbled on the words, forcing the sentences together.

"And my father?" she asked, when he said nothing more.

Glass bit his lip and lowered his head. "Do it, or you're all dead," he said, shaking his head back and forth. "I thought I could do it, but I couldn't. I would have walked away, right then, right there, but I couldn't. I would have let him kill me, but I couldn't do that either, because he would have killed my men. They didn't know. It wasn't their choice. Do it, or you're all dead. What choice did I have?"

Minerva suddenly understood the source of the strength that gave the weakling captain the power he needed to commit murder.

Fear.

"How cruel are the fates to let me make that promise?" he begged. "I promised them the impossible, and they delivered you to my feet."

Minerva watched him wring his hat in his hands.

"You know what regret feels like," he continued. "I saw how that day in the forest affected you." Then he lifted his head, but his expression of pain mixed with anger. "But you don't know what it feels like to wake up and see that regret staring you in the face. Smiling and waving and reminding you every day of who you are and what you've done."

Captain Glass moved in closer, raising his voice.

"Imagine sharing every day with a child you've condemned to grow up an orphan. Imagine knowing the future that you've denied her, and then imagine watching her fight to save your wretched life. Now imagine wanting her to just hate you because it would be easier, but she won't, because you're too much of a coward to tell her the truth."

Every few words, Glass crept closer, and with each step, he raised his voice a little further.

"But I promised I wouldn't hurt you, and every day you make me earn it! Every day I wake up hoping to die, and every day you deny me! And every time I think it's finally over, that I'm finally free of this torment, there you are saving my life one more time! One! More! God! Damn! Time!"

At the end of his lament, Captain Glass loomed over Minerva, shouting, but Minerva held her ground until his expression softened and he shuffled back to sit on the bed.

"Even now, I pray that you've come to kill me, but I know that you won't. The fates are not nearly so kind. I even know what you're going to say, because it's the one thing I cannot bear to hear." Glass closed his eyes and sighed, long and slow, hoping that she would interrupt him. "You're going to say that you forgive me."

Minerva watched in quiet pity as Glass wiped the tears from his eyes and folded his arms in close. He was right. She had come to forgive him, but could no longer bring herself to say it aloud.

"I killed a devil for his spoils, and an angel fell from heaven to punish me."

Lintumen's voice crackled like dry pages in the dim cabin, and Minerva turned to face him, but he didn't shield his eyes from her the way that Glass did. He merely delivered his line and confronted her scrutiny.

"It's a famous quote," he added. "It's from a book you've probably never heard of," the old man said, as he removed his glasses to clean them with a disaffected nonchalance.

Minerva already suspected that the real threat in the room was Lintumen. Seeing Captain Glass so wholly stricken with regret only confirmed her suspicion.

"You sent him there," she said, observing Lintumen closely.

Lintumen continued to wipe his glasses, feigning disinterest.

"You found my parents with your magic," she continued, watching and waiting for his characteristic tell. "And then you preyed upon the insecurities of a fragile mind. You said to him what you said to me, that you're a seer. That you can see what others cannot. You promised him glory, and a future that he could not see for himself. Then you showed him the way, and he sought the future you divined from his stars. If not for you, he never would have gone to find my parents."

There it was. The smile. Tugging at Lintumen's cheeks, striving to remain concealed. Despite the certainty of her claims, he wasn't going to confess his part willingly. He was going to turn his magic on her, and she needed to stop him. She needed to outmaneuver him.

"You want me to feel stupid," she said. "That's why you used an obscure quote."

Lintumen smirked, bordering on a sneer. "And you want me to feel guilty."

"And lo' it rained mercy from its wings," Minerva shouted, in theatrical speech. "My mind flooded, drowned by sorrow, for its rain was love and kindness, unfettered, made to form ravenous beasts, untethered."

Lintumen ceased wiping and glanced to the side, as if he was trying to recall a memory buried in time.

"It's from the Odyssey of Hen," Minerva explained. "It was my father's favorite. I know most of it by memory."

"Was it really?" the old man mused, debating the facts. Then he donned his glasses with a flourish and peered down his nose at her. "Enthusiasm for the classics does not make a man a scholar," he snapped.

