Pretty. Too pretty. Places that looked like that always hid something sharp.
We rounded toward the inner harbor, sails snapping as Val barked for a controlled bleed of speed. TheSea Wraithobeyed like she always did—temperamental, but loyal to a firm hand. Waves slapped our hull in lazy rolls; the bay here was calmer than the open ocean, almost deceitfully so, as if it wanted us close before deciding whether to keep us.
I stood at the rail, arms crossed, watching the shoreline come into focus. Locals clustered at the quay—men in linen shirts rolled to the elbow, women whose skirts snapped in the wind, a handful of merchants clutching ledgers like they were sacred texts. A priest lingered near the steps of the pier chapel, giving our black-sailed vessel the kind of blessing that wasn’t a blessing at all.
Couldn’t blame him.
Pirates weren’t exactly welcome guests in a place that prided itself on order.
Still, Angra had always been a crossroads—Portuguese ships, Spanish traders, whalers, smugglers. Gold and spices westbound, secrets eastbound. If you wanted to disappear, you could. If you wanted to be found, well… there were worse places for it.
The Wraith came to a stop with the ease of a life spent knowing exactly who she was. I gave the order to drop the ladder and ignored the nervous energy humming through me.
“You have one day,” I said to Dilly. “We don’t linger.”
“Oh?” Dilly hummed. “One day to track down someone who knows something about this journal and an ancient artifact guarded by a terrifying sea monster? What could be easier?”
I bit back the smile. She was rarely mouthing back, but sometimes that red hair of hers showed its temper.
“Good thing you speak Portuguese,” I said.
In answer, she muttered something under her breath that was Portuguese and certainly not a compliment.
I went first, much steadier now with my hook. It was second nature now to use it. I landed with a hard thud onto the port docks and was greeted by a sour-looking man with a long mustache who immediately started speaking in a language I didn’t know.
Dilly was second for this exact reason. She spoke with effortless ease, and whatever she said made the man’s cheeks smooth out and a hint of a smile appear.
“Somehow I imagine I would not approve of what you said,” I said.
“I suppose you’ll just have to trust me, Captain,” she beamed up at me.
Good thing I trusted Cordelia Shaw with my life.
Rose was next, followed by Oscar and Emille. The rest of our crew would stay and make repairs for the remainder of the journey. Emille quickly excused himself to go in search of medicine and ingredients that would keep us from dying along the way.
After a brief conversation with the harbor master, Dilly was directing us down well-worn streets, an eagerness in her step that left us all slightly winded in order to keep up with her.
“What did he say?” Rose asked, wrapping her hand around her wrist.
Dilly took note and grinned, eyes wide. “I’m on the right track if your wrist is acting up. He said that if anyone would know, it's the old woman who lives on the edge of town.”
Rose sighed. “Why is it always an old woman who lives on the edge of town?”
Dilly nodded. “Yes, he warned me not to go to her because she was a witch and likely to carve out our hearts and eat them with her stew.”
“Delightful,” Oscar said.
Rose shrugged. “There are probably worse fates.”
“Name one,” Oscar demanded as we walked through streets that grew more narrow with every step.
“Probably being eaten by a leviathan, which will happen if this witch doesn’t have answers.” Rose smiled as if talking about the weather.
“Probably shouldn’t call her a witch when you meet her,” Dilly said.
“A leviathan would be a quick chomp chomp and then poof, no more.” Oscar shot back.
“I’m fairly certain none of this is helpful,” I said, wishing I didn’t agree with Oscar.
