All eyes are upon the captain as he leaves. As soon as the door closes behind him, Simon cries out in outrage and smacks the flat of his hand against the desk. The doctor bristles, shakes his head, and draws out his pipe.

"We're now to be enslaved by a pirate!" Simon howls. "Did you see his crew? Pirates and scumbags, the lot of them! As perfectly plain to the eyes as I'd be able to pick a peasant from a nobleman. We aren't sailing with honest men, here! What's more, I think a few of them were drunk!"

Dr. Oswald stuffs his pipe, lights it, and speaks only after a long draw. "At least he appears to know what he's doing. We'll just have to trust in the Seer that he'll get us where we need to go."

"At what cost?" Simon mutters.

"I know his disposition well," pipes Lydia, unaffected by the captain. "See it all the time at sea ports. I've run into many captains, and the most highly regarded few have been quite the same, with varying levels of this same trait. Charming and easygoing when they're getting what they want, and dangerous when they aren't. Keeps some sort of reputation with the crew. Obey, and you're a friend. Disobey, and you're an enemy."

"He's been looking at me funny," I say, on an entirely different topic. The door opens to admit the bulky, barrel-chested redhead that I had seen earlier on the deck. Leslie. We cease our disloyal chatter.

Leslie, for whatever subconscious reason, looks to me like a hugger. He has a great, warm grin on his square jaw that makes me fear that he's going to lift me up and embrace me.

Behind him is a tall man dressed all in black, with a scar across a blinded white eye. He skulks in, sweeping a one-eyed glare over all of us. He lingers on me, but follows Leslie, falling into a line. He tilts up his chin and stares out the back window, though I get the feeling he isn't watching anything.

Next comes a very short man with pointed ears and brown skin. His shocking white hair, like the back of a giant porcupine, stands on end, held back by a bandana. He spits at the doctor's feet and stands beside the black-clad officer, next to whom, he is dwarfed.

"A goblin," Simon breathes faintly. The goblin winks smugly and rolls his heavily laden shoulders. Two belts of bullets and ammunition crisscross over his scrawny tank-topped chest, and two guns that would have to be as long as he is tall sit on his back.

So far, they are a rough-looking bunch. Leslie looks kind enough, but with the muscle on him, he could have no trouble crushing a skull with his bare hands. I can picture that.

Trailing through the door is the last of the officers, with the captain behind. Simon faints, slumping over his chair. His spectacles fall from his nose. The rest of us just stare, our jaws hanging open like flytraps, wits knocked out of us.

I'd imagined the captain's fox speaking with no real conviction that he actually was.

Dorian's whiskery jowls curl, revealing rows of sharp yellow teeth. He walks like a man, and he's dressed like a man, but without pants to cover his haunches. He wears a long tunic, which covers his tender parts. A tool belt holds it in place.

He bends to pick up Simon's glasses with his oddly posable paws. His dewclaw acts as a thumb. He smacks his pink pads across Simon's cheek, waking the professor, who flushes with red.

"What'sa matter, Teach?" He drops the glasses onto the man's lap. "Never seen chest hair before?"

The goblin bursts out laughing. "Nothing says 'man' quite like hairy pits, whiskers, and a chest o' hair, eh, Dorry?"

The captain prods the short little fox along. "Get in line, Dorian."

He's big for a fox. More the size of a wolf. But even standing on his hocks as he is, he only comes up to the goblin's chin. Leslie and the half-blind man tower over them.

Simon rubs his eyes and fixes his glasses on his nose. He turns his chair to face the line of men. We all face them.

Captain Clarke puts his hands on Dorian's sleeved shoulders and prods the fox a couple of paces forward, until he stands right in front of me. He looks up at me with a snarl. The captain bats his ears. "Be nice," he hisses. Dorian smiles. I think it's a smile. It looks quite threatening with all his teeth and the angry-looking wrinkles about his snout. Still, I'm sure it's a smile.

"This is Dorian, the ship's carpenter," Clarke introduces.

Dorian extends a paw to me. I gently shake it. His paws feel... cute. Soft and squishy, but rough at the same time. His claws scrape my palm as he withdraws his grasp, and I don't think they're so cute anymore.

Clarke bats his ears again, and he scowls. The captain grimaces at the rest of us. "Dorian can be temperamental and immature. He bites, and he scratches. Because he's insecure about being furry."