"I think I would be insulted if it did, as my father gave both love and knowledge freely, and the only scholar I know does neither."

Lintumen leaned back in his seat, clenching his jaw and fixating his gaze upon her. "You think I've taught you nothing?"

"You think you have so much to teach, because you think you can see everything, but you are blind to that which truly matters."

Lintumen laughed and flashed his teeth at her. "Is that what you believe?" he mocked.

Minerva drew a deep breath, aligning her thoughts. "My father taught me to read and write. My mother taught me how to cook and sew."

Lintumen slumped in his seat, ensuring that she knew how unimpressed he was.

"Together they taught me about medicine and money."

"Practical skills, no doubt, but that hardly—"

"He taught me the value of human life! She taught me independence and dignity!"

"I gave you understanding!" he retorted.

"You took those things from me!"

Lintumen eyed her, as a hawk might eye a rabbit, but she wasn't finished.

"There are two brothers on this ship that taught me what it means to love a stranger. There is a fat chef with a bad knee that taught me how to show kindness in way most people will never understand."

Minerva felt her voice crack and Lintumen rose from the table, assuming his full and imposing height, like a viper ready to strike. Consumed by her fervor, Minerva failed to realize that the cabin ceiling should have been too low to accommodate him.

"A lonely tailor taught me honesty, and an exiled king taught me redemption!"

Minerva's voice went shrill, and her chest heaved as tears welled up in her eyes.

"A broken soldier taught me forgiveness! A dead man taught me sacrifice! And I have learned, just now, what true honor looks like!"

Minerva swung her arm behind her and pointed at Glass, and in response, a raven black quill upon Lintumen's table suddenly washed with golden color, but no one seemed to notice.

"I gave you wisdom," he argued.

"I found a sword with more!"

Several dusty shelves shook themselves clean, without a sound.

"I showed you the truth," he snarled.

"I found that in a mirror!"

The bed that no one slept in wrapped itself in a tidy rainbow quilt beneath a sorrowful captain, who paid it no heed.

"I gave you magic," Lintumen whispered, as he balled his fists and tensed up, readying himself for the final blow.

Minerva lowered her voice and frowned. "All you ever gave me was fear and doubt."

Lintumen's lip quivered, and all the room warmed with the illumination of a forgotten lamp sparked with uninvited life, and he lowered himself back into his seat. "You seek to draw tears from a stone, my dear."

Minerva frowned, feeling the pain of her own victory. "You also taught me that if I overturn the right stone, it can soar higher than the clouds."

"There is not a spoken word, winning utterance, or glorious speech in this entire world that could overturn a stone of such magnitude."

"Then what about a single letter?" Minerva asked.

An aura of silence draped itself over Lintumen.

"Ask your letters what they think of you," she urged. "Ask the only source of information you've ever trusted."

With painstaking grace, Lintumen reached forward and opened the weighty tome before him, never once removing his eyes from Minerva. On the page he revealed, a bold line of calligraphy spread across both pages, like the headline of a scandalous tale.

The Truth Revealed!

"Bartleby wasn't the only one who couldn't control it, was he?" she asked. "I can only imagine how much it hurt when they took him. Because you could keep it a secret, but he couldn't."

Lintumen pursed his lips. "How did you know?"

"You know too much," she replied. "And you're always reading. Far too much reading for what these shelves can contain. That's how you found my parents."

Lintumen turned past the headline to the next page, and found a sheet of text that pinched itself together at points on the page, forming multiple webs of words positioned around a series of cocoons. Murder, they read, in the middle of every knot, and the threads that held them called out his lies, from deceit to myth.

A quick snap of Lintumen's wrist shut the book with a whack. As he did, the drab cushions of the bench on which he sat burst into a dazzling, swirling pattern, changing instantly the way that they had always been.

"What now?" he asked. "Will you summon your shadow to kill me, like so many before me?"

Minerva shook her head. "I don't know yet, and until I do, you shall remain my prisoner and servant, my navigator and purser, or whatever else I choose for you to be, for so long as I am the captain of this ship, or any other. Have you anything to say for yourself?"

