His Fairy Share

by Meghan Maslow

  Twig’s attention stayed riveted on Captain Yardley—always the protector—so I spoke for both of us.

  “We’re proud to know you, Pirate McPiratestein. You’ll always be clan.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Go on, Pie. Go home!”

  “We’ll miss you.” Beckett nodded, her voice catching.

  Pie squawked and turned to Yardley. His Captain closed his fist on the pieces of carved bone and Pie cocked his head. “Ye be the one who cast the runes.”

  Captain Yardley nodded.

  Pie cocked his head, then gasped. “Ye be the one who pinned me in place. It be ye.”

  Again the ghost nodded and rotated his fist to show off a bracelet made with a braided piece of twine with a bone dangling from it that glinted with magic. I gaped. He’d pinned Pie?

  “But why? Wasn’t I a good bird? A faithful servant?” Pie’s feathers drooped.

  It hadn’t been an accident or a misguided target. It had been Pie all along.

  “The best.” Yardley’s voice sounded like a rusty hinge, unused and rough. The man probably wasn’t capable of looking gentle, though he gave what passed for a soft smile.

  “So why . . .”

  Captain Yardley’s gaze went to Beckett, and Pie tilted his head to follow. Then Pie clacked his beak, hopping on Yardley’s arm. “Oh, Captain. Ye trusted me more than anyone.”

  What? Beckett, Zak, and I all stared at him in confusion.

  The Captain squatted. He dropped the runes to the deck and Pie bobbed his head as if he read something in the bones. I tried to inch closer. I wanted to see what they said. Twig held out an arm to keep me behind him. Damn dragon.

  Yardley reached out and stroked Pie’s crown. The bird trilled from the contact, and the ghost softly chuckled. After a second, the Captain scooped up the runes and stood as Pie sidled to his shoulder.

  Pie nuzzled Yardley again and then swiveled his head toward us. He did this several times before clacking his beak in what passed for laughter. We all stared at the little parrot, even Yardley side-eyed him, a slight smile on his lips. When Pie stopped his odd laughter, he spread his wings and bobbed—a bow?—toward Yardley.

  “It t’were a pleasure serving with ye, sir. Ye be the best master and captain a bird could ask fer. Rest well. Someday we’ll meet again.” Pie launched so suddenly that we all jerked in surprise, Twig’s fingers coming up tipped in claws.

  “Pie! What are you doing?” Beckett and I said together as he fluttered to a halt on Beckett’s shoulder.

  “Pie, go to your Captain,” Beckett said, her voice wavering.

  “I just did, Captain.” He nodded at Blackstone Yardley, a tear running from his good eye.

  “Until we meet again in the afterlife, Pirate McPiratestein, and Captain Beckett Yardley. A tankard o’ the finest rum awaits ye at me table. Make me proud.” Blackstone placed his hands together in a sign of respect. Then he placed two fingers to his lips and held them out toward Beckett.

  She mimicked the action.

  Yardley spared Twig, Zak, and me a glance, and a mischievous grin split his face. “Ships sail, monsters reveal. I saw me a dragon once. Fearsome beasts, ye be. But I never saw me a wizard afore. ’Tis a long time since I be experiencing something new. A good day indeed.” He tipped his hat in Beckett and Pie’s direction, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

  Did everyone know about the prophesy now? Before I could dwell on it, I spun toward Pie. “I-I don’t understand. Haven’t we spent the last six months trying everything to return you to him?”

  “Aye, ye did.” Pie fluffed his feathers but said nothing else.

  “That was Blackstone ‘Betrayer’ Yardley, right?”

  “Again, aye.”

  “And yet, here you are.” Stating the obvious. But seriously.

  “It be where I belong Mister Quinn. I just didn’t know it afore now.” He leaned against Beckett’s cheek. “The Captain cast the runes and saw . . . well, I don’t rightly know. Something that made him do what he did. So, here I be.”

  “He offered to take you home!” Beckett said, rubbing his crown.

  “He be an honorable scoundrel. He gave me the final choice.”

  “So, you gave up being with him because of me?” Beckett’s voice came out hushed.

