The deck of the Silence moved gently beneath her feet as she stepped back onto her ship, and a layer of tension shed from her flesh. Home, the vessel said. Every board and nail, every bit of rigging, every sail and winch, all of it was imbued with her essence, her magic. It was a sanctuary for them all. Elisabeth made her way to the forecastle and stood watching the longboats as they moved to and fro, ferrying goods onto the boat.

  “Captain.”

  “Yes, Cressia.”

  “You need to rest. It’s been a long night.”

  “Aye, but not yet. Let me know when Moira’s back on board. I’d like to hear what bargain she struck for us all.” The bodyguard faded back into the shadows, leaving Elisabeth to her thoughts. Not knowing the task irked her as much as anything else that had transpired during this short sojourn in the king’s little kingdom.

  Her nails dug into the wood of the ship’s railing as the memories of her defeat tried to flood through her mind again. It was pointless to relive those moments, but they dragged at her and it took a lot of effort to banish them. Better to focus on the present, and the nagging desire to know what they were meant to retrieve for the vile little man. She spat into the water at the thought of him.

  “We’re all loaded,” the words cut through her spiraling thoughts. Moira was standing at her side. She hadn’t noticed the quartermaster approach. Inwardly, she chided herself for her lack of awareness, but she knew not to let her unease show to the crew, not even her second in command.

  Elisabeth clapped her quartermaster on the shoulder, the gesture obscuring her surprise. “And my corpse?”

  “Waiting in your quarters.”

  “Good.” Captain Wolf turned and began to walk toward her rooms in the aft of the ship. “You can tell me about the bargain while I work. And we’ll be away with the tide.”

  The ship was an anthill of preparations, things being stowed and moved and secured. Everyone knew that they were meant to leave with the tide, right before dawn. They would leave under the cover of darkness as they had arrived. The captain and quartermaster walked through the buzzing activity, the latter barking orders as she went. Cressia joined them as they made their way below and to Elisabeth’s quarters.

  The corpse lay on the worktable shoved against the right-hand wall, blood still seeping from his slit throat. Elisabeth walked over to him, appreciating the crew’s adherence to her request for freshness. Moira closed the door, Cressia moving to stand in front of it immediately. No one would disturb the three women.

  “Now, what is the nature of our errand?” Captain Wolf asked over her shoulder, her fingers slowly removing the corpse’s shirt. If she was careful, the other two wouldn’t notice that she was trembling with exhaustion, adrenaline fading now that the safety of her ship wrapped around her shoulders.

  “We’re to retrieve the…Atlas Stone.”

  “Son of a thrice-cursed bitch, Moira.” Elisabeth whirled on the quartermaster. “That’s insane, and you know it.” She was so angry she lost the ability to speak, and could only stare at the other woman, her breath dragging in and out of her chest in heaving gulps. “It doesn’t even exist.” She finally pushed past her clenched teeth.

  “He believes it does. And that it can be found.” The quartermaster was unperturbed by her captain’s emotion. “He’s been sending crews for the past year, but all have failed for one reason or another. The Skeleton King believes you have the right ship, the right crew, and the right magical inclinations for the task.”

  “And does his majesty know where this mythical piece of shiny is located?”

  “No, but he provided a map with all the places he knows it’s not located. As good a starting point as any, I’d reckon.”

  “Useless if he hasn’t sent anyone else with my magical inclinations. They might have walked right past the damn trinket.” Elisabeth forced her shoulders to relax and opened the hands she hadn’t realized were clenched into fists. “Fuck.” She was glad she’d requested the corpse. “Get out, I need to work…and think. Leave the map.”

  “Aye, captain.” Moira left a sheaf of papers on Elisabeth’s desk and hastily moved past Cressia and into the bustle of the ship. The bodyguard remained silent at her post.

  “The fucking Atlas Stone,” Elisabeth hissed under her breath as she turned her attention back to the dead man on her workbench. Oh, she’d show that bastard king a new trick for this nonsense quest he’d forced on her and the crew. She began to cut and burn sigils into the body, muttering the whole time. She didn’t notice when the room grew cold and the lights dimmed, didn’t notice Cressia slip to the other side of the door. She was completely focused on the spell she wove into the dead man. A little bit of vengeance for the humiliation of the night. The tension snapped as the magic took hold and the corpse sat up on the bench.

  “Very good, darlin’,” she crooned. “Now let’s get you back to shore.” She pulled his shirt back into place, pleased to see that the rough, dirty fabric hid most of the sigil work on his skin. With a bit of help, the body got up and walked to the door and up the steps to the deck.

