The pirate jabbed the blade straight through the seawall, demonstrating how he had caught the eel. He wagged a calloused finger at Tor. “Takes loads of practice, and even more patience, but the taste is worth it!” He put the sword back and Tor took a breath.
Maybe he should turn around and claim he had the wrong deep-sea prison, Tor thought to himself.
But they needed the compass to find the pearl.
“Are you Captain Forecastle?”
The man took a break from chewing on his foul-smelling jerky—which looked like it required quite a bit of chewing—and grinned. “Ye heard of us?”
Us? Perhaps the pirate was mad. “Er…yes. My friends and I are on a quest. And we believe you might have something we need.”
Captain Forecastle brightened. “A quest? Love ’em!” He leaned in, and Tor swore something crawled through the man’s long curly hair. “Especially the sea kind.” He pulled an extremely thin miniature sword from his front jacket pocket and began picking his teeth with it. “Now, what is it ye need?” he asked, tongue darting dangerously close to the blade.
“The compass from Indigo Isle.”
Captain Forecastle went still. He sheathed the teeth-picking blade and shook his head. “That compass was stolen from us long ago by the same pirates who got us locked in here, ye know.”
Tor felt the bite of disappointment, right in his chest. They had come all this way…
But perhaps the pirate could still be of use. If he could get him to say who had stolen the compass…
“How did you end up down here?”
Captain Forecastle sat himself down on what looked like an overturned barrel, halfway dug into the sand. “That there’s a long story, but we were wrongly imprisoned, swear it to our last breath! A curse doled out from the sea itself, a curse for a curse…” He poked a finger through the sea wall. “And cruel as the rushing tide. Could try to escape by swimming through here, but would drown before reaching the surface. The curse even kept us alive, to suffer in this watery tomb for eternity. Don’t eat this because we need to.” He winked as he took another rubbery bite of jerky. “But because it tastes so nice.”
Tor nodded politely and was about to ask another question when the pirate interrupted him.
“What is it yer after, boy?”
Tor swallowed. Something told him not to say it, but the words tripped off his tongue nonetheless. “The Pirate’s Pearl.”
Captain Forecastle smiled again, teeth half rotted, some covered in jewels he unquestionably stole. “Now that, we can help ye find.”
Tor stilled. “How?”
“Well, we know where our compass is. We’ll lead ye to it, then to the pearl.”
Tor remembered Melda’s warning. They couldn’t trust a pirate. There was something about it in the Book of Seas, but he couldn’t remember the exact warning. “And in exchange?”
The captain grinned even wider. “Ye know, a true bargain is a scale. It must be even on both sides…” He shrugged. “All we ask is that ye free us.”
That didn’t seem so bad to Tor. They needed him out of the hole to help them find the compass, anyway.
“To be clear, by us you just mean you, right? It’s just…the way you speak?” He didn’t need to be unleashing some sort of sea spirit or demon by freeing the pirate.
Captain Forecastle frowned, then nodded.
Tor pretended to consider it, then sighed. “Fine. You have yourself a bargain.”
“Grand.” He put two hands on his belly, surprisingly bulbous for a man who had been subsiding on eel jerky. “Hope yer friends have strong arms.”
Tor was let up first. When Engle hauled him up over the side and onto the deck, Melda nearly collapsed with relief.
Vesper stood. “Did you get it?”
Tor scratched the back of his neck and winced. “Not exactly.” It took all four of them to get Captain Forecastle up. Tor was very sure they would drop him on more than one occasion, but at the end, the mermaid seemed to put in a little effort, and he made it safely aboard, flopping like a fish.
Vesper looked him over and scrunched her now-freckled nose.
Captain Forecastle didn’t seem to notice as he straightened and took a step toward her. “A waterbreather, eh? Look just like a mermaid, with that hair.”
Vesper stiffened, then promptly walked to the other side of the ship.
Captain Forecastle shrugged. He turned to Engle and Melda. “Now how on Emblem are ye four sailing a ship of this size?” He scratched at his beard, long, curly, and exceptionally unkept. “Where’s the wheel gone?”
“That is none of your concern, pirate,” Melda said with disdain.
Captain Forecastle gripped his middle and laughed. “Pirate? A pirate steals things, roams above the sea, is part of a crew, goes on quests.” He shrugged. “We’ve been stuck in those depths for years, would reckon the title of pirate wears off if ye don’t do much pirating.” He tilted his head at her. “Would say yer more of a pirate than us.”
Melda scoffed. “We haven’t stolen anything!”
He raised a thick brow. “Oh? Assume you went to Indigo Isle, in search for the compass, eh? If it had been there, would ye have taken it? Would it have belonged to ye?” He laughed again. “Besides, yer sails have gone gold at the edges. Someone’s stolen something.”
Tor looked up—and Captain Forecastle was right. Had they always been that way? Tor couldn’t exactly remember; the gold was too subtle.
Melda glared at him. “By your own logic, then, I’d reckon your title of captain has expired, too. Unless you had a ship and crew in that hole?”
Captain Forecastle stopped to consider that. He frowned. “All right, then, we’re pirates.”
Melda rolled her eyes. “Glad we got that cleared up.”
The pirate puffed out his chest and walked proudly across the ship. “Suppose ye’ll be wanting to know where we’re headed?”
Tor sighed. “Yes.”
“Grand!” He took off his hat, then reached inside, his arm going farther than was supposed to be possible, disappearing all the way up
