‘Please?’ Elf begged. ‘Come on, Mihri, what other choice we got?’

‘Forget it,’ Mihri snapped.

Elf moaned, aware of the fact that he sounded like a mopey teenager, but he couldn’t think of any other option. The best Anwen could give them was a simple wave at the map of the archipelago. Given how big the tiny islands actually were, and that Anwen was from a particular species, he had to assume that this shoal was underwater. Mihri’s speciality was the sky, but she knew people who mapped underwater terrain.

Mihri sighed and ran her hands through her hair. She had started doing that recently, and Elf wondered if his own habit of doing the same was rubbing off. ‘I’m more than happy to reach out, but we cannot go and visit… him. We are too stretched for time to turn against the tide and sail to New Pratea.’

‘When did you learn about sailing against the tide?’ Elf quizzed.

Mihri only rolled her eyes.

‘We can power up the second engine,’ he said. ‘Besides, it’ll take longer to send a message and wait for a reply.’

Mihri crossed her arms over her chest, staring hard at him. ‘Why do you want to go so badly?’

‘Why are you so worried about me tagging along?’ Elf returned. ‘Don’t want someone like me to be seen with your high-society friends?’

‘That’s exactly why,’ Mihri said.

‘You know that the main language of Pratea is Islite, right?’

‘He doesn’t speak Islite.’

‘Neither do you.’

‘Do you honestly think I trust you to be in a room with a man who claims to know more about the ocean than you do?’

‘Depends on how often he sails,’ Elf said.

Mihri sighed. ‘It’s not your crowd, Elf. Accept that and trust me for once.’

‘I trust you,’ Elf said. ‘I just thought we were going to do these things together?’

‘Don’t you turn those words around on me.’

‘But it’s true, isn’t it?’

Mihri sighed. ‘Do you even own a suit?’

‘I own a suit.’

‘Can you promise to behave?’

‘I can try.’

Elf owned exactly one suit, though the shirt had yellowed from age and the tailed coat had suffered moth bites in the years it had been in the bottom of his chest. He couldn’t figure out the tie, so he left it loose around his collar and hid it under the jacket. The colour drained from Mihri’s face when she saw him, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she roughly fixed his tie, pulling it tight around his neck, then waited for Aitan to guide Ossory into the New Pratea port without looking at him. She looked like herself for the first time in a long time, wearing a red bowler hat with a white ribbon around its base, matched with a high collar, white shirt tucked into a long red skirt. She still wore her travel boots, the edges barely reaching up to the bottom of her skirt.

Elf had been young and untraveled when Pratea exploded, but he did remember hearing the blast from the Cullian Islet, and he still heard stories about how even people in Opaska lost their hearing for weeks after the sound shot through the archipelago. The survivors had set up a settlement across the BloodBay from their now buried homs, the constant burst of ash and pyroclastic flow permanently staining the sky grey. The buildings were large and shining, sturdy as they hugged the edge of the mountain base. Yet, they were sporadically placed, leaving large stretches of nothing on either side of the single dirt road that cut through the middle. The port was a single pier, smooth and unblemished. As Elf let himself down to tie his broken rope to port, a few of the residents turned to look at him with haunted eyes. A cold chill fell over him, but he ignored it.

As he and Mihri made their way down the road, the passersby either stared openly at them, or tilted their heads away, refusing to make eye contact. They didn’t look like they were struggling; the single cafe was bustling and holding the fresh smell of pastries, and fat builders yelled orders to fatter men in suits who yelled back. Kids played in the corner with marbles and beaten sport balls, out of the way of the road as though a motorcar could come through at any second. The sense of community was strong, but it made Elf feel unwelcome. When he approached an old woman tending to wheat stalks, he spoke in Islite - his first language of the northern sea fitting back onto his tongue as though he’d only switched to Shiyze yesterday - and the woman softened her glaring. He asked about someone fancy hanging around, and she pointed out a house at the end of the road, and pulled a face at it.

The house in question was no different to the others, white and new and pristine, pressed against the base of the mountain and leaning dangerously against a tall craggy rock. It was fancier than any house in Opaska, and Elf immediately decided he hated the owner. Mihri hesitated before she stepped up to the front door, and her composure wavered. She gripped her skirt in her fists, biting her lip as she regarded the house in front of her. Elf turned to the sign printed beside the door, neat and embossed in bronze. He gestured to it, glancing back at Mihri.

