Anna took the Truename Spyglass to breakfast the next day. She had considered trying to be surreptitious about it, but being surreptitious wasn’t her strong suit and she decided she didn’t mind if Kenny and Sarah thought she was a bit peculiar. While they puttered about in the kitchen, she extended the device and looked through it at the two adults.

It made everything appear significantly closer, just like a regular telescope, with the smallest of movements shifting her field of vision dramatically. But after a while of working on it, she was able to see both adults clearly, if only their heads, and as far as she could tell neither looked any different than normal. She wondered if she was doing it wrong or if the magic of the spyglass only worked when the fog was in, or only if she was in the other place, or maybe it was just a regular telescope.

“Whacha got there, kiddo?” Kenny asked.

Anna put the spyglass down and collapsed it. “Just a telescope. I’m borrowing it from a… friend.”

“Neat,” said Kenny. “May I?” He held his hand out.

Anna had long since learned not to hand over things important to her to classmates. Even if their intent wasn’t malicious, they were often careless. But Kenny was different. He was kind and gentle and had the sure hands of a carpenter, so she handed it to him. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting it closely.

“Interesting markings,” he said, running a finger along the knotted runes on the bands at either end. “I don’t see a maker’s mark though.” He extended it. “Extraordinary craftsmanship.” Then he looked through it at Sarah. “Oh my goodness!”

His exclamation caught Anna by surprise. Had he seen something magical? Had he figured out how to use it?

“Who is that beautiful, giant woman over there?”

Sarah snorted at him. “Whoever she is would appreciate someone getting the plates out for breakfast,” she said in a gruff tone belied by her smile.

Kenny collapsed the telescope and handed it back to Anna with dutiful carefulness before getting plates for breakfast.

Anna sat in her room most of that day writing poetry, waiting for the fog to come in, and only coming down for meals. She’d promised to help find Ivan’s stepbrother but she didn’t know where to begin. Perhaps she’d promised too much. Perhaps she was doomed to break it. Either way, she didn’t see how she could do anything about it on this side of the fog.

The fog didn’t come in the next day or the day after, or the day after that. Anna considered walking down to town, perhaps visiting the library, but she worried she might run into Frank or Bertie and she wasn’t interested in whatever tense conversation would result. Bertie was mad at her for some reason, and Frank made her feel more awkward than normal. She didn’t want to walk to the house across the vale because she knew Michaela wouldn’t be there. Not even the prospect of wandering through the wooded hills held any appeal. She tried her hand at a bit more poetry but everything fell flat. She considered asking Sarah or Kenny if they wanted help, but neither gardening, nor sewing, nor woodworking seemed interesting.

She lay in bed, flat on her back, staring at the ceiling, thinking of nothing after breakfast one morning, trying not to obsess over not knowing what to do. She was considering the possibility of going back to sleep just so she wouldn’t have to think about it, when she realized the hole in her chest had returned. It was that hole that had sucked the interest from poetry, hiking, and the library. She couldn’t even feel bad about it. She just felt…

Someone tapped at the door frame.

Anna lifted her head to find Sarah in the doorway, her usual beaming self.

“How you doing, Anna?”

Anna shrugged as best she could from lying on the bed. “Fine.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

Anna shook her head. “Unless you know something about the Agayaba family.”

“Agayaba? No, can’t say I’ve ever heard of them. Do they live in town?”

Anna shook her head. “Maybe? Maybe they used to?”

“Well, if they have anything to do with Glenwood, they’ll be in the public record.”

That perked Anna’s interest and the sucking hole in her chest slowed. “What?”

“The old city hall building, the big brick one with the clock tower, there’s a public records room that’s a division of the public library, they have all sorts of stuff in there that has to do with local history. Anything you could want to know is there. Kenny and I used it several years back for a family tree project.”

Anna sat up and the hole in her chest diminished. She didn’t actually think there would be public records on this side of the fog about the Witch of Money or the Witch of Puppets or Ivan and his brother, but it was a place to start and having something to focus on, something to do, might stave off the listlessness.

