The man hunched over scout plans in the belly of the Bellhaven had eighteen years of sailing to his name, a sharp blue stripe on his shoulder that marked him an important navy officer, and a knack for memorizing the notes to countless songs on the violin. He was also going to die in nine minutes.

Leaving a trail of dirt as he dragged his finger down a parchment list of sailors, Nok chewed on his lip and said, "Jojo did the midnight shift two days ago."

The man sprawled on the must couch in the corner raised his cigar in agreement. "That's right. Patch's turn," he declared, smoke billowing from his mouth. That man had a few minutes longer to live, fourteen, to be exact.

Across the room at the table, Patch grinned, his rotting teeth gleaming in the flickering candlelight. "Not so," he said, reaching over to tap Nok's list. "I had the pleasure of the hellshift just last night." His clock would run out in twenty-two minutes.

Nok pursed his lips, realizing both men were right. He kept going down the list, greasy fingerprints smudging the lead he'd written it with. "So then it's back to..." He trailed off, tapping the last name on the list a few times. "Me."

Patch let out a huffed laugh, shuffling a deck of incomplete cards. He leaned back, propping his feet up on the chipped oak table with two thumps. He was a loud man, but no one would mind tonight, for there wasn't anyone to wake up; nobody slept this close to the border of Myria, not even their weathered, old captain, who regularly chided them for indulging in nonsense rumours.

"That's what'ya get for honour," Jojo called from the couch, thick grey clouds curling from his cigar. "When it's my turn to make the list, I always seem to forget my name."

Patch raised his brows, stacking the cards in even piles. "Just put one of 'em deckhands on again," he muttered. "They expendable anyway."

Nok just rolled his eyes. "Ain't nothing out there," he said, shoving aside the scout plans to get to his feet. Or, at least if there was something out there, he'd be the first to see it up in the crow's nest, of which it appeared to be his turn to man. He rolled back his tight shoulders, refusing to dwell on a time when his whole body didn't protest at the slightest movement.

"Watch them arrows," Jojo quipped, blowing his smoke up to the ceiling, dripping with rogue streams of seawater.

Patch shook his head. He was a higher rank than either of them, but he showed it off by speaking far less. He, too, often disciplined the deckhands for tittering about ghost ships captained by the Devil and his dead souls—but only because he knew the truth was far more haunting, and whispering in fear of legends only made them more legendary.

"If something be out there, Nok," he said, "just ring the bell." He leaned forward to shuffle his cards again. "Ain't nobody take down pirates like the Navy."

Nok gave the man a curt nod, reaching for his worn coat on the hook by the door. It was true that the Navy ticked most pirates off their list with hardly any trouble. These past few years, though, rumour had it that certain pirates were starting to pick off navy ships far easier.

Nok abandoned the cozy warmth of the room, shutting the door behind him. His boots clicked on the wooden floor as he tugged down the hatch, letting the ladder tumble out. Buttoning up his coat, he climbed the rope and pulled himself onto the deck, soft wind kissing his sun-spotted face. As he closed the hatch and got to his feet, the ocean was steady for as far as he could see, gentle waves sloshing up the sides of the Bellhaven, a prestigious navy vessel that only had a few more weeks at sea before returning home. Only a few more weeks before Nok saw his wife, before he could gather up his young baby in his arms once more. Even less time before they could get the hell away from the Myrian border.

Rubbing his hands together to pump blood into his fingers, he gave a warning tug on the rope hanging from the crow's nest. The stars were absent tonight, blurring the endless horizon where the dark sky met the even darker water. Somewhere out there to the south, the water morphed a deeper shade of blue, concealing countless fears.

The deckhand up in the crow's nest came crawling down from the nest, dropping to the deck quietly. "Windy up there, sir," the boy said. "Nothing else, though."

Nok gave the deckhand a solid pat on his shoulder for his convincing display of nonchalance. Up in that basket, where the winds bit at your face and the tired mind dreamt up all sorts of nonexistent horrors, was one of the worst places to be on a ship at night, and also the most important. He reached for the ladder. Ain't nothing out there that he couldn't see. The water out there wasn't any different under the night sky than it was under the sun.

Nothing tangible could get by his scanning, not if he did it exactly as the navy academy taught him to. The dark wasn't something bad, after all, just a natural phenomenon, a period of time when the ocean went to sleep.

And in theory, maybe, he was right. The dark wasn't evil in itself, and the moonlight sifting through the cloud cover was bright enough to reveal anything of substance. He was right, about all of that, of course.

But as Nok reached the basket, getting comfortable on the makeshift wooden seat some of the deckhands made, there was something out there that he couldn't see. The dark wasn't evil in itself, but it did conceal better than the day—especially things that knew how to hide.

And beyond the edge of hazy horizon, creeping out from Myrian borders, was something that knew how to hide.

Nok readjusted, brushing off his feelings of unease. He glanced at the warning bell, making sure his hand was prepared to ring it the moment he saw something unusual. He watched the dark water systematically, but nothing was out of place. Soft, white-capping waves far down below, and quick-moving clouds far up above.

Something sidled up against the Bellhaven, quiet and elegant like an embrace. Nok glanced to the port side, frowning. The clouds were all where they should be, and the water looked how it always did, but something felt off. Little ripples extended from the surf over the bow rail, as if something heavy sat on it. The water shimmered for a moment, then went dull again.

