A thick, wooden bar dominated the pub, and behind that was an intricate wooden carving that ran the length of the wall. Five mermaids were perfectly crafted, laid on their sides so that their tails served as shelves, filled with all sorts of elixirs.
Captain Forecastle was seated at a round table, surrounded by a horde of sailors. Glittering pieces of some game Tor wasn’t familiar with were laid before him. But not nearly as many as there were in front of everyone else.
“We’re good for it!” he was saying, as he demanded more pieces. “Trust us, we’re more than good for it, look—”
He caught Tor’s eye and raised an eyebrow. “Thought ye’d be sailing off by now.”
Maybe they should have left without him.
Tor crossed his arms. “We have a bargain. Remember?”
Captain Forecastle shrugged. “If ye want to be rid of us, we’ll take no offense. This here’s a good village. And we’ve got new friends.” He grinned at a table that most certainly didn’t grin back. He tilted his head at Tor and said through the corner of his mouth, “Got any dobbles, boy?”
One of the sailors stood. “I knew it.” The men at his right and left stood, too. “You’re not leaving this pub until you’ve paid what you owe, pirate.”
Captain Forecastle laughed nervously and stood, hands coming up in defense. One of the men flinched. “That’s a nasty lifeline you have there.”
The other men looked, too, and gasped.
Tor hadn’t seen it yet. But now was no time to investigate. “Run!” he said, and they bolted for the door.
The pub owner made a move to block them, then shrugged, as if it wasn’t worth the effort.
They barreled through the door, and down the block, the sailors at their heels.
As they ran, Tor swore he saw something from the corner of his vision: a floating hat, just like the one the Calavera captain wore. He turned abruptly, careful not to slow down, but whatever he thought he saw was gone.
Melda was on top of the ship, mouth ajar.
“Ye better get that thing moving quickly!” Captain Forecastle yelled, gasping like he hadn’t run in a great while.
“You just focus on hanging on,” Tor yelled back.
The moment they reached the boat, Tor leapt onto its ladder, climbing just high enough for the pirate to fit beneath him. Then, with a quick close of his fist, the ship’s sails puffed up, and they bolted away.
“Farewell! So long! Good, bloody day!” Captain Forecastle said to the sailors shouting at him from the dock, turning to wave his hat in the air, just one hand and foot on the ladder.
Tor climbed the rest of the way with anger hot in his stomach. If they didn’t need the pirate to help them find the compass in Perla, he’d have gladly left him to the wrath of the sailors.
Melda stood waiting, eyebrow up.
“Don’t ask,” he said, walking past her downstairs. He suddenly had a raging headache, and all he wanted was a nap. Just as he passed Vesper’s room, though, he heard a hushed voice.
It sounded like she was speaking to someone.
He pressed an ear to her door.
“Please,” she said. “I’m begging you—”
The plank beneath his weight groaned and she cut off. Tor knocked on her door a few moments later, and Vesper answered, face flushed.
“Yes?” she said moodily.
Tor peered inside. The room was tiny, no place to hide. She was alone. The large conch shell she had found on Indigo Isle sat on her desk.
“Lunch,” he said simply, before snapping his fingers and making a tray of food appear in her room.
Then, he turned on his heel to talk to the only people on the ship he could trust.
* * *
Melda listened to Tor recount what he’d heard with flared nostrils. She undid and redid the ribbon in her braid, which gleamed brightly in the waning sunlight.
Less than a day away from Perla. From the compass.
And, possibly, with the statue shavings’ help, just hours away from the pearl.
For a moment, Tor allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to return home to his mother in one piece. To sleep for a week straight, to possibly pretend like he was normal.
Then, Melda snapped her fingers beneath his nose. He blinked and she rolled her eyes at him. “Daydreaming, at a time like this?”
“Sorry—that’s it. That’s all I heard.”
She shook her head and turned on her heel, making small circles on the upper deck. She turned suddenly. “I knew, I just knew, something was off about her.” She threw her hands in the air. “And we can’t just send her packing. We need someone from Swordscale.”
“Maybe we don’t.” He turned to make sure the rest of the deck was clear, then unearthed the tiny sack from his pocket. The shaved rock sat inside.
Engle peered at it. “Is that…”
“Shavings from the statue at Siren’s Wharf. The owner of the bookshop said it used to have a comb and that it was stolen.”
Melda straightened. “All we need is the compass then. We can use the siren’s shavings to find her lost comb. And if we find the comb, we get a wish. And if we get a wish—”
“We get the pearl.” Engle finished.
They all grinned at each other like thieves.
“Good,” Melda said. “I didn’t like relying on Vesper to find the pearl. We can’t trust her. Or Captain Forecastle, for that matter.”
Heads lowered, they huddled together. “When we find the compass, we can say goodbye to them both,” Tor said. “Until then, it’s best if we act as if we know nothing.”
Engle shrugged. “I can do that.”
Melda smiled sweetly at him. “Without much effort at all.”
Tor rolled his eyes. “We already have enough enemies on this ship,” he said quietly. “Let’s not fight among friends.”
* * *
Before dinner, Tor found Engle at the back of the ship, squinting down into the water.
“See anything good?” he