Dorian's ears draw back and his jaw drops. He whines and growls at the same time. "Hank!"

"Behave," the captain returns through clenched teeth, "and I'll treat you like a grown up. Until then..." The man treats his carpenter as if he were his own misbehaving son.

Dorian spits on the ground and moves on to shake Lydia's hand, swatting Captain Clarke with his tail as he passes.

"Dorian is the finest carpenter that I have ever come across. He's quite the inventor, too. Has a talent for building just about anything," the captain praises, swelling with pride. "He's not an officer, but I think it's important that you meet him. Especially you, doctor, for you'll be working under him."

Dorian joins the line again after shaking everyone's hands. The captain invites the goblin forward next.

"Master Harvey Cobbe," he says, taking a hold of the man's brown, knobby shoulders. "Our Master Gunner. He's in charge of the magazine, and all weaponry aboard. That includes the pistol that Mr. Woods carries, and the sword concealed in your walking stick, doctor."

The doctor chokes on his smoke. Simon half-consciously, and protectively, feels around his ribcage, beneath his tweed jacket. The captain smiles.

"Old tricks. I noticed your arms almost as soon as we met. Fear not, we sail under pirate codes. You're allowed weapons, as third-class crew members. Trusted deckhands. Untrusted deckhands, that'd be your five hires, will not be allowed weapons."

"Pirate codes!" Simon cries.

"Oh, please," drawls Master Cobbe, rolling his murky grey eyes, "you ain't gonn' be infected or whatnot by our disloyalty to Cardinal Codswallop. As long as yeu know how to use your weapons, yeu'll be good as gold. You can wave 'em about aboard, but no brawling or killing or I'll have yeu both by the ears."

The goblin takes my hand in his and vigorously shakes it. My eye twitches. What am I to think? Pirate codes! Does this mean that we are joining a pirate voyage? Are we investing in piracy? Are we to have our throats slit as soon as we leave port, and be sunk to the bottom of the ocean?

The captain purrs in his throat, shaking his head. "Gentlemen, and my lady, we are your friends, not your enemies! Don't fret or be alarmed. We aren't going to mug you or throw you overboard. Hell! Why would we? You're paying us!" He laughs. "Pirate codes simply mean that the rules are less strict as opposed to naval codes, and the sailing's more free. Like an adventure. Not like a job. We have fun. We have celebrations aboard and games to play. Gambling, dancing, music. It'll be a ponce."

"A ponce, sirs," Cobbe snickers, shaking Simon's hand and returning to the others.

The lean black-haired man steps forth, into the captain's gentle grip. He's the middle-aged, clean-shaven, pale-faced picture of an unhappy man. He looks like a portrait from a haunted mansion—especially the long-since healed scar that runs from his forehead to his cheek. Shadows, like a raccoon's mask, darken the skin around his eyes, which makes the clouded white eye appear all the brighter.

"Master Increas Langley," states the captain. "Sailing Master. He is in charge of—"

"Increas Langley," I interrupt. "That's the man who helped to make the map."

The adults murmur beside me. I stare at the intimidating falcon of a man and he frowns back at me, as if deciding if I might be a threat to him.

The captain sighs. "Yes, well done. You picked up on that. He sailed with Captain Avery before me."

Langley looks questioningly over his shoulder at his captain. "The map...?"

"What was he like?" It slips from my lips before I even realize what I'm saying. I don't know why it matters, but it does. I guess I do want to know. I yearn to. Simon mutters something insulting, but my hopes drown him out.

Langley continues to search for command from his superior.

"Well, go on, Increas. Humor the boy."

Langley's tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth as he parts his lips slowly to speak. The lethargic way he moves, turning his head to meet my eyes, gets my nerves tingling. "Courageous," he drones at last, "I've never met a sailor more fit or daring."

"So, this means that you've been to the islands!" Dr. Oswald exclaims. "Right?"

"They exist..." he answers vaguely.

The captain waves his arms around. "We are not to speak of the Isles until we are out of sight of land! The crew do not know where we are headed, and they aren't to know until my say-so. Unless you want to have us sunk before we get there, the story will be that our destination is the Silver Coast."

"Are we in danger?" Lydia asks.