  “One going back to shore,” Captain Wolf called out and the crew sprang to obey the order, readying the longboat one last time. None of them questioned the command, not even Moira who watched with barely suppressed disgust as the walking corpse was lowered to the sea and rowed back to town.

  “Couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Cressia whispered at her side, her dark eyes watching the boat’s progress.

  “I only regret that I won’t be here to watch what happens next.”

  “Better you’re not. He might keep you here.” Moira grumbled. “I just hope that whatever…that is, it doesn’t alert him until we’re well and truly gone.”

  “Oh, we’ll be well clear of Skull Island by the time he sorts out that the lad came from me.”

  “And what happens when we need to return with his trinket?”

  “Why, by then we’ll be welcomed with open arms, because we’ll have what he wants.” Elisabeth grinned at her quartermaster, hooked her thumbs through her belt loops, and rolled her shoulders back. The relaxed stance was a stark contrast to the tension running through the quartermaster. Cressia hovered, a shadow at their periphery, ready to intervene should the two come to blows over the disagreement.

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  “Euch!” Moira finally exclaimed, waving an angry arm at both captain and bodyguard. “Have it your way. But you,” she growled facing Cressia, “you are supposed to protect the captain, not just from the brigands and dimwits who want a notch on their belt, but from her damn self!” The former royal assassin greeted the criticism with a slow blink.

  “I didn’t give her a corpse,” she said softly, and walked away without another glance at Moira and the stunned look on her face, like she had been slapped. Elisabeth watched the older woman shake her head.

  “The two of you’ll be the death of me.” She waved an angry, dismissive hand at her captain and walked away into the bustle of the crew readying the ship for departure. Dawn was creeping up on them sooner than later and there was a lot left to do before they could leave Skull Island in their wake. Elisabeth watched for a moment, letting out a long breath and cracking her neck.

  Across the bay, she saw lights and movement on the deck of the Jester, the crew also readying her for departure with the tide. She allowed herself a brief moment to wonder where the other vessel was bound. What was Mortiner hunting after his meeting with the Skeleton King? But she was too tired to speculate for long. Weariness dragged at her and she forced herself to move through the busy sailors towards her cabin and a touch of rest. A tremor of exhaustion was growing in her legs, but she forced herself to walk upright, not quite her usual cocky saunter, but a close-enough approximation that the crew didn’t notice her weakness. The charade of her strength, even at times of its absence, was important to maintain. Not even the women of the Silence would follow a captain that lacked fortitude.

  Cressia fell into step as she began to move below-deck, ready to guard her door for the remainder of the night. The bodyguard took her duty seriously, and Elisabeth was grateful for it. The moment the door of her cabin closed behind her, Captain Wolf sunk onto her bunk and closed her eyes. Sleep was a long way away, still; she knew there was still work to be done before rest was possible, but she stole a minute or two of respite. Cressia moved around the cabin, cleaning up detritus from the corpse-ritual and snuffing lamps.

  “Bring me the papers Moira left.”

  “You need to rest.”

  “Consider it some light bedtime reading.”

  Cressia made an exasperated noise in her throat and brought the sheaf of maps and drawings and bits of scribbled lore to the bunk. “Have it your way, again. Good night, captain,” she said as she pulled a blanket around Elisabeth’s hunched shoulders.

  “Thank you, Cress,” she murmured without opening her eyes. The slightest touch of a breeze and the soft closing of the door told her the other woman had left the room. Elisabeth knew she was curled into the shadows near the door, sleeping in an alcove she favoured for its proximity. She was protected even on her own ship, a thought that brought her a measure of comfort as she steeled herself for what she needed to do next. The errand laid on her and the crew was no easy task—the Atlas Stone was half-myth. A trinket that gave its wielder the power to change the tides, or the weather, or both, depending on who was telling its lore. It wasn’t anything she’d chase after, but the Skeleton King wanted it, and now she was forced to retrieve it—if it even existed.

  She opened her eyes at last and shuffled through the pile of papers. Useless maps, more useless rumors. A drawing of a trinket with a few words scribbled around it—“gold and silver spokes,” and “deep blue stone at center,” “sense of unease when touching it.” The picture gave her a starting point, at least. With a weary sigh, Elisabeth muttered a few words beneath her breath, casting a summoning and shifting her awareness beyond the physical plane. A host of spirits crowded around her as she finished the incantation. Eerie shimmering figures flickering in and out of view, an undulation of light like the bottom of the sea on a sunny day. The temperature dropped in the room, and Elisabeth was glad to have the blanket tucked around her shoulders.

