Between Ambrose’s ventures on the Navy ship, then the Griffin’s Claw, it had been over a month since his feet were on land. Sweet, solid, impossible-to-drown-on land.

So when he, Sherry, and Banneker disembarked to visit the market and sell some potions, the other two had to work their legs very hard to keep up with him.

“Ambrose, I promise,” Sherry breathed, “the market isn’t going to disappear before you get there—“

“Apologies.” Ambrose forced himself to slow down. “Will you be coming with me to sell?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got to pay a visit to the sutler next door. Banneker will go with you to make sure you get set up, then we’ll meet back by the tavern.”

Banneker clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m excellent at marketing.”

Despite Ambrose’s doubts, Banneker proved that ‘loud merchant’ was another title he could take on for himself.

“Get yer potions, high-quality potions!” he shouted, drawing customers in with his goofy smile and non-threatening slouch. “We’ve got strength, speed, seawater sight!”

Then as the potions disappeared and Ambrose’s coin purse grew heavier, Banneker slipped into yet another one of his roles—professional liar on behalf of one Elias Valenz.

“I heard,” he whispered conspiratorially to a fascinated woman by the booth, “he only left one survivor on the last ship he plundered. Put the poor man on a boat with the severed heads of his crew, pushed ‘im towards shore, and told ‘im to tell the tale, lest the pirate come back for him and take off his head, too.”

The woman gasped. “Did he really?” She looked to Ambrose, who swallowed. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to lie, just this once.

“That’s what I heard as well,” he said. “The port that found him couldn’t clean the blood off the boat. Had to burn it, so the souls of the dead wouldn’t haunt the docks.”

Banneker shot him a grin over the woman’s shoulder. Ambrose gave him a tiny nod.

#

Ambrose and Banneker met back up with Grim by the tavern, Banneker looping an arm around Ambrose’s shoulders.

“How was the haul?” Grim asked in between puffs of their pipe.

“Excellent.” Banneker proudly slapped Ambrose on the chest. “Got rid of all his potions, he did. He’ll earn that shop in no time.”

“Is that so?” Grim looked to Ambrose. “Can’t say I’m eager to hear that. It’s put the captain at ease, having a potioneer on board.”

“Has it?” Ambrose caught the genuine hint of disappointment in their voice, and shrugged out of Banneker’s grip. “Banneker’s enthusiasm is appreciated, but it’ll take me a little longer to secure a shop, I’m afraid. If you’ll allow me to visit the shops tomorrow, I could put together some potential prices—“

“You do what you like on land.” Grim waved him off. “No need to seek permission. I trust you far more than I trust most of the crew with their port escapades.” They shot a glance at Banneker, who leaned against the tavern door with a hand against his heart in mock offense.

“Excuse you,” he said, “I am the pinnacle of good behavior. The peak of polite society. The very model of—“

“Just try not to start any fights this time.”

“I make no promises.”

With that, Banneker ducked into the tavern, the open door letting a jumble of laughter and clinking spill into the street. Ambrose peeked through the grimy window by Grim’s shoulder and found that the rest of the crew was already inside. Eli himself was posted up in a corner, boots on the table, laughing alongside a woman in a gaudy fuchsia coat.

“Is it true about Captain Dawn?” Ambrose asked. “That she uses a magic artillery?”

“Aye.” Grim tamped out their pipe. “But don’t take my word for it. Ask her yourself.”

Ambrose pulled away from the window. “What?”

They opened the door and gestured inside. “Eli wants you to meet her.”

Ambrose couldn’t say he was comfortable in taverns—something about the sticky floors, the dim lighting, and the lingering threat of a bar fight that hung with the smoke in the air. So when Eli called his name and waved him over with his mug, he straightened his vest and hurried quickly to his corner.

“I can feel it.” Dawn was leaning over the table, tapping one brown finger on a wrinkled map. “I know this will lead us to the treasure if we can just find the other half of the—“

As soon as Ambrose approached, she whisked the map off the table and pocketed it, her gold-flecked eyes narrowing at him.

“Dawn,” Eli said, “this is the potioneer I’ve been telling you about. Ambrose Beake.”

