As Valenz led Ambrose out of the brig, the general clamor above decks grew louder—shouting, footsteps, ropes thumping on the planks. The captain had to shout over the commotion the closer they reached sunlight.

“I’ll take you to meet some of the crew,” he said, his voice carrying easily over those of the pirates, “then Banneker will show you the potioneer’s quarters. Sherry will have a list of potion requests, I’m sure.” He stopped on the last step and held up a finger. “So will Banneker, but—please ignore him, and do what Sherry asks.”

Before Ambrose could ask why, Valenz pushed open the scuttle and brought him into the light.

After his time belowdecks, Ambrose had to squint at first to even see the chaos around him. But when his eyes did adjust, he was…confused. There was no blood on the planks, no bodies hanging from the bowsprit after the ship’s most recent conquest. The crew appeared to be in a normal evening rhythm, the budding sunset sparking their hopes for rum and a card game or two once night fell. The person at the helm—Grim, the towering pirate from before—waved to Valenz after he shut the scuttle.

“Finally done jabbering at the man?” they grunted as Valenz and Ambrose reached the quarter deck. “Didn’t take long to break him.”

“I’ve honed my annoying chatter to a fine point, Grim.” Valenz stretched lazily. “He was begging for mercy before I could even serve him dinner.”

That was not how Ambrose remembered it, but he no longer held the upper hand in this scenario, so he held his tongue and gave Grim a stiff half-bow. “Ambrose Beake, sir.”

“Grim, first mate.” They nodded towards the forecastle. “Glad you’re here. Sherry will have a list of requests for you.”

Valenz leaned over the wheel as Grim moved it. “Is she done counting everything yet? How’s the haul?”

Grim waved Valenz off the wheel with a flick, but betrayed a small smile. “S’good. Go see for yourself.”

Valenz had a bounce to his step as he navigated his way across deck to the forecastle. He maneuvered easily amongst his crew, nodding to some, clapping others on the back. Ambrose just tried not to bump into anyone or trip over coils of rope. He had thought he’d gain sea legs by now, after a year with the Navy, but his legs were still slow to cooperate. He supposed they missed land as much as his heart did.

Only two people held down the forecastle when they reached it—Banneker, the redhead who had swung into battle, and a beefy, gray-haired woman with a ledger. The woman paced about deck, running a finger down the paper as Banneker trailed eagerly behind.

“Sure, we could sell that box of flare wands,” he babbled, hands flying as he spoke, “or, I could re-purpose the crystals to build a device that—“

“That will set the crow’s nest on fire?” The woman looked up from her notes, eyebrows raised. “Like last time?”

Banneker hand’s froze in the air. “Well, no, ideally not, but—“

“Hm.” She turned on her heel and brightened when she saw Valenz. “Ah! So I finally get to meet the lad?”

She stepped forward, but Banneker bounded up first, shaking Ambrose’s hand until his arm threatened to fall out of its socket. “Banneker, nice to meet you. I’m a brother of sorts in the magical sciences, and I’m very much looking forward to collaborating. Though I know Sherry’s got a list of—“

“Requests, yes,” Ambrose finished for him. “I’m afraid I’m under orders to fulfill those first, but I’d be happy,” the word came out strained, “to discuss any further needs of yours.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Sherry hip-checked Banneker out of the way, but before Ambrose could introduce himself, she grabbed his jaw and inspected his face. “Didn’t get injured during boarding, I hope?” She clicked her tongue, her frown lines deepening. “Did Eli give you enough dinner?”

Ambrose’s eyes went wide. Such informal address, for a man of his rank.

But the captain just rolled his eyes. “Sherry, he’s fine. Aren’t you, Mr. Beake?”

“Quite so,” Ambrose mumbled. As Sherry gave a doubtful hum and backed away, Valenz gestured to his crew members.

“This is Sherry, our quartermaster, and Banneker, our, um…artificer, navigator, cook, and lookout.” He shrugged. “We more or less give him whatever title he’s in the mood for, and it’s been working for us so far.”

Banneker gave Valenz a sunny grin. “Can I show him the potioneer’s quarters now?”

“Wouldn’t dream of holding you back.” Valenz sauntered over to Sherry. “You double-checking the math on the haul?”

“Once more should do it. Though if we sell that chest of clothing…”

Their conversation faded away as Banneker grabbed Ambrose’s arm and dragged him excitedly off the forecastle—but instead of crossing the ship again, towards the infirmary, they veered right, towards the officer’s quarters.

“Now, I’ve made some upgrades since the last potioneer left,” Banneker babbled, his reedy voice getting more lost in the shuffle than the captain’s, “but if there’s anything else you need, just say the word and I’ll make it happen.”

Something in Banneker’s words made Ambrose’s insides lurch, and he cleared his throat. “May I ask…what happened to the last potioneer?”

Scurvy? Cannon fire? Disobeyed the captain?

Banneker’s face brightened. “Oh, she got married! Isn’t that nice? Cap’n married ‘em off right here on deck. Lovely ceremony, great party after. Anyway, here’s your spot.”

He pushed open the door, and Ambrose’s jaw dropped.

The repurposed officer’s cabin was easily twice the size of the one he had been ripped out of earlier that day. The sunset streamed in through the windows, highlighting the gleaming instruments and glass ingredient jars lined up across the shelves. His eyes fell on the two cauldrons in the center of the room. They floated inches above a pit of brick and sand, tilting gently to account for the swaying of the ship.

“So?” Banneker set his hands on his hips. “What do you think?”

It took a moment for Ambrose to remember how words worked.

“I have windows?” was all he managed to utter. Banneker snorted.

“‘Course you have windows,” he scoffed. “What, don’t tell me the Navy stuck you near the infirmary or something?”

Ambrose swallowed and took his first step into his new space. Clearly, Banneker had cleaned before he came aboard—he could see his reflection in the brass scales on the table. He almost didn’t want to touch any of it.

Almost.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” Banneker pointed. “Cot’s on the right, folds down from the wall. Washroom’s in the corner. Sherry’s list is on the table. But,” he nudged Ambrose’s elbow, “don’t worry about all that tonight. Come out and play some cards with us once you’re settled.”

“Oh. Um.” The invitation was as mystifying as the room itself. Ambrose avoided Banneker’s gaze and fiddled with the cuffs of his coat. “I’ll consider it.”

That seemed to be enough for Banneker, for he bobbed his head and closed the door with a wave, leaving Ambrose stunned in the middle of the sun-drenched cabin.