“Not to worry, ships like this fine beast are practically impenetrable,” Captain Forecastle said, just as something smashed below. Wood splintered. “Er, practically.”
Before Tor could run down and try to keep them from breaking in through the side of the ship, there was a sharp hiss and spin as Engle’s line went taut.
It jerked forward, and Engle skidded across the deck. He would have gone flying into the water if it wasn’t for Melda’s quick arms pulling him back.
Tor rushed to help, Melda holding Engle, and Tor holding her, leaning back as far as they could—
And then they were off. Whatever Engle had caught with the turnip was big enough to pull the ship free from its frozen place in the water.
The dead yelled and sank below to avoid being run over as the ship sailed away.
Tor looked over Melda’s shoulder and could see the shadow of something gigantic beneath the sea, pulling the ship along, hook lodged in its mouth.
“The fishing rod won’t last long,” Engle said through his teeth, gritting as the beast pulled harder and faster still.
“Neither will we,” Tor responded, almost losing his grip on Melda. She groaned as her fingers began to slip, and Engle was pulled forward—
Without any warning, they all flew backward. Tor landed on the deck with a thud, the wind stolen from his lungs. He gasped and gasped until the air returned.
“The line snapped,” Engle said, face still red with effort. He stretched out a hand to help him up. Tor took it.
Melda peered over the side of the boat. “I don’t see anything,” she said. “I think we got away from the dead.”
Engle gulped. His eyes were fixed on the horizon. “And how do we get away from that?”
Tor squinted. He couldn’t see it, not through the darkness, not miles away. But a second later, he stilled.
A wall of water that bled into the night sky was rushing toward them, building on its way, already taller than a cliff. A hundred feet high, it swallowed up the sea, swept it all into its wrath.
Captain Forecastle let out a low whistle. “Maybe we should have stayed in our hole, after all,” he said to himself.
And maybe they should have listened to the prophecy.
Tor reached blindly for Melda’s hand. And she reached for Engle’s. “To adventure,” he whispered.
“To adventure.”
“To adventure.”
The wave roared on. Tor had to tilt his head to see its top. There was no way to avoid it, no way out. It was over.
He closed his eyes.
Vesper shook his shoulders and his eyes flew open. “I did steal something,” she said quickly, snapping a charm from her bracelet. It looked just like the snowflake they had used on the Calavera.
But this one was in the shape of a cloud.
She handed it to Tor, and he looked one last time at the rushing wall of water, so close he could feel its spray on his cheek, then pressed the charm to the deck.
And, as if carried by a cloud, the ship rose from the water.
Tor dug his fingers into the wood of the deck, steadying himself, melding completely with the ship. They were just inches above the water, and the wave was right there, almost atop them, cresting just above them—
With a groan from the pit of his stomach, he gripped the invisible reins of the vessel and sailed it up into the sky, missing the wave by the length of his hair.
Then higher still, high enough to smirk at the moon.
Only when Tor was sure they were well out of the sea’s path did he dare rise from the deck, his legs shaking beneath him. He took a few wobbly steps to the railing and looked down. The sea sat far below, flat as a mirror, and nearly as reflective. The wave had vanished.
“We’re…flying,” Melda said breathlessly, now at his side, shaking her head ever so slightly.
“This. Is. Lightning,” Engle said, running his hands through his light brown hair, making it stick up in all directions.
Captain Forecastle planted a heavy hand on Tor’s shoulder. “A captain of the clouds.” He laughed sheepishly. “Forget what we said earlier.” He shrugged. “Impending death…makes ye say things.”
Dread coiled in Tor’s stomach. It had been too close—too close to dying. He hadn’t had a plan, or options, or a way out. He had ignored the book’s warning, and it had very nearly gotten them killed.
The thrill of flying wore off quickly, it seemed. Melda frowned and whipped around to face Vesper, who was standing very still, watching the sky around her with quiet awe. “Were you just going to keep that cloud charm you took from the Night Witch’s castle to yourself? Didn’t think to speak up when those sea zombies almost boarded the ship? Or when we nearly died in the Devil’s Mouth?”
Vesper swallowed. “I—I was saving it. For when we really needed it.”
“And that was yours to decide, why?”
Vesper glared back at her. “I didn’t want to waste it.”
“No, you just wanted to steal it. Probably sell it to the highest bidder! Only gave it up because you were about to die, don’t pretend you did it for the good of us.” Melda scoffed. “If it was up to me you wouldn’t even be here.”
Vesper looked as if she’d just been slapped.
Engle laughed nervously, putting himself between the two. He placed a hand on Melda’s shoulder. “Simmer down, Grimelda. If it wasn’t for Vesper and her sticky fingers, we’d be among those sea zombies.”
Melda didn’t stand down. She continued to give Vesper a look that could shatter glass before sliding away from Engle and storming downstairs.
Captain Forecastle rubbed his palms together. “Our first onboard squabble, how delightful!” He frowned. “Say, what’s the name of yer ship?”
Tor turned away from him. “It doesn’t have a name.”
The pirate let out a low whistle. “Every ship has