“Maybe I’ll go do that today.”

“Well, that sounds fun,” said Sarah. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Anna got dressed in t-shirt, shorts, and flip flops. She gathered her extra notebooks, pens, and pencils into her shoulderbag, fetched the spyglass from the top dresser drawer, and trotted downstairs and out the front door.

Kenny was in the garden, fixing a post upon which leaned a tomato plant.

“Off on an adventure?” he asked.

Anna felt the hint of a smile. “Not sure. I’ll let you know when I get back.”

“I’ll want all the details,” he said with a grin.

The walk down to town was refreshing and she took her time with it, pausing to look at the town and surrounding valley through the spyglass from time to time. She didn’t see anything magical or unexpected through it.

She crossed the Okagawa and was greeted by the smell of brewing coffee and baking bread. The folk on Clayfield were in stages of preparing for the day: eating breakfast, adjusting backpacks, sweeping the sidewalk. The proprietor of Vendors Emporium waved at her with a smile.

Anna waved back.

The clock tower chimed its familiar melody over the valley before ringing nine times in solemn succession. The building to which the clock tower was attached was an old brick edifice with a recessed entry. Inside, a series of shopfronts faced a winding tiled hallway, like a second, indoor street.

Anna dismissed the idea of asking for directions to the records room. The idea of talking to someone she didn’t know as too much for this morning. After some time wandering, she found a directory. On the bottom right was her goal: Record Room – Basement. An arrow pointed right, so Anna wend down the hall on her right until she came to a T-junction and found another sign pointing left to a set of stairs.

Anna made her way down two flights of stairs at the bottom of which she found a black plastic placard with white lettering declaring: Records Room. The room had dark wood paneling on the walls, white drop-ceiling tiles, and dusty beige carpeting. Though Anna could hear the faint hum of air through vents, the whole room was a bit musty with a hint of pine-scented cleaner. Both side walls held floor to ceiling bookshelves from the front wall to the back. From the back wall to the middle of the room were six more freestanding shelves. Each shelf was packed with books.

Centered in the front half of the room was a single, long table accompanied by straight-backed, uncushioned chairs. An ancient microfiche reader stood on one end of the table. Anna remembered seeing one in the back of her elementary school library once. Fortunately, instructions were printed down one side of the machine.

The room was well lit, so Anna perused the shelves, trying to determine how to get started. After nearly half an hour, she found the history of Glenwood spanned back nearly two-hundred-fifty years, and this room seemed to contain all of it. From census data to city council minutes, newspapers to festival brochures, gossip columns to personal journals. All of it had been preserved: either bound in books or scanned onto microfiche.

For some time, Anna amused herself by selecting a random book, opening to a random page, and reading what was there.

She learned there had been a massive forest fire in the valley twenty or so miles east of Glenwood and the town had been evacuated, though several folks had refused to leave, resulting in fines levied and shouting matches at city council.

She learned the city council had rejected the request to host a wine festival five years in a row until Aileen Clayfield, the woman who’d made the requests, got herself elected to the council and convinced her compatriots that the tourism would be good business for the valley. Of course, Mrs. Clayfield was the owner of several vineyards downvalley and the closest winery to Glenwood. Since then the festival had been a yearly event and forty some years of brightly colored, hand drawn flyers promoting the event were viewable via microfiche.

She learned about the legend of Old King, Ali Clayfield. He’d made his way to the valley with the earliest of the prospectors. He’d taken a liking to the natural hot springs of the area and candid testimonial suggested he wasn’t a particularly good prospector. He’d managed to strike it rich anyway and founded the town of Glenwood. His disappearance, some twenty-odd years later, was a mystery. All manner of folk-tale cropped up to explain. It was much the same as she’d heard from Frank and Bertie.

Finally Anna found the indices at the back of the left-most aisle. The indices dated back to seven years before the founding of Glenwood. It seemed to label every person, place, and event that had ever found its way to the valley.