  “Seek for me,” she whispered, and visualized the image of the trinket for the ghosts, creating a floating approximation of it in their midst. A skeletal hand appeared clutching the medallion, and the necromancer knew that it was buried in a grave, its previous owner holding fast to the treasure. She didn’t know where the body lay; the vision didn’t show her anything beyond the desiccated hand and the golden glimmer of the talisman. She needed more information, more detail. The spirits rippled with unease as her power grew. “Seek for me,” she demanded, lacing the words with compulsion.

  One shape separated from the mass of interweaving energies. She recognized the woman—she considered her one of her coterie. Her hair floated around her face, drifting around her all the way to her hips, its colour leeched away to an indeterminate grey-green, like all ghosts. Her eyes were large and pitch-black, again typical of summoned spirits, but some features remained unaltered: she’d had wide cheekbones and a strong chin, her hands still showed the traces of rings worn for years while alive.

  “We cannot,” she spoke in the same whisper as all spirits. Elisabeth frowned. The dead had never denied her request.

  “You must.”

  “We cannot.”

  “Tell me why.” Any information was better than no information, and perhaps she could find a way around the refusal.

  “What you seek is hidden.”

  “I know that already. If it was easy to find, someone would have done so already. Tell me more.”

  “We cannot see it. We cannot feel it. We cannot find it.” Strange.

  “Do you know who hides it from you?”

  “No.”

  “How can I find it?”

  “By seeking for it.” Elisabeth rolled her eyes, even though the ghost wouldn’t be able to follow the gesture. Their ability to perceive the physical realm was murky, at best. But they usually had no trouble with magical items. And their speech was never this opaque or circular. Frustration threatened to overwhelm the control she needed to stay connected to the spirits, and she fought it down with a deep breath.

  “Where do I start if not with you?” Maybe if she found the right way to ask the question, she’d receive even the hint of a real answer.

  The ghost looked past the ship’s hull, her gaze going distant. “You must seek for it—follow the water. Down into the deep, deep blue and deeper. Down below.” She returned her sightless stare back to Elisabeth. “More we do not know, more we do not see.” The figure began to fade back into the morass of spirits that filled the cabin.

  Elisabeth was irritated with the lack of clarity, but there was courtesy required in dealing with the dead. “My thanks,” she whispered, to the retreating spirits. They had done all they were able. Coming back to an awareness of the physical plane brought with it a surge of sensations from her abused body. Muscles were stiff with tension, she had clenched her jaw to the point of numbness while communing with the spirits. She began to move her body to loosen up, taking deep, steadying breaths until her limbs began to unfurl, and discomfort eased. Scrapes and bruises remained from her earlier confrontation with the Skeleton King.

  Her thoughts turned over the scraps of information she’d gleaned. The only certainty she had was that the trinket was beneath the sea, but beyond that she was without direction. Worse than a needle in a haystack. The oceans were vast, their depths unknown, filled with the detritus of crushed ships and the remains of foolish sailors alongside a plethora of monstrous creatures. A chill dread shivered up her spine at the thought of entering those depths and their dangers.

  Elisabeth pushed the sensation away and allowed her body to relax into her bunk. Her spirit, she sent out into the night, seeking her corpse to check on its progress. She found it drinking in a tavern and saw her spellwork take root in the men around it. The mood in the place turned sour, harsh words exchanged, arguments turned to fist-fights. She watched with satisfaction as the place devolved into a vicious brawl. It wasn’t uncommon in pirate havens, but most of these fights had a light-heartedness to them, a sense that everyone was just fighting for the sake of fighting, not to win or prove anything, and certainly not to hurt their fellow pirates in any serious way. This brawl, on the other hand, was mean-spirited, and she caught the flash of more than one blade entering into the fray. A smile curled her lips as a lantern was thrown against a wall and set the place on fire. The corpse sat unmoved through it all, sipping at its ale. Even when the other men fled the flames, it sat there. The corpse let itself be consumed as the spell it contained spread with the smoke, its flesh burning up and with it any evidence that could link Elisabeth to the mayhem unleashed on the pirate king’s town. She retreated back to her body and allowed her spirit to rest as well.

  As soon as she fell into true sleep, images of grotesque creatures floated through her mind. Her exhaustion was so deep that she couldn’t escape from them, and she was caught in the web of dreams, the monsters becoming nightmares. Among them, a flash of gold, silver and blue, glowing in the darkness—the trinket taunting her now that she knew its shape.