Pre-dawn found Captain Wolf at the helm of the Silence, steering the ship out of the harbour. Their heading was still uncertain, but she wanted to put distance between herself and the Skeleton King. The ship moved with quiet ease through the harbour’s entrance, true to her name.

  Elisabeth felt a sense of relief when they crossed the kingdom’s boundary, its wards letting them go with a sluggish tug. A residue stayed behind. As they sailed into open waters, women began scrubbing and chanting—the magic users on the crew working to cleanse the vessel of the spell-remnants. A tracking technique, she suspected. A vile thing to do to a pirate, but the Skeleton King didn’t keep to any code but his own.

  “Tracker,” Sera, one of the women, confirmed when she passed by the wheel to throw a bucket of green-tinted water over the rail. As the voices faded, the ship felt clean beneath her feet. That sense of grime dissipated. It was insulting that he thought to catch her with so little effort. But then, it seemed like a general web he cast around his Island, trying to keep an eye on any who came and went.

  “Keep her heading East,” Elisabeth instructed the sailor at her side, one of the navigator’s proteges. The captain stepped away from the wheel. Now that they were clear of the island, she was needed below. A council, of sorts, was set to assemble in her quarters—Moira, Helen, the navigator, and Cressia, who was following her into the hold. The sun spilled itself across the horizon in a blaze of yellow and orange, as they made their way below to the captain’s quarters. Elisabeth nodded at the two women waiting for her at the door and led them inside. It was time to formulate a plan.

  They settled around the map table and shuffled through the few papers there, all of them attempting to make sense of the scraps of information. Only Cressia hung back, taking up her usual post by the door. Her diligence was a mystery to Elisabeth—guarding her on her own ship didn’t make sense to the captain, but she knew not to argue the point with the former royal assassin. At the end of the day, she trusted the woman to know her business. Hidden threats might exist anywhere.

  Moira huffed in frustration. “Any help from the other realm?” She asked, tossing a scrap of paper back onto the table, and glaring at the half-finished map of an unnamed stretch of sea.

  “Nothing useful. They can’t find it. Just say it’s under the water…somewhere.” Elisabeth shrugged.

  “I can’t make sense of any of these, cap’n. There’s not enough there.” Helen, the ship’s navigator, scattered a handful of torn-up charts with a snarl of disgust, her lined face distorted with the expression. “If he wants you to find this bit of shine, he needs to give us something worth reading.” She chewed on her lip. “Shame to treat maps like this, too,” she mumbled.

  “Without even a hint at a heading, we’ve no hope of finding anything,” Moira agreed. The women around the table fell silent, each of them re-arranging the papers in the hope of coming across any viable clue to the treasure’s location.

  “Visit the Sisters and ask them.” Cressia dropped the sentence into the strained silence like a rock into a still pool. Its ripples went through the assembled pirates. Elisabeth turned and frowned at the bodyguard. It was a bold suggestion. One she didn’t want to consider. The Sisters were her kin, three loathsome witch-bitches sitting in their own web and not one of them overly fond of their errant pirate sibling. Landbound, they were, and untrustworthy on the best of days.

  “Captain, we may have to. If the…spirits…can’t help, mayhap they can,” Moira spoke haltingly, none of them relished a visit to the decaying mansion that housed the captain’s kin.

  “It’s a last resort,” Elisabeth ground out, turning back to the table. “Get Crows in here to cast the bones. Her fellows might be more insightful than mine.”

  “Aye, captain.” Cressia slipped out of the cabin in search of the sooth-sayer crone. Dread pooled in Elisabeth’s stomach at the thought of going to her sisters for help, groveling to them. It was the final option. And one she would only consider if the other choice was admitting defeat and turning her sails to run from the Skeleton King and his influence, a coward’s choice, and a fate worse than death.

  “I suspect you’re trying to come up with ways not to see your Sisters, but if the bone-witch can’t see the Atlas Stone, it’ll be the only way forward. Other than searching the bottom of the deep blue for centuries,” Moira interrupted her brooding with her usual practical approach. Helen watched the two quietly, her opinion locked behind tightly shut lips. It was clear the navigator wasn’t keen to get involved in the conversation between her two superiors.