Anna sighed. “This will take a while.”

The room responded only with the faint hum of air through vents.

Anna started at the beginning, searching each index book, organized by time period, for the name Agayaba, mention of witches, feuds, fog, spyglasses, spirit lights, or anything else unusual. Though it was tedious, Anna took careful notes of anything that might be related to her experiences on the other side of the fog.

It was several hours later when she finished and she’d only managed to fill a third of a notebook. The fog was mentioned often. People and pets went missing or got lost, things were seen but unexplained, none of which was taken seriously. More than one woman in the early days was accused of witchcraft, but modern analysis said those claims were based on superstition and misogyny. There were plenty of feuds to be had, but none between witches. There was no mention of spirit lights, magical spyglasses, or a name that even sort of looked like Agayaba.

Anna stood and stretched her arms above her head. Her spine popped, her vision fuzzed and she was momentarily dizzy. With a deep breath, she put her hands on the table to steady herself. She’d skipped lunch and her stomach protested loudly. Though the research had been a bust, it had been interesting.

She was ready to pack up when a thought occurred to her. A few minutes later, she was looking at city boundaries and construction records. She found the address for Sarah and Kenny’s house was 102 Little Hill Road. From there she was able to find an aerial view of their house, and the house across the vale. A few minutes on, she found the other house’s address of 101 Little Hill Road, that it had been constructed sixty-three years ago, paid for by a Mr. and Mrs. Madigan. The Madigans had a daughter named Michaela.

Anna dutifully wrote down the information, then sat back with a sigh.

Sixty-three years ago.

“Are you a ghost?” she whispered.

The house at 101 Little Hill Road was sold nearly ten years later and floated through a series of owners until sold to the town of Glenwood five years ago. It had sat empty ever since.

There was no further information on Michaela Madigan.

• • •

Anna walked up two flights of stairs from the records room, thoughts atumble. Perhaps Michaela Madigan wasn’t her Michaela. But that’d be an awfully big coincidence. Perhaps the same magic of the fog that put similar shops in similar positions along Clayfield Street put a similar house across a similar vale. Perhaps the girl she knew wasn’t the same girl from sixty-some years ago. Or maybe Michaela was a ghost. Or maybe she was from another plane of existence entirely, like Ivan and Flandel and the Witches.

Michaela had said she feared the magic was fickle, that changing something might change everything. That the magic might stop working. But Anna hated not knowing.

She reached the top of the stairs and looked around for the signs that would direct her to the entrance. She wanted to get out, to take a walk, to clear her thoughts. But the hallway at the top of the stairs wasn’t the hallway she remembered. This hallway was lined with dark-stained wainscoting and dark gold wallpaper and a pristine white rug running its length. The lighting was dim and yellow, bright enough to see, but deliberately unobtrusive.

Anna looked around, wondering if she’d taken a wrong turn, but there were no wrong turns to take between the bottom and the top of the stairs.

She found a window, and through it, thickly swirling fog.

Her heart rate quickened with a bit of fear, a bit of excitement a bit of anticipation.

She hesitated, deciding what to do.

Down the hall a door slid open and a billow of steam escaped ahead of a group of people. They were clad in bright, terry-cloth robes. The women’s hair was done up in towels. Their skin shone damply. They came down the hall toward her and she stepped aside to let them pass. One of the women nodded genially.

“Not in the old City Hall anymore, I suppose.”

Anna went down the hall the other way, peeking into the room they’d vacated. It had white tile floors, walls, and ceiling with a few here and there in gold. Along one wall stood a set of cubbies some of which held clothes or shoes or small duffels. Another door bore a slate upon which was written: Steam, 102°.

Anna continued on her way, but there were no signs and the halls were labyrinthine. She passed steam rooms and saunas and pools, each of which were labeled with a temperature and some of which were labeled as private, there were more people clad in bright-colored robes, all of whom had a happily relaxed look about them.

