But how to outsmart, how to evade,
This evil man, in darkness laid?
I should really stop composing poetry while being chased, but how else could I cope with it?
The bard must be sharp, see all he can,
Use wit and guile to form a plan.
With keen perception and courage grand,
To outmaneuver the madman’s hand.
I glance over my shoulder, and there he is—glaring at me like I just insulted his dear, sweet mother. His eyes are practically glowing with rage, his face twisted into a look that says, “I’m going to turn you into fine paste.” Lovely.
He growls something unintelligible. The sound is more a rumble than a word, but it sends a shiver down my spine all the same.
Man loose? Marvelous? Madness?
Something along those lines.
I dart left, barely avoiding a loose plank that definitely wanted to see me kiss the deck. His words rattle around in my head, but they make about as much sense as a finger without a nail. What could he have meant? And more importantly, why am I even worrying about it when he’s about to crush me into a decorative pirate rug?
Ah, maybe because I detected something… just a sliver of fear in that one grumbled word. Maybe that’s my lifeline—if I could just figure out what it was.
“To the starboard side!” Miss Captain’s voice slices through the chaos, mercifully giving me a direction. I veer right, nearly slipping on the slick wood, but somehow—somehow—stay onmy feet. Behind me, his footsteps thunder closer. My heart races, and I know this is it. He’s going to catch me, and fast.
Here’s the thing: I’m not a runner. Never have been. Actually, I’m not really made for anything involving physical activity. My best features? My face, my fingers, and, well… myinstrument, if you catch my drift. But none of those talents are going to save me right now. I have to rely on muscles I barely have and all of which are currently screaming in protest from all that sail-tending teachings I was getting lately.
But still… whatdidthat madman say?!
It started with an M… was short… and sounded either like a name or maybe some curse that’ll see me turned into a fish. I glance back at him again, hoping for a spark of insight.
Yup, still terrifying. That hasn’t changed. But there’s more. What am I missing?Think, Vinicola!
Then I hear it: a clinking sound. He’s got one hand guarding something on his hip, a glass jar by the looks of it. I noticed it earlier, too. He clutched it like a lifeline after he nearly gutted me. Zayan muttered something about poison, but no. No, it feels too… precious. He’s holding it like it’s sacred, not deadly.
And that’s when it hits me, lightning bolt-style. That jar? It’s important to him. Like, life-or-death important. And if it’s that important, it might just be my ticket out of this mess.
My ears tune into the rhythmic clink, and suddenly, I have a reckless, borderline-suicidal idea. I veer sharply right, heading toward a stack of crates that look like they’ve seen better centuries. The man follows, his growls morphing into outright snarls. I scramble up the crates, my fingers clawing for purchase on the slick wood, splinters be damned. I turn to face him, balancing precariously.
I need that jar.
With a deep breath, I plaster on a grin, feeling the wind whip through my hair. “Don’t be shy now!” I shout, throwing caution—and sanity—to the wind. “Come at me!”
He charges without hesitation, like the very thought of rest is offensive to his entire being. As he lunges, I leap from the crates, landing hard on the deck, the impact jarring every bone in my body. My legs scream in protest, but I can’t stop now. I dash toward the edge of the ship, my eyes fixed on his precious jar.
“Vini, what are you doing?!” Miss Captain’s voice slices through my mad plan, panic flooding her tone.
Oh, nothing, Miss Captain.
Ignoring her (because clearly, I have a death wish), I spin just in time to see the madman barreling toward me. Ducking under his outstretched arms, I manage to grab hold of the jar, my fingers curling around it like it’s the Holy Grail.
“Got it!” I shout, tugging it free with all the strength my panicking body can muster.
Time slows for just a second. The madman’s eyes go wide in shock—he even lets out a very human-sounding yelp, which is a bit disappointing, honestly. I thought we were working with something more beastly here.
Before he can recover, I yank the jar free, stumbling backward and clutching it to my chest like it’s my long-lost love.
