The prow of the wrecked ship hit the Kestrel with a sickening crunch. Swabs went to their knees. Riggers hung on to their ropes as they were whipped back and forth by the jarring impact. A few unlucky sailors even found themselves bowled completely over, or found themselves hanging in the air, suspended by their safety lines. Rope burn, splinters and scraped skin abounded. Those at the front of the ship fared the worst. Danica and Mister Lynch were thrown backwards from the prow all the way to the foremast. At the back of the ship, Will rocked in his chair, leaning to the side to see around the mast, hoping to get a better look at what had happened. Between the dark and the sea spray, all he could make out was the looming shape of the other ship briefly given shape by thc dancing lanterns. 

Danica found herself glad the deck was still covered in the new ladders Miss Webber was building. The ropes criss-crossing on the floor gave her something to grab onto as the Kestrel lurched again when the ship rocked again, finding its equilibrium after the crash. Her head was ringing. Had she hit it on something? She didn’t remember. Maybe she’d clipped the deck or the mast when she was knocked back. She looked around quickly, reorienting herself. Movement just off the prow caught her eye. Something splashed into the water. Had they lost someone? She scrambled to the railing and grabbed one of the mounted searchlights. It took her a moment to release the hand-clamp that held it in place so she could aim the beam of light downward. The water was churning and dark. She didn’t see a person, but she could make out the froth of the water where it churned above the reef. 

The reef? Weren’t they clear of it? Surprise and worry washed over her. They’d been pushed back into the mouth of the reef! Anyone in those waters was doomed. The churning waves would shred them against the coral. Worse, the Kestrel was pinned. The reef was to either side, and the black ship was in front. They couldn’t move or maneuver.  Backwards was the only option, and it wasn’t an easy or good one. 

The black ship rose and loomed again. Danica had just enough time to think that it didn’t seem possible for the derelict ship to move like that as she dropped to one knee, held on tight, and yelled as loudly as she could. “Brace!” 

She moved just in time. The Kestrel was jarred by another dreadful crunch. Sailors who had barely recovered from the last crash were sent tumbling and dangling again. More cries of surprise and pain rang out across the ship. The railing Danica was holding onto snapped, leaving her with a momentary feeling of sickening weightlessness. All she could think of in that moment was of the tips of the coral breaching the waters, waiting to strip the flesh from her bones. 

The force of the impact sent her tumbling backwards again instead of down into the waves. She didn’t have time to do anything but lift her head before a dark shape hit the deck in front of her with a wet thump. Again the Kestrel had been shoved back with the impact, but this time it had dragged the ragged black ship with it. Danica could see where the Kestrel’s prow had punched into the other ship as it had descended, spearing it on the bowsprit and locking them together. It looked for all the world like the tear in the other ship’s shattered hull was a gaping maw eating the Kestrel’s prow.

The large spotlight lantern was still in her hands. She had a moment of panic as her mind registered the heat.  It had come free when the railing had broken, and somehow she’d held onto it. The hot reflector dish was resting against her leg and the bright beam created a blinding pillar of light that rose straight up from her lap. Her pants had protected her from being burned for a short time, but it definitely had her attention now. She rolled the awkward lantern off her lap and tucked her knees underneath herself. Blinking away the bright afterimage of the beam she aimed it towards the prow to get a better look at whatever had fallen near her. 

It was a body. 

A wet, pale, human corpse.

No, not a corpse. 

It moved. 

She watched in slow horror as the pale form twitched.

“Help,” it rasped, still face down on the deck. She’d heard a man with punctured lungs try to talk before. That’s what the person laying on the deck in front of her reminded her of. The sound was wet and forced. Every tiny hair on her body prickled at the sound. 

An arm shot forward and slapped the deck, pushing, lifting. The head raised awkwardly, starting from the shoulders with the weight of the skull hanging limply. The pale form raised its head up. Dark, dripping hair was plastered down the face. It was a man. His clothes were torn and stained, little more than rags. A horrified expression contorted his expression into a silent scream. His eyes were so distended from his skull that Danica thought they might burst out of their sockets. His mouth hung open limply and wide, like his jaw had been badly dislocated. The corners of his mouth were red with infection and caked with the build-up of old scabs that had half-healed and re-torn. Inside his mouth it looked like his tongue was swollen and rotten, or had been bitten off and become badly infected, like he had a mouth full of putrid meat. His other hand lurched forward, pushing himself up into an awkward partially kneeling position. One of his arms raised into the air and began waving back and forth, like a grotesque parody of a sailor in distress. 

“Help!” he groaned again. Louder this time, and slower. The sound was somewhere between a moan and a gurgle. He took a step towards her, still waving and staring. Something about his gait was completely wrong. 

Was it a disease? A curse? Necromancy? What was wrong with this man? Horrid possibilities flitted through her mind.

Another body hit the deck behind the first, landing with another sickening wet thump. Then a third fell somewhere outside the light. They too lurched to their knees with unnatural movements that alternated between too slow and too fast, and started waving their arms back and forth. Without thinking, Danica began scooching backwards, dragging her dented lamp with her trying to keep the light on the horrible-looking people who were abandoning their ruined ship for hers.

The first hideous man followed her. He tried to rise to his feet, but the rocking of the ships caused him to fall as soon as he stood. His legs buckled strangely, bending wrong. He made no attempt to catch himself or roll with his fall. He simply toppled, his whole body crashing to the deck like a sack of meat. Danica watched his head bounce off the deck, but he barely seemed to notice. He didn’t even close his eyes. He just pushed himself up again as soon as he hit the deck. Or, rather, he tried to. His lurching surge was not terribly successful. After the second fall he lifted himself to his knees again and started to pull himself forward with his arms. He used his hands in place of feet, his legs flailing and twitching behind him, trying and failing to find purchase.

Had he broken his legs? Hurt his spine? What was wrong with his eyes? What was that thing in his mouth? Question after question flashed through Danica’s mind as she continued backing up in horror, slowly picking up her pace as much as she could. She wasn’t in a good position for speed, but didn’t fully realize it. She was basically crab-walking backwards on the wet deck of a lurching ship in a storm, while dragging a large spotlight. A primal fear had gripped her mind and all she was concerned with was backing up.

