In the end, I signed the contract the captain's squire drew up—after reading every single line, much to Marc's chagrin. Among the conditions I agreed to were: drawing in more fish, accelerating their growth and spawning, and calming storms. This last condition could pose some trouble, as I've never successfully turned a storm away. I had, on Bippi's instructions, pushed and pulled clouds both white and grey, but never something as powerful as a storm.

And definitely not a hurricane. Thankfully, however, those rarely occur on Farbarrow's coast.

Bippi did assure me that taming the weather was something I could achieve, but only through practice and time.

"This way, my lady," the fishing trawler's young crewman says to me, extending his hand.

His greeting catches me off-guard and I look down at my outfit: worn canvas trousers and a green cable-knit sweater worn over a white cotton shirt. Suitable for the sea, but definitely not the ensemble of a respectable lady. I wonder if Marc Lentz instructed his crew to refer to me as a lady.

Or the young man is simply being polite.

It's not something I deem worthy of ruminating over, so I take the young man's hand and am guided over the ramp and onto the trawler. The vessel itself is one of the older ones in Marc's fleet and is about fifty feet in length with a small crew of ten. There's a small cabin at the front where I can see an older man resting against the ship's wheel, a pipe stuck in the corner of his bearded mouth.

"You'll be standing with the captain," the crewman says, leading me past a series of tall poles jutting up from the back of the trawler, each rigged with thick ropes and sturdy pulleys. Large, wide nets dangle from the poles, empty and waiting to be filled with fish. "Watch your step." We skirt around the square hole in the middle of the vessel where the crew will dump the fish once hauled in.

The crewman hands me up to the helm and returns to his duties.

"So," the gruff old man greets me as I clear the ladder. "You're the sea witch."

He might as well have called me a sandwich, his inflection is so bland. "Yes," I reply. "And you're Captain Minck."

Captain Minck wears an old pair of black trousers and worn suspenders over a blue and white striped shirt. A flat blue cap with a few odd-colored patches on it sits atop his head. His hands are large and reddened from years of hard labor—he's also missing the last two fingers on his left hand.

"I am," he says, chewing on the stem of his pipe. Thin grey smoke drifts out of the bowl to curl along the low ceiling in the cabin. "You're the trapmaker's daughter, right? The one who lives on the beach."

"Yes."

"Hm." Captain Minck turns and taps the bowl of his pipe against the rim of a cup before pouring water over the ashes. "No open flames on open water," he growls as if I came aboard with a lit cigarette in my mouth. Stowing the soggy ashes and the pipe in a bin below the steering wheel, he pivots and folds his arms over his wiry chest.

"I knew a sea witch when I was a young boy in Vesch-le-Malz," he continues, making a gesture out the open window of the cabin. "She once charmed a grey whale from the ocean. Can you do that?"

For years, I have seen the mighty whales on the edge of the horizon, but they never have come close to shore. I tried reaching out to them with little success. They are old, powerful animals with wise, discerning natures whose intelligence rivals that of humans. They cannot be easily swayed like lobsters or seagulls. What reason do they have to trust me?

"Not yet," I admit.

The captain grunts and straightens his cap. "Well, let's hope that you have better luck with the fish."

I am loathe to admit it, but this assessment stings a little. I'm here to call fish, not summon whales. But to the trawler's captain, if I'm not powerful enough to do that, what good am I?

I'll get there one day, I promise.

"I do," I tell the old man.

Captain Minck grunts and points to a corner of the cabin. "Sit your bottom in that chair and don't move until I tell you to. I can't have a woman without any sea legs bobbing and weaving around my cabin."

The chair in question is little more than a stool bolted to the wall. Remember, I tell myself as I climb onto the chair and hold onto a small desk likewise bolted to the wall for balance, you're getting paid twenty gold crowns for this adventure.

Twenty gold crowns were more than Papa made in a year, let alone for one day's work. I can put up with the old captain's gruff, slightly condescending demeanor for that price.

"Strap yourself in," Captain Minck adds without turning around.

I blink and look around, finding two straps hanging from the bottom of the stool. Well, they're really little more than strips of worn, braided leather. I pick them up and tie them together across my lap.

As I'm doing this, the captain begins barking orders. There's a heavy, slapping sound and I turn around as much as the confines of the stool will allow. Behind us unfurls a massive canvas sail, which puffs out a little in the breeze.

"How about a push, sea witch?" Captain Minck huffs, setting his hands on the wheel.

Is he testing me? I wonder. Well, creating fair fishing conditions is part of my contract. Seeing as it is a clear summer day with a favorable wind, I didn't think I'd be asked to do that so soon.

I don't like to be wrong.

Thankfully, calling a sea wind was one of the first things Bippi taught me how to do. I can even do it without closing my eyes now.

Taking a deep breath, I center myself and tap into the power that lies deep within. My senses expand and everything around me becomes sharper; I quickly filter out the ancient call of the sea, the frantic, instinctual nonsense of the small fish that swim in the bay, and the relentless chattiness of the seagulls who swarm the docks looking for scraps. I locate the thread of wind and latch onto it.

Blow.

There's a shout on the deck below as the sails suddenly snap taut. Fishermen scramble around the ship as it lurches free from the dock.

"Get everything secure!" Captain Minck bellows as he guides the vessel clear and out into the open ocean.

"How was that?" I ask, doing my best not to smirk. Papa wouldn't like me getting smart with the captain. I'm supposed to be a mature witch now, but sometimes people deserve a little payback.

Captain Minck grunts. "Just find me the fish."

I let go of the wind and the pace slows, matching that of the other ships heading out for the day. Finding moving sea creatures requires a little more concentration and this time, I close my eyes, sinking my senses down into the cooler waters.

"Anything?" Captain Minck asks.

I crack an eye and look around. "We're not even beyond the Wall."

"Hm, astute observation," the older man remarks.

"For a landlubber?" I retort with a little smirk.

"Yeah."

After an hour of sailing, we're far beyond shore. Farbarrow is a thin strip of land on the horizon, something I've never seen before. The furthest from home I've ever been is Rollinsville; even then I could see it from the city.

The call of the sea is louder out here; I can feel it vibrate in my bones. Unstrapping myself from the stool, I walk over to the captain and lay my hands on the window sill, looking over the bow of the trawler.

Captain Minck shoots me a sharp glance but doesn't order me back to the chair. Closing my eyes again, I stretch out my senses. Deeper and deeper I sink, searching.

"Drop your nets," I tell the captain.

"You better be right," he grumbles. "Drop the nets!" he bellows over his shoulder.

There's a loud whine and a squeal from the pulleys as the nets drop into the sea. I turn around just in time to see them sink below the surface.

As the trawler moves through the water, there's a distinct slowing of the vessel. Captain Minck's wrinkled mouth purses and he gives me a brief glance before taking a firm grip on the steering wheel. Behind us, the crew is moving up and down the back of the trawler, hauling on ropes and fixing the angle of the sails. Within half an hour, the nets are being raised, and loaded with fish.

"Well, aren't you as advertised," the captain mutters, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a small grey tin with a paper label. Pulling a pinch of snuff from the tin, he snorts it and coughs, rubbing his nose with the back of one hand.

I recoil slightly.

The captain notices and laughs wryly. "Get used to it, sea witch. We have a whole hold to fill."

What have I gotten myself into? I wonder, staring out at the ocean.