"I do not expect you to ever forgive me, and I will not beg for it with an apology."

"I never imagined that you would."

When Minerva knocked on the door and Olbus released her, the cabin she left behind was not the same place that she had entered only moments ago. The dreary space, once colored in plain tones and lit with only candles, now bloomed with all the shades of the rainbow and beamed beneath the glow of many shining lanterns. It was a different space, because the man that made it his home had changed. Without even realizing it, she had altered the entirety of the world and its history with nothing more than the belief in her heart, just to give one man a conscience. It was a feat of magic more powerful than anything that had ever come before, and no one even knew it happened.

Minerva sighed and stared through the open door into the captain's cabin.

"That's your bunk," Olbus offered.

Minerva said nothing in reply as she entered the cabin, allowing the door to swing in behind her, but it failed to latch.

Olbus stood in the darkness, waiting to leave, but something about the partially open door anchored his feet, and a special memory beckoned him inward. He found Minerva sitting on the bed with her knees to her chest and her arms around her knees, with her face buried in her elbows. He sat beside her and hugged her close. "Tell me about them. Your family," he said.

The tears appeared slowly at first, but the truth was out, the shock had worn off, and she no longer possessed the strength to restrain her anguish. For a long time, she sobbed in his arms, wailing like a lost child.

Chapter 92

Maiden Voyage

"Are you – sure about this?"

"Say Captain. I'm at the helm."

The twins gave Minerva a flustered look as she stood defiant, behind the wheels. "Okay – Captain! Are you certain – that she can even fly?"

"Absolutely."

Luff and Leech took a deep breath and shrugged before heading off to the sails. Olbus stood on Minerva's right-hand side, awaiting her command.

"Let my uncle know that we're ready, boatswain."

"Skyraker, able and ready!" Olbus shouted to Captain Black, who waited aboard the Phoenix.

Minerva exhaled unevenly, blowing the queasy feeling out of her stomach. A conflict raged in her mind, debating if the source of the feeling emanated from within her, or from having her hands on the wheel.

"All hands!" Olbus ordered. "Ready kites! Riggers! Take us up!"

Stark white sails pulled up in the frigid mountain air, and the Skyraker creaked and groaned. A few unseen shafts of wood snapped like eerie firecrackers.

"On your mark," Olbus offered, radiating an aura of calm.

Minerva raised one arm into the air, fiercely clamping down on the sky spoke of the wheel with her other hand. The will of the ship filled her mind, and although her hair was free from its prison in preparation, the sensation felt different. She felt valiant and proud, and her heart brimmed with a sense of purpose. Then she lowered her arm with a snap, and clenched the wheel as the Skyraker popped and fell with a lurch before catching itself on its injured masts. A cloud of apprehension choked the small crew as the wounded bird took wing.

The journey from the mountain to Rahama Matha was a nervous flight at the best of times, as every gust of wind drew creaks and cracks from the hull, and gasps and groans from the crew. They arrived in the coops of the city amid significant fanfare from the locals. Most of whom were amazed that the ship even remained airborne.

Olbus dismissed the crew once the Skyraker rested securely on stilts, and Minerva watched them leave with sadness, wondering how many would return to sail with her. It would be a long time before the Skyraker could fly again. Olbus came to stand at her side once the deck was clear.

"I will ready the ship for winter berth," he said. "In the spring, we can discuss my ongoing employment."

Minerva panicked internally. Even if he came back in the spring, she didn't know what she would do without him all winter. She suspected that he would remain at her side, as her boatswain or otherwise, but she needed a concrete reason for him to stay; a more permanent agreement to assuage her fears.

"In truth," she said, "there is a different vacancy that I believe you can fill. If the burden is not too great, and you are not opposed to the idea, you could stand in the place of my father?"

Olbus' lip quivered and his eyes watered. Then without warning he flexed his whole body rigid and straight, drew his hand to his brow with a snap, and saluted. Beyond any doubt, it was the most powerful gesture she had ever seen.

"It would be my honor, Captain."

Captain. It sounded so much better than just sailor.