A boy with straight blond hair in a pageboy cut came around the corner toward her. He wore a loose, white polo shirt with golden collar and white cargo shorts that fell to his knee. He looked familiar and a moment or two later, Anna realized he was the same boy who’d served her champagne at the festival a few weeks back.

He nodded at her as he passed. She wondered if he remembered her. Likely not. The festival had been crowded. A few minutes later, she rounded another corner and saw him again, carrying a suitcase and following a gentleman in a pink robe.

Anna blinked, wondering if she’d got turned around. Perhaps this building was actually a prison of lavender scented steam and soft warm towels. She’d just decided to climb out the next window she saw when a door slid open in front of her and Michaela emerged.

“Vivianna?” Michaela’s placid expression split into a wide grin. Her vibrant auburn hair, usually free to bounce where it may, was held back in a tight bun and shone like silk in the dim lightning. She was clad in a deep blue robe, like the darkest of sapphires, bare feet peeking from under the hem.

Anna felt herself blush at that smile.

“It’s good to see you. I didn’t realize the fog was in.”

“Me neither,” said Anna. “I just saw it. I suppose this means this place exists where you live?”

Michaela nodded. “The hot springs bathhouse is the most popular attraction in Glenwood.” Then she covered her mouth, eyes going wide. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. What if…”

Anna shrugged. “Doesn’t look like you’ve broken the spell yet. In my version of Glenwood, the hot springs is a few blocks away. This is the old city hall. It’s a bunch of shops and stuff now.” She stopped short of mentioning the records room. She wasn’t sure if she should tell Michaela what she’d found out about the house across the vale.

“And when the fog rolled in, instead of shopping, you found yourself in the bathhouse without a robe.” Michaela giggled and Anna blushed harder. “Oh. I wonder if… Well… No I suppose they’re not here if the fog has come in.”

“What’s that?” Anna asked.

“My parents are in town. That’s how I’m here without having had to sneak out. I’d love to introduce you to them, but…”

A deep, droning buzz intruded upon them from a distance. Anna looked around for an insect, a lost bumblebee perhaps. But as the droning rapidly grew louder it was obviously a bug and not inside. The whole building shook, windows rattling as the noise reached its peak and quickly receded, changing pitch. It reminded Anna of the noise old style fighter planes made in movies and cartoons.

“What was…” Michaela started, hugging her chest.

Anna shook her head, but before she could reply, another came, then another.

There was shouting from somewhere in the building, downstairs, Anna thought, then a series of cracks, much like the gunshots they’d heard in Flandel’s village.

“Didn’t you tell me the Witch of Money owns the bathhouse on this side of the fog?” Anna said.

Michaela nodded. “I suppose this is in retaliation for sending her soldiers up into the wastes.”

“Maybe. But I don’t want to find out. Know anywhere we can hide?”

Michaela shook her head. “Any of the individual rooms we might go in, we’ll be trapped if they decide to search.”

Anna’s gaze lit upon a window. She hurried to it, undid the clasps, and lifted it. The fog was thick and drifted in like shyly questing tendrils. Despite the fog, Anna could see the roof of the building next door, about five feet below the sill of her window. There was a gap between, nearly ten feet across. Though Anna peered, she could not see the bottom of that gap. She had to assume it ended in unforgiving paving stones at best.

Michaela came up beside her. “Well, it doesn’t look totally impossible. You ever do track and field at school?”

Anna shook her head. “I’ve got asthma. You?”

“I’m homeschooled and Yaga thinks it’s unladylike for me to proceed at anything other than a brisk walk.”

There was another gunshot. The shouting grew closer, some of it angry, some of it frightened.

“Still,” said Anna. “It’s probably better than being shot at.” Anna looked back out the window. “Probably.”

A man came around the corner. He was short and stout and barrel-chested. He wore a baggy, old-style flight suit with tall, hard-souled boots and a pair of flight goggles perched upon his head. He had the long, floppy ears and furred muzzle of a brindle hound. In his hands, one supporting the barrel and the other on the trigger, was a thick-barreled firearm. It was shorter and cruder than those wielded by the Witch of Money’s white-uniformed soldiers.

