Elisabeth studied the wards around the Hideout as the ship slid into the bay; they chimed an all-clear, letting her know that the treasure sat undisturbed in its cave. Relief was a tingle along her spine and a loosening of shoulder muscles. Under normal circumstances, the Silence was a safe haven and source of immeasurable freedom for her, but in the aftermath of recent events, she felt beleaguered even on the ship. Her home had turned into a constant reminder of the task at hand, the leash that bound her, and all she stood to lose if she failed.

  They sat behind protective spells in a calm lagoon with no external threats for at least a night. Smiles appeared on the faces of the crew, some of the women sang a jaunty tune as they worked to secure the ship. Elisabeth desperately wanted to let her guard down and join them, wanted to roll up her sleeves and haul a line. But she knew that it was impossible; she was their leader and needed to stay at a distance from them. The simple work of the deck was behind her, a fact she rarely regretted. In this moment, she did, and wished she could abandon command for even a few short hours.

  “Captain, we’re ready to launch,” Mariss called out softly, drawing Elisabeth’s attention to the longboats waiting in the water. The first of them was already making its way toward the shore. She didn’t move from the ship’s rail, instead watching the rocky beach, the palm trees behind swaying gently in the breeze, drinking in this small moment of peace. Every oar-stroke brought them closer to the return of chaos. Moira’s intent to share the errand with the crew meant division among the sailors. Some would leave, and for the others, the knowledge of their quest would be a seed of fear planted in their minds. Unavoidable; she knew telling the truth about their goals was part of the pirate way. Captains only remained in their roles as long as crews supported them and their ambition. Many of her compatriots saw the end of their careers once they started lying to their sailors. She was determined not to join their number.

  Longboats filled the bay. The watch set on board was meagre in their stronghold, but a handful of sailors remained behind to ensure the safety of the ship. Elisabeth finally pushed away from the rail, and made her way to the last of the launches waiting for her to board. The trip to the cave went past in a blur, her thoughts a maze that kept her pre-occupied, bringing to her the stench of the siren’s pond, and the heat of Henry Mortimer’s kiss, the sting of wounded pride brought on by Skeleton King, and the cold dread that her crew would perish in pursuit of the Atlas Stone. The last time they came to the Hideout, Captain Elisabeth Wolf was full of swagger, undaunted, confident in her strength, and unable to envision a future where she felt hunted and weak—afraid of her own crew, the possibility of dissent and defeat.

  When Elisabeth entered the cave that stored their treasure, she surveyed the cavern. Gold and silver flashed from every corner of the cave, barrels and chests piled in every crevice. Torches flared to life around the central space, a flat area in the middle of a circle of stalagmites, their meeting place. Elisabeth began to make her way across the space. Moira was speaking softly with Crows just inside the entrance, both women intense in their focus. The captain nodded at them as she passed, certain that the quartermaster did right by the crone. They were always generous when a member left the crew.

  Elisabeth didn’t stop in the open circle, but instead, she sought out her own corner of the hoard. Her chests were filled not only with treasure, but also contained a stash of magical items. She shut out the noise of the crew filing into the cave, and began to pick through the trove of trinkets, starting the process of replenishing at least some of what she’d used in the encounter with the Skeleton King and the siren. Sorting through the different phylacteries and amulets brought with it a reminder of who she was beyond recent events. She felt that the powerful necromancer who’d last stepped foot in this space was lost to her now. That identity was taken from her when the Skeleton King forced her to kneel in front of all of those other men. But here, in this moment, she felt the presence of that woman, and called her back.

  “Quorum! Quorum! Quorum!” The cry went up, dragging Elisabeth’s attention to the present, and summoning the assembled pirates to the stone circle. Elisabeth did her best to walk through the women with her usual cocky saunter, shoulders squared and spine straight. So much of piracy depended on the appearance of strength, rather than its actuality. She came to stand beside Moira at the center of the circle. The quartermaster raised her hook to call for silence, now that the women were gathered and chattering together.

  “Women! Misfits! Pirates!” A cheer went up, Moira waited for it to subside. “I called you together to discuss our future.” She paused to look around at the pirates. “The Skeleton King honored us with a quest. He believes that we’re the only crew on these seas that has the skill and determination to retrieve the legendary Atlas Stone!” The words fell into a deep silence punctuated only by the drip of water from the ceiling. The quartermaster let the quiet stretch until a few murmurs began among the assembled women.

