Tor ground his teeth. He couldn’t afford to ignore another pirate’s superstition. “Name it what you want,” he said.
Captain Forecastle brightened. He ran a hand along the ship’s railing, then licked his palm from top to bottom, making Vesper’s lip curl in disgust. He nodded, then turned and declared, “This here’s Cloudcaster.”
Engle shrugged. “I like that, actually.” He motioned around him. “Not terribly creative, but certainly good enough.”
Vesper didn’t say a word as she left the upper deck. He hoped she stayed well away from Melda.
Tor leaned against the side of the ship. He never thought he would be looking down at the sky. Engle joined him. They both stood staring, clouds like mist around them, the stars bulbous and bright, the moon a disappointed face.
“What are we going to do?” Engle said. He motioned in the vague direction of Melda and Vesper’s cabins.
Tor sighed. “Melda really doesn’t trust her.”
“Well, I don’t think her stealing something from the Night Witch helped much.”
Tor turned to his friend. He had heard Engle screaming again last night, thrashing in his bed from nightmares. By the time he had gotten up to wake him, his friend had gone silent. Tor had waited up another hour just to make sure. A part of him had hoped that being on another deadly adventure might have been somewhat therapeutic to Engle. Or simply distracting. But his nightmares were relentless.
“Do you trust Vesper?”
Engle bit at his cheek, tilted his head at Tor, and turned back to the sky. He reached for a cloud, only for it to go right through his fingers, not anything like the spun-sugar consistency he had likely imagined. He stared at his fingers disappointingly. “Cold. Clouds are cold.”
“Engle.”
He shrugged. “Why would Vesper risk her life by going on this journey if she wasn’t really trying to save her people from the Calavera? What could she be hiding?”
Tor closed his eyes against wind that numbed his nose and whipped against his cheeks. His dark hair likely looked a mess. As he and Engle abandoned the deck—where Captain Forecastle laid on his back, hands behind his head, starbathing—Tor said, “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
The Golden Comb
The fairest mermaid that ever swam had locks so golden, the sun became jealous. Her hair flowed in a halo, curls draping down her back all the way to her tail, which was made up of scales that glimmered like diamonds.
No one can shine as bright as I, the sun said, so it banished the mermaid below the sea during the day. She could only surface when the moon hung high and darkness turned the ocean black.
The mermaid mourned the brightness and blueness of day—but on one dark night she met a sailor, alone on the deck of a great ship. They spoke for hours, until the sky turned pink with dawn.
Not wishing to be parted from him, the mermaid took a golden comb from her hair and gave it to him. “Comb the water with this, and I will find you,” she said.
But before they could meet again the sailor’s ship sunk, and the mermaid watched her newfound love die, unable to save him, unable to surface while the sun still shined.
He was lost, as was the gift she’d given him.
It is said that whoever finds the comb, and uses it to brush the sea, will be able to catch a mermaid.
And that mermaid will grant a wish.
8
Siren’s Wharf
Tor knew the enchantment wouldn’t last forever. When he awoke, the ship had already started to sink beneath the clouds. Anyone looking up during the fine, bright morning would see a great ship careening toward the sea, looking like it had sailed straight out of the golden pool of sun.
“Pity,” Captain Forecastle said. He was still laid out on the deck, and Tor imagined he must have slept out there, showering in starlight. He claimed it was good for the skin, giving one a glow from within, and Tor thought perhaps he’d been right. The pirate didn’t look as weathered as he had before. “Could’ve spent the rest of our days up here, with want of nothing.”
Engle rushed to the side of the ship, grinning as it neared the water. “Make the ride down a bit fun, will you?”
Tor sighed and shifted the boat, commanding it into a nosedive, wind whipping their hair back. Engle screamed out in delight, and Melda, who had just come up, looked like she might vomit. Tor gripped the mast for dear life as the ship plummeted, plummeted, plummeted—
And landed with a splash large enough to wake a sea monster.
Tor fell back, laughing, and Engle rolled across the deck. Melda tried to scowl, but a grin broke through. “All right, you two have had your fun for the day.” She stood, rubbing her back with a wince. “I imagine we made up some time while flying,” she said.
At once, the wood was bathed in colors, the map coming to life. Vesper stood a few feet away, shell charm hidden in her palm.
Captain Forecastle’s eyes nearly bulged from his face. “What kind of map ye got there?”
They ignored him. And Melda ignored Vesper as she stepped forward.
“You would be correct,” Vesper said firmly. “We’re just a day away from Perla, with the wind on our side.”
In a moment, the map was gone.
Melda nodded sharply, then strode to the lower deck, where Tor had made a breakfast spread appear. Ice bananas, bitterberry porridge, cinnamon spiced yogurt, blueberry juice, and purple avocado awaited. He watched as she fixed herself a bowl, then walked as far away from them as possible, sitting against the last mast. She had brought the Book of Seas with her.
Engle made a face. “That breakfast is looking a little light.”
Tor rolled his eyes and added a basket of peanut butter muffins and peppermint roll bread.
The pirate hobbled over. “I can’t help but notice there’s no ale…”
Tor gaped at him. “It’s just past dawn!”
Captain Forecastle