The other bodies began to move, dragging themselves forward with the same awkward, shuddering scramble the first one had started. Again, their legs didn’t seem to work properly. They were certainly trying to get to their feet. One even managed a few steps before losing it’s balance. Falling barely slowed them. It was almost like falling was an intentional part of how they were moving forward. Their gape-mouthed, bug-eyed stares bobbed in the light and moved forward with horrible speed, rasping and screaming for help the whole time. Wet thuds announced the arrival of more of their kind.

Danica nearly managed to get to her feet but the rope ladder spread across the deck caught her heel and brought her back down. She swore and scrambled back, but the horrid men bearing down on her were faster. The closest one was getting far too close for comfort. “Get back!” she called out, knowing as soon as she said it that her panicked words were meaningless. The pale, scrambling figure in front of her did not reply. Instead he lurched and rolled his body like he was vomiting. A thick, ropy tendril erupted from his mouth and launched toward Danica. She flinched back and raised her arms to defend herself, lifting the lantern up simply because it was in her hands. The tendril crashed into the lamp with a heavy crunch, hitting hard enough to rock her and push her back into the deck. Her eyes focused in the dim light and she realized she was looking at a wicked looking white spike. It quivered and twisted, reaching for her, trying to shove its way through the lantern. The spike had punched through the reflector dish, but the knot of flesh just behind the spike didn’t fit. Instead, it was pushing the dish back in her hands with surprising strength. A drop of an oily clear liquid began collecting on the the tip of the angry spine.

She shoved hard, locking her arms and holding the lamp like a shield while she scrambled backwards, using her legs and her back to awkwardly push herself across the deck. The thick ropes beneath her hurt, but she kept going. The man-thing continued to come after her. The spike retracted and the tendril slithered back into his mouth, only to erupt forth again with another vomitous heave. 

This time the spike slammed through the lower half of the reflector dish, and into the oil reservoir behind it. 

The lantern burst in her hands, showering her chest with oil and flames. The ruined lamp jerked out of her hands and left a trail of spattered flames from her to the creature in the dark. As the tendril retracted into the man’s mouth the hot reflector dish hit him squarely in the face throwing fire and oil all over him and the surrounding deck. The firelight was enough to dimly illuminate the broken lamp as it cleattered to the deck in front of the creature. His head was tipped back from the impact, staring at the sky with bulging eyes. Then his head tilted forward again. The damaged reflector had clearly hurt him, leaving a long gash down his face. Dark blood poured down his white skin, but he showed no pain, nor any fear of the flames spreading across his ruined clothes. Danica had started to try to slap away the splatter of fire across her blouse, but she was forced back into a mad scramble as the hideous pale man moved again. His bulbous eyes locked on Danica again and he began another lurching lunge forward. His yawning mouth opened wider, beginning to disgorge his spiked tendril one more time. Danica’s heart rose in her throat and she threw herself to the side, hoping to dodge the grotesque stinger. 

His head exploded. 

A fraction of a second later the thundercrack of the rifle registered in her ears as the body thumped to the ground, still twitching and shuddering.  The spiked tendril landed limply on her legs instead of stabbing into her. She scrambled more, shoving the disgusting thing off of her, and looked over her shoulder. Mister Lynch gave her a nod and began reloading his massive gun with practiced efficiency. 

Danica took a shuddering breath as a wave of relief passed over her. Her attacker was dead. She ripped open her blouse to get the fire clear of her body and squinted into the dark. There were still two more of those… things coming towards her, but now that the lantern was destroyed she couldn’t see them. That wasn’t very reassuring, but she wasn’t being actively attacked yet. She had a moment or two. She yanked at her blouse again, untucking it from her pants and pulling it free of her body. The next two disturbing boarders pulled themselves into the dim light. She could faintly make out more falling to the deck behind them. They were little more than flickers in the dark and thumps on the wood, but she knew what that meant now. 

With the smouldering remains of her blouse balled into one hand she scrambled to her feet and ran. 

With quick, balanced steps born of years onboard the Kestrel, she dodged through swabs who were brandishing weapons and gathering together for the coming fight. She wove past roped off crates and barrels, and tossed her ruined shirt overboard as she went. She didn’t know if the fire would spread much. It seemed extinguished, but she wasn’t about to leave anything smouldering on deck. She had momentary thoughts of anger over the loss of her favorite blouse, and another of exasperation at standing on the deck in her undershirt, but she disregarded them as soon as she had them. There were more important things to focus on. She surveyed the deck. 

She could hear Coleman and Reeve bellowing, directing the crew to repel boarders. The riggers were staying up top for now. The Captain and Colin were fighting to regain control, but with the two ships stuck together their efforts were in vain. 

“Danica, report!” came the call from the helm above her.

“Boarders, Captain! Weird ones. Scorpion tails in their mouths!” Danica called back.

The Captain took that information in stride. “Gross. We lost the forward lights when that ship hit us, what happened? What are we stuck on?”

“The other ship!” Danica called up again. She ran up the stairs. 

“You sure?” Captain Vex asked as she approached. “We’re not on the reef?”

“Not yet! I watched it. Our bowsprit speared right into the other ship’s prow! We’re right in the mouth of the reef though, if we go port or starboard, we’re going to be grounded!” Danica said quickly.

“Ah, fuck me,” Captain Vex glowered. “Colin, stand down.” The big man released the wheel and sighed heavily. The wheel rotated a quarter turn and started twitching back and forth under its own power as the helmsman stopped fighting the waters. Colin looked pale and was breathing slowly and deliberately. He clearly wasn’t as recovered from his head wound as he’d claimed. 

“Dany, get one of the rear lanterns from the aft rail and fix it here. I need to be able to see what’s going on,” Captain Vex ordered.

“Aye,” Danica nodded. 

“Careful of all the witch stuff,” Captain Vex reminded her. 

Danica looked behind the Captain at the series of glowing circles and the naked woman and the enchanted mirror roped to the mast. “Right. Witch stuff. Hope whatever she’s doing works.”

The mirror exploded.