“Ah.” Her eyes widened again. “Mr. Beake. Captain Valenz has told me all about you.”

Now that he no longer had to squint through thick glass or smoky air, Ambrose could fully appreciate Captain Dawn’s presentation: the luxurious, spotless brocade of her coat, the glittering gems at her fingers and ears, the large, feathered hat by her elbow on the table.

Ambrose did not doubt for a moment that she was the most successful pirate on this side of the world.

“No tall tales, I hope.” He gave her a half-bow. “I’d hardly be able to live up to them.”

“Depends.” She leaned forward and set her chin on her hand. “Are you really the best potioneer in all the seven seas, or is Valenz just trying to make me jealous?”

Ambrose looked to Eli, who winked at him. He forced down a blush.

“Five of the seas, at least, ma’am,” he said with a small smile. “Give me another year of study, and perhaps we can make it six.”

Dawn regarded him for a moment, then kicked a chair out towards Ambrose. “I like this one. Sit.”

#

Ambrose spent the evening in the corner, slowly nursing a beer while the captains held court. In between rounds of drinks and stories, each of them took turns flirting with the same barmaid, who giggled at both Eli’s jokes and Dawn’s compliments.

“Thanks.” Eli winked at the woman as she walked away, then sat back and gave Dawn a smug grin. Ambrose rolled his eyes—at least some of the tales about the pirate captain were still true.

“Do you do this at every port?” he muttered into his mug, not expecting to be heard over the low din of the bar—but Eli tilted his head.

“What, find lovely people to have a bit of fun with?” He swirled the liquid in his drink. “More often than not. We’re pirates—you never know when the next port will be your last.”

“Hear, hear.” Dawn clinked her mug against Eli’s, then Ambrose’s. “Would you like us to help find you a woman, Mr. Beake?”

Ambrose stiffened. “No, thank you.”

“A man?” Eli leaned forward. “We can help with that, too.”

Ambrose ignored the glint in the man’s eye and pushed away his drink. “I’m afraid I’m not interested in the, ah…brief sorts of relationships you pursue, captain.”

“Oh, a dedicated man? How romantic.” Dawn plucked Ambrose’s hand off the table, as if in search of a ring. “Have you a beau back on land?”

“Some poor lad looking wistfully at the ocean, perhaps?” Eli set his chin on his hand and sent a dramatic sigh to the ceiling. “Will I ever see my beloved blue-haired potioneer ever again, or hath the cruel sea taken him from me—“

“No,” Ambrose rushed the word too quickly, and their eyebrows rose. “I mean—no, um, lad. On land. Perhaps one day, though. When I’m settled, and I have my shop, and…” A flush of embarrassment crept up his neck, and he cleared his throat to halt his babbling. “Have you a potioneer on the Sunset, captain?”

“Not at the moment,” Dawn settled back, graciously allowing him to change the subject. Ambrose withheld a sigh of relief. “Only a wandmaker for now. Perhaps we can do a bit of a trade tomorrow, potions for wands. We’ll gladly take whatever vials you can provide, Mr. Beake. ” She tapped her chin. “Do you go by Mr. Beake? Or will Ambrose do?”

“Ambrose is fine, ma’am.”

“But it’s such a formal name.” She made a face. “How about Ames?”

“Ames?” Ambrose repeated. “But that’s…not the right pronunciation—”

“Well, I’m not calling you Am.” She nudged Eli. “Ames?”

“Ames.” Eli grinned and looked to Ambrose. “Ames?”

Ambrose blushed, and immediately berated himself for it. Why did he have to blush when Eli said it? What was wrong with him—

“Bar fight!” Banneker yelled somewhere behind him. Glass cracked on wood. Eli groaned.

“I guess that was enough peace for one night.” He pushed on Ambrose’s shoulder. “Head back to the ship. We’ll visit the Sunset for a potion trade tomorrow afternoon.”

“Of course.” Ambrose stood and gave another bow. “It was nice to meet you, Captain Dawn—“

A bottle careened over Ambrose’s head and smashed into the wall, raining beer and glass.

“Go, Ames, go!” Eli pushed him towards the door, and he and Dawn stood as one.

For once, Ambrose gladly obeyed orders and fled.