He lowered the bowl only when it was empty, then bowed his head sheepishly at their stares. “It’s been…a while since we had a feast this mighty.”
Engle blinked. “I’ve never seen anyone eat more than me,” he said, frowning down at his plate. He looked like he might just finish the rest of the food out of spite, but before he could lift the fork to his lips, there was a chime like a clock reaching midnight.
And the ship stilled.
Captain Forecastle hauled himself up with a groan and wiped a silk napkin roughly across his mouth, letting it drop onto his plate. “Get ready to see the sea as it truly is,” he said, before chugging an entire glass of ale. It dripped down his chin, then absorbed into his beard. “Because it’s not hiding its true face any longer. It’s just taken off its masquerade mask.”
Tor stood, along with the others. He swiped a hand through the air, and their dinner disappeared, along with the furniture.
Another chime rang through the night, echoing loudly across the water. Tor, Melda, and Engle found each other, backs pressed together, each choosing a direction to look.
“The book says even mermaids can drown on a full moon,” Melda said quickly. “That means you can, too, Tor, even as a waterbreather.” She shook her head. “The sea can’t harm us if we’re not in it. Our best bet is to try to stay on the boat, by whatever means necessary.”
Engle swallowed. “I read the same story, Melda. The ship’s no use if it’s shattered into pieces.”
One last chime.
Then, there was a knock. On the side of the boat, like knuckles against a door.
No one moved.
Three more knocks.
Captain Forecastle turned to them, sneering, clearly still upset at not having gotten his way. “Well, are ye going to get that?”
Tor swallowed. He, Melda, and Engle inched toward the starboard side. He peered over, to where the knocking had come from.
A young boy looked up at them. His lips were blue, his skin bloated and pale. His hair was an inky mess plastered to his head. He stood firmly on the water as if it was as solid as sand. “Would you let me in? I’m drenched. And cold. So cold.”
He looked dead. Tor was pretty sure he was dead. Yet here, and solid enough to be knocking on the ship’s side.
Captain Forecastle nodded. “We must be in the Tortuga Triangle,” he said. “Famed for its ship-sinking storms. Those who have drowned rise to the surface under the light of the full moon here…” He shrugged at Engle’s horrified look. “We told ye.”
Tor looked to Melda. She had tears in her eyes as she beheld the boy. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to go? A…better place?”
The boy shrugged, blue eyes turning to stare at her. “I don’t know. They just left me behind. I fell in, and they kept sailing.”
One by one, more figures emerged from the water, rising until their feet were firmly on the sea. And they each turned toward the ship.
The boy looked back at the other figures and growled. “I was here first!” he yelled at them as they neared, some running. “I get first dibs!”
Melda took a step back, almost knocking into Captain Forecastle. “First dibs on what?” she asked, breathless.
“On a new body,” he said.
Back in the middle of the deck, Engle gulped. “Well, they can’t get on, can they? The ship is big and—”
Vesper’s eyes bulged. “The ladder!”
Already, a woman had climbed almost to the top, her bloated face peeking up over the side. She grinned fiendishly. “Would love to have silver hair in me next life,” she said, eyes fixed on Vesper.
Tor shot his hand forward, and the ship obeyed—the ladder fell away, and the woman’s eyes bulged before she slipped down its side.
He peered over the railing once more, and there were dozens of them, surrounding the ship, fighting for who got to be closest, some trying to climb atop others.
“There’s a man up there! Looks weathered, but he’ll do!”
“I wouldn’t mind being a child again.”
“I’ll take anything, get out of me way!”
Melda gripped Tor’s wrist. “They’re going to find a way on here, we need to start moving, now.”
Tor reached for the ship, sensing it around him. He pushed.
But the vessel did not move an inch. It felt stuck, trapped, the sea around them having gone heavy as molasses.
“Can you free it?” Melda asked, staring at his face, now twisted in effort.
“I’m trying,” he wheezed out, forehead a mess of folds as he continued to push. It was like trying to move a boulder.
The ship groaned, but did not break free.
“You can ask the ship for almost anything, right? Ask for something helpful. Ask for—” Melda’s eyes brightened. “As for a fishing rod and a giant turnip!”
Tor gaped at her. “What?”
She glared at him. “You didn’t read all of the stories, did you?”
“Um—”
“JUST DO IT!”
He blinked, and then there they were, on the deck. Melda wasted no time, grabbing the rod and turnip and shoving them at Engle. “You’re the animal expert. Care to catch a sea monster?”
Engle grinned, then ran after her, to the front of the ship.
“Keep them at bay,” Melda commanded over her shoulder.
The dead were banging on the ship with all their might. Some were trying to lift others up onto the deck. They fell right back into the water, only to resurface. More followed, until there were hundreds.
He asked the ship for buckets of water, which he, Vesper, and Captain Forecastle tipped over, onto the dead. They sank again to the sea, hissing, momentarily subdued. But it only bought them minutes.
They tried fire