Chapter 93

Rahama Matha

Four months passed in the time needed to repair the Skyraker, and the cost grew every day, as more damage revealed itself throughout the ship. Many times, Minerva heard the remark that building a new ship would have been wiser. Minerva never could have afforded it, if not for the kindness of her uncle. He covered every expense, including the living costs of any crew that swore on their mark to return to the ship when it was ready to fly again.

During her stay in Rahama Matha, Minerva learned that the clergy of monks that lived there chose such a remote location as a way of retreating from the oppression of their faith. When the first flying ships discovered it, the monks welcomed their guests, and offered them food and shelter in exchange for the goods they needed to survive the harsh winters. In time, it grew into a thriving city of trade frequented by pirates and captains from around the world.

Minerva also discovered that harsh was an understatement when it came to the weather. She reliably awoke with snow in her room, and often found herself tunneling through a minor avalanche to reach the apartments of her friends.

To pass the time, she practiced singing, and the monks invited her to join their small choir. In the evenings, she congregated with her friends, listening to their stories and sharing her own. Sometimes she went to speak to Lintumen, and he would teach her about magic and history and many other things, as he had done in the past, but the truth had wounded their relationship, leaving a scar that only time could heal.

Her favorite time, however, was late at night, when she gathered with her uncle around a fire, and he told her stories of her mother and father from a time before she knew them. A long history of daring exploits and wild adventures revealed more than she ever knew about them, and she loved every moment of it.

As for Captain Glass, she granted him total freedom, on the condition that he was to travel far away and never return. He was both grateful and sad, as she expected, for it was both freedom and a punishment. His deeds would haunt his every step for the remainder of his life.

When spring finally arrived, and the shipwrights cleared the Skyraker to fly the snowy passes, the desire to be up in the clouds left Minerva twitching with anxiety. She put forth her crew call by posting a note in the taverns most frequented by Luff and Leech, and more than four hundred sailors arrived to join her crew.

Pirates love stories, after all.

Chapter 94

Stormraker

"You ready to see her?" Captain Black asked.

Minerva felt more than ready. She wanted to sing and dance, but she maintained her composure. Lord Arach would have been proud.

The coop of Rahama Matha resided in a sheltered canyon alongside the city, with a narrow serpentine trail that descended into it. Minerva last went to see Lintumen more than a month ago, so the completed repairs remained a mystery to her. Luff and Leech covered her eyes as they rounded the final bend, guiding her down the last of the stone steps and into the coop. When they pulled back their hands, pure joy overwhelmed her heart, and she wiped at tears that froze to her cheeks in the mountain air.

The Skyraker shone vibrant and strong as it floated in the air. Navy-blue paint replaced the former coat, and now matched Nezzen's hat, with long white stripes like lightning that led off from the figurehead. Across the whole of the hull, tiny flecks of molten gold accented the knots and curves, and they glinted in the sunlight. The spirit of the Skyraker showed its pride that day, ready to receive its new captain with exuberance.

Big Jim spoke to Minerva first. "Ye should break the curse," he said.

"How?"

"Well, she's got a new skin, an' a new captain. She's practically a new ship. Give 'er a new name."

Minerva remembered Nezzen's explanation of the Skyraker's curse. How it would tolerate no captain to fly it for long. Perhaps a new name could solidify their friendship, so she considered the events that brought her to Rahama Matha. The battles with Cloudscorch and the twin ships. Her time with Thimbler in Riggersport and Lord Arach in Reshampur. As she wandered within her mind, she came at last to a single moment that defined it all.

"Stormraker," Minerva declared, and nodded approvingly to herself, thinking only of Nezzen and the way he died.

Big Jim grimaced and shook his head. "Ye should not use part 'o the same name. That's bad luck."

Minerva turned to look at her ship, thinking long and hard about its history. In her mind, her ship was a sturdy, battle-hardened veteran of a difficult lifestyle. She saw a stoic warrior, both able and willing.

"I think it requires great strength of character for a lady to keep her last name in a relationship," she said.

Jim raised an eyebrow at her. "Aye," he admitted. "That's it, then. Captain Minnie of the Stormraker."

Some of the men began to celebrate, but Minerva interrupted them. "Maybe not Captain Minnie," she said.

