In lieu of our alliance, in my agreement to join the captain and, to the best of my abilities, help to, by whatever means necessary, get rid of Darling, the Witch, we shared a drink. I hadn't even thought about it, for I had been so wrapped up with the glee of being treated like the adult I am, that when he had poured me a glass of rum, and poured one for himself, I clinked my glass with his without consideration, and tipped it back. And he tipped his back, too. Together.

It was satisfying. It was a symbol. I didn't so much as bat an eye at the pungent flavor, because I had firmly disciplined myself that I wouldn't, because he didn't, and I didn't want to be weak.

He'd sent me on my way after that, and I'd left the cabin and now stand outside with a glorious boldness inside me. Whether the boldness comes from the drink, which I have no experience with, or the sheer pleasure at my own luck at stumbling upon my father and his eagerness to include me in his almost twenty-year old plans, I cannot decipher.

There's a purposeful march to my step as I inhale a breath of the sweet, salty air, and walk on. The doctor stares at me quizzically from the water barrel wedged by a cannon on the port side. I bet he's wondering what I was up to with the captain, and I can't wait to tell it all.

"Walt?" he asks.

"Find Lydia," I say. "I've got news!"

Strutting like a bachelor, I start for the stairs, and catch, on my way, a glimpse of the saltwater-filled bottle perched beside the snoring Mr. Tussock. Perhaps the frightful Master Langley isn't so frightful after all.

My path takes me to the bow end of the first deck below, to the galley, in the search for Simon. If I am to boast my good fortune, I'd like to do it to my whole group, and I'm sure they'll like what they hear. They won't be jumping for joy, of course. But, they'll be eager to learn more about why Captain Clarke is so important. Especially Simon, with his thirst for information.

I open the door to the galley, and find the professor casually (and 'casual' would not normally be a word I'd use to describe the constantly tense young man) sat on the bench in the center of the room, with Elian Arrow beside him.

They both look to me, unexpecting of guests, interrupted from a friendly conversation. Another word I would not normally use to describe the professor is friendly.

Simon looks to Elian, apologetic, lowering his hand from his glasses.

"Simon," I say. He's made a friend, I guess. "I've just talked with the captain. Come right away, and I'll tell you everything!"

His eyes widen, interest sparked, and he excuses himself, very politely, from Elian. He shakes the curly-haired man's hand lightly and, grabbing his books on his way out, follows me to the other end of the hall. We both press into the left cabin. We only have to wait a moment longer before the doctor and Lydia bustle in, and I begin right away. I tell them how he interrogated me, and then revealed to me that he, in all his grandeur, was Henry Avery himself.

You can imagine the response. Uproar about piracy and desertion and deception, and so on. Well, see, I won't have it, anymore. I quell it all, and silence them with the story—for which they quieten and listen with perked ears—of how he'd lost forty-six men to a devilish troglodyte by the name of Darling, and now sought only justice in their name. I, of course, feeling so bold and brash and glowing, exaggerate a little, mostly in my delivery. Showmanship! I stick very straight to the truth of what I'd been told, repeating the captain's words to me almost exactly as I'd heard them; but with a few more adjectives to keep the intellectuals intrigued.

When I finish, I eagerly await their thoughts. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I grin across their row of beds. Lydia and the doctor both seem oddly concerned, and Simon has his chin pinched twixt his thumb and forefinger in thought.

"Walter, did Clarke give you anything?" Lydia inquires. "You seem a tad out of character."

"I'm excited, is all! He's my Pa!" I insist, my heart fluttering. All the talking, talking fast and not even pausing after voice cracks like I usually do, has rendered me quite breathless. I take a moment, and then submit to her concerned look, nodding a few times. "I had a glass of rum. I—I assume it was rum." I hold up my fingers, about two inches apart. "This much, ma'am."

Dr. Oswald sighs.

I frown, and my prior excitement sinks away as I realize that none of the adults look pleased.

"I'm sorry." My chest clenches and I shrug my shoulders to my ears. "I..."

"No, Walter, you're not in trouble," Dr. Oswald interrupts calmly, raising his hand. "You've just given us plenty to think about. Why don't you go lie down, or get a drink of water? Just to make sure that that alcohol doesn't give you any trouble."

"But, sir!" I protest, because it hasn't, and I'm fine, and I want to be a part of the discussion that they will no doubt be having as soon as I agree to leave.

Simon gives me the teacher look. Lydia gives me the no-nonsense nurse look, and Dr. Oswald looks sympathetic, but firm. Dr. Oswald doesn't like alcohol, nor does Simon. I don't know about Lydia, but she probably thinks the same judging by the way she looks at me.

I lower my eyes, and reluctantly stand up. "I feel like I can trust him." I hadn't mentioned a word about my own need for revenge. I chew my lip. "I'm sorry. I'll go."

And so, I do. The doctor and Lydia look pained at my sullen exit, but of course, they don't want me there, so what's it matter. I hope they do feel guilty, excluding me like a common child. I close myself into my own cabin, and press my ear against the partition wall, because I'm certain that I deserve to be included, and I'll hear whatever they have to say.

Thenshie and Rootwig are doing some sort of weird voodoo in the far corner, but, thankfully, they leave me alone.

