Page 20 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

After the ship took up position beside the cliff at the entrance to the cove, a strange, potent energy enveloped the vessel,

shrouding it in mist. Magic. It pulsed beneath Ben’s skin, surging in his blood.

A small crimson chamber deep within him throbbed, awakened. An unknown core buried in the fibers of his self that blinked

and roused, stretching itself, becoming aware.

Ben shook himself violently. Yet the sensation didn’t go away. It strengthened, blocking out nearly everything.

The Edelsteen sailed past the Sea Witch , right into the inlet.

Some kind of glamour had been deployed by the witches of this ship. It worked, too, because Van der Meer had trapped himself,

stuck between the beach and the Sea Witch .

Gasping, Ben sank to the floor when the glamour suddenly dropped. It was as though he had been released from a chokehold,

and he gulped down air.

He collected himself enough to stand. Van der Meer and his crew were close. If he could reach the ship, even merely spy from

a better position, he could learn something.

Ben strode back and forth, but the window running the width of the captain’s quarters hemmed in his view. All he could see

was the mouth of the cove, and the dark waters stretching behind it.

He paced the breadth of the cabin, his teeth clenched in frustration, his muscles tight and vibrating. Locked in these quarters,

with no means of getting a decent vantage of the Edelsteen . Maddening.

He tucked the spyglass into his boot, then strode to the diamond-paned window and pushed it open. A startled laugh escaped

him. It wasn’t locked. No one suspected he might attempt to slip free from his imprisonment this way. All he would be able

to do was fall into the ocean and drown.

That was a very real possibility now, but there was no other alternative.

He clambered out the window to cling to the back of the ship—and slipped. Gripping the window sill, the muscles in his arms

ached as he held on tightly. His feet dangled high above the water, and while the fall might not kill him if he managed to

avoid slamming into the rudder, the weight of the manacles and having his hands and feet bound when sinking to the seafloor

certainly would.

Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself up.

Sweat slicked down his back as he managed to drag himself to perch on the window sill.

On shaking legs, he rose to standing, then gripped the carved wooden ornaments that ran the length of the ship’s aft hull.

The captain’s cabin was just below the quarterdeck, and he used all of the strength of his upper body to pull himself up to the quarterdeck’s rear balustrade.

Ben peered over the edge of the railing. One of the crew had her back to him, her attention fixed toward the beach. He wouldn’t

be able to see much of the Edelsteen from the quarterdeck. He’d have to go higher.

Summoning another burst of strength, he hauled himself up to balance on the quarterdeck railing. He grabbed the main boom,

sticking out from the mainmast, and pulled himself onto it. Surely the metallic clanking of his bindings would attract the

crew woman’s notice. Yet whatever was happening on the beach had her full attention, with the tides against the ship’s hull

hiding his sound. Beyond the ship’s bow, torches gathered on the sand.

Carefully, he edged himself along the boom, until he reached the mainmast itself. With years of experience climbing masts,

he began to ascend. The ship’s deck beneath him grew smaller the higher he climbed, the stars above him shining down pitilessly

as his whole body throbbed with the exertion of scaling the mainmast with his ankles and wrists fettered.

Finally, he reached the main top yard. With one more effort, he hauled himself onto the beam from which the sail hung. The

deck of the ship was far below him, yet he was used to such dizzying heights. Instead, he focused on the other ship, swaying

up and down on the cove’s tide. From his boot, he pulled out the spyglass, unfurled it, and brought it to his eye.

Through the thick lens, the lamps that lit the Edelsteen ’s upper deck were bright flickers. Much of the crew stood at the railing that faced the beach.

Ben choked around his own pulse as his gaze raked over the pirate company. They were a grizzled lot, many bearing scars and

wearing clothing that was a jumble of the rough and the refined, which was obviously stolen, though even the most lavish garments

were frayed and stained from use. All of them bore the hardened expressions of men who seldom thought of consequences or compassion.

His attention bounced from buccaneer to buccaneer. Surely one of them had an object in their possession that placed them at his father’s murder—a trophy from the ship, like the engraved

cutlass that Father had carried but was never recovered, or the ship’s bell, or, hell, anything at all. He just needed something .

Ben turned toward the beach in search of Van der Meer. Flame red hair snared his attention. Some of the Sea Witch ’s crew surrounded Alys, but even with a spyglass he couldn’t make out their expressions.

She faced Van der Meer. A parley. Reaching an understanding about the fail-safe? Would they find it together, and use it as

leverage against the navy?