"What name will ye use?"

"My mother always taught me to reuse as much scrap as possible. Since I need a name, and I gave her a new one, why don't I take the remainder of her old one?"

"What about yer father's name?" Jim asked, seemingly offended.

Minerva shook her head. "I doubt I could live up to it, and I think it would just confuse people."

"Yer mother, then?"

"There's already a Captain Black, remember?"

Jim sighed and slouched where he stood. "Sky, then?"

"Aye," she smiled, "Captain Minerva Sky."

Jim returned her smile and patted her on the back. As they climbed the gangplank, he pointed to one of the golden flecks in the hull. "Nezzen's gold, that is. The old crew scooped it, but I threatened 'em with a cleaver when I found out, so they gave it to me."

Minerva reached out and touched one of the glimmering specks. Even in the frigid air, it felt warm.

When the new crew stood upon the deck, Captain Black was already waiting. He addressed Minerva with a professional handshake, and a curt nod, concealing any familiarity between them.

"Captain," he said. "I have endured significant loss to repair this vessel and house your crew. If you wish to resume command of this ship, then you will operate as a private agent of my consortium. If, at any point, you repay this debt in full, then you are welcome to claim it as your own."

"Okay," Minerva said, feeling as if he was being comical, but his stern expression quickly proved otherwise.

"I also expect you to understand that as my agent I will tax your earnings accordingly, and if I see fit, I may replace you as captain whenever it suits my whims. Under no uncertain terms, this is my ship, not yours."

Minerva swallowed hard, but accepted his conditions. There were rules to being a pirate, family or not.

Chapter 95

Reparations

"I demand to see the captain of this vessel!"

Minerva stood in front of the uniformed man that called her out. Olbus bound the man's arms behind his back, forcing him to his knees. He wore a striking outfit of white with black trim.

"This is a vessel of the White Fleet! Release us at once, or face the ire of the empire!" he shouted.

"Commodore Barracks, is it?" Minerva asked, surveying the infuriated man.

"How dare you question my rank? Go get your captain, boy!" The commodore snarled at her and made as if he was going to spit, but restrained himself.

Olbus pushed the commodore down flat against the deck. "This is Captain Sky," he said.

The commodore's face blanched. "This boy is your captain?" he begged.

Minerva smiled, wide and sinister. "You're not in the empire, Commodore, and I'm a girl." The commodore fell silent as Minerva turned away. "Set him aground with his crew, and plunder the hold."

Commodore Barracks twitched in fury. "Black did this! Where is he? Black!" The tall man protested vehemently as Olbus dragged him away.

"Will this do, Sparks?" Minerva asked, as an older man with sooty black hair and burned skin descended from the Stormraker to join her aboard the new vessel.

"She's a little bright on the belly, but she'll do. We can paint her black with ash in no time." Then he offered Minerva a wicked grin. "Are ye just givin' her to me?"

"I am. As a free agent of the consortium, it is my gift to you."

Sparks nodded and shook her hand, recognizing Captain Black as the ultimate source of the gift.

Minerva took Lintumen to the hold of the Stormraker to tally the worth of the haul, leaving them alone together for quite some time.

"Now what, Captain?" Lintumen asked, as he shuffled about, writing notes in a very large ledger.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, now that you're a captain, and have recently doubled the size of your fleet, what are your plans for the future."

Minerva opened a trunk and discovered a cache of shirts inside. She took one out, assessing the size of it on her own body. "I'm going to repay some debts to the people that got me where I am," she said, as she folded the shirt and placed it in a pile, along with several others for Jim to take to his niece.

"How do you plan to do that?"

"I am first flying to Riggersport, to visit a number of people that I dearly miss, and then I will fly to Reshampur, offering free transport to any friends that wish to leave Riggersport. After that, I will resume a life of piracy."

"Seeking payment to accommodate the repairs of the Stormraker?"

"Exactly. I owe my uncle a significant sum. By the way, split my shares into the shares for the crew. I have received enough nice things, lately. I will repay my debt with future earnings."

Lintumen nodded and put a note in his ledger as she set some shoes on the pile of shirts.