‘Stefan Volker, HA Specialist,’ she read. ‘Oceanography.’

‘Maps of the ocean?’ Elf asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ He raised his fist and poinded on the door, loud and fast before Mihri could stop him. She gave a squeak of protest, then quickly flattened her skirt.

The man who opened the door was a head shorter than Elf, plump and stout with a thick moustache. He wore a crisp white shirt, untucked from even sharper trousers. He stared at Elf over round glasses, then his eyes fell on Mihri and he beamed, his cheeks turning a bright red.

‘Mi-Mi!’ he boomed. Mihri’s lip curled, but her dark expression was masked before the other man could notice it. He threw the door open with his arms outstretched as if looking for a hug, but when Mihri didn’t return it, he instead turned to Elf, and his smile faded.

‘Who’s this then?’ he asked her.

‘I present Captain O Se of the Ossory,’ Mihri said.

Elf held out his hand, which the other man slowly took. ‘You must be Stefan Volker.’

‘You’ve heard of me?’ Stefan asked.

Elf pointed to the sign with his free hand, and Stefan scowled.

‘I’m sorry to drop on you unannounced.’ Mihri threw a look at Elf as she said it. ‘But we really need your help.’

‘No, of course,’ Stefan said. ‘Please, both of you come in.’

The inside of the house reminded Elf of Mihri’s cabin on his ship; a study that had exploded over the rest of the house. Lit only by oil lamps as though they had stepped back fifty years, the musty space was covered head to toe in books and loose papers, covering moth eaten carpet and ink-stains over the mismatched furniture. Stefan lifted a set of unwashed dishes from a seat across from his desk and haphazardly tossed them onto a nearby table, gesturing for Mihri to sit. Elf stood just behind her, wondering if the other man even realised he was there. Stefan sat down on the front of his desk, regarding Mihri with his arms crossed. ‘What can I do you for?’

‘I need one of your underwater maps,’ Mihri said. ‘Specifically your most detailed one of the ocean floor of the archipelago.’

Stefan snorted. ‘Planning on going treasure hunting?’

‘Please,’ Mihri said. ‘It’s important.’

Stefan let out a long breath. ‘The lady Munnahurrah begging is not something you hear everyday,’ he said. He then pushed off the desk and let himself behind it, rummaging through the papers. ‘Can I ask what this is about?’

Mihri glanced up at Elf, then sighed. ‘A new client on Ossory needs to track down something… lost, and we don’t have any way to identify the parts of the ocean she remembers.’

Stefan grinned. ‘So, you admit the stars won’t help you here.’

Mihri bristled. ‘No. We just need to know what’s underneath the ocean.’

Elf placed a hand on her shoulder - a quick signal for her to stay calm - and she took a deep breath.

Stefan made a tsk noise. ‘Sounds like a treasure hunt to me. Wait till everyone back home learns you ran away with pirates.’

‘Excuse me?’ Elf growled. Technically, he broke as many laws as any pirate on the open water, but he didn’t rape or steal or destroy, and he was much cleaner.

‘If you must know,’ Mihri said. ‘I have a theory that it’s at the sight of Crixilinja. Last I checked, asteroids came from space.’

Stefan snorted again. ‘You can open any old book and read about how the archipelago formed, Mi-Mi.’

‘I’d rather do it myself.’

‘Of course you would.’

He continued to forage through his papers, and Elf glanced around the space, at the large rolled maps against the fireplace, the papers stacked up around the table, the books with tabs and markings sticking out of the pages. This was going to take a while.

‘Do you need help?’ he asked.

‘No! No, don’t touch anything,’ he said. He tossed one of his piles to the side and moaned in frustration. ‘I keep my rough sketches in one of my chests, and if I can find that, you can have it.’

‘That’s perfect,’ Mihri said. ‘Thank you so much.’

Stefan pulled open a cabinet behind his desk, where more rolled papers fell on top of him. He swore and batted them out of the way, and Elf noticed something not made of paper that made his heart lurch. Slowly, he stepped around Mihri and approached the cabinet.

‘Where did you get that?’ he asked.

Stefan glanced at the object in question. ‘Oh. It was a gift from a lady friend. It’s ugly as sin though, so I really have no use for it here.’