Faint noises sounded below him. Shouts and yells. Commands. He paid them little attention as he watched the conference on

the shore.

“Come down at once,” someone called up to him, “or we’ll use force get you down.”

The words were as meaningless as a fly’s buzz. Mentally, he swatted them away. He peered closer at the Dutchman. There had

to be some sign on the pirate that marked him as his father’s murderer.

“What the hell?”

His body went rigid. A net of humming energy closed around him, binding his arms to his sides and making it impossible to move his legs.

The spyglass slipped from his immobilized fingers to shatter against the upper deck.

Ben struggled against his bonds, to no avail.

Trapped. Without the proper use of his feet to maintain balance, he lurched off the yard, pitching into the open air.

He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the sickening vacuum of freefall and the inevitable impact of his body on the wooden

planks. He’d seen men plunge from the rigging and crow’s nest before. Some survived the fall with broken arms or legs. Others

broke their necks and never climbed again.

Ben braced his body for the crash. Then opened his eyes when it didn’t come. Instead, he lowered slowly down from the mainmast’s

height, held by unseen hands.

Finally, he reached the upper deck. It wasn’t the most graceful landing—set down abruptly in an ungainly heap of limbs, like

a marionette with its strings cut. The buzzing energy of the spell dropped away enough for him to get to his feet.

Only to find himself surrounded by a score of crew members, all of them pointing pistols and cutlasses at him. Three of the

crew that didn’t have weapons trained on him had gold and purple magic dancing on their fingertips. All of them appeared ready

to unleash the full power of their arsenal, both mundane and magic, on him.

An Indigenous woman stood at the fore, clearly the one in charge. Long-limbed but solid in stature, she held herself with

authority. Her onyx eyes flashed with anger in her sun-kissed copper face.

“There’s no escape, navy man,” she said tightly.

Frustration clenched his muscles even more than the magic that bound him. The broken spyglass lay nearby, its metal body dented

and its lens shattered.

“Give me another spyglass,” he said to the woman currently in command.

Her eyes widened.

“Hurry,” he snapped.

“Prisoners who attempt escape don’t have the luxury of making demands,” Alys said, climbing over the gunwale. The rest of her crew followed to join her on the upper deck, but Ben’s only focus at that moment was the Edelsteen , currently hoisting its anchor.

“Give me—”

“A spyglass, so you’ve said.” She moved closer, glancing around at her crew that still had their weapons and magic aimed at

him. Her gaze landed on the remains of the spyglass. “You’ve destroyed mine in a bid to escape, so I’m not going to put another one into your hands. Or give you anything at all that you want.”

He hardly heard her. Van der Meer’s ship had raised its anchor and was currently, cautiously, sailing past the Sea Witch . The other crew of pirates sped through their duties, and though they were too far away for Ben to see the expressions on

the company’s faces, they moved furtively, anxiously. Almost as though they were afraid of the Sea Witch . In a few minutes they would be beyond the cove, and heading into open waters.

“ Please ,” Ben gritted to Alys as his gaze was fixed on the Edelsteen . “I have to see—have to know—”

“To the brig with him.” Her words were clipped and cold. “Escape attempts aren’t rewarded with staying in the captain’s quarters.”

“You don’t understand—”

But four members of the Sea Witch ’s crew laid hands on him and forcibly dragged him toward the companionway. He strained and fought against them, frantically

trying to reach the railing so he could get a final look at the other ship before it disappeared into the night. Yet before

he could reach the gunwale, another weblike spell encircled him, making it impossible to move. His feet lifted a few inches

up from the decking. He floated across the upper deck, down several companionways. Until he found himself back in the brig.

He was thrown unceremoniously into the stockade, landing roughly on the floor. The bars clanged shut, and one of the crew murmured under her breath. Once again, the bars of the brig glowed with green energy.

“I have to get out!” he insisted. “Have to see—” Ben heaved to his feet and grabbed the bars of the stockade. He was thrown

backward into the wooden bench that stood against the bulkhead behind him. The seat of the bench rammed into his spine, and

he groaned in pain as he fell to the floor. Yet nothing compared to the agony of knowing that his chance to learn more about

his father’s murderer was, at that very moment, sailing away.

All of the crew left him, save for one woman who sat in a chair opposite the stockade, her pistol pointed at him, her face

completely vacant of sympathy.

Ben sank to the ground, his head in his hands. Everything he’d done, all the risk and danger and hope. It had all been for

nothing.