  “Aye. Whatever he saw, it be enough to make him leave me. He entrusted yer life to me. I could have abandoned ye and gone home with him. Yet how could I have looked him in the eye knowing ye needed me? And ye do need me. Blackstone Yardley don’t make no mistakes with them bones. So, ye be me Captain now. If ye’ll have me.”

  “Oh, Pie, of course I’ll have you. You’re family.”

  And just like that, a small chain of golden light formed between them, and suddenly I understood. “Hydra’s hellfire, he’s your new familiar.”

  Beckett’s magic flared to life, surrounding her and Pie, a ghostly white color before it settled into her and winked out. She blinked. “I-I don’t understand. He shouldn’t be able to . . . he’s a ghost. And a bird. Neither of which—”

  “I think there are more familiar variations than the five types they taught us,” I said. The implications of that sank in.

  Having not seen one, but three new ghosts in a single day, the Disreputable Prince’s crew whispered among themselves. A grizzled pirate stepped from the group, her long hair plated under a red scarf. “Proud to serve under ye, Captain Yardley. Knew yer father, I did. A good pirate, and a better man. Never thought I’d see the day I’d welcome a pirate witch onboard. And me captain no less. A yarn fer the ages.”

  The crew nodded in agreement, and soon they dispersed to their posts. A ship didn’t sail itself.

  Twig waited until they were all out of earshot before saying, “I didn’t see any other ships, though I felt their magic. We’ll need every hand when the time comes.”

  Beckett’s face went grim, though she continued to stroke Pie. “Bring it.”

  38

  “All hands on deck! Sail ho!” Twig bellowed only a day later, racing into the crew’s sleeping quarters. I rolled from my hammock, along with dozens of other pirates. Twig stood in our doorway, bare as a babe, yelling down the passageway to rouse other slumbering sailors.

  “What happened?” I rubbed at my eyes, blinking the sleep away.

  “Went on a little reconnaissance. The witches anticipated our move and have blocked off Cochfil Cay. We’re sailing into a trap.”

  Zak had already rolled out of his hammock.

  “Stay here!” I threw my arm out to block him from exiting the room.

  “No way!” He shoved me. “I’ve got good aim with a ballista. Better aim than you, I bet.”

  “How do you—”

  “We don’t have time for this.” Twig raised his voice to be heard over the pirates shouting orders and spewing curses. “Zak will be safer at the ballistas than on the main deck. Go on, Zak, and watch yourself.”

  Zak took off toward the ballista deck before I could object, while Twig and I climbed the ladder topside and spilled onto the main deck among a knot of other sailors.

  Twig grabbed me and pulled me into a fierce kiss. We broke apart and he smiled with his fangs extended. “Got some witches to fry. Be careful while I’m gone.”

  “I could go with you—”

  He brushed another kiss over my mouth, this one sweet and gentle. Apologetic. “I’m sorry, Quinn. I can’t fight if I’m worried about you.”

  I caressed his cheek, swallowing the bitterness like a pill. His safety was more important than my stupid pride. “Go get ’em, dragon.”

  He nodded before sprinting to the side of the ship, hurling himself over, transforming almost instantaneously. He shot into the air in his majestic dragon form and sped ahead to greet the oncoming witches’ armada.

  I snatched a spyglass from my belt. Counted. Spells and curses. Thirty-five ships to our seventeen. Mostly War galleons. All black as pitch—both the hull and the sails. And armed to the teeth. Thirty-five amethyst flags flappi
ng in the breeze. How in harpy’s heat were they closing so fast? We had the wind in our sails, so we should have had the advantage. That was some wicked magic.

  Not great odds, though with Twig on our side, I’d bet on us. I swung the spyglass skyward. Twig winged toward the lead ship, fire billowing in front of him as he aimed for their large, square sails.

  I wanted to stay on deck where I could see Twig. I also wanted to be where I’d be most useful. I raced down to the ballista deck until I found Zak. He hefted a harpoon into a ballista and then rotated a large crank. The weapon held the harpoon tight, quivering like a giant arrow in an even larger bow. Zak adjusted the tension.

  We waited as our frigate continued to turn broadside so we’d have a clear shot. No chance to run now. While the witches’ galleons outweighed us in firepower, our frigates and especially sloops had maneuverability they could only dream of—even with magic. We also had the wind advantage.