______________________

Janie’s head was swimming. Her vision blurred. Focusing was hard. She tried to stand up but her body felt sluggish. “Ow,” she said absently. Her voice felt like it was coming from somewhere else. She blinked and focused, forcing her eyes to work better. Caine was pulling himself out of a Caine-shaped hole in the wall, extracting himself from splintered wood and crumbling plaster with an angry scowl on his face. He met her eyes while rubbing the back of his head. ”You alright?” he asked. It took her longer than it should have to register what the words meant. 

She nodded and it made her vision swim. “I think I hit my head,” she said, still feeling a bit distant from her own body. She started to try to get up, but Caine held up his hand. 

“Don’t move,” he said. Something in his voice cut through her dazed state and she stayed still. She watched as Caine freed himself from the wall and stood all the way up with a groan. He was naked and covered in a fine layer of plaster dust. He trudged through the wreckage of the alcove and put his finger tips to Tonya’s neck. She was stretched out on the small round table, her arms and legs hanging limply off the edges. The sigils drawn on her chest were still glowing with white intensity that lit up the swirling plaster dust that hung in the air. He lowered his face to hers, tilting his head near her lips. 

“She’s alive. No obvious damage,” Caine said. He quickly moved past Tonya and knelt down next to Janie. He scanned her body quickly, then looked intently into her eyes. “Don’t move. I’m going to check your neck, and the back of your head.”

His fingertips were gentle, barely touching her at first then probing a bit more firmly as he ran his hands over her neck and the back of her skull. He looked at his fingers when he was done and turned them around so she could see the blood on them. “Don’t think your skull is cracked. Just a gash. You’re going to have a goose egg and a headache for a while.” He gently leaned her forward and ran his fingers ran down her spine. “Can you wiggle your toes?” he asked.

Janie was relieved to find she could. “Yes.”

“I don’t feel anything obvious. Just a few more scrapes and cuts. I think you just hit your head, which isn’t great but you aren’t going to die,” Caine offered her his hand. She took it and tried to stand, but her head throbbed and her vision swam again. “Take your time,” he said.

Janie’s nod was slow and ginger. She decided to take a few more moments where she was. “What happened?”

“Not sure. Sounded like a thunderclap. My ears are still ringing,” Caine said.

Janie carefully and painfully got to her feet. The process of standing let her find a dozen new places that hurt, mostly on her back, though her left elbow was was currently in second place after the growing pain in her skull. Now that Caine had mentioned it, she noticed the ringing in her ears as well. It had seemed like part of the overall disorientation, but the mention of the thunderclap jogged her memory. “The containment rings failed. I think they overloaded.”

“What’s that mean?” Caine asked, moving back to give Tonya a more thorough inspection. 

“Um, well... “ Janie was having trouble thinking clearly. “The rings are like a drain on the floor under a bathtub. They catch the spill-over.”

“Don’t bathtubs usually have drains in the tub itself?” Caine asked. 

“For this metaphor, the drain in the tub is the mirror. The floor drain is there in case anything spills over because the tub drain isn’t fast enough. Usually there isn’t much but… I don’t know. It seemed like a whole bunch of energy got added all at once.”

“Like tossing a whole bunch of water into a tub that was already mostly full. We overflowed the tub, which dumped so much water onto the floor that even the floor drain couldn’t handle it.” Caine nodded with understanding. 

“When magic overflows it-” Janie began.

“Goes boom,” Caine finished, nodding to himself. He gave Tonya the same gently probing head and neck inspection he’d given Janie and then cradled Tonya’s head with one hand, slowly and carefully rolling her onto her side so he could run his hand down her spine. “I don’t think she’s hurt at all.”

“What the hell was that?!” Chance said, bursting through the curtain with a handful of staff and prostitutes in tow. Janie winced at the sudden burst of noise. Chance balked for a moment seeing Caine’s naked state. He was used to seeing naked people, but not Caine. He gave his head of security a fierce, quizzical look. 

“Not sure,” Caine said, completely ignoring his own nudity and Chance’s obvious surprise about it. “Tonya was working a ritual with Bella, using the mirror as some kind of conduit. Then something happened. Felt like being struck by lightning.”

“With Bella? She’s not even- Through the mirror? Wait-. You’ve been struck by lightning before?” Chance asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Caine said flatly. 

Chance’s brows rose for a moment, then he rolled his eyes as he realized he shouldn’t be surprised at that information. He focused on the wreckage. “Anyone hurt?”

“Just a few bumps and bruises. I think we’ll all be fine, but until Tonya wakes up we won’t know for sure,” Caine said, lowering Tonya gently to her back again and moving her hands up onto her stomach.

“She’s glowing,” one of the girls in the doorway said, fascinated and worried, staring at the pulsing sigils drawn on Tonya’s body.

“Yeah,” Caine said. “Not sure why.”

“We’ll talk about all this once you have it sorted out. I’m going to check for more damage,” Chance said. He pushed through the crowd in the doorway and went to check the surrounding alcoves and windows.

“Can one of you go get Cerise?” Caine asked the cluster of faces jockeying for position in the doorway. 

“I am already here,” a lightly accented, exasperated voice came from somewhere behind the crowd. “Move, you bunch of hens.”

The group of onlookers shifted and let the brothel’s resident apothecary through. Cerise looked disheveled and tired. Her sheer red robe was all but completely transparent, but in spite of her pinched expression and near nudity she still stood proudly like a queen among commoners. She and Caine looked at each other with momentary surprise. Cerise was the other person at Mary’s for whom nudity wasn’t at all common. She carried a large doctor’s bag in one hand, which she unceremoniously dumped onto one of the chairs as she pushed her way into the alcove. She rubbed her eyes to wake herself up. “Caine, put some clothes on,” she said tersely. 

“Aw,” a few voices, both male and female, whined from the doorway. 

Caine gave the doorway a flat look and picked up his pants from one of the other chairs. As Cerise opened her bag and started looking Tonya over, Caine turned around and stepped into his breeches. Janie brushed herself off, patting more plaster dust into the air. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Janie asked Cerise.

“I will let you know. For now, just stay out of the way,” the apothecary said. Janie nodded gingerly and sat down, picking up the rest of Caine’s clothes from the seat and putting them in her lap. Her back hurt quite a bit, but she ignored it. She folded her hands in patient worry and watched Cerise work.