"I don't imagine that your uncle had anything to do with why the ship we just captured was so far from the empire, would he?"

Minerva shot a victorious smile at Lintumen. "None whatsoever."

Chapter 96

Homecoming Queen

A tiny bell rang as the door to Thimbler's shop closed behind Minerva. In response to its call, Thimbler appeared from behind the curtain, wearing a beautiful pink gown over his standard linen work clothes. His sewing technique had markedly improved.

"Can I help you, miss?"

Minerva kept her hat turned low to cover her face, and pretended to look at some of his wares. "I believe you can. I require the services of a tailor named Thimbler."

"I am him," he said, and his face brightened, enjoying his unexpected fame. "However, I'm sorry to inform you, madam, but I am very busy. If you are willing to wait, then I will schedule your work for a later date."

"What if all I want is a hug?"

As she spoke, Minerva lifted her chin, giving Thimbler a clearer look at her smiling face.

The tall, very proper, and always collected man, shouted in elation and threw his arms forward to embrace her as he ran around the counter. He hugged her hard and long, commenting on how much she had grown. He said she looked like an elegant lady.

Minerva invited Thimbler to dine on her ship, which he accepted in amazement, mostly at the fact that it was her ship. She also invited him to bring a date, if he had one. She was pleased to see that Jack came too, as did Lockjaw, who now lived in Riggersport, having successfully found a carpenter to apprentice him.

The three guests ate in the captain's cabin with Olbus and Minerva. After the meal, Minerva confessed her true motives.

"I want you all to leave Riggersport," she said.

"And go where?" Lockjaw asked.

"Reshampur. It's not too far away. You would have no shortage of work, and I'm heading that way. I plan to take any of Roker's girls with me who are willing to work for a living."

Thimbler and Jack accepted, and Lockjaw promised to depart once he completed his apprenticeship, but warned her that it might take several years.

"How can we repay you?" Thimbler asked.

That exact question is what Minerva had hoped to hear, all evening long.

"I remember you once said that if I ever found any fine clothes that I was willing to part with, that I should consider selling them to you." Minerva moved towards the large white wardrobe with its face of interwoven gears. "I think I may have found something that interests you."

The vault-like case swung open when Minerva pulled on the handles of the ruby heart, and she gestured with the theatrics of a master of ceremonies. The grand show that she revealed always awed Minerva, and her friends were no exception.

Inside the case, a line of the most incredible garments she could ever imagine hung on a rotating rack. One was a gown so dark that when she gazed overlong at it, she saw a silent, speckled sky of stars. There was another whose deep blue fabric flowed like waterfalls from the shoulders of its wearer, and another that glimmered more than even the most polished gold. There were dresses of sky and clouds and mountains, and one as reflective as a mirror.

It was as if someone had taken pure imagination and woven it into something that she could wear.

Minerva's current favorite was a black gown, like velvet. Its sleeves and halter formed a powerful storm across the chest and shoulders that unleashed white bolts of lightning to strike the feet of the wearer each time they took a step. On the right floor, with the right footwear, it made her footfalls sound like thunder.

What amazed her the most, however, was how the case contained far more than its size could possibly allow. Whenever she slid a gown from one side to the other, the stack on both sides appeared to neither grow nor shrink, and each time she searched the contents she discovered another potential favorite.

Below the dresses, several hundred drawers folded out, revealing an equally impossible number of shoes. Although the footwear lacked the magical properties of the gowns, that didn't diminish the beauty and wonder of their form and quality.

Thimbler leaned on Minerva for support. "I would giddily pay you all my wealth for only one of these, and I fear it wouldn't be enough."

Minerva held his hand and laughed. "Then I will sell you five for the same price."

Thimbler gripped his heart with his spare hand.

"And the shoes to match, if you like," she teased.

Chapter 97

A Pirate's Lady

Thimbler, Minerva soon learned, possessed far greater wealth than he ever revealed. For decades, he had been saving his profits for that one moment when someone brought him a true treasure. As time went by, and his savings grew, he maintained his frugal ways, knowing not what else to do. He hid it all within the floor of his shop, until it became full. Then he hid it in the walls and the ceiling, and eventually, anywhere else that he could possibly find to store it. What he paid Minerva for five gowns was more than the worth of her entire ship, and certainly enough to repay Captain Black, with plenty to spare.

