Two types of fear settled cold and heavy in Ambrose’s gut as the captain walked away.

The first came with the belated realization that he had just yelled at the pirate captain. Knocked his sword out of his hand. Shouted at him, repeatedly.

Oh God, he was going to get flogged. Or keelhauled. The swimming was a euphemism, right? The scars across his back began to ache again, and he looked around wildly for an escape route. What had he done, why did he never learn, he was so, so stupid—

The second fear set in when the crew began to prepare a longboat, and the captain approached not with a whip, but with a handful of potions. Ambrose grabbed the railing with a white-knuckled grip. What was worse—swimming as a metaphor, or actual swimming?

“Alright, Ambrose,” Valenz said, then looked up from the vials. “Can I call you Ambrose?” Far too scared to say no, Ambrose nodded. “Excellent. So if you’ll get in that boat there, I can teach you a few things while we wait to dock.”

Actual swimming lessons it was. Ambrose started to shiver as he glanced down at the deep waters of the bay.

“Can’t this wait until we’re on land, sir?” he ventured, his voice shaky. “Perhaps there’s a nice pond or something. A puddle, maybe—“

“No, sir potioneer.” Valenz took his arm and led him to the boat. “We’re going to use your own skills against you, I’m afraid.”

As the crew lowered them down to the water, Valenz pressed two vials into his hand. “Underwater breathing and warming. You did brew these so they can be combined, did you not?”

“Of course I did,” Ambrose muttered, then pulled back his sullen tone. There was still time for flogging, if the captain so chose. “I mean—yes, captain. But these were brewed for members of your crew—“

“Yes, and that’s why you’re taking them.” Valenz surveyed the approaching water. “And you can call me Eli, if you like. Everyone else does.”

Ambrose downed both potions and gave a small, involuntary shudder. Though the warming potion cured his shivering immediately, his lungs felt…odd. Expanded, but in a way where they no longer sat right in his ribcage.

As the boat hit the water with a soft and tilting plop, he rubbed his torso and tried not to look at the horizon. This wasn’t an infinite stretch of water he was in, he told himself. There was merely some water around the boat.

Valenz—Eli—must have seen his pained focus, for he set a hand on Ambrose’s arm. Ambrose pulled away on instinct, but the touch was gentle.

“I won’t let you drown,” Eli said. “I promise.”

Ambrose’s grip on the side of the boat tightened. “Swear it on your ship?”

“I swear it on my ship.”

They started with the basics. Floating, treading water, then arm movements and kicking. Every now and then, crew members above would lean over the railing to watch. Ambrose’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, despite the cold waves lapping at his face.

But Eli was frustratingly observant, and he waved off the crew members every time.

“Don’t mind them,” he said. “They all started like this once. And if they dare say anything, I’ll make sure they remember that.”

After a little more practice, Eli took a floating potion, hopped into the water himself, and swam a short distance from the boat. Ambrose was immediately jealous—of how at ease he looked in the water, and how good his arms looked in the folds of his wet, clingy shirt.

Wait, what—

“Alright, Ambrose!” Eli waved at him before he could internalize that last thought. “Try swimming towards me! I’m floating, so I can hold you up once you get here.”

Ambrose adjusted his hold on the side of the boat. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.” Eli nodded. “You can do this.”

Ambrose took a deep breath, glanced up at the ship to see if anyone was watching, then pushed off the boat and began to swim.

He tried to shut out everything other than what Eli had taught him—move your arms like this, don’t forget to keep kicking, breathe at this time, but not that time. He was so focused on the lessons, on just moving forward, that he jolted when his arm hit something—Eli’s shoulder.

“There we go!” Eli grabbed his waist, grinning wide. “Look, you can swim!”

With his hands on Eli’s shoulders, Ambrose twisted back to look at the boat.

It looked far away. Very far away.

Then all the other thoughts he had been blocking out came rushing back. How there was an expanse of water below his feet, with nothing tethering him to the surface. How that expanse stretched in all directions, how there were animals swimming all around him, and he didn’t belong there, and there was nothing he could do about any of it—

“Oh my God,” he said, his breath coming in shallow bursts. “Boat, I have to get back to the boat.”

Eli’s grip tightened on his waist. “Hey, hold on, it’s okay—“

“No, I have to—“

Ambrose ripped out of Eli’s grasp, but in his thrashing attempt to launch himself towards the boat, he sank under the surface.

As soon as the waves closed in over his head, all of Eli’s training vanished. There was nothing to hold onto, nothing but ocean, and in a twisted instinct, he gasped.