“Any wounds?” she asked Caine.

“None,” he answered. “I think she’s just passed out.”

The apothecary used her thumb to open Tonya’s eyelids and look at her eyes, then pushed her jaw down and opened her mouth. She checked Tonya’s pulse and rolled her head back and forth gently. “I agree.”

Caine took his shirt from Janie as Cerise pulled a small glass bottle with a cork stopper out of her bag. She worked the cork free and waved the bottle beneath Tonya’s nose. The little witch arched her back and opened her eyes with a shocked gasp. Cerise smiled tightly and stoppered her bottle. The gathered brothel workers in the doorway whispered and jostled with excitement. “Much better. Try not to move yet. How do  you feel?” Cerise asked, holding Tonya down with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Fine?” Tonya said, sounding a bit uncertain about her answer, and what was going on. She rubbed her nose and wrinkled it, like she could rub away the smell of whatever Cerise kept in that jar.

“Are you sure? Take your time,’ Cerise said gently. 

Tonya thought for a few moments, carefully moving her body to check for anything that hurt. “I’m sure.” She sneezed. “What’s all this dust?’

Cerise offered her a hand and helped her sit up. Tonya looked around at the devastation. Broken shelves and bottles, cracked walls. “Damn, what happened?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“I was hoping you could tell us,” Caine said finishing pulling on his shirt. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“We were going at it,” Tonya shrugged. There was a few mutters of surprise and encouragement from the doorway. Tonya smirked and gave them a victorious wink. “It was getting really good. Felt like I was going to ex-” she paused and looked around the room, horror dawning as she realized that she was sitting in the exact center of the pattern of destruction. “-splode.” She bit her lip. “Did I…?” She didn’t know how to finish her fearful thought.

“Evocation?” Janie asked.

“I don’t know!” Tonya said, starting to panic. “I know Bella told me about it when she taught me about why we use grounding circles, but I don’t remember much about it. Did we do the circle wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Janie said. Her head was throbbing. She rubbed the goose egg on the back of her skull gingerly, letting out a small hiss of pain as her fingers made contact. 

Cerise eyed her. “Your turn, missy,” she said firmly to Janie. “You two switch.”

Tonya carefully slid off the table and slid her bare feet onto the floor, pushing broken jars and scattered debris around so she didn’t accidentally step on any of it. Janie moved to the table where Tonya had just been. Cerise reminded her a bit of the Master of Acolytes back at the Grand Temple, only more…  commanding. Even wearing nothing but a sheer robe, her combination of regal bearing, businesslike bruskness, and matronly concern reminded Janie of many of the qualities she’d looked up to and tried to emulate when she was younger. Sitting on that table Janie suddenly felt like a child again. 

“What hurts?” Cerise asked.

“The back of my head, mostly,” Janie answered. “Also my neck. I think there are some scrapes on my back where I hit the wall.”

Cerise walked around the table and looked her over. “Oh. Yes, you have some cuts. It does not look too serious. Just some blood. Not from the wall though.” She eyed the shattered mirror and the glass all over the ground. “I’m going to need to check your wounds for glass shards. After that, ointment and bandages after a bath should be sufficient. Let me look at your head.”

“Glass? The mirror?” Janie turned her body and her neck a bit and let Cerise get a closer look at the swelling lump on the back of her head. The apothecary’s fingers were gentle, and probed down to the base of her skull and her neck. 

“You’re lucky for the plaster. If the wall had been stone here you’d probably be dead,” Cerise said with a matronly tone. 

“Oh,” Janie’s eyes widened. “It didn’t feel like I hit that hard.”

“It will in a few hours,” Cerise said. “Here.” She pulled out another jar and a small cloth bag, then tapped a few pills from the jar to the bag. “These will help with the pain. Do not take more than three a day.” She put the bag in Janie’s hand followed by a small earthenware pot. “Smear this on your wounds. Use as much as you need. It will sting a bit.”

“Oh fuck,” Tonya gasped as she looked at Janie’s back. 

“What?” Janie asked, instinctively turning and craning her neck. A wave of pain and dizziness washed over her. She stopped and looked forward again, her eyes squeezed shut. Tonya cringed at Cerise’s withering glare. 

“It’s just a lot of blood,” Tonya said, trying to sound reassuring. “Probably looks worse than it is.”

“Quite,” Cerise agreed. “Help me take your top down.” With a slightly embarrassed look towards Caine and the doorway, Janie tried her best to keep herself covered while she pulled her bustier down around her waist to expose her back. She could feel the thin material wetly peeling free and sending scraping pain along the cuts. She hissed again and closed her eyes against the stinging.

“I’m sorry,” Tonya said, taking Janie’s hand. “I don’t know how I screwed up so bad,” The apprentice witch looked guilty and overwhelmed. 

“I don’t think it’s your fault,” Janie said keeping her eyes closed, deliberately not shaking her head. “I think something else happened. We need to ask Bella.”

“Bella!” Tonya exclaimed, whirling to face the mirror, registering it for the first time.. 

The carved frame hung cockeyed and empty. Shards of mirrored glass littered the floor. Tonya felt like she was going to be sick. 

________________________

“What the hell was that?” Will called out. He was staring at the broken hand mirror in his grip. As soon as he’d smashed it something had happened. The crash of breaking glass was far louder than it should have been. 

“Overload!” Bella called back. “The mirror shattered!”

“That’s what you told me to do!” Will yelled over the waves and wind.

“Not your mirror! This mirror! Janie’s mirror!” Bella called. 

Will’s heart sank. “What!? Was it supposed to do that?” 

“No!” Bella yelled. “There was a surge of power. It dumped though the mirror and into our circles. They were strong enough to redirect the energy, but the mirror couldn’t contain it!”

As Will and Bella shouted back and forth to each other across the aftcastle, Danica jogged nimbly through the shattered shards of mirror, stepping over the faintly glowing lines drawn on the deck. She didn’t know much about magic, but she knew enough not to step on things that glowed. “Maybe you two can deal with this later? We’ve got boarders to repel!”