  Waiting wasn’t my strong suit. Tension remained high as pirates armed their ballistas, preparing for the fight to come. I kept looking for Twig but the ballista deck didn’t have the best line of sight. I saw a burst of fire, and one of the witches’ galleons caught fire. In response, a volley of enemy harpoons shot toward the sky. I worried for Twig’s safety, though Twig possessed a lot more maneuverability than other dragons. He would be harder to hit.

  Still, the enemy armada closed with frightening speed, their gleaming black hulls cutting a foaming wake in the sea.

  “Now!” a crew member finally called.

  Zak yanked the lever, releasing the tension, and the harpoon shot into the sky, aimed at an enemy galleon. It bounced off a magical barrier. Dammit! Our other projectiles met the same fate.

  I needed a better look.

  “Zak, get ready to fire. Wait for my signal.” I scurried topside again and got singed by the fiery embers of a spell. I jumped backward, cursing. Crew raced around putting out small fires, trying to keep the sails from burning. I’d had Beckett bespell them—if not fireproof, then at least to make them fire resistant—but they could only take so much.

  Striding amidships, I called on the war hammer, pointing at the nearest galleon. The bracer glowed. A beam of light shot out and spread over the enemy ship. Weaknesses began cataloguing in my head, and I knew exactly where we should be aiming. The war hammer didn’t stop there, the light spreading to the next several ships, and their weaknesses growing clear.

  Rushing back down the ladderway to Zak’s post, I rotated the crank, lowering the ballista’s aim. “Target just above the waterline,” I called down the row. To demonstrate, I nodded to Zak who hit the lever and launched the next harpoon. It whizzed above the churning waves, striking the hull, no barrier to block it. Their ship would take on water, though it would take more than a single blow to cause enough damage to sink these monstrosities.

  Zak and I lined up another harpoon, and I let him take it from there. I ran down the line making sure everyone knew to aim low. On my way past, I called to Zak, “I need to find Captain Yardley.”

  Zak nodded and hefted another harpoon. I climbed to the main deck once again. Beckett’s magic flared around her as she stood astern, shielding the sailing master and stern chasers as best she could.

  “I’m not sure about all the galleons, but on the four closest ones, there’s two witches each. Mostly offensive magic practitioners. They’re relying on preventive spells to keep their ships safe. And more of those golems made from shells.” Like the others, the golems were tied to the magic of the ships and the witches who ran them.

  Beckett nodded. She wasn’t much of an offensive practitioner, though she’d used her defensive know-how on six of the seventeen ships in our fleet. One of the fleet’s ships whose captain most vociferously protested anything “witchy” coming in contact with his vessel burned like a torch. Rowboats full of crew headed toward other ships.

  Three enemy galleons were burning, their primary ballista disabled, the harpoons melted and sizzling drops of molten iron steamed as they hit the water. Twig’s handiwork.

  Twig swooped toward the ship closest to us, dodging harpoons from the bow and stern chasers and the larger ballistas on the main deck. Golem crew didn’t tire, giving them consistency. They also only worked at one speed, so the barrage of harpoons remained constant and predictable.

  Using talons and fire, Twig attacked. The defenses weren’t meant to withstand dragons. Buckling under his onslaught, the shields fell. The Disreputable Prince’s crew cheered, and a volley of harpoons followed. Twig torched the fore topsail and mast as well as the bow and stern chasers before flitting off toward his next target. His zigzag movements made it exceedingly difficult to hit him, though several of the galleons tried—witches and golems alike.

  Twenty-two, no make that twenty-one to fourteen now. Though it looked as if we might lose another ship soon. Twig saw that they were in trouble and swooped to their rescue, his roar enough to make anyone cringe. My heart thumped faster. I wanted to be on his back, riding the wind, and sinking the armada with him.

  Instead, I snatched a harpoon and handed it to the archer on the deck. I could still be useful.

  A moment later my heart froze. An enemy galleon launched something at Twig. Large rocks? Then they spread out into a net. He dodged. The net tangled with one of his wings.

  He faltered.

  “Fuck, it’s a bolas.” Beckett swore, but I remained mute.

  I snatched the spyglass. Twig turned to torch the offending net, just as a harpoon struck his chest. He roared and I screamed, as though the harpoon struck me, too.