“You two. Congratulations you’re now hostages of the Pirate Ace Coalition. Hands up.”

Anna put her hands at shoulder-height, palms out. From the corner of her eye she saw Michaela do the same. There was another gun shot, closer, perhaps just down the hall from where the dog-faced pirate had come.

Anna winced.

The dog-faced pirate’s expression softened. “Don’t you worry, girls. The Pirate Ace Coalition has a strict no-harm policy with hostages. Just do as you’re told and once the ransom is paid, you’ll be released. No worse for the wear. In fact, long term hostages have been known to seek employment.”

“That’s a promise?” Anna demanded. She bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant to ask out loud. Her smart mouth was getting the best of her.

But the dog-faced pirate seemed to think her earnest.

“Yes, ma’am. And if you have any complaints about how you’ve been treated by any of our members, you can file them with administration at HQ.”

The answer didn’t mollify her, but it did make her think he was serious.

“What do you think?” said Michaela.

“Well, he’s got a gun pointed at us, so our options are slim,” said Anna. “Besides, he did promise.”

“He did,” said Michaela. “And he looks like a good boy.”

Anna bit her tongue again. She didn’t want to laugh at a dog-faced pirate who grinned at being called ‘a good boy’.

“All right ladies, you may put your hands down so long as you keep them in plain sight. Now, if you’ll turn around and precede me down the hall and to your left, there should be a set of stairs that will get us to the roof.”

The girls did as they were told.

Anna’s chest was tight with fear and excitement. It was a wonder she hadn’t coughed, her breath hadn’t caught. In fact, she noted, as she was marched at gunpoint through the dimly lit halls of the bathhouse, she’d barely felt her asthma since coming to Glenwood. Maybe it was the lack of pollution. Maybe it was something else.

Anna glanced down the hall to their right just as she and Michaela turned left. And, for just a moment, she spied a familiar figure. It was the thin man in the long, dark jacket and floppy hat. He sat slumped in a corner, and Anna wondered what he was doing there, jacket-clad in a bath house. He shifted a bit, as though to look up at her, but Anna finished turning the corner and was given no further time to consider the man before they were at the stairs.

They went up three flights, joined occasionally by groups of hostages and their animal-headed, pirate captors. There was a large fat man with a pig’s face and a big, bristly moustache. There was a thin man with a rat’s pointy face and scraggly beard. There was a short man with the feathered, beaked face of a pigeon. And all the hostages in their brightly colored, bathhouse robes seemed calm despite their capture.

Finally they reached the door leading to the rooftop. Anna was certain the old city hall building wasn’t this tall. The rooftop was a shallow-peaked, meticulously covered in interlocking, shiny red shingles. To their right stood the brick clock tower, obscured by swirling fog. Swirling the fog was what appeared to be a large, old style cargo plane. Its backside was pointed at them and a ramp had been lowered to within a foot of the roof-peak. It had massive, shiny metal wings and four horizontal propellers presumably keeping it aloft, like the most improbable helicopter.

“All right, boys and girls, everyone on the plane, we gotta go!” A ram-horned pirate shouted over the din of the aerocraft and the babble of the hostages.

“Can you believe it?”

“This is the Pirate Ace Coalition.”

“They’re folk heroes.”

“PAC-Men!”

“We’re kidnapped by heroes?”

“Taken hostage.”

“They have the best hostage cells.”

“I can’t wait to tell grandma!”

“Charlene will be so jealous.”

Anna exchanged a curious look with Michaela who shrugged. They all scrambled up the shiny red shingles to the aerocraft ramp and into the hold. Though small round portholes let in some dim, misty light, it was the yellow overhead lights that allowed them see enough to make their way. There were seats along either side, worn, patched, and dusty, but not uncomfortable. Anna sat and Michaela sat next to her. Anna arranged her shoulderbag on her lap more comfortably and felt the bulk of the Truename Spyglass within.