"The poor kid has lost his mother. His father conveniently shows up, and, you know, we can't blame him for wanting to cling to what family he has," says Lydia.

"It's just rotten luck that we stumbled upon him, this Captain Clarke, this Henry Avery," mutters the doctor. "But, if Walter starts romping about with the drunks, and talking like a hick or a scoundrel, I'll draw the line, stick him in a row boat, and we'll row right the way back to Amity. He's a good lad, an honest lad, and I'd stake my wig to keep him respectable."

Flattered as I am at the doctor's care for me, I can't help but feel hurt that they would think so low of me. One harmless swallow of a drink, and the world's falling apart, is it? I had mentioned my desire to know the captain better, yes, but that doesn't mean that I intend to become him. I know he has a bad record. His coy smile can't distract me from that.

"Oh, please," grumbles Simon snidely. "He's young and impressionable, but, perhaps you may be surprised to hear, he does have a brain, and the cognitive capacity to determine right from wrong. When he starts choking himself with booze, you may flay me, and I mean that very literally, because I know for certain it won't happen. Not in your time, and I'd doubt in mine."

"Ah, Simon," breathes Dr. Oswald. "As always, your good sense is grounding."

"And utterly blunt," Lydia adds, and I'd agree had I been with them.

"Frankly, I don't know why we didn't see it coming," Simon continues. "We get found by a supposed Seer, who desires no captain but the very man we would never have chosen. We find this man, and see that he is in hiding, he knows a great deal about the map and the Isles, and is over-eager to sail there despite obvious risk, with a talking fox companion, who, I theorize, may be a native of Riven," Simon says. He sighs. A long, head-shaking, shoulder-weighing, worst-fears-arising sigh. "Forgive me for being dramatic and looking at the worst side of things, but, colleagues, it sounds to me as if we may well be sailing into some small-scale war at the apparent dispute between our Avery and his Darling."

I agree, though I hadn't considered it before. She killed forty-six men. She couldn't have done so alone, which leaves me to wonder exactly what force I am to be facing on my course for revenge, and how much I can really do to succeed in my mission. I have never wielded a weapon before. My axe in the forest had been the sharpest object I'd ever held, and remains so to this day.

I've been foolish, I suppose. What good is it to seek revenge, when I'll more than likely die on the journey? Perhaps that's why it's so important to me, and so reassuring, that I have allies to pick up my slack, to defend me, to protect me, to fight for me where I cannot. Allies like the captain.

"Could you teach him to shoot?" Dr. Oswald asks. "Could you teach me to shoot? And Lydia, too? I have my sword, but I haven't had to use it in at least forty years. Even fifty. It's a bleak thing to realize, but, Simon, I feel like we're all quite defenseless."

Allies like Dr. Oswald and his gentle heart, and Lydia Marks and her compassion and strength. And Simon and his surprising fierceness with a firearm.

"We all should get familiar with weapons," Lydia accedes.

A hand falls onto my shoulder, and I cry out, startled. The doctor and his assistants react immediately to my shout, and I hear them loudly clamber to their feet on the other side of the wall. Thenshie and her gaping eyes have finally got me cornered. I had hoped she would stay on the other end of the room.

"The captain," she says, "was chosen by Rootwig for his... ecc... ecc-spee-ree-awnce. Can trust. Henry Avery knows the way. Good, strong leader."

My eyes flick anxiously to my right, to the door. My heart pounds. Lydia appears first, then Dr. Oswald. They fix their gazes on Thenshie, who attempts to appeal with a smile that very much does not suit her.

"Trust captain," she tells them, nodding. She releases me. "Chosen by Rootwig. Good leader. Knows the way, yes?"

They frown, first at Thenshie, then at me, then back at Thenshie.

"Yes, ma'am," answers the doctor, but I don't think he's entirely approving. He is still as blindly convinced by the charlatans as ever.

Lydia crouches beside me and comfortingly rubs my biceps. I find myself quite paralyzed, and my paranoid mind keeps insisting that the fish lady has poisoned me. What's more, I've been caught in the act of eavesdropping, and I dread punishment. If I behave shaken and innocent enough, perhaps they may take pity on me. Tears are streaking down my quivering cheeks.

"Boy saw prophecy," the heathen grunts. "We frighten him. You take."

"Prophecy?" Dr. Oswald asks.

She nods. "Boy scared. You take."

The doctor looks to me with concern. "Walter? My boy, are you scared of the Aquians?"

I hesitate, because I'm terribly embarrassed to admit it. Quietly, I avert my eyes, and glumly nod. The burn of shame rushes to my cheeks.

He sighs and reaches a hand towards me. "You should have said. We can have a hammock strung up in our cabin for you. There is plenty of room."

I take his hand and he pulls me up. Lydia rises with me and lets me go. The doctor thanks Thenshie and leads me from the cabin. Simon gives me a very disapproving scowl, standing in the hall with his arms folded. Thankfully, my eavesdropping isn't brought up. The doctor offers me a deal that if I agree to take a nap before dinner, before my first watch tonight, he won't bring it up. Cowardly as I am, I do just so. Curling up on top of his sandalwood-scented sheets, I close my eyes, and drift off without resistance.

INTRODUCING: ELIAN ARROW