“Mayhap I can also be of service,” Shaw rumbled. “If thy water shortage is solved, ‘tis simple enough for me to help with the other problem.”

“I’m all ears,” Caleb said gratefully. “What do you have in mind?”

“‘Twould be easier to show than tell.”

The griffin unfurled his wings. The entry wound at the joint had sealed up, and no longer looked red and angry. Tavia’s healing magic had done its job.

With a single massive downbeat of his wings, Shaw launched himself into the air. Several people fell back a few steps in amazement as the griffin shot past the mast and ascended steeply into the heavens. Shaw continued his ascent until he was a golden smudge circling high above.

“What’s our favorite drake doing?” Tavia asked.

“Trying to solve the food supply issue,” he replied. “Whether or not that works, he’s going to be useful in our reconnaissance. And if Shaw can get that high, he can do it on the sly.”

“How’s that?”

“He’ll look like any large seabird circling overhead. No one will notice him.”

Shaw stopped his circling. Then he brought his wings in with one final, propulsive beat and dove towards the ocean. His wings folded into his body and he became a sleek fur-and-feathered torpedo.

The griffin plunged beak-first into one of the deep blue swells with a mighty splash. The plume of spray kicked up looked like a geyser blowing its top. Silently, Caleb counted the seconds as he waited for the griffin to resurface.

He began to worry as he reached the two-minute mark. Shaw probably had huge reserves of air in his lungs. But he was a big animal and had been working hard to get and stay aloft.

“Praise be to Lir, he is coming up again, isn’t he?” Donal marveled.

Caleb suddenly became aware that he’d been holding his breath.

Before he could answer, Shaw erupted from the water like a breaching killer whale. Only he didn’t stop with a breach, he kept heading skyward on dripping wings. In each taloned paw and his beak, he held a thirty-pound skipjack tuna.

People drew back, allowing the drake to land. He set the fish aside. Then he fluffed out his feathers and then sent a rolling, rhythmic quiver down from the base of his skull along his spine.

The fur along his torso sloughed off the water in a spray, like a dog shaking itself off after climbing out of a pool. The clean, salty scent of ocean water hung in the air. His fur and feathers remained damp but were no longer dripping.

“That dive was astounding!” Tavia enthused. “I was worried that you might drown!”

“‘Tis nothing of note,” Shaw said, abashed. “A task such as this falls within the purview of any griffin beyond the age of fledgling.”

“Well, I’m grateful for it,” Caleb called down from the quarterdeck. “Looks like you came up with a good catch.”

“Aye, and ‘tis quite a meal for one such as I,” Shaw announced. “One hopes the crew will partake of two-thirds of it.”

Evie O’Breen stepped forward out of the crowd. “I’ll be able to make something tasty out of this for sure! Thank you, Grimshaw. With your leave, Captain?”

“Of course,” Caleb said. “I think everyone could use some meat in their next meal.”

Evie signaled to a pair of men, who each grabbed one of the two still-twitching tuna. Together, they touched their foreheads with their index and middle fingers before bowing. Then they hauled the catch off.

Shaw grabbed the remaining tuna in his talons. He downed it with four quick snaps of his beak, scales, bones, and all. He ran his long, pink tongue along the side of his beak, relishing the meal.

“That’s certainly going to help our supply situation,” Sienna noted. She held up the piece of parchment she’d originally brought into the cabin. “There’s a few more issues we need to cover, Captain. I thought it might be good to go over them as we look over your ship.”

Caleb nodded at that. I’d better find out what needs to be done while we’re not under attack. Besides, I better get a handle on the ins and outs of the Spitfire sooner than later.

“Sounds good,” he said aloud. “Bide just a moment.”

He closed his eyes and concentrated once more on seeing the ocean from a great height. Shadowy masses of lands wavered like ghosts at the very edge of his vision. He stretched out his arm in the direct of the largest, most solid of the ghostly pieces before opening his eyes and checking the course against the sun.

His arm pointed the way almost due south.

“Donal,” Caleb said, “One more point larboard, then steady as she goes. Let me know immediately if the wind shifts against us.”

