Page 19 of The Sea Witch
“It is a wonder we have any reputation at all,” the quartermaster groused. “Fine, fine,” she added when Alys shot her a pointed look, “he lives, but when he is no longer of use to us...” She drew her thumb across her throat.
Eris chattered in agreement.
Satisfied, Alys finished her supper, and drained a mug of rum to chase it all down. She wiped her arm across her mouth.
“Where’s your modesty?”
Samuel’s once-constant demand came back to her in a rush. There’d been a day when she had spoken to Quinton Brown before the other man had addressed her first. Samuel had quickly dragged her home, sat her at the table, and lectured her for a full hour about her wrongdoing.
“I’d only asked him to thank his wife for her gift of elderberry jam,” Alys had protested.
“Your eyes weren’t downcast, either. You looked around as if you were the mayor and the reverend and the governor all mixed into one boastful, lewd woman.”
“I knew the road, and didn’t need to look down.”
He’d sat down and clasped her hands in his. “I love you too much to let you attract any censure. What if someone gets ideas and follows you and sees you...” He’d shuddered. “Using magic.”
“They won’t—I’m careful.”
His face darkened, and only then had she realized her mistake.
“Before my recollection of it grows blurred,” she said to Stasia, banishing the memory, “we need to figure out what Little George’s clue on the window glass leading to the fail-safe meant.”
“Speak, Oracle.” Stasia waved her hand.
“A golden, holy key you seek to open the gates,
But first, you must be penitent.
Bow at the feet of the Weeping Princess
And behind her vale of tears, you will find your way.”
After this recital, both Alys and Stasia fell silent, considering what the riddle could possibly mean.
“Within the Caribbean, is there anything known as the Weeping Princess?” Alys asked.
Stasia looked baffled. “I have been in these waters for only a year longer than you.”
“Damn.” Alys pulled out several charts and spread them open on a table—a mahogany table, Alys was pleased to note, that she had actuallypaidfor at a port of call, rather than seized from a captured ship.
She and Stasia studied the charts thoroughly, reviewing the maps that had been painstakingly rendered by cartographers from around the globe, with territories and towns all carefully inscribed,just as the creatures and supernatural beasts that dwelled in the waters and forests were depicted in all their powerful splendor. Yet there were no indicators of anywhere that bore the name the Weeping Princess. “Perhaps it’s a nickname for some church or tower.”
“Hell, if I know.” Stasia folded her arms across her chest as she scowled at the stack of useless maps.
“Perhaps this’ll do.” Alys spoke the riddle again as she summoned a spell from a thick honey-scented candle, calling upon the knowledge bees possessed when finding their way from hive to flower and back again. She focused her attention on her words, bringing to mind the bees’ flight, and cast the spell over the maps. It shimmered for a moment, and she held her breath, hopeful that the enchantment would alight somewhere on the chart that might show them where they needed to go.
Yet the glittering spell turned to flakes of useless ash that scattered across the map.
“Fuck,” she muttered. She dropped her head. “A disaster of a captain I am, and an even bigger failure as a witch, if I can’t lead us toward the one thing that might turn the tide in our favor.”
“Alys,” Stasia said firmly. “Youcando this.”
“I’m glad one of us has confidence in me, if not my choices.”
Alys exhaled roughly. Her stomach knotted when faced with the immensity of her situation. She had to find the fail-safe, and she’d kept the naval sailing master alive for that very purpose. But was that the right decision?
She looked down at the charts. “If our powers fail us, then surely there is someone in our company who will have the answer.”