  “Aye. Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Elisabeth muttered after a long moment, eyes still roaming over the tattered pieces of paper on the table, hoping to unravel meaning from them that simply wasn’t there.

  “Plenty I don’t like.”

  “True. It’s why you’re a good quartermaster.” The only response to the praise was a snort from Moira. Elisabeth meant it: an effective quartermaster was a thorn in a captain’s side, keeping them honest and in check, and the one-armed woman certainly did that. They fell into silence again, each lost to their own thoughts. Exhaustion settled around Elisabeth’s shoulders, the few meagre hours of sleep not enough to combat the hardships of the night on Skull Island. She ground her teeth and rolled her shoulders, fidgeted with her rings, ran her fingers through her hair in place of a comb. Anything to keep moving and keep at bay a little longer the need to rest. They needed a heading, a goal to work towards, something to give a sense of direction to this fool’s quest, and then she could sleep. If they were going to seek her sisters, she would need every ounce of strength she could muster.

  The door opened. Cressia ushered in the soothsayer and guided the half-blind woman to the map table to stand with the captain, quartermaster, and navigator. Elisabeth considered her as she approached, walking with her back straight, her silver hair clean and brushed, her clothing hanging off her now-skeletal frame. A staff in her left hand helped her move through the room, supporting her and allowing her to get a sense of the space. She was old, but every inch of her spoke of tenacity. Only her clouded eyes gave away that she was beginning to falter and stumble towards death.

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  “Crows, we need you to ask the bones for a heading, or a location of…the Atlas Stone,” Moira spoke softly to the woman. “Captain’s…friends weren’t able to help, so it’s come to you.”

  “If the corpse-lover’s at a loss, then I won’t be of much more help.”

  “Any port in a storm, old woman.” Elisabeth didn’t care for the undertone of insult in the woman’s response. “Now cast,” she added, with the tone of command clear in her words.

  “Clear some room on this table, lassies, and I’ll see what can be seen.” Moira and Cressia immediately sprang into action, gathering the scattered papers and moving them to the side, giving the majority of the map table for the soothsayer to cast her bones. Helen stepped back from the group, leaning against a bulkhead and staring out of the window; her part in this venture was on hold until a map or heading could be found. Crows leaned her staff against the table’s edge and pulled a dark leather bag from the folds of her clothing.

  The murmur of an incantation slunk through the room, as her still-deft fingers opened the bag and reached in to grab a handful of talismans. She brought them to her lips, still muttering, and then threw them across the table with a practiced flick of the wrist that any dice-player would envy. The air grew cold in the cabin. The mumbling continued, the tone becoming more urgent. Elisabeth watched as the woman’s hands cramped and twisted, her body suddenly rigid. Blood oozed from her nose. Her milky eyes rolled into the back of her head. Words disappeared and she simply hissed and moaned. The bones on the table began to clatter and move of their own accord. One of them broke apart, scattering pieces of itself among the others.

  “Damnit.” Elisabeth grabbed a discarded shirt from the foot of her bunk and threw it over the bones as Crows began to keen, her claw-like hands moving to her face and leaving deep scratches in her cheeks before the rumpled cloth covered the runes. As soon as they were out of sight, the soothsayer sagged, and only Cressia’s quick reaction kept her from falling to the floor. The cabin was quiet except for the old woman’s ragged breathing.

  “Thrice-cursed ye are, Captain, to be looking for this trinket,” she whispered into Cressia’s shoulder. “It’s not meant to be found. And those who seek it will perish.” She pushed away from the bodyguard and shuffled toward the door, leaning heavily on her staff, her earlier strength lost in the attempt to locate the artifact. “Burn those, and put me ashore at the first port we land in,” she called over her shoulder as she walked through the door and slammed it shut behind her.

  “Well, that didn’t work.” The quartermaster gathered up the abandoned bones inside the shirt, making sure not to expose them. “You know what that means.”

  “Aye.”

  “I’m gonna have to hear you say it, Captain.”