When they arrived in Reshampur, Minerva furnished the Stormraker in total comfort. She purchased wool mattresses and silk covers for every bed and hammock, and supplied every sailor with full uniforms in varying colors of their choice, tailored to their size. Then she stocked the galley to the standard of a royal fleet, although she didn't expect any of the sailors to use the utensils.

She even bought them towels.

Lord Arach greeted the Stormraker as it sailed down to his docks, and he came running from the palace with his guard in tow. He embraced her with the same vigor as Thimbler, for which she scolded his very un-lordly behavior, and he immediately invited the whole of her crew to the palace for an evening of gourmet food and refined dance.

While sitting at the table where he once entertained her, many months before, he asked her about her travels and her trials, listening intently for as long as she spoke.

"How are the clothes I gave you?" he asked. "Do they fit well?"

"They do, My Lord, but I now find that many of them are not to my liking."

"Have you outgrown them?"

"Regretfully not, My Lord, they still fit excellently. The trouble is that they are not very ladylike."

Lord Arach beamed at her. He had given her almost exclusively work attire, despite his own opinion that such clothes did not belong on a lady. "I will have them replaced for you as soon as possible, My Lady."

Captain Black arrived in Reshampur a week later, and Minerva promptly paid him the worth of her ship. Rather than be impressed or startled, as she expected, he grew sullen and gruff. He accepted the payment with no noteworthy show of appreciation.

At the urging of Captain Sparks, Captain Black offered to make her a full partner. In that way, Sky and Sparks elevated the count of ships in the fleet from twelve to fourteen, cleverly avoiding an unlucky arrangement.

When the day came to depart, Minerva danced one last dance with Lord Arach before heading to the docks, and nothing in the world seemed quite so comfortable. Then she went to her ship, prepared to begin her new life.

Luff and Leech landed on the deck beside Minerva, falling from the sails as she crossed towards the helm. "Is that – a corset?" they balked, looking her over.

Lord Arach had woven Minerva a collection of sturdy and worthy dresses, many with corsets that could withstand the rigors of a pirate life while leaving her movements free and unrestrained. They made her look very elegant with Velvet in a scabbard on her hip and Nezzen's hat on her head.

"Yes, it is," she replied. "It enhances my womanly features."

"And boots? On a ship?" they pressured, looking down.

"Captain Glass wore boots."

"Is that – a scarf?"

"Is there a problem, sailors?"

"Nope," they replied, stepping away.

Minerva took a deep breath, waiting for them to finish what they wanted to say.

"Well – I mean – it's just – that – you – look – like—"

"A captain!" Olbus barked, startling the twins with his presence. They responded by scurrying up the shrouds and into the sails. "We are ready to depart, Captain," Olbus announced.

"Have you seen my uncle?" Minerva asked, wondering if he would come and see her off.

"The Phoenix departed from Reshampur last night, Captain."

"Oh," Minerva replied, crestfallen. "I was hoping to celebrate my birthday with him."

"It's your birthday?" a voice asked, from behind Minerva, and she spun to see Gunner standing with his hands on his hips, shirtless and glistening as usual. He flipped his hair and grinned, forcing her to blush.

"It will be soon," she replied.

"Happy birthday," he said. "Mine is a few weeks from now."

"Oh! How old will you be?"

"Seventeen."

Minerva tried to contain her shock. Gunner looked young, yes, but not that young.

"Hey, how about we celebrate together?" he asked. "We could share a dinner the next time we're in port. Just the two of us. I'll cook."

Minerva smiled and rocked on her heels, cursing her corset for trapping her body heat against her skin as she began to sweat. "That would be nice."

"Then we can watch the stars or something," he said, flashing his perfect smile as he swept his hair back.

A call from the twins overhead indicated that the riggers were waiting, and Minerva noticed that most of the sailors on deck were watching her. "I need to go to the helm," she squeaked, furious about her new duty.

Gunner nodded. "I'll ready the guns, Captain," he said, before wandering off below deck.