"His mother was killed for that map," the doctor hisses. I think he thinks I didn't hear. But, I've got big ears. Ma always said.

Lydia gasps and looks to me with horror. I redden and look away.

"It is a very dangerous thing to have and we'll discuss it when I say so. Understand?"

"But, captain...!" Simon protests.

"What was the first rule, Mr. Woods?"

Simon reluctantly silences.

"Now," continues the captain, "Master Langley is in charge of navigation. He'll also be teaching the Doc and Teach what to do on their watch."

The man curtly shakes each of our hands. He returns to whisper harshly into the captain's ear. I barely hear him. I'm sure no one else does.

"I'd strongly advise against this course, Captain." His voice is as cold and heavy as stone. The captain shrugs him off and gestures to Leslie, who is almost two heads taller, to join him. Captain Clarke claps him on the back.

"Leslie Keller. Likes to go by just Leslie. He's my quartermaster, which makes him second in command. If I'm not around, he's in charge. And he's probably the best friend you'll have on board."

"I like kids," Leslie grins. "And bookish people. So quaint! And women! You don't see many at sea, but the sea women I know have all been tougher than jerky and wilder than boars!"

"Yeu love every goddamn thing on the planet, yeu lug," the goblin gunner spits. He sticks something in his mouth and starts chewing.

Leslie chortles. He does exactly as I'd feared he would and lifts me up in a far-too-welcoming hug. I don't feel comfortable pressed against his orange-haired chest.

The captain squeals in amusement.

Leslie releases me and moves on with his sloppy grin to eagerly shake the hands of Lydia, Dr. Oswald, and Simon. They seem as winded by his vigor as I, and they barely scrape the tip of the iceberg. I smooth out my shirt.

"Excellent!" Captain Clarke cries. "Any questions? No? Let's get you to your rooms!"

"I have questions," says Simon.

"As do I," says Dr. Oswald.

"Leslie! As you love our guests so much, you can introduce them to their cabins. Grab the Aquians, too. We don't want them falling overboard in search for water, the damned fish." He ignores us blatantly and waves as Leslie herds us out the door. Leslie picks up Simon's books for him. The captain cheerily rocks on his heels. "See you tomorrow, petals! That is, if you don't jump ship while you can! Ha! I can read the uncertainty on your precious preened faces! Put your trust in me, and I guarantee that you'll all get what you want out of our voyage."

The light outdoors is blinding. I throw my arm over my eyes and moan. While I'm still adjusting, Leslie keeps pushing me onwards, Simon, Lydia, and Dr. Oswald jumbling gracelessly beside me. The quartermaster keeps us all together, rambling on and on about what an honor it is to sail with Captain Clarke, and what a perfect crew we have for our trip, though he doesn't mention the destination. He talks about how wonderful it is to have us aboard, and how he hopes that we'll stay.

As if we're guests in some hunky-dory hotel.

He stops his line of chatter to call over Thenshie and Rootwig, who obediently plod after us, and carries on about his love for the diversity of races on our planet. It's impressive how much he fits into such a short walk.

We are escorted down a flight of wooden stairs that creak under his weight but are noiseless beneath ours. He turns us round towards the stern and points us to the very end of the narrow hall. It's a whole new world below decks! Nets dangle from the ceilings in places, holding clusters of oddities like apples or toolboxes. There are lanterns at intervals bolted to the walls and barrels tucked behind the stairs. Leslie whisks me away before I can take much in.

"Here we are, friends! Better living quarters than us officers get, just to spoil you and help you enjoy your stay," Leslie booms, opening two doors at once. One is at the end of the hall to the right, and the other to the left. "The rest of the crew are on the deck below in hammocks, abaft."

The Aquians waddle into the right cabin.

"Thank you," grunts Thenshie. Rootwig heaves her buoy to her chest and chatters. Leslie warmly bids them a comfortable stay.

"Thank you, sir," says the doctor, bowing into the left cabin. Lydia follows him, and Simon takes back his precious books from the quartermaster. I try to follow after Lydia, but Simon prods me back.

"You're in the other cabin," he smiles. He closes the door in my face.

I open my mouth, but have nothing to say, so I just huff out an angry breath. Leslie thumps me on the back. "Hard luck, kid. Aquians ain't too bad, though. Just different! Different is good!"