Anna looked around at their companions. There were thirteen other hostages, all in the bright robes of the bathhouse. There were seven pirates in their bulky flight suits, each armed with a blunt, crude blunderbuss, each with the head of an animal. The man with ram’s horns seemed in charge, ordering the others to take positions, close the hold, and get them out of here.

The dog-faced pirate made his way down their line of seats, making sure the harnesses attached to seats were securely buckled. Anna watched him, then found her harness and buckled it herself.

“Can you tighten this strap for me?” Michaela asked.

Anna complied.

The dog-faced pirate gave them a once over and nodded approvingly.

A high-pitched shriek cut though all other sound and Anna looked out the back of the hold. A woman stood at the doorway from the rooftop. She was short, richly appointed, and ancient. Her pure white hair was held back in an elaborate bun, being slowly undone by the whipping wind. Her white and gold skirts flapped about her stout frame. Her glistening black eyes, twice as large as normal, burned with fury and she pointed a single, long, jade-nailed finger at them. One of her golden rings sparked with magic.

The dog-faced pirate yelped, sharp and panicked.

“Punch it!” the ram-horned man shouted.

The aerocraft lurched, up and forward. One of the engines coughed. The lights flickered and buzzed and they listed strong to port. Michaela grabbed Anna’s arm. A great whirring screech filled the air and suddenly the aerocraft stood on end. The cargo-hatch was nearly closed, but through the sliver of gap, Anna could see the woman with fiery black eyes and hurricane white hair fling her hand at them like hurling a javelin. Anna was certain this was the Witch of Money and she would rather bring the aerocraft down upon her own bathhouse, hostages inside, then let pirates get away with anything.

The aerocraft roared, a great gust knocked the old woman head over heels, and bone-crushing pressure squeezed Anna’s breath from her.

• • •

When Anna came to, the aerocraft rumbled gently, like a great purring cat. Their flight was smooth and steady. A thick, itchy blanket covered her from shoulders to toes. She took a deep breath and a puff of dust caught in her throat and she coughed.

Oh no. Not here…

She coughed again, doubled over, tears came to her eyes, and she blinked rapidly. But her next, careful breath, though it tickled, did not have that tell-tale tightness of a coming asthma attack. She’d just coughed, like normal, and though it didn’t feel good, it didn’t feel awful.

Michaela put a hand on her back and rubbed gently though her t-shirt.

“Vivianna? You all right?”

Anna nodded. “Yeah.” Her voice was a little raspy, but that was it. She sat up. “Where are we?”

The cargo hold was well lit and through the portholes on the other side she could she clear blue sky and white, puffy clouds. Single-seat aeroplanes drifted alongside their aerocraft, painted in bright colors with unique symbols along their wings. There was no hint of mist or fog, just the clouds. Anna blinked at Michaela, making sure the other girl was still there. A few more tears slid down her cheeks. Michaela wiped them away.

“You sure?” Michaela asked.

Anna swallowed carefully and nodded.

Michaela leaned in and Anna could feel the warmth of her breath on her ear. Michaela pitched her voice low so it carried under the drone of the engines but not to their fellow hostages.

“According to Max, he’s the dog-faced one who captured us, we’re two hours into a four hour flight. It’d be faster, but we have to avoid Cape Lynette. The King of the City is allied with the Witch of Money and might try to shoot us down if we violate their airspace.”

Anna nodded. Based upon everything else they’d seen, it made sense. She tried to match Michaela’s tone. “And we’re hostages. But for what purpose? Is the Witch of Money supposed to want to pay to get us back? I’m pretty sure she tried to blast us before we took off.”

Michaela shrugged. “I’ve wondered that myself. Why would she pay to get us back when her ally, the King of Cape Lynette, would just blow us out of the sky? The logic seems to be that the Witch of Money hates to be robbed and will therefore capitulate, but I think there’s more going on. I tried to ask Max circumspectly, but I’m not sure he understood.”