Nok fingered the end of the warning bell's rope. Despite his best efforts, fear coiled in his throat. If you see something, ring the bell—but there was nothing to see, was there? Just a feeling, just the shiver of something out there.

Nok imagined his daughter's tiny hands curling around his. He wasn't taking his chances. He grasped the warning rope to split the silence with that shrewd, sharp noise of the bell. So what if he woke up the whole ship? No one was sleeping anyway, and it was far better to be mocked for his jumpiness for the next six months than never live to be mocked for anything ever again.

As Nok pulled down on the rope, the bell tolled once, then fell silent. His fingers slid from the rope as he slumped against the crow's nest bucket, dead.

Nine minutes were up.

Still shuffling his cards into piles belowdecks, Patch's ears pricked at the sound. It was so brief, so mild it could be mistaken for a scout accidentally jostling the bell before forcing it silent once more. Frowning, Patch got to his feet, drawing Jojo's gaze.

"Eh," the other man called, stifling his cigar. "Where ya going?"

Patch tossed open the door, peering into the lower deck's hallway. It was hushed, the only sound the occasional drip of water. Outside, the wind blew softly, encouraging him to go back into that room, back to his cards, back to his quiet time.

He turned, getting Jojo's attention. "Come 'ere. We're gonna check what's happenin' up above."

Jojo came over, his boots muddy and slick. "Ain't nothing going on up above," he said. Feigning nonchalance from the cold feeling he'd gotten down his spine, he reached for the hatch door. Moonlight spilled over his dark hair from above as he untangled the ladder.

Patch watched as a shadow cast over his friend's head. He let out a grunt as he called up, "Eh, clear the hatchway!" He took a step forward to see up, nothing above them but cloudy sky.

"You goin' nuts?" Jojo teased. He reached up with his cigar-stained hands, shaking his head.

The man was halfway through the hatch when the rest of his body yanked up suddenly, disappearing from Patch's view.

Fourteen minutes were up.

The officer froze. No noise, no indication of what had pulled the man so quickly through the opening. He took a tentative step forward.

"Jojo?" he asked.

No reply.

Patch balled his fists, forgetting his card game and the comfortable room he was leaving behind. He clenched his teeth, ready for the unspeakable. If these were pirates, he'd have heard them coming miles ago. They would've been shouting and singing and doing whatever filthy things pirates did. But a silent attack, hardly any cues to discern that someone who was not supposed to be on this ship was, in fact, on this ship?

These were special pirates.

Patch slid his pistol from where it was secured at his hip, always loaded. He pressed his thumb into the hammer as quietly as he could, cocking it. He stepped forward into the shaft of moonlight still illuminating the wood in front of him, looking up.

Nothing. Just cloudy sky.

Patch kept his pistol firm in his hand as he reached for the ladder. He got purchase on the rope with his boots, then made his way up. As inconspicuous as possible, he peered over the lip of the wood and came face-to-face with Jojo's lifeless face, eyes still open.

Scrambling out of the hatch fully, Patch kicked backwards, a scream caught in his throat. He raised his pistol, but he'd stumbled into something behind him, something big and solid that held him in place.

Patch twisted, trying to get his pistol up. It was knocked from his hands, glancing off the deck and harmlessly bouncing into the rail in one sharp movement. He started crawling backwards again, failing to get to his feet.

The wind ruffled the low sails, revealing the man standing by Jojo's body, just a dark shape with white teeth. His smile widened as he stepped closer.

"Evening," he whispered, moonlight crossing over his features. It was only once Patch hit another solid thing behind him that he realized this deck was far from empty.

Everywhere he looked, shadows crept around the corners of the Bellhaven, dragging with them dead or dying crew members. They moved like dancers, twirling in and out of moonlight. It was a ship infested with crawling, deadly rats. There was no clue as to where they'd come from or what they wanted, but the crimson letter embroidered on their uniforms told Patch exactly who they were. He'd heard the Captain speaking about these people, about the kind of things they did.

"So far from home" the man murmured, dragging a slumped body from the shadows to the middle of the deck, where a pile was forming. Bile rose in Patch's throat as he recognized one of the dead faces.

They're after the royal crest and anything that bares it. Rumours, just rumours. They come like ghosts, leave the same way. They kill everything in sight, but not quickly. They pile up the crew, setting them aflame. They tie the captain to the highest part of the mast, leaving him to the elements.

Patch's inhale was sharp. That's how you could tell you'd found a ship after the Avourienne did—there'd be nothing left but a human flag tied to the mast.

In one final bout of motivation, Patch scrambled to his feet and ran for the aft rail. His only solace would be the water below, he knew. His only chance of survival lay down there, floating to safety on the cool waves. He didn't want to learn who these people were, if they were as ordinary as he, just flesh and bone morphed by a construct. He didn't want to know any more about evil corruption than he already did, so he leapt for that rail with all his strength.

But twenty-two minutes were up.

Someone scaling the rail caught him, slamming his head into the metal lining of the rail with a firm snap. Patch rolled to a halt on the deck, dead.

Perhaps it was better not to experience the rest, anyway.