Ambrose found no escape in sleep that night. Every heavy footfall outside his quarters made him jump, every creak of the wood sounded like the crack of a whip. He fought memories of searing pain and rope burning his wrists, tossing and turning in his cot until the rough blankets scraped against the old welts along his back.

When he woke—or at least, when the sun brought an end to the miserable night—he threw himself back into brewing, stopping only to sleep and eat meals with the crew. Thankfully, Valenz made no further mention of the commodore, allowing Ambrose to ease out of his old nightmares until—

“Sherry?” Ambrose poked his head out of the cabin. “Do we have any more dried algae?”

“No!” the call floated from somewhere on deck.

“How about spring water?”

“All the ingredients are in your quarters!”

“Oh.” Ambrose’s heart sank. He was out of ingredients. “Alright, then…”

Sherry appeared from around the mast. “Ambrose, you’ve filled up those boxes several times over. We’ll get you whatever you need when we dock. Now, why don’t you come out and enjoy the sunshine?”

Ambrose grimaced, then retreated back into his cabin to get his notebook.

The sun was baking the ship as it waited in the bay to dock, so he found a shady spot to take advantage of the ocean breeze. Once he was settled, he opened his notebook, chewed the end of his pencil, and tried to think of new potions to make.

The needle here was tricky to thread. The new potions needed to be different from the ship’s standard fare, of course, but still valuable to both the crew and consumers ashore, if he wanted to sell the leftovers on land. He tapped the pencil against the paper, then jotted down a few notes. A shield potion should do it, for starters. Goodness knows people both on land and sea were getting shot at all the time.

“Come on, Banneker!” Valenz’s call made him look up from his notes. “I know you can move faster than that!”

A ragtag group had gathered on the main deck to spar, which to Ambrose’s observation meant clacking wooden practice swords together while lovingly disparaging their opponent.

“Why would I need to move faster,” Banneker shot back with a grin, “when you move slower than a turtle in pitch?”

Their observers oohed, and that was enough for the captain—in three swift moves, Banneker was flat on the deck, a wooden sword at his throat. He laughed and held up a hand, which Valenz took to lift him up.

“Another go?” Valenz offered Banneker his dropped weapon, but the man held up his hands and shook his head.

“I’ve learned my lesson, cap’n.”

“Fair enough.” Valenz grinned and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was again without his coat in the warm weather, leaving the pops of color to his red sash and gold earrings. Ambrose couldn’t help but notice that in the sunlight, his dark eyes gleamed, and the sheen on his cheeks emphasized his smile.

He quickly shook his head and re-focused on his notebook. Of course the captain was handsome, everyone knew that. How else would he have famously seduced his way out of the hangman’s noose?

“Mr. Beake.”

Ambrose yelped and gave a start—Valenz was suddenly standing right in front of him, wooden swords in hand.

“Captain!” he fumbled, hand clutching his heart. “Apologies, I didn’t hear you approach.”

“Quite alright.” Valenz set aside the swords and nodded to the notebook. “What has you so engrossed?”

“Nothing,” Ambrose blurted on instinct. When Valenz raised his eyebrows, he gestured weakly with the book. “Thinking about new potions, that’s all.”

“May I see?”

Ambrose handed over the notebook. Valenz idly paced as he read it, thumb tapping his chin. “A shield potion. Don’t those take days to brew?”

“About a day, with the right ingredients,” Ambrose said. “Even so, you’re right, it is one of the longer potions to brew.”

“Ah. What an excellent excuse to hide in that workroom for even longer.” Eli shot him a grin, then handed it back. “It’s a good idea, I’d talk with Sherry about what ingredients you need at port. Though you may have a hard time finding iron pollen this time of year.”

Ambrose frowned as he carefully placed a ribbon along the page. “Sir, if I may ask…how do you know so much about potions?”

“Most folks start as cabin boys.” Valenz shrugged. “I started as a junior potioneer.”