  Another bolas launched, net spreading, entangling him further. He plummeted, his legs thrashing, his wings caught tight. Twig struck the water between our ship and a witches’ galleon, sending up a fountain. I ran toward the Jacob’s ladder.

  Beckett grabbed the back of my shirt. “Quinn, no! That’s crazy. You’ll never make it to him.”

  I spun, knocking her hand off. Scrabbling in my tunic, I pulled out Cookie, pushed her at Beckett. “Keep her safe for me. I’ll need her when we come up.”

  “You can’t be serious. He’s too far away.”

  “Not for me.” I unbuckled my belt, kicked off my boots, and dropped my weapons and spyglass to the deck. Unshouldering my knapsack, I dug through it until I found a short length of rope. I snatched up my dagger and cut a piece of the cord, then tied the rope around my calf as a makeshift knife holder. I slipped in the dagger. Good enough.

  “Think about what you’re doing.”

  I already had. I swung over the side and down the ladder.

  “At least let the davits swing a dory out. You’ll drown.” Beckett leaned over, watching my descent.

  “No time.” I couldn’t wait for the crane to lower the dory. I couldn’t explain how I knew. I had to go now. I lowered myself until I could push off into the unknown waters. I went under, sucking in a mouthful of cool sea water, then kicked until I broke the roiling surface.

  I sputtered, then swam as fast as I could toward where Twig went down, the waves choppy in the ships’ wake, tossing me around. I didn’t need to swim the whole way. He’d make it to me. I swam until my arms ached. A harpoon came perilously close, plunging harmlessly beneath the waves. I treaded water. Waiting.

  What if . . .

  No, he lived. I’d know.

  Then I saw it. A dark shadow moving under the water. For a second I mistook it for some sea creature. But no. He’d made it. As the shadow drew closer to the surface, I tensed. Twig’s snout broke the water near me. Still tangled in the net, he went back under.

  I dove.

  Despite the sun blazing overhead, the water remained a roiling dark mass, waves frothing the surface. The moment I went under, almost all light vanished. I didn’t need the light, though. Suddenly, I brushed against a familiar scale-armored side. I grabbed a piece of the net wrapped around Twig. My lungs burned. Who needed breath when my heart lay below the waves?

  Gripping my knife, I h
acked at the rope. Twig’s tough hide would mostly protect him from my blade. When my lungs screamed for air, as if on cue, we rose and broke the surface. With a gasp, we slipped beneath the waves again, and I continued to saw at the deadly ropes.

  Twig pulled and freed his head. We rose again, and after another gulp of air, I went back under to work on his wing until he shook off the last of it.

  We broke the surface again, and this time Twig maneuvered so I slid onto his neck.

  We went airborne. I whooped. We rose, his war cry splitting the air. Cheers erupted from our fleet.

  “Twig, the harpoon! I’ve got Cookie on the ship. She can heal you.”

  Instead, Twig shot toward the ship that had launched the nets, his chest heaving. He meant to shoot fire. Two other nets launched in our direction, except now we were ready. He torched them before they came anywhere close.

  “Look out!” He dove just as a harpoon skimmed overhead.

  Another pair of bolas flew at us, with round disks on their ends. One set skimmed the tip of Twig’s wing and he bellowed. A line of blood ran from the points of impact.

  “Those bastards!” I’d never wanted to draw on magic as badly as in that moment.

  Twig dove toward the galleon. More bolas came our way, and his fire spewed in front of him in a continual stream. To say he set the ship on fire was a slight understatement. It went up like magical fireworks on Summer Solstice. Twig’s fire continued onto the nearest galleon, set that one ablaze, too, before we shot toward the clouds. We hovered out of ballista range, his wings flitting madly.

  “Are you sure you’re okay? We can have Cookie heal you, then go back out.”

  Twig’s snout turned my way and I swear he grinned.

  I patted his neck fondly. “That’s my bloodthirsty dragon.”

  We dove.

  39

  The witches’ ships didn’t have enough magic to defeat Twig, and they knew it. I expected them to either surrender or flee. Instead, a beam of teal light shot between three galleons that hung back from the rest of the armada. The light then spread to the rest of the witches’ ships. A loud boom echoed over the battle and magical sparks shot in all directions from the galleons before dying away. A faint glow remained around the enemy ships.