But the last potion held strong on his tongue, keeping the burning seawater at bay and shifting it into thick, heavy air. For an instant, he sank, eyes shut against the salt, gasping as if a cloth had been laid over his mouth—then a pair of hands dragged him upward, back into the biting wind.

“Ambrose, it’s alright!” Eli said, pulling him close until they were pressed against each other, bobbing in the water. “Hold onto me for a second, get your bearings.”

The fresh air was too slippery in Ambrose’s lungs, the waves too sharp against his neck. Without thinking, he clutched at the man’s shoulders and wrapped his legs around his waist—and in return, Eli tightened his grip on his back. “I won’t let you sink, you’re alright.”

And that was how Ambrose found himself wrapped around a pirate captain in the middle of the bay, hoping beyond hope that no one on the crew happened to be looking over the side of the ship.

“Better?” Eli finally pulled away and searched his face. One hand still rested at Ambrose’s neck, the other on the small of his back. “Ready to swim back to the boat with me?”

The question was so gentle that Ambrose forgot to respond. The training, the patience, the reassurance—this wasn’t what captains did. This wasn’t even what sailors did. This was—this was highly irregular, and far too generous, and thoroughly confusing—

“Ambrose?” Eli shifted his grip. “I can carry you back, if you’re not up for it.”

Ambrose’s thoughts whirled and snapped. Irregular, generous, confusing, very unnecessary—

“No!” He released his vise grip on Eli’s shoulders. “No, no, not needed, I can get to the boat.”

He splashed and panicked and fumbled his way back to the blasted boat, and by the time he pulled himself up over the side, he was a panting mix of embarrassment and exhaustion. Next to him, Eli seemed perfectly unruffled, checking the ropes and waving to a crew member above.

“I know that was difficult for you, but,” he nudged Ambrose’s shoulder, “you did a good job. I’m proud of you for trying.”

Ambrose snorted. He didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. If he hadn’t tried, he would have been…he would have…

He frowned. Would he have been?

“Captain…Eli,” he said, “why did you do this?”

“I already told you.” Eli tugged on a rope. “You’re a member of the crew and—“

“No, I mean…” Ambrose sat up and wrapped his arms around himself. The warming potion was fading, letting the wind cut right through his soaked shirt. “You’re a pirate captain, and I’ve been nothing but insolent to you. Why haven’t I been…”

Eli paused. “Flogged?”

“Yes.”

Eli grabbed a thin blanket from the floor of the boat and draped it over Ambrose’s shoulders. As he did, his fingers brushed one of the raised scars near his shoulder blade. Ambrose winced; Eli drew his hand back immediately, then fell silent for a moment.

“If I tell you something,” he said quietly, “can you keep it a secret on land?”

Ambrose met his gaze. “Yes.”

Eli adjusted the corner of the blanket, then took a breath. “I’ve never flogged anyone, not ever. Never keelhauled anyone, never marooned anyone.”

“What?” Ambrose frowned. “But all the stories…”

Eli shrugged. “Made them up. Spread them carefully with the crew at every port, to keep enemy pirates from thinking we're soft.” The corner of his mouth twitched upward when he saw the question written on Ambrose’s face. “I generally find that torture doesn’t facilitate respect in a crew, Mr. Beake. But decent living conditions, an equal share of the plunder, a fiddle on deck, and a bit of rum…” He leaned back against the boat. “Now those go a long way.”

Ambrose nodded, rubbing absently at the scar behind his shoulder. As he slouched, a reassuring smile crossed Eli’s face. “Alright, here’s my plan.”

“Your plan, sir?”

“Yes.” Eli wiggled his shoulders to settle deeper into the boat. “I keep you nice and far away from the water, and next time I plunder the Intrepid…,” he grinned wider, “I shoot that old commodore in the face, just for you.”

As the captain patted his arm and closed his eyes to soak up the sun, Sherry’s face popped up over the railing of the ship, followed by Banneker and Grim. “How’d he do?”

“He’s like a fish, Sherry,” Eli called.

“Well, I’ve got tea for the fish, once he’s up.”

“What sort of fish would he be?” Banneker asked. “Something blue…a bluefin tuna…a blue shark…a blue dolphin…Grim, are dolphins fish?”

As they chattered happily and lifted the boat, Ambrose sank into the warm spark of something he never expected, never hoped to feel on a ship, much less a pirate one.

He felt safe.

“I like it,” he murmured. Eli cracked one eye open.

“Hm?”

“The plan.” Ambrose gave a small smile. “I like it. Thank you.”