“Did the hex work?” Will called.

“I think so!” Bella answered.

“So are we done?” Will asked.

“I guess we have to be! Without the mirror as an energy source, there’s not much I can do!” Bella shouted. 

“You want to untie me then?” Will yelled.

“There’s glass everywhere! I’m barefoot!” Bella called back.

“Oh for the love of…” Will muttered. He drew his parrying dagger from his belt and started cutting the ropes that kept him secured to the chair.

“Lace is going to skin you for cutting her ropes,” Danica said, hustling back through the remnants of the ritual carrying a large spotlight lantern. Will stared after her for a moment. All she was wearing was a thin undershirt that was soaked through and completely transparent. She watched the near-topless Danica rush past the naked Bella and shook his head, bemused. There were usually fewer naked people during naval battles. 

He finished cutting the ropes, sheathed his dagger and stood up, leaving the chair anchored to the deck. He held his navigation desk under one arm and took a few steps to the mast to hold onto a rope for balance. She ship was rolling enough that he had to concentrate on his balance, but thankfully they weren’t in the open ocean. The reef and the island acted as water breaks keeping the worst of the churning waves at bay. “Captain, is it safe to assume you aren’t going to need any headings for a while?” he called out as he followed Danica to the helm.

“Aye!” Captain Vex answered over her shoulder. “Only way out is ahead, an’ we’re blocked! Gettin’ rammed like that mightae cracked our hull! Until we know if we’re takin’ on water we’re goin’ nowhere!”

“I’ll go below and check!” Will said, handing the navigation desk to Bella. He put his hand on her shoulder to make sure he had her attention. “Get this to the captain’s quarters and stay there until the fight is over.”

Bella nodded, worry plain on her face. “I don’t know what happened with the ritual.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Right now, we have more pressing things to worry about,” Will said, trying to sound reassuring. 

Bella took a deep breath. The fading light of the sigils and the rain sluicing down her body made the witch look like something otherworldly, but her scared expression was all too human. “Be careful,” she said. Will nodded, squeezed her arm once, and then rushed down the stairs. Bella followed much more slowly, holding tight to the railing and going still each time the ship rolled in a new direction. 

Danica got the lantern clamped to the railing next to the helm and aimed the spotlight. In the faint light of the hand lanterns hanging from the masts, all they’d been able to see from the aftcastle were shadows and silhouettes, punctuated by occasional reflections off clammy white skin. Screams of pain and anger filtered through the howling winds.

“By the gods,” Danica whispered. Her lantern showed dozens of the gape-mouthed white figures stumbling awkwardly around on the foredeck, flailing with heavy limbs and vomiting forth those terrible spined tendrils toward the ship’s defenders. At the center of the fight was Mister Reeve, standing a head above the swabs fighting with him, He laid about himself with a one-handed hooked weapon that was covered in tooth-like serrations. A half dozen crewmen already lay still or writhing on the deck, along with two of the pale invaders. A deafening crack rang out as Mister Lynch took another shot with his longarm as soon as Danica had the spotlight up. Another white form crashed to the deck like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Keep that light on them!” Lynch called out, not bothering to look behind him at where the light was coming from as he reloaded. In the time it took Lynch to ready his next shot another crewman went down screaming, speared in the leg by a spiked tentacle and dragged backwards into the clutches of a corpse-white thing that had once been a man. Three more white forms fell to the Kestrel’s deck from the ruined ship that was speared on their bow. 

“This isn’t good, Captain,” Danica said warily. 

“Nae,” Captain Vex agreed grimly. “We gotta get the Kestrel free. Colin, can you keep the helm steady? 

“Should be easy, we’re not moving,” Colin nodded. His puffy face slurred his speech. Danica hadn’t seen much of the big man lately. The whole side of his head was a solid mass of swollen bruises. That bouncer in the brothel had nearly crippled their helmsman. Hopefully now that they had a doctor aboard he’d heal faster, but they had to survive the night first.

“Danica, I’ll take the light. You get the hooks and get us free,” Belita ordered.

“Aye,” Danica passed the handle of the spotlight to her captain and headed down the stairs. 

_____________________

Bella stumbled through the door to the captain’s quarters into screaming horror. Two of the crew were on the bed, and one was on the ground. One had a severely broken arm. Another crewman was holding his gaze and talking him through the pain. The two on the bed were bleeding badly. Jack was holding pressure on a leg wound and telling the bleeding woman to bite down on a leather wrapped chunk of wood so they could set a tourniquet. Doctor Kalfou and Quinn were fighting a shuddering man who had a large gash in his throat. Quinn was holding the man’s head and arms steady while the doctor knelt at the bedside and tried to staunch the bleeding. It seemed to be going well for a moment. Quinn’s impressive strength was enough to hold the thrashing man still, but then he suddenly spasmed so hard that his collar bone broke with a wet crack. 

Bella found herself leaning back against the wall, clutching the navigation table to her body like it would protect her somehow. 

The man with the neck wound thrashed one more time and went still. The doctor’s face went grim and she bit off a curse in a tongue Bella didn’t know. She put her fingers against the unruined side of his neck and shook her head. After a moment she stood up. “Get him off the bed,” she said grimly.

Quinn hefted the limp man like a sack of potatoes and disappeared into the washroom.

“Is he…” Bella trailed off. 

Doctor Kalfou looked up, noticing her for the first time. “Yes,” she said firmly. “Get dressed. Come help.”

Bella nodded mechanically, looking around for something to wear. She suddenly couldn’t remember where her clothes were. She couldn’t think. She stared at her bag in the corner. Her mind wasn’t clear enough to recognize it for what it was. 

Jack looked up at her, then back to the belt she was tightening around the bleeding leg. Then she did a double-take back to Bella. “Dammit.” She cinched the belt down one last time, ignoring the stifled scream of pain from her patient. “Take over,” she said to the doctor. She quickly tied off the tourniquet and stood up to let Doctor Kalfou in. 

Jack looked at what Bella was staring blankly at, grabbed Bella’s clothing bag from the corner, and quickly crossed the room. She gently pulled the forgotten navigation desk out of Bella’s hands and replaced it with the bag. “Bella,” she said gently. 