“Aye, Captain,” came the reply, as he turned the wheel. “With your permission, I want Noack to spell me within the hour. There’s a damaged taffrail that’s fairly crying out for some attention from a carpenter.”

“Permission granted.”

The Quest window popped up for a moment.

Adventurer's-Level Quest: Set course for the first time. COMPLETE.

Caleb waved it away. He thought of the sail damage during their flight from the Stone Angel. He looked up to the mainsail, where a team of women were already working on a patch for one of the holes torn by Delacroix’s chain shot.

“I’ve got people on that already,” Sienna said, watching his glance. “Once Noack’s done with his shift at the wheel, I’ll need him to splice some more line for us to use on the sails. We’ve got some rope, but not enough of the finer stuff like line or thread.”

“Just so you don’t overwork everyone! I’m concerned that everyone’s still fatigued and underfed.”

“Na’ae, we’ll have none of that.” Sienna shook her head and made a winsome smile. “I’ve already set up a three-shift system to help with things. Some are still short a bit of shuteye, but they’ll catch up faster. We’ll always have at least a dozen people alert and on deck for you.”

Caleb gave her another appraising look. “You already...what exactly does a ‘Keeper of the Books’ do for a town like Arren?”

She shrugged.

“Just what I’m doing, if you please. We Arrenmar aren’t much for lords or kings, but they do like someone to organize and keep track of things.” Sienna rustled the paper in her hand. “Now, shall we survey the ship?”

“Yes, let’s do the grand tour.” He followed her down the steps to the main deck, where most everyone had left or gone back to work repairing the sails. He waved an arm to his friends. “Tavia, Shaw, I need you to join us.”

“What dost thou wish of us?” the griffin asked, as he followed Tavia over.

“You’re third and fourth in line for command,” Caleb answered. “I want both of you familiar with the different areas of the ship. Sienna’s going to give us a run-down of the Spitfire and our crew’s issues.”

“To begin with,” Sienna stated, “We have a crew of forty-five, including the three of you.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure one of our fellow escapees was heavily pregnant when we got off Irongrasp.”

“Ah, that’s Livia Martin you’re speaking of. Aye, in the next week or so, the count will stand at forty-six. Before that happy event, we Arrenmar stand at twenty-seven males and fifteen females. Two of the males are below fighting age.”

That would be Aiden and Ethan, he thought. Those two really pulled their weight during our escape from Delacroix.

“We also have a few on the other side of the prime years,” Sienna continued. “Five gaffers and seven gammers all told.”

“Wait, what?” Caleb gave her a puzzled look. “I’m not familiar with those terms.”

“No? A gammer’s a woman who’s old enough for her children to have children. A gaffer’s the same, only male.”

“Ah, gotcha. Where I’m from, we call them ‘grandmothers’ and ‘grandfathers’.”

Tavia let out a nicker. “We call them grandsires and granddams.”

“‘Tis just ‘old hen’ or ‘elder drake’ within my kind,” Shaw put in.

“Regardless of the term given, they’re pitching in as best they’re able,” Sienna turned and nodded towards where Donal still stood at the helm. “Let’s take this from the end of things and work ‘round to the bow. From top to bottom, there’s the afterdeck, the captain’s great cabin, and then the quarterdeck with the helm. Below that, there’s a door here on the main deck that leads to–”

“The armory," Caleb interrupted. "I'm willing to bet that's where it's located.”

Sienna blinked. “How did you know?”

“Because of the hatchet marks on the doors.”

Sure enough, as they approached the double doors directly beneath the helm, the gashes of an axe-shaped blade were readily apparent. The section containing the door’s lock had been hacked out completely. A fist-sized hole was all that remained.

Sienna put her hand through the hole and pulled the doors open. Then she walked on through with Caleb. Tavia ducked her head to keep from scraping the doorjamb with her horn. Shaw folded his wings and decided to just peek inside.

The interior was actually larger than the great cabin upstairs. But it was more thoroughly packed and it only allowed light in from a pair of portholes that punctured the sides. Cabinets and open-topped crates took up most of the space.

