Melda slumped against one of the masts and lifted a weak finger at Tor. “Don’t you ever do that again,” she said.
Engle scoffed. “Why’d you save him?” He motioned to Captain Forecastle, who was looking around desperately for his hat. He found it, dripping and mangled between some of the lines.
“I don’t know.”
The latch to the bottom level opened, and water spilled out, followed by Vesper, who simply wrung her hair dry.
“Thanks for the help,” Melda said sarcastically, hands in fists, voice still hoarse. “Were you just going to wait until they killed us all? Escape back to your watery world?”
“I—”
Melda cut her off with a glare that could pierce a diamond, and Vesper retreated below once more. Melda turned her wrath to Captain Forecastle. “And you—you lying, filthy, unforgivable pirate.”
Engle was by her side; he placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Land ahead,” he said softly.
They stopped in the first port they encountered, a good-sized one with a sign that welcomed them to Tortuga Bay. The name was familiar—Tor thought Melda might have mentioned it a while ago.
Captain Forecastle began to spin lies and make excuses, but when his words were met only with glares, he climbed down the side of the ship, and they left him on the dock.
Tor watched the pirate until he was just a dot, then turned to his friends. “What now?” he said. Every step they’d made had been wrong. Every person they’d trusted had been wrong.
But Tor did not regret his decision to choose saving Engle over the compass.
Melda look at her tiny hourglass, which now held much less purple sand than before. “It’s over, isn’t it?” They had gone to great lengths to find the enchanted device, it was the key to finding the pearl. Without it, they had nothing.
And it had been lost to Bluebraid and her crew.
Engle grinned. “Who’s giving up now?” he said. Then, he pulled something from his pocket.
The compass.
Man without a Mouth
The sea is an endless soup, though the cauldron it sits in is a mystery. Many a pirate and sailor have attempted to chart every mile of bright blue water, every island, every faraway land. But some seas are deadlier than others—and some lands, too. It is said that far across the ocean, there is a place completely devoid of color. A pirate made the mistake of piercing the wall that had kept that land separate from the rest—and it shattered his ship to pieces. A single sailor survived on driftwood to tell the tale.
And it is a tale many have chosen not to believe.
The man claims to have seen a land of fire and smoke, of nightmares and dreams. He says the hole the ship made in the wall allowed many things to escape. Including a man without a mouth. A spectral. He burned a path through the sea, water turning to steam, and walked across its bottom easily.
Many dark creatures from that land have been spotted throughout the sea in recent years. And it is said that Emblem Island is shielded by another wall.
Though many wonder what it would take for it to also fall.
10
The Toymaker
The compass glimmered like a jewel. Its dial was crafted from mother-of-pearl, its needles from solid gold. A pattern of fish, shells, and moons decorated its interior, between four symbols—N, E, S, and W.
“Nicked it from the strange pirate kid,” Engle said, shrugging. “Right as you sent the ship down.” He smiled wider. “That was lightning, by the way.”
“And terrifying,” Melda added. Her tone was smooth, but her eyes had gone wide, staring at Engle. Impressed. A little surprised.
Tor grinned. “Maybe you are becoming a pirate.” He felt around in his own pocket and was relieved the boy hadn’t been able to sense the sack of powder’s value. He supposed it was just a bit of dust from a statue, not too important unless one knew its purpose.
Unless he was wrong… He banished the thought. This had to work. The future of Estrelle relied on it.
Engle was famished, and he begged for food before they enacted the next part of their plan. Tor allowed it, still shaken from their encounter with the pirates. He was just finishing his glass of stormberry juice when something below shuddered, and Tor lurched forward. The ship silently pulled on their thread, and Tor grabbed on. He felt around, as the ship, and something pooled around him. He winced.
Vesper burst from below. “We have a leak,” she said. “A big one.”
Tor felt as much. The side of the vessel had been scratched badly in the Devil’s Mouth, a thick tear across its hull, and it had gotten worse when the ship had soared to the skies, then landed. It seemed as though their trip underwater to escape Bluebraid and her crew had finally made the rip tear open.
“Can you make the hole smaller?” Tor asked. The ship groaned beneath him, and he could feel the water burst through its side.
She nodded. “For a little. But my fix won’t hold long. We have to get it repaired.”
That would take ages. Time they didn’t have. As if on cue, Melda silently reached for her arenahora, grimacing at the sand left. It was nearly halfway gone.
“We don’t have the time,” he said.
Vesper looked down below, where Tor could hear water bursting in, filling the hallway. “We don’t have a choice,” she said, before running down to do what she could.
Melda sighed. “She’s right. If we don’t get the ship repaired, then there’s no way we’ll be able to follow the compass.” She turned to Engle. “See anything close by?”
The sightseer studied ahead. They weren’t far from the coast, after leaving Captain Forecastle behind in Tortuga Bay. He nodded. “There’s a