Max came back from the cockpit and knelt in front of them. “You all right?” he called over the drone of the engines.

Anna was fascinated by the movement of his mouth. Though his canine muzzle wasn’t shaped to form the same sounds as a human’s, he managed it.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, forcing herself to quit staring at his mouth. “I’m fine.”

“Good. Glad to hear it. You two are my first ever hostages.” He grinned. “So, if you need anything feel free to ask. It’s nothing like the luxury of the Witch of Money’s bathhouse, but we take care of our hostages.”

Max continued down the line, checking on each in turn.

Michaela sighed. “I wish I’d brought my guitar. It’d help relieve the boredom.” Her fingers twitched on her lap.

“If only we’d had more time to prepare for our unexpected adventure,” Anna said.

Michaela giggled and rested her head on Anna’s shoulder. “Do you mind sharing that blanket? It’s a bit chilly.”

Anna blushed, but she shifted the blanket it so it covered them both. Soon Michaela was slumped in her seat, leaning against Anna, breath slow and deep. Anna closed her eyes and tried to quiet her thoughts. Max had promised they’d be well-treated, but they were still the prisoners of pirates. She could see no trace of fog out the windows, but they were still on this side. Who knew how long this adventure would last. So far Anna had made it home in time for dinner after every excursion through the fog. She wondered what Kenny and Sarah would think when she didn’t show up tonight. They’d been anything but overbearing, but staying out all night without warning would surely cause them worry.

Max continued to check on them at regular intervals, like an anxious puppy. About an hour later, Michaela roused from her doze. Under the watchful gaze of the animal-headed pirates, some of the other hostages got up, stretched, and wandered the aerocraft hold. They chatted with some: Kevin and Jake were newlyweds on their honeymoon; Hanna and her son Peter owned an orchard down-valley; and Geraldine, a banker in the employ of the Witch of Money, who thought none of this was amusing or exciting or interesting. Geraldine detested the Pirate Ace Coalition and spoke only in short, clipped sentences.

In a low whisper, she warned, “You can’t trust pirates. Do you know why they have features of an animal? It’s because the Witch of Money will not abide theft. Anyone who steals within her domain is cursed.” She scowled meaningfully. “The PAC-Men have a reputation for eating hostages whose ransom isn’t paid.”

Michaela gripped Anna’s arm under the blanket.

Eventually the aerocraft banked and the pig-headed pirate called above the sound of the vehicle. “We’re making our descent. Everyone make sure you’re strapped in. Once we’ve landed, please follow all directions.”

The aerocraft pitched forward. Anna cast her eyes to the cockpit and through the front window. In the distance, she could see a rocky island upon which sat a squat stone building. It reminded her of an old style castle. Sail boats roamed about the island, a few were secured to docks splayed from the island like spider legs.

What she didn’t see was any sort of landing strip.

Fear grasped at her throat until she saw one of the smaller aerocraft skimming the surface of the water before settling upon it, and gliding along like a duck.

“Anna, have you ever flown on a plane before?” Michaela’s voice was almost as tight as her grip.

“No. You?”

Michaela’s fingernails dug into her wrist. “Do you suppose landing is always this scary?”

“Could be worse,” Anna said, watching the water grow closer. “At least we’re not being shot at.”

The aerocraft picked up speed as they descended. Anna wanted to close her eyes but could not help but watch through the cockpit window. None of the pirates in the cockpit seemed concerned, so she refused to let herself panic. The aerocraft pitched backward at what to Anna seemed the last possible moment and her view swung up to the bright blue sky and its lazy clouds. When they hit the water it was more jarring than she’d expected and she was glad she had her harness secure. Michaela yelped. Then they were moving through the water, a dull roar against the hull of the craft.

They slowed and the roar of the engines dimmed and through the cockpit window Anna watched them rotate until the island fortress came into view.