A handful of sling hammocks hung from the ceiling. They were narrower and less plush than the ones Caleb had seen on board vacation yachts, but they looked comfortable enough. The faint smell of tobacco and freshly sawn wood hung in the air.

To one side lay a wooden locker, which also bore the marks of a hatchet. The racks holding firearms were empty. Two heavy wooden boxes below only held a couple of powder horns, or a few bags stuffed with musket or rifle balls.

“Including what we took from the guards in the dungeon, we’ve got around two dozen pistols and a half-dozen rifles,” she said. “They’re all distributed among the few of us with experience shooting them. We can get another couple volleys from the powder horns, but that’s it.”

Shaw let out a snort. “‘Tis a hazard to store gunpowder below the captain’s great cabin, is it not?”

“That’s why everything’s kept inside a thick, double wooden container,” Caleb said. “But this isn’t enough powder to blow a hole in the hull, or through the decks. That’s not the case with the powder magazine below.”

“Might it be possible to switch powder from one place to the other?” Tavia inquired.

“It’s a good idea, but we don’t think it will work,” Sienna said. “None of my people ever served on a fighting ship, but some of us understand firearms. The powder in the magazine’s a different grain size. We’ll try it out if we’re desperate, but powder that lets a pistol fire seems to be different than what makes a cannon go boom.”

“What about other weapons?” Caleb asked. “Swords, cutlasses, kitchen knives? I’ll even settle for sharp pointy sticks about now.”

Sienna opened the next cabinet, which lay empty. “Already distributed, to the best men and women of fighting age. Including what we took from the dungeon, about eighteen blades. We’re improvising what we can from hammers, gaff hooks, and the like.”

Our hand-held weapons inventory is borderline pathetic, Caleb groused to himself. Hopefully the improvised stuff can make up for that.

“What about the hammocks?” he asked aloud. “And the open crates?”

“The armory doubles as the officer’s quarters,” she turned a grin towards Tavia and Shaw. “That is, for the human ones. But we can make room if needed.”

“I’ll be fine outside,” Tavia stated primly, before looking over to Caleb. “However, I’d like to remain in the great cabin for now. I’d like to go through the remaining books.”

“‘Tis much the same for me,” Shaw added. “I prefer the sky as my roof.”

“That’s fine,” Caleb agreed. “But I want you both in the great cabin during bad weather. It does us no good if either of you come down with a cold.”

“The hammocks down here are for Donal, myself, the sail weaver, and the surgeon,” Sienna continued. “As for the crates, these are where the most deck-critical supplies are stored. At least normally.”

“Normally?”

She tilted a crate, showing him the empty insides. “We’re using up the last of the free canvas to patch the holes torn by the chain shot. We’ve got some rope for spare rigging or dock lines, but nothing finer. That’s why I’ve put Noack in charge of that.”

“Perhaps we can make some out of tree fiber at our next landfall,” Caleb said hopefully. “Depends what kind of island we end up on.”

Sienna stared at him. “You don’t know? Didn’t you check the charts in the captain’s cabin?”

“I already did,” Tavia answered. “There’s nothing east or west of us for a week or more. North leads back to Irongrasp. South of us, there’s some smaller islands, followed by a larger archipelago the Myrkur call the ‘Realms of the Cordwainer Kings’.”

“Tavia’s correct,” Caleb added. “However, I wasn’t looking at the charts. I’ve got a sense of direction that points me towards the closest land, no matter where we are on the ocean. Even with my friends’ help, we need to seriously re-provision.”

Yes, my all-knowing sense of direction. The one I got just a few minutes ago.

“Aye, we all put our trust in you for your abilities,” Sienna agreed. “I don’t know how, but you do seem to know what you’re about.”

“That he does,” the unicorn agreed. “Right down to the correct ship to take.”

“I wish I’d picked one that was better armed and provisioned,” Caleb admitted. “At the time, we needed the fastest, so it was the Spitfire over any others.”

“As it happens, that’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about.” Tavia cocked her head as she said, “back at the harbor, you passed up two ships to take this one. As far as I could tell, they were identical to this sloop. I have a keen eye, but not one for ships. What made you pass them up for this one?”

Caleb smiled as he gave her the answer.