  “Does that even exist?” A soft voice asked.

  “Aye, it does.” Elisabeth confirmed. Her task in this meeting was to provide information—nothing more. Attempting to sway the crew to her point of view was beyond her purpose. Facts were her duty. The whispers in response to her statement were louder than the initial susurration.

  “Today, I’m putting to you a question: will you join us on this quest, or will you part ways with us?” Moira’s voice carried across the cavern, spreading another hush in its wake. After a long moment, Mariss stepped forward.

  “Full stakes for those who choose to leave?” She asked.

  “Aye.”

  “And we go our own way in Freeport?”

  “Aye. We leave the Hideout with tomorrow’s noontide. You have until morning to decide.” The quartermaster let that statement settle in. “Are there any other questions?” Further silence greeted this last, formal inquiry.

  “The quorum is now closed.” Elisabeth concluded with a nod at Moira. “Any private questions or concerns can be brought to your quartermaster.” The cave erupted into noise and movement, pirates talking in clusters, all of them trying to decide what path suited them best. The task at hand was daunting, overwhelming, and tempting—the crew that found the Atlas Stone, a legendary object, would be revered. They would become part of the myth. For some, gaining renown tempted them into staying. For others, the danger of the quest pushed them into leaving. Friendships and partnerships were tested in the cave; arguments rose to the stone ceiling, reverberating and echoing. Elisabeth didn’t want to sway decisions with her presence, so she returned to her alcove and disappeared into its shadows.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  No one paid attention to her as she stepped to the back wall and through it, a clever little enchantment hiding the entrance to a rough-hewn stone stairway leading down below the cavern. Elisabeth trailed one hand along the chill, damp wall as she descended toward an enticing blue glow. At the bottom waited a pool of water, luminescent with algae, the gurgle of the underground stream it fed soothed her frayed nerves. An altar stood beside it, adorned with skulls and bones. She pulled a bundle of matches from her pocket and lit the black candles that sat waiting. Their wicks burned cerulean, a necromancer’s colour. The tension around her eyes eased. She picked up the long silver needle that rested on the altar and pricked her left-hand thumb, waiting a moment for a dark, thick drop to form. She carefully smeared it onto the three skulls that faced her atop the stone, their foreheads adorned with old offerings, dark brown stains running into their yellowed teeth.

  “Ancestors, guides, spirits of old,” she called out, releasing the shields that kept her powers contained. The cool room grew colder. Her breath fogged for a moment, and then her body temperature dropped to match the exterior. Keeping her flesh warm required effort; it required her to hold her true magic at bay. “Remember me.” She knelt at the altar and rested her head against its smooth stone. A soft, frigid touch on the back of her neck let her know that her plea was answered. The ghosts flickered at the edge of her vision, a paler blue against the dim illumination of the pool. Elisabeth relaxed for the first time since she’d stepped foot on Skull Island, surrounded by spirits, her guard let down completely. All pretense of normality and vitality dropped.

  Alone in her hidden lair, she began to recall her strength, her confidence, and her true power. She was cunning. She was ruthless. And she was brimming with a cold rage that sent sparks through the room with its vehemence. The spirits responded to her energy. Ethereal hands brushed against her skin, and she took comfort in the sticky-cobweb feel of their fingers tracing the patterns of blue veins and tattoos. The sensations sent shivers up her scalp. The touch of the dead and the soft susurrus of their mingled voices, reminded her that she controlled her own fate. Their whispers were the rushing of blood in her veins, however sluggish in its natural state.

  She had beaten death, found a way to escape its clutches again and again, an impossible feat for most. Accomplishing two more was not out of the question, however distasteful the journey might be. Visiting her thrice-cursed sisters was only the beginning of unpleasant things she’d need to do in order to succeed. No prize worth chasing came without cost. A legendary item like the Atlas Stone? That would cost a great deal more than a bad bargain with her family. It would cost blood, and life. She was sure of it down into her bones. Try as she might, the Silence wouldn’t be able to weather this storm unscathed. But the prize was worth it—had to be worth it.