Ambrose almost dropped the notebook. “You? A potioneer?” Then he realized how that came out, and backtracked wildly. “I mean—it’s just—most sailors show no interest in that sort of thing—“

“No interest?” Valenz gestured behind him. “Why do you think your cabin is so well-stocked?” He leaned against Ambrose’s crate and folded his arms. “Can’t possibly be because I know what you need.”

Ambrose gaped. The lovely instruments, the perfectly organized workspace…“That was you?”

“Well, Banneker certainly helped.” Valenz leaned closer. “Though, if there’s anything else my potioneer wants…”

Valenz’s gaze bore into him, making Ambrose warmer than he already felt in the captain’s shadow.

“And I thank you for that, truly,” he said, scrambling off the crate with his notebook pressed to his heart. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I—“

He took a step forward, and his chest immediately met with the flat of a wooden sword.

“Not so fast,” Valenz said. “You learned about my experience as a potioneer. It’s time for me to learn about your experience as a Navy man.”

Ambrose swallowed as he looked down at the sword. “I assume this is an order?” Valenz flipped the sword and offered him the hilt. He sighed, set down his notebook, and took it. “Captain, I should admit,” he said as Valenz led him away from the crates, “this will be a disappointment. I don’t know how to use this.”

“What, not at all?” Valenz took a fighting stance. Ambrose copied the stance as best he could. “Did the Navy not teach you?”

“They don’t bother for potioneers.”

Valenz’s first strike was purposefully slow, an easy target for Ambrose to bat away. The sword hung awkwardly in his hand—quite the opposite of an extension of his body, or whatever it was supposed to be—and he knew his arm would ache after several swings.

“What about pistols, then?” Valenz asked. He pressed forward on his second and third strikes, making it through Ambrose’s poor defenses and slapping him lightly on the shoulder. Ambrose winced and tried to keep himself centered as he moved back, but his shuffling feet were clumsy and heavy.

“No pistols, sir.”

“Any weapons?”

“None other than potions.”

Valenz made a face as he began to circle, unconsciously adjusting for the rhythmic sway of the ship. Ambrose tried to mimic the movement, and nearly tripped over his own foot.

“Some sailor you are, then,” Valenz snorted. “Next, you’ll be telling me you don’t know how to swim.”

Ambrose bit his lip. Valenz’s laugh died on his lips, and he lowered his sword. “Mr. Beake, please tell me you know how to swim.”

“You see,” Ambrose faltered, “I didn’t exactly grow up near water—“

“You don’t know how to swim?” Valenz raised his arms. “What on earth are you doing on a ship, man?”

Ambrose tried to shush him as he cast a nervous glance around the deck. “Captain, if you could go back to, um, defeating me in combat, that would be preferable—“

“No, I—,” Valenz ran a hand through his hair, “how did I manage to bring aboard the biggest,” words failed him for a moment as he gestured at Ambrose, “the biggest landlubber I’ve ever met?”

“Hey!” Embarrassment melted into anger, and without thinking, Ambrose whacked the captain’s sword out of his loosened grip with one swing. “Yes, I am a landlubber, I’ll freely admit that. But I am very good at the one thing I can do aboard this ship, so I’d appreciate if you’d stop insulting me!”

Valenz stared at him. Ambrose held his ground.

Then the captain bent and picked up his sword. “I’m not insulting you. I’m worried that a member of my crew is extremely vulnerable—“

“I’m not a member of your crew,” Ambrose spat. Valenz’s gaze darkened.

“Oh, you are, whether you like it or not.” He slashed at Ambrose’s sword, almost knocking it out of his hand. “So I’m going to have to teach you how to swim.”

“No.” Ambrose glared and slashed right back, his swing clumsy and wild. Valenz dodged it easily.

“Yes.”

Another strike, another miss. “No!”

Valenz sighed, knocked Ambrose’s sword to the ground, then hooked his sword behind his knee and pulled. Ambrose went crashing hard onto the planks, and could do nothing but catch his breath as Valenz stood over him.

“Well, I’m clearly not teaching you how to fight, so…” He held out a hand. “Swimming it is.”