Bella stared at the bag in her hands, her breathing shallow and rapid. 

“Bella, look at me,” Jack said insistently. 

Bella looked up, meeting Jack’s eyes. Recognition came a moment later. She just stared.

“Bella, get dressed,” Jack said gently and firmly, “Just focus on that. Ignore everything else.”

Bella nodded. “Get dressed,” she repeated. Her eyes snapped down to her bag. She opened it quickly. All her movements were jerky and uncoordinated, like each one was a separate action that required individual acts of will. Her hands shook but she managed to find a skirt and blouse and pull them on. When she finished tying the cord of her skirt she looked up, a bit more coherence in her eyes. 

“You alright?” Jack asked. 

“No, not really,” Bella said, finding her voice after a moment. She was quiet, and much less self-assured than she usually was. 

The door crashed open and a sailor dragged another man across the threshold trailing a smear of blood behind them. Bella flinched at the noise like she expected to be struck. Doctor Kalfou looked up from setting the broken arm of the sailor on the floor. “Get him on the bed,’ she said. Quinn took over from the sailor doing the dragging and hefted the unconscious man by his belt and the front of his shirt. Another gunshot echoed from outside. The bag fell out of Bella’s hands as she covered her ears. 

“Bella,” Jack said, trying to get the witch’s attention before she became lost inside herself again. This time Bella didn’t respond. She just stared at the trail of blood on the ground and trembled, wincing at every cry of pain. Jack exhaled, weighing the situation in her mind. Then she tipped Bella’s chin up and kissed her.

Bella’s eyes fluttered and went wide. Her whole body shook for a moment then she threw her arms around Jack’s neck and kissed her back, frantic, desperate, like she was drowning and Jack was air. When the kiss finally broke, Bella was staring in surprise and wonder, her mouth slightly open. She was still shaking slightly.

“You’re going to be mad at me later for that, and that’s alright,” Jack said. Her hand still rested lightly on Bella’s cheek, their eyes locked together. “Right now, I need you to focus. You’re safe. I’m here. Quinn is here. We are not going to let anyone hurt you. You’ve stitched me up before. This isn’t any different. We need your help. You can do this.”

“A… alright,” Bella said, nodding and visibly collecting her wits as Jack’s words sunk in. 

Jack took Bella’s hand and gently tugged her toward the bed. Doctor Kalfou was beginning to wrap a splint around the broken arm she’d just set. “Take over,” she said to Jack. Jack gave Bella ssuring nod, and took the roll of bandages from the doctor. “Can suture, you?” the doctor asked Bella.

“Y-yes,” Bella said taking a quick, centering breath. 

The doctor pointed to a wooden box on the Captain’s bedside table. “Your kit, there,” then she pointed to the man with the tourniquet on his leg. “Your patient, here. Once he’s closed up, let Jack know. Will bandage him, she.” As she spoke, she made a gesture to Quinn, who rolled over the unconscious man on the bed, revealing two vicious puncture wounds. Quinn tore the man’s shirt down the back one sharp, steady pull. Bella blanched at the sight of the gushing wounds, then another gunshot rang out causing Bella to flinch. Her breath came faster and shallower.  

“No.” Doctor Kalfou said calmly to Bella. Quinn began cleaning the wounds with a wet cloth. Bella stared at the wounds. “Stay with me,” Friday said to Bella, her tone causing Bella to look up and meet the doctor’s eyes. “Breathe. Focus.” She pointed again to the crewman’s leg. “Sew.”

____________________

“Hell,” Will muttered.

He was in the lower deck, up toward the prow, right in the middle of the crew berth. The water was up to his shins. The lantern in his hand illuminated a sizeable crack in the timbers. It looked like the first time the Kestrel had been rammed, the other ship’s keel had hit the Kestrel’s prow and cracked the hull wide open. 

The hole was right at the waterline, which was lucky. The water wasn’t gushing though, but every wave pushed a bit more in. It didn’t help that the Kestrel’s bowsprit was currently speared into the other ship, adding it’s weight to the Kestrel’s, shoving her nose down deeper into the water. 

This wasn’t going to sink them quickly, but it meant they weren’t seaworthy. Will turned, and was just about to turn to report back to the Captain when he caught strange movement in the shadows of the lantern light. He did a double take, aiming the lantern back at the hole in the hull.

A reddish tentacle rose up from below and wrapped through the hole, grabbing the splintered timbers. It had what looked like a misshapen hand at the end. Another joined it. Then another. Then a fully formed hand. A woman’s face rose next, bug-eyed and slack jawed. She locked eyes with him and screamed.

“Help!”

Will stared in horror for a moment, thankful that the crack didn’t look wide enough for the… thing to fit through. Then she retched. A long red rope erupted from her mouth. Will jumped back, getting a brief but up-close view of the white stinger on the end of the tendril as it reached it’s full length with Will just barely out of reach. 

Her barbed tongue retracted quickly, and she launched it again, straining for the extra foot she needed to reach him. Will backed up even more, shaking his head as he moved. 

“Help!” She screamed again. 

“Oh, no thank you,” he said to her. “I’ll just stay back here.”

With inhuman strength, she broke one of the cracked timbers free, widening the rend in the hull. Then she snapped off another and starting to shove her corpse-white body through the gap. Ruined clothing snagged and ripped. Shards of wood pierced her hands and scraped her body, but she didn’t seem to notice. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Will complained. He drew his rapier. 

The thing fell through the crack into the ship’s hold, landing in a pile of tentacles. She was a corpse-white naked woman from the pelvis up, a monstrous octopus made of raw meat from the hips down. She writhed and righted herself, her octopus tentacles squeezing together, sealing along nearly invisible seams to form rubbery but functional legs. What he’d mistaken for misshapen fingers at the end of the tentacles had been toes. She stood up, looking passably human. 

“Heeeeeelp!” she shrieked. 

Will was speechless. He just shook his head again, completely at a loss for words. The thing spewed it’s stinger at him again. He flicked his wrist and leaned to the side, deflecting the tendril with his rapier. He took a breath, his mind shrugging off the disbelief and horror to focusing on the reality of survival. There was really only one thing to do.