  “It means we’re headed to see my sisters,” Elisabeth ground the words out, her jaw clenched tight in anger at her inability to accomplish the task without outside assistance. “We’ll need to stop to gather offerings.” She ran a hand over her face. “Helen, take us to the Hideout. We’ll pay Crows her dues, pick up a few things, and then we’ll need to stop in town—any town. Whatever’s closest to Hag’s Rock.”

  Helen stood by the window. “I have a suggestion,” she said, and finally turned to face the captain again.

  “What is it, navigator?” Moira asked.

  “It’s best not to go straight to Hideout. Some cur might follow us.” The statement brought the full attention of the room to Helen.

  “What makes you suggest that?” Elisabeth asked, glancing at the window.

  “The sail on the horizon.” She nodded her head back the way they’d come. “Might be she’s just coming out of the harbour, same as us. But I’d give it a day or two before heading for our hoard.”

  “Moira, set a watch on that ship. Helen, good eyes. Take us in the direction of the Hideout, but change course every six hours to see if they follow.” Elisabeth grabbed her coat off its hook and shrugged it on. “Let’s go take a look.” Cressia was through the door as the last word left Elisabeth’s lips, insisting on going first to ensure there was no unknown threat above. Moira and Helen followed behind, the navigator breaking off once they reached the deck, to set their heading.

  “Glass,” Moira called as they approached the rail at the stern of the ship. One of the sailors handed the apparatus to the quartermaster, who handed it on to Elisabeth. The captain opened the telescope and put it to her eye. She scanned the horizon with a practiced sweep and found the glimmer of white sail just at its edge, barely visible in the glare where sky met water.

  “Too far to tell who she is,” Elisabeth muttered and handed the looking glass to her quartermaster. The woman performed the same movements as her captain and spent a long moment studying the ghost of a ship.

  “Aye, too far without a bit of spellwork to nudge it along.”

  Elisabeth shrugged and dug through her pockets, feeling through trinkets and talismans that rested there. This type of enhancement wouldn’t have been a target of the Skeleton King’s magic, and she found one tucked away at the very bottom. “Here, this’ll do the trick.” She handed a smooth black pearl to the quartermaster and mumbled a few soft words. Moira took the token and grunted as its effect took hold of her, increasing her eyesight. She raised the glass again and blinked a few times, then her lips set into a grim line.

  “Well…” She looked for a moment longer. “It’s the Jester.” She dropped the telescope and collapsed it, closing her eyes against the dizziness brought on by the enhancing spell. Elisabeth took the pearl from her and hummed a spell under her breath, a crackle of static in the air, and the pearl fizzled into just being an object with a small shower of sparks, its purpose spent.

  “Yours,” she said, dropping it into the quartermaster’s pocket. Moira’s eyes widened in surprise at the gift. Elisabeth shrugged in response. She didn’t have the words to explain that she appreciated the other woman’s steadfastness and practicality. Especially not with the knowledge of the Jester in their wake running through her thoughts like a rampant horse. The Jester meant Henry Mortimer, and she still hadn’t parsed the meaning of their strange encounter outside the Skeleton King’s hall. If she was honest, the presence of his ship on the horizon filled her with equal parts curiosity and dread. Elisabeth glared at the horizon and tried to bring her tired mind to bear on the problem this created.

  “Keep an eye on him,” she said finally. “The plan doesn’t change. If he’s following us, we’ll take action.”

  “Aye, captain.” Moira squinted at her. “Best you get some rest, now. It’ll be a while before we know. And we’ll need you fresh when it’s time to decide what to do with him, if he is following us.”

  Elisabeth took a deep breath of sea air, trying to enjoy the feel of the wind in her hair, but it felt distant, like trying to remember a first kiss after years. Fatigue dulled her senses, making the small joys of life at sea inaccessible.

  “I’ll be in my quarters.” She walked away without a backwards glance, trusting her crew to run the ship while she slept. They had a goal, at least, a heading, and the start of a plan to complete the Skeleton King’s errand. She didn’t like it, but it was better than nothing.