At the helm of the ship, Olbus stood ready to carry her command to the rest of the crew. "Inform the crew that we will be leaving, please," she ordered.

Olbus held his position. "You don't need to do this," he urged. "Your debt is paid. Your name is unsullied. This could be a merchant vessel or a charter ship. This isn't the life for you."

Minerva respected his concern, but disagreed. "Nezzen said the same thing about you."

Olbus frowned. "You prefer piracy? It is a life of violence, hardship, and uncertainty."

"Across my heart, to die with a smile."

Olbus briefly reciprocated her smile, and then moved off down the stairs, leaving her alone to overlook the crew and the deck and the whole of the Stormraker. Her fingers fidgeted with her golden owl cuff links while she waited. When it was time, Minerva put her hands to the wheel, embracing the caress of a gentle power willing her to fly far and free. After two months of being a captain and an agent of her uncle, only now did she feel truly ready.

"Lintumen," she said to the brass cone.

"Yes, Captain?" replied the echo.

"Set a course."

"Destination, Captain?"

Minerva looked out at the trees and up at the brightness of the sun as it pierced the blanket of the forest canopy. "I would like to visit my home. I want to say goodbye to my parents."

"And after that, Captain?"

Minerva took a deep breath and held it long. "Wherever my imagination takes me."

The crew looked back at her, expectant of her orders.

"Boatswain! Hoist anchor!"

Olbus cranked the capstan, hauling in the massive iron hook.

Minerva felt the weight of the ship list beneath her, and she corrected it slowly, drifting away from the dock where Thimbler and Lord Arach were waving at her. As the Stormraker pulled out into the air, its gleaming white sails lowered into place, ready to work their magic and lift the ship to freedom. At the top of the mainmast, a tumultuous wind tussled a black and red flag.

"Riggers! Take us up!"

Together as one, Minerva, the Stormraker, and her crew shot up through the trees. As they rose, Minerva set her hair free, allowing it to streak long and wild behind her. When they broke above the greenery and into the stunning light of a vibrant day, she felt as if she had just unwrapped the perfect birthday gift. She couldn't have asked for a more beautiful sky to sail into.

Table of Contents

Birthday Girl

Hung on a Hanger

Lintumen Barrister

Reinforcements

The Skyraker

Swabbie

Lunch Break

Cloudscorch

Tug of War

Minerva the Magician

Murder Aboard the Skyraker

The Velvet Sovereign

The Maiden in the Mirror

Twice Lucky

Markedly Marked

Crow's Nest

Midnight Stations

Nezzen

Late to the Spoils

Big Mean Jim

Punishment

Twice Oathed

Old Boss

Big Jim

The Helm

Scouts

Riggersport

Crew Dismissed

Seamstresses

Lady Lost

Thimbler

Loyal Knights

One of Roker's Girls

Drunken Woes

Thimbler's Pocket

Minnie the Tutor

The Blow Hole

Straight Shooter

Practical Sciences

Food for Thought

Cloak and Shadow

The Counsel of Shadows

Crew Call

The Certainty of Probability

Bartleby Montgomery

Proper Attire

Everything

August Rain

Fork in the Road

Mad Men

The Meaning of Sailor

Optional Understanding

The Loftwood

Spider Storm

Coming Down

Reshampur

The Commodore

Breaking Point

Little Blue Dress

Dinner for Two

Lord Arach of the Loftwood

Lessons in Love

A Dagger in the Dark

The Choice of a Lady

Prima Donna

Tea Time

Departure Recital

Chest of the Heart

Seeds of the Sun

Nurse Minerva

A Cloak of Courage

Anchors Aweigh

Rogue

Bruised Apples

Mirror Mirror

Drawing a Line

The Navigator

Meeting of the Minds

A Nameless Gift

Storm Chaser

Victory Smile

Thunderhead

Courage and Sacrifice

Fly Stone Pass

Heaven Sent

Over the Mountain

Lintumen the Lion

Revelations

Toss of the Hat

Quiet Time

Into the Lion's Den

Maiden Voyage

Rahama Matha

Stormraker

Reparations

Homecoming Queen

A Pirate's Lady