How a man like Leslie ends up aboard a ship of scallywags, I cannot imagine. His heart's as big as his chest.

"There won't be a proper meal, tonight," he tells me. "If your lot want to eat, you'll have to pick a restaurant in the port. The fish at Rabbi's is divine."

He leaves me with that. I can see the taste of the fish on his mind, the pleasure in his expression comical as he departs. He licks his lips. "Mm, mm, mm."

I watch him go, biding my time. I don't want to go into a room with Thenshie and Rootwig and their weird poison hands, or their gradually resurfacing reek. They talk too much in their own language, and it makes me uncomfortable. The sounds remind me of a toothless retiree trying to eat. Lips smacking, gums squishing and popping, tongues slithering. It's disturbing, and quite frankly, disgusting to focus on. I'll go mad if I have to bunk with those freakish foreigners.

The left cabin's door opens. Simon looks blandly at me over his glasses. He gestures very slightly with a nod of his head for me to come inside. I scramble quickly in before he changes his mind, though I'm certain he's only letting me in under the doctor's orders.

Dr. Oswald beckons me over to his claimed bed and I obediently settle beside him on the stiff cot. The room is very bare, with three beds bolted to the longest wall, and a tall window at the back. Beside the door, there is a partition wall that separates our two cabins.

There is a chest of drawers, a glass-windowed cabinet, and a wardrobe. Personally, I haven't brought anything with me on the trip, save for a few spare pairs of clothing. The doctor and Lydia and Simon have medical supplies between them, which a crewman must have brought in earlier. The bags lay in a neat bunch on the floor. They'd also brought changes of clothes, and, of course, books.

"Well, if none of you are going to say it, I will," Simon declares, standing straight up. He paces across the tall window. "There's something fishy about these people, and there's no doubt about that. They know a great deal more than they're letting on. They've even admitted to some of it! Langley's been to the islands, and it didn't seem like he was keen to go back. The captain looks ready to turn to blatant piracy as soon we're out of sights of land, and where the hell did that talking, walking fox come from? What's more, that ego-inflated prick what we've hired has been eying Walter like his next meal since discovering his parentage. I wouldn't put it past him to grab the boy and hold him for ransom to locate that son-of-a, excuse my language, bitch, Henry Avery. I say we get out of here before we get wrapped up with these conspirators. They're hiding things."

"I can see you are agitated, Simon," observes Dr. Oswald.

Simon bristles, freezing in his tracks.

"But, I've put too much time and money into this to bail on it. I don't believe that Miss Rootwig would have made me hire this particular captain if he were to endanger us. And, though I agree that he and his crew are not to my liking, I am sure that the man knows what he is doing. Furthermore, we've stumbled upon a man in his crew that has been to the islands, which proves that none of this has been a waste of time, and we are in good hands. I'll trust in fate, despite my displeasure with his rules and his crew."

"I'm pretty sure that Henry doesn't know I exist, so holding me for ransom wouldn't work." I have to say it. Not to make me feel safe. I suppose it's because, since it was brought up, I have to quell my stupid, stupid desires that it might have a chance to work. Closer to sea, closer to Pa. My mother is gone. I can't help but yearn for an inkling of a family in her absence.

"Simon, if you don't feel safe here, then leave. The thing about going exploring and leaving the homeland is that it is a risk. You can fear the risk, or get a thrill from it," Lydia says, fixing the man in tweed with a rather maternal, stern glare.

Simon sharply exhales and removes his jacket. He throws it onto the one free bed, a sure sign that he is staying. "Oh, no, don't you dare think that I'll be leaving the two, no, the three," he includes me, "of you to fend for yourselves against these pirates and have all the adventure without me." He pulls at his crisp white sleeves. "I tell you this, if I leave this ship alone, without discovering the cure for werewolfism, or perhaps a whole new disease entirely, I am no longer myself, and I pray you kill me outright. Now, I know there's something afoul about this crew and their strangely familiar scoundrel captain, and I'll be getting to the bottom of it, mark my words."

The doctor laughs. "There he is! Simon Woods!"

Simon Woods the self-proclaimed detective.

INTRODUCING: THE OFFICERS

INCREAS LANGLEY

LESLIE KELLER

HARVEY COBBE

DORIAN