Elf’s blood ran cold. Stupid man. Stupid!

‘I can’t find it,’ Stefan said, oblivious. ‘I was sure I kept all my chests in here. I don’t even know where else it could be.’

Elf had heard enough. He spun back towards Mihri, knocking down a stack of papers as he did. ‘We have to go,’ he said.

‘Hold on a —‘

‘It’s not here,’ Elf said. ‘We have to go. Now.’

Mihri must have sensed the seriousness of his tone, because she nodded and got to her feet.

‘Wait,’ Stefan said. ‘What’s all this about?’

‘Thank you for your help,’ Mihri said. ‘But we have to go.’

‘No,’ Stefan snapped. ‘I won’t let you just run off all over again.’

This made her pause, and as much as Elf knew not to stick his nose her business, he could still see the object in the cabinet, peering at him as though it was a challenge.

‘Mihri, I know last time we spoke it ended badly,’ Stefan said. ‘But you’re back now, and what ever this… client of yours wants, it’s not your job to cater to them. Leave it to the others. We want you home. I… I want you to come back.’

Elf flinched as the words cut deep. How long had it been since Mihri had been excepted home? He had warned her the day he hired her that there was never a guarantee to how long a voyage could take, but it had been months since the curse had been placed on her - on all of them - and the look on Stefan’s face felt like a hot knife digging deep into his chest. Yet, when Mihri crossed her arms over her chest, his mind blanked.

‘It didn’t end badly,’ she said. ‘We came to an agreement, remember? I’ll only be out for a few more days. Ten at most. What’s it to you?’

‘I thought we did understand each other,’ Stefan said. ‘Even though what you said hurt me. But I can prove that I’m good enough for you, if you’ll just give me a goddamned minute to find this map.’

‘I told you already,’ Mihri said. ‘I don’t date men.’

‘Then who’s he?’ Stefan threw an accusing look at Elf.

‘I’m her boss,’ Elf said. ‘Also, she’s gross.’

‘Don’t talk about her like that!’ Stefan snapped.

‘Oh, shut up, Stefan,’ Mihri said. ‘I told you we have to go, and that’s all there is to it. I’m sorry to have bothered you.’

‘I have the map,’ Stefan pressed.

‘No. You don’t,’ Elf said.

‘How would you know?’ Stefan asked.

‘How do you know?’ Mihri turned to him.

Elf pointed to the cabinet, to the fur pelt draped across the inside of the door. ‘That.’

Mihri regarded the object in question, her eyes narrow.

‘What about it?’ Stefan growled. ‘It’s a seal pelt. Take it. It’s ugly.’

Mihri’s eyes widened, and she turned to Elf, who nodded.

‘Selkies,’ he said.

With a returning nod from Mihri, they both turned and made for the door. Elf barely made for the handle before Stefan crashed into the wood in front of them, his face angry and his body tense. He was breathing heavily, and Elf wondered if the man knew what atrocity he had committed by owning a selkie pelt, and what he had condemned them to by association, if he knew the gravity of what was coming.

‘You need this,’ Stefan told Mihri. ‘To come back with me, or at least tell the others your back. It’s bad enough you insist on mapping stars and planets, that you think they’re as chartable as the physical land we still travel, but —‘

‘Stop, Stefan,’ Mihri growled.

‘People think you’ve gone completely insane!’ he cried. ‘That you ran off with pirates, that you’re finding a way to actually travel to the heavens, or that you’re dead. If you don’t come back now… they won’t let you back in at all.’

Mihri fell silent, and Elf felt another stab of guilt bury deep into his chest. Underneath, a well of anger rose at the words, and he knew which emotion he’d rather deal with. ‘Listen here, you snobby little git,’ he growled. ‘You ever tried to navigate your way home in the middle of the ocean? No? The only way to do it is with the stars, the ring, and the sun, and Mihri is the best goddamn navigator I’ve ever had. The fact that you call yourself a bloody ocean expert and don’t know that shows that you don’t deserve to hold your fancy title.’

Stefan opened his mouth to argue, and Elf grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the door, causing him to snap his mouth shut.

‘And if you call me a fucking pirate one more time…’ he growled.

Stefan’s larynx bobbed nervously, and when he didn’t say anything else, Elf let go of his shirt.