  Killing the Skeleton King on the other hand, was a goal that brought a touch of glee with it. A chaotic, unruly, impossible thing to achieve. A murder to assuage her wounded pride, her battered ego.The only complication in the scenario was Henry Mortimer. An unwelcome thrill ran through her at the thought of him, his mouth on hers. At the corner of her eye, she saw the undulating figure of the siren, its savage beauty restored in death. Elisabeth had absorbed the creature’s essence, but it wasn’t integrated, and she wasn’t sure she wanted it to mingle with her own. Sirens dealt in desire and death. She didn’t want to mingle heat with the cool of necromancy. Desire was just another chain to keep her bound. A barrage of images flooded her thoughts, strong hands on her body, her tongue licking salt off hot skin, limbs intertwined, an aching throb between her legs.

  “Stop it,” the words were a growl, her eyes glowing with power. The siren’s ghost laughed. Elisabeth knew it was time to tame this spirit, to bind it into obedience, into silence. A quiet siren couldn’t lure you to your doom. She focused her power on weaving chains around the creature, and in her mind’s eye, she pictured a witch’s bridle sliding over its head, snuffing its song. The spirit thrashed, keening as its mouth was covered. Elisabeth almost felt pity for it, a magnificent hunter brought to heel and forced into submission, but she knew that given a chance, the creature would destroy her even now, would lead her into lust and temptation that would cloud her judgement and make her weak. In time, the siren would learn to obey, and would become part of the coterie of ghosts the necromancer pulled in her wake. For now, after one final, desperate push of magic, and one last shriek, it was forced to acquiesce, and was contained.

  Elisabeth allowed herself to sink back into contemplation, enjoying a few more moments with the tingling touch of cold fingers along her skin. Meditation wasn’t part of her regular routine, she much preferred movement, but it felt necessary in the aftermath of her recent struggles. A few more minutes, and then, she would return upstairs to the world of the living. She would pick through her treasures, restoring her hoarded charms to a more comfortable level. More battles lay ahead, and she needed to be prepared—but that was in a few minutes. For now, she was alone with the dead, soothed in their icy presence, fully herself.

  The sun was setting when Captain Wolf returned to the Silence with her pockets full of trinkets, and a small chest of fetishes tucked at her feet in the longboat. She clambered up the rope ladder and onto the deck, glad to be aboard again. The familiar feeling of Cressia at her back was an added comfort. A calm calculation lay over her thoughts after her time in the altar room, her confidence restored. The quartermaster gave her a nod, as Elisabeth stepped on the deck. The two women made their way through the busy sailors to the captain’s quarters without speaking. They stayed silent as they sat down at the desk, and Elisabeth poured a measure of rum for both of them.

  “Now, tell me the outcome. How many are we losing?”

  “It’s not as bad as I feared,” Moira replied, and took a drink. “We’ll lose eight. And some of them I’m glad to see go, if I’m being candid.”

  “Anyone of note other than Crows?”

  “Mariss is choosing to go. And we could use her luck. Other than that, no. Just regular sailors. Women who wanted a bit of peace, a break from a world full of men.”

  “Hmmm,” Elisabeth looked past Moira to catch Cressia’s eye. Allowing Mariss to leave the ship was a risk. “She knows about Mortimer’s plan. Heard it all on the beach after the fight with the siren,” she said, turning her gaze back to the quartermaster.

  “That’s a problem.”

  “Aye.” Elisabeth took a drink of rum, rolling the liquor around her mouth, letting it sting her tongue before swallowing. “We’ll let her go, though,” she decided. “Only a fool would believe her if she goes and tells tales.”

  “Are you sure?” Moira was always the more cautious of the two, especially when it came to the safety of the crew. A whisper of the plan out in the world endangered the ship.

  “I’m sure. She knows enough to keep her tongue idle on this topic. Or she won’t keep her tongue. Cressia’ll have a talk with her before she goes, so she’s aware of her obligations before she’s allowed to leave.” The bodyguard nodded.

  “That’s settled, then.” Moira gulped her rum. “I’ll be giving the eight full stakes to take ashore with them in Freeport.”

  “And you’ll see about replacing what we lost. There’s always a few desperate women willing to risk their necks for freedom.”

  “Aye.”

  “Open a couple of kegs and bring out the fiddles. Let’s have one last raucous night as this crew. Soon enough, there won’t be time for drink and music.”

  “Aye, captain, the women’ll appreciate it, seeing as we’re as safe as can be on the seas.” Moira stood, gave the captain one last nod, and went about her business. Managing a crew was a delicate thing, requiring a great deal of balance between discipline and debauchery. It only took a few minutes before the sound of music reached Elisabeth in her cabin. She smiled at the sound, and finished her rum.