As the creature retracted it’s stinger-tongue, Will sloshed forward. The water made his progress slower than he would have liked, but the monster wasn’t terribly quick or creative. Her full body heave that preceded the stinger attack gave Will plenty of notice as to what was happening next. Another flick of the wrist and a sidestep sent the stinger over his shoulder. Then she lunged and swung at him with her fingers outstretched like claws. He stepped back as she lunged and calmly put his sword through her chest.

She didn’t even blink. Will’s eyes widened in surprise as she dragged herself up the blade with a surge that overbalanced him. The water dragged at his feet and tipped him back, and her lunge became a fall. He lost the lantern as he fell. It hit the water with a splash, but didn’t extinguish. The light took on a muted, rippling tone as both her hands gripped his clothing and yanked herself closer to him. She collapsed into a mess of tentacles that wrapped around his legs, holding him close and tight. He shoved with all his strength, adding his other hand to the hilt of his sword, trying to use it to push her off of him, but she was stronger than he was. Her mouth opened wide, her body heaving again. He managed to jerk his head to the side just in time to avoid the stinger. It splashed into the water and hit the deck hard enough that he could feel the reverberations beneath him. It retracted quickly and she dragged her face closer to his, reaching for a terrible, lethal kiss. 

He twisted his sword, and wrenched it to the side, using it as a handle to drag her around by. She was stronger than he was, but he was heavier by nearly double. That mattered. The tongue flew past his head again as he rolled them both onto their sides. Letting go of his sword he grabbed her tongue-tendril to try to keep it from retracting. It was coated in something slick and slid through his hand until the bulbous base of the stinger caught his grip and yanked his fist to her mouth. She bit down hard. He yelled in pain but didn’t let go. One of her arms snaked around behind his neck and dragged their faces closer together, trying to push his face into the stinger caught in his fist. He turned his hand to aim the stinger away as she dragged their heads together. Their foreheads touched and his lips were pressed against the back of his own hand. He could feel the hilt of his sword being pushed painfully into his sternum. He gagged as one of her leg-tentacles, slithered up his chest, leading with a pair of toes on half a foot. It quickly wound around his neck. 

The water finally seeped into the lantern enough to snuff out the fire. Everything went black.

Beneath the water his other hand fumbled at his waist, trying to blindly feel past the rest of the writhing tentacles. Finding the hilt of his parrying dagger, he yanked it free of its sheath and slammed it sideways through her neck. She jerked back, dragging his arm with her. He still refused to let go of the stinger so she bit down on his hand again. A lightning crack lit up the berth through the crack in the hull letting him see her twisted face for just a moment as she heaved, launching her tongue again. In desperation he pulled on the hilt of his dagger, forcing her neck to turn just before she launched that terrible spine into his face. The hand holding the stinger flew into the water with the force of the retching, nearly causing him to let go, but he managed to keep his grip. He brought his fist back to her face again, driving her own stinger into her eye. 

Her whole body flailed and thrashed, constricting and contorting, shrieking one last plea before convulsing and going still. 

He rolled her the rest of the way off of him and shakily stood up, taking ragged breaths as he frantically pulled tentacles free of his legs. He fumbled in the dark pulling his weapons free of her body and stepped back. Another lightning flash lit up the berth. Silhouetted in the cracked hull were more tentacles.

“Help,” a ragged voice called.

 “No,” he said flatly, coughing as he recovered from strangulation. 

He sloshed out of the room and pulled the door shut behind him, quickly sheathing his weapons. Then he retrieved a hammer and a handful of nails from where they hung against the mast.

He turned back to the door. “No, I really don’t think so.”

_____________________

“Coleman! Hooks! We need to shove off!” Danica bellowed. Her husband turned his head and shouted an “Aye!” in reply before ordering the men near him to the side of the ship. 

“You four, with me!” Danica called to a number of nearby swabs who were still getting their bearings now that they had some light. They quickly fell in line with her. 

Mounted on the railings near all the small boats were gaff hooks. Usually they used for snagging nets or debris from the water, or pushing off if the ship found itself grounded. They were long, twice as tall as a man, with blunted metal points and sharpened hooks at the end. The crew swapped their swords, clubs and knives for the makeshift spears and waited for orders. Danica retrieved her own hook and pointed overboard. “Find the reef, dig in and ready to heave!”

While the Norths tried to free the ship, the battle raged on the foredeck. 

The Kestrel’s crew were all able bodied men and women, used to the rough and tumble life of sailors, veterans of many a dockside brawl, but they weren’t hardened fighters. They were armed with the tools of their trade. Belaying pins, knives, hooks, hatchets. A few had personal weapons, but most didn’t. None of them had armor. They weren’t a crew of soldiers, and even the most capable among them were still only used to fighting other people.

The foes they faced that night looked human at first glance, but were anything but. They seemed to have a hard time keeping their balance, constantly lurching and falling over. More than one tumbled off of the Kestrel’s deck into the angry ocean. Their clumsiness was the only thing that kept the Kestrel from being quickly overrun. It was their one disadvantage. They seemed to feel no pain. They were strong and relentless. They had scorpion’s tails in place of tongues. Worst of all though, were their faces. Bulging, bloodshot eyes. Contorted expressions like they’d been trapped in a moment of terror and agony. Their voices were raw and strained from screaming. They only called one thing, even in the midst of the chaotic violence, in between vomiting up those terrible spined tongues. 

Help.

A dozen different languages, a cacophony of calls for aid. Left with no targets near them, they would occasionally default back to waving their arms back and forth over their heads like marooned sailors.

Nearly a dozen dead and dying crewmen lay strewn across the deck. Their foes weren’t fast, but if they managed to get ahold of someone it was all over for them. Their inhuman strength made them nearly impossible to get free from. They would strangle, bite, and sting with those terrible tongues until their prey was done for. 

The crew of the Kestrel was terrified. They would have broken and run already save for the presence of one man, right in the thick of it all, anchoring the crew to the fight. 