‘I’d clean up if I were you,’ he said. ‘That…’ he threw his hand at the pelt, ‘is an open invitation to every kleptomaniac in the archipelago.’

Stefan swallowed again. He ducked under Elf’s arm and rushed back to the cabinet. Instead of going for the pelt, he continued to rip through his rolls and papers, letting out small noises of frustration as he did. Elf rolled his eyes and pushed out the door, only to crash into Jian.

Jian stumbled back, his foot hitting a loose stone in the path, and he would have fallen over if Elf hadn’t caught his collar and pulled him back up. Anwen stood behind him, her eyes wide.

‘He knows we’re here,’ she said.

Elf exchanged a look with Mihri, and without another word, they both pushed out of the little house and back out onto the street. Jian only stepped in front of Elf, blocking both of them. His injured knee twisted at a strange angle, and he flinched, but stood firm.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘We can’t go yet.’

‘We still don’t have a map,’ Mihri pointed out.

‘The map isn’t here,’ Elf said.

‘Not that,’ Jian said. ‘I think we’re in a different territory. Anwen told me that was how Quotinir knew.’

‘Okay?’ Elf stared at him. They were in Selkie territory; he already knew that much.

‘He can’t come after us as long as we’re here,’ Jian said. He glanced at Anwen, who nodded. ‘It’s a territorial thing, like sacred or something. But once we leave, that’s it.’

Elf pinched the bridge of his nose as the two problems crashed together in his head, waiting for an obvious solution to pop into his head, but none came. He sighed. If the shark-ass was really pissed, Elf would have felt it by now, so he had to focus on the more immediate issue. That was, the mythical creatures of this area would be furious.

‘I have an idea,’ Jian said.

Elf raised an eyebrow, and when Jian only stared in a strange mirror to Anwen’s expression, he motioned for the man to continue.

‘You speak Islite, right?’ Jian asked.

‘Yeah,’ Elf said. ‘I am from the Isles. That’s the language we speak.’

Jian nodded, then glanced at at Anwen, who nodded back. ‘If we can get an audience with the leader of this territory —‘

‘Maeraphe,’ Anwen offered.

‘Right, them,’ Jian said. ‘Them?’

‘Them,’ Anwen confirmed.

‘Right. They’re supposed to be neu—‘

A figure slammed into Elf from the side, sending him skidding across the ground as stars flashed across his vision. Before he could get him bearings, hands slashed at his head and chest, nails breaking his skin as he struggled against his attacker, swearing as a weight pinned him to the ground. Wet hair splattered across his mouth, salt burning his limps, and he spluttered, only for something solid to slam into his face and send a dull pain through his skull.

He saw a woman’s face at the same moment hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her away. The weight lifted off Elf’s chest as Mihri dragged the stranger away, both of them struggling. The woman was young, barely a young adult. She had choppy, short brown hair and ragged, torn clothing that was too large for her willowy frame. She looked sickly, horribly pale with her limbs sticking out of her skin and hollowed out eyes glaring at him as she struggled against Mihri’s hold.

Elf scrambled to his feet, the taste of blood staining his lips, which he brushed away impatiently. He glanced to where Jian had been, in time to see a spear slashing towards the man. He swore and pulled his pistols from his belt. Jian recoiled, narrowly missing as the blade tore across his coat. With a yell, Jian’s own pistols were in his hands, before one of them was knocked from his hands. Elf levelled his own pistol towards the attacker, firing a warning shot into the air with his other gun.

The woman wielding the spear froze, and Jian flinched. He ducked down to fetch his gun, only for the spear to swing into the crook of his throat. Elf levelled his pistol again, when a farming fork hooked around his wrist and tore it away, ripping part of his sleeve with it. A second spear appeared and dug into the small of his throat. He loosened his grip on his other pistol, letting the trigger guard hang loosely around his finger.

Mihri had a farming scythe around her own neck, and she loosened her grip on the sickly girl as one of the townspeople pulled her cutlass out from under her coat. The girl scrambled away and glared at Elf, until the woman holding Jian clicked her tongue, and the girl ducked behind her, disappearing behind the bigger woman’s frame. Other women with spears stood around them, two with spears pinning Anwen, while the townspeople drifted towards them, tense and waiting for a fight.

‘We don’t want trouble,’ Mihri said.

The older woman with the farm fork reached towards Elf’s torn sleeve, ripping the fabric further and revealing the ring locked into his wrist. A small murmur of anger rose in the crowd, and Elf shrank back.

‘You are not welcome here.’ The woman with the spear to Jian’s throat spoke in Islite, the words clipped with the harsh edges of a more ancient and throatier version of the tongue. ‘You will leave, now.’

‘We didn’t come for trouble.’ Elf replied in the same language, aware of Mihri and Jian staring at him, waiting for a translation. He gave a small nod towards Mihri - as much as the blade at his throat would allow - but she only creased her brows in confusion.

‘You work for the Chained One,’ the woman hissed.

‘We do not,’ Elf growled.

‘They work for me,’ Anwen said. She spoke in Islite as well, but not matching the throaty edge the other women had, despite her whispery voice. ‘Maeraphe and I have no quarrel.’

Both of the women holding her hissed and pressed their spears further into Anwen’s neck. Anwen didn’t so much as flinch. One of the spear women around them stepped forward. Like the younger one, her hair was short and choppy around her jaw, though she was plump and broad with muscle, tall with freckles dusting her pale skin. She wore a loose toga, chopped around her thighs with only ragged trousers underneath, and no shoes. She glanced at Anwen once, then turned to Elf, stepping in front of him.

‘You are bold to speak their name,’ she hissed.

‘I wasn’t the one who said it,’ Elf pointed out.

The spear at his throat twisted against his windpipe, making his breaths tight against his throat. The bigger woman waved away the farmer with the fork, and the farmer gave a nod, hurrying back to the crowd.

‘What brings you here, then?’ she demanded. ‘In the company of a mermaid, Champion of the Chained One?’

Elf felt something horrible and slimy latch onto his gut at the words. ‘I am not a champion of anyone,’ he snapped. ‘We were just giving a mermaid a lift. We needed a map.’

‘There are many places to get a map.’

‘We needed a specific one.’

The woman glanced back at Stefan’s house, and pulled a face. ‘There are better places to get a map.’

‘I’ve learned as much,’ Elf said.

‘If you have it, then leave. Do not place yourself in our business.’

‘We don’t. It’s been… misplaced.’

At this, the spear twisted further into his neck, breaking the skin and making his breath escape in a wheeze. Just out of view, Jian whimpered. Elf held his hands up in further surrender.

‘What are you doing, O Se?’ Mihri demanded.

‘Nothing!’ Elf shot back. ‘They’re the one’s with spears!’

‘Stop antagonizing them!’

Anwen stepped forward, brushing away the spears that had pinned her. Though the two women moved with her, they didn’t stop her.

‘We request an audience with Maeraphe, for safe passage,’ she said. ‘They can vouch for me, and I can vouch for this crew.’

The woman narrowed her eyes.

‘How about a show of good faith?’ Elf asked. ‘From us to you, to prove it?’

The woman turned to face him, the grip on her spear turning her knuckles white.

‘I know where a missing pelt is.’

At this, the spears around his neck loosened, but didn’t move away. Elf swallowed obviously, the sweet rush of air flowing back into his lungs. Behind the woman, the younger one peered out from her hiding place. She stepped forward, then took a spear from the leader and twisted it in her hands, her threat made clear.

‘It’s yours, isn’t it?’ Elf asked her. ‘The idiot thought it was a gift.’

The smaller selkie woman hissed. Elf took a step back, only for an elbow to knock him forward again. He pointed towards Stefan’s house.

‘The cabinet behind the desk,’ Elf said. ‘It’s in there.’

The little selkie nodded, then turned and rushed for Stefan’s house, darting across the dirt road faster than Elf had ever seen something on land move. The other women stood with their spears still ready for an attack, tense and waiting. After a pregnant silence that stretched on for far too long, Elf wondered if the idiot had actually gotten rid of it. The only thing he knew for sure about selkies was how aggressive they could get when it came to sex, but he doubted he had enough charm to get out of this situation. Finally, there came a crash, followed by a scream. When the door flung open, the girl had the pelt draped around her shoulders like a cape, and she was squeezed it in her fists, hugging it protectively with a smile stretched across her face. The older woman nodded.

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘You may have your audience.’