Mister Reeve was reveling in the violence. The small handful of crewmen he’d brought with him seemed nearly as bloodthirsty. They created an effective blockade on the deck and gave the rest of the crew something to rally to. Reeve was single-handedly holding off four of the wretched pale invaders. Reeve swung his wooden hook in wide chops, striking with the curved back edge to drag the serrations across pale flesh. Their inhuman foes shed blood like men, and Reeve had already painted the deck with it. Even in the storm’s rain wasn’t enough to wash it all away fast enough. Through it all, Reeve grinned. He didn’t laugh, or brag, or shout orders. He just grinned, his sharp, filed teeth matching the serrations on his hook. 

A spined tongue imbedded itself just below his ribs and he grabbed it in a meaty fist. Quickly winding it around his wrist, he pulled it out of his body and gave it a sharp yank, dragging the pale invader into his reach. Then he brought his big wooden hook down where his foe’s shoulder and neck met. Bones broke and shark’s tooth serrations tore flesh. The blow would likely have killed a normal man, but the pale thing didn’t cry out. It just crumpled and stood again, reaching for Reeve’s neck with it’s good arm. Reeve grabbed the staggered monster by the throat to keep it out of reach and chopped again, this time into the thing’s knee. The leg folded like it was boneless, bending unnaturally instead of breaking. That was the moment that broke Reeve’s smile. He looked at the thing in his grip with a mixture of confusion and disgust, then then he swung it like a rag doll, crashing it into one of it’s fellows. 

It flailed and flopped, it’s leg split strangely from the force of the blow. Reeve had hit it laterally, but the wound he saw looked like it was running vertically up the entire length of it’s leg. “What the hell?” Reeve muttered, swatting away another incoming tounge-stinger. The thing with the damaged leg tried to stand, but the wound gave way. As Reeve watched, it’s injured leg peeled open. It’s bare foot separated into three sections and split along the shin, the knee, the thigh, all the way to the hip. It lay there writhing on the ground, it’s leg now looking like three tentacles made of freshly butchered meat. One of the tentacles dangled by a thread of viscera. The other two sections tried to seal themselves back together and push off the deck so it could stand, but without the third tentacle to form a full leg it didn’t have the structural integrity to support its body. It collapsed twice before it figured out that it wasn’t going to be standing again. It looked down at itself for a moment, then it’s other leg split like the first one had. It fell, it’s pelvis now sitting on the deck surrounded by writhing tentacles that had once been legs. It began to use them to slowly drag itself across the deck. It moved much like an octopus, a rolling mass of boneless arms, gathering and pulling. It let out a ragged scream for help, then launched it’s barbed tongue in Reeve’s direction again. Reeve stepped to the side with a speed that belied his bulk. As the tongue reached it’s full length, another rifle crack rang out. The left side of it’s head exploded. It collapsed in a pile of still writhing tentacles, it’s long tongue stretched out across the deck. 

Reeve looked over his shoulder and gave Mister Lynch a nod, then turned back to the butchery all around him. He began to lay about him again, aiming lower now. 

“Aim for the legs or the head!” He roared to the crew. His grin returned.

___________________

The Kestrel lurged sharply backwards sending the crew sprawling again. Many of the combatants toward the prow found themselves tossed to the ground amid the scrambling horrors. Down in the hold, Will fell into the door he was nailing shut. “What the-” He bit off a curse. What was shoving them? That was too jerky of a motion to be the ocean, and the black ship was already stuck on them. How were they being pushed?

He brought his hammer down twice more, driving a third nail in between the door and the frame. Something scraped on the door from the other side. Hopefully the nails would hold, or at least buy some time. He turned and ran. On the other side of the hold was Morant’s small contingent of explorers. All six of them were decked out in leather armor with thick curved blades on their hips. They were guarding the door to Morant’s room with steely eyed intensity. 

“Are you serious!” he yelled at them. “Get up on deck!” His throat hurt where he’d been strangled, but he was too angry to heed the pain.

“Not our orders,” one of them said. 

“If this ship gets taken, they won’t be taking prisoners to ransom! Those are Grindylows!” Will growled. 

He could see looks of surprise and fear pass over the men’s faces. “You sure?” another of them asked. 

“Yeah,” Will nodded. “So come fight, or we all die.”

“Not. Our. Orders,” the one who’d spoken earlier reiterated. 

“I don’t have time for this,” Will said. “If you don’t get up there, you’re not going to like how this unfolds, no matter who wins.”

He left the men in the dark and went back up the steps as quickly as he could. He’d taken three steps when the ship lurched again, this time forward. He went down into the staircase, driving his shin into a step, then tumbling back down into the hold. He winced and pushed himself back to his feet, using the walls of the narrow hall to steady himself. “How,” he muttered to himself. 

He was up on deck ten seconds later, limping with the pain in his shin but walking it off as quick as he could.

“What hit us?” he called up to the helm. 

“No idea,” the captain yelled back. “Danica, report!”

“Nothing to report, Captain!” Danica called back. “I don’t see anything!”

“Does that ship have oars?” Will called to the first mate. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Not that I can see,” Danica answered.

A theory was starting to form in Will’s mind, and he didn’t like it at all. “We’re breached, Captain!” he called up to the helm as he rushed up the second set of stairs. “Right at the waterline. Every wave pushes more water into the hold. We have more of those things down there too,”

Captain Vex bit off a curse. “Any good news?”

“I nailed the door to the crew quarters shut. No idea how long it will hold. If it bursts, those things are going to be down there with Morant’s porters. Turns out, they all have armor and swords,” Will said, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. 

“An’ they aren’t up here?’ Belita demanded.

“Not their orders, apparently,” Will sneered. 

Captain Vex’s eyes went steely and grim. There would be a reckoning later, but first they had to survive. “We have tae get free. That’s priority one.”

“No argument here,” Will agreed. 

“Riggers! Repel boarders!” Belita yelled. “Swabs, man the hooks!” 

“Repel boarders!” they heard Lace echo from above.

“I have an idea,” Will said. “Call it a failsafe.”

“What?” Belita asked. 

“I’m... going to try to blast us free,” Will said tentatively, waiting for the outrage or refusal from the captain. 

She eyed him for a moment. “Ye have explosives?”

“Jack does,” Will said. 

Captain Vex nodded. “Last resort. Make it happen.”

Will gave her a nod and ran back down the stairs.