Page 45 of The Sea Witch (Salt & Sorcery #1)

Alys had warned Ben to keep from laughing at the chickcharney. But now the awful, impossible urge to guffaw climbed up her

throat.

The chickcharney did indeed look like an owl with unusually long legs, and in that, it was almost ridiculous. Round face,

short hooked beak, tawny feathers. As ordinary as any bird seen flying through the night. Yet from under its wings emerged

spindly human-shaped arms topped with three-fingered talon-like hands. They flexed as if searching for something to grasp

and twist.

The creature had a long thin tail, almost like a monkey’s tail, and it snapped back and forth, cutting through the air. Its

red eyes blazed in the darkness as it glared at Alys and Ben.

It took three steps closer. The talons on the ends of its hands glinted as he reached for them, ready to snap off their heads.

“We need weapons,” he growled.

“Couldn’t fight it if we wanted to,” she hissed back. “Use the petticoat. Wave it around.”

He did as she commanded, swishing the coral-colored skirt back and forth in slow hypnotic movements. “I feel like an ass.”

“Healing your injured pride is easier than replacing our severed heads.”

He seemed to have no argument against that, so he continued to flutter the petticoat. Gradually, the chickcharney’s eyelids and hands lowered, and it sank to the ground as it made soft contented noises.

“Slowly, now.” Alys took Ben’s hand.

They eased past the creature, its head swiveling around to track their progress. Ben kept moving the petticoat back and forth

as he and Alys backed away. A step. Another step. Until they were in the shelter of an alley.

The chickcharney’s head turned away, no longer interested in them.

Alys and Ben ran. They ducked through the lanes and back streets of Domingo Town, all uncannily empty, echoing with their

footsteps. At last, they reached the edge of the settlement. Plunging across the fields, they sped, hand in hand, until they

came to the forest. They didn’t stop running through the dense vegetation, following game trails. Trees loomed, menacing all

around them. Ahead was the pounding of surf against the sand. Neither Ben nor Alys stopped to look behind them to see if the

chickcharney followed, praying to the stars that the creature had found something else to draw its attention.

She cursed in relief when they came out of the forest to emerge on the beach. Waiting for them was the jolly boat, and Eris,

perched on one of the benches. The magpie flew over to land on her shoulder.

“Please tell me that your mistress and the ship are nearby,” she pleaded.

Eris chirped an assent.

“They’re waiting for us,” she informed Ben. “But keep that,” she added when he tossed the skirt aside. “I’m sure someone aboard

will be happy to get a new petticoat.”

He scooped it up and deposited the underskirt in the jolly boat. Together, they pushed the boat into the water, then climbed

in. They both took the oars to row them past the surf, and farther out into the dark cove.

A hundred feet into the bay, a lamp appeared. Too low to be a star.

A handful of more lamps glowed to life. The outline of the Sea Witch gradually took shape with each new lamp being lighted.

They brought the jolly boat alongside the ship, then climbed up the ladder when it was rolled down in welcome.

Stasia stood ready when Alys stepped onto the top deck. Olachi was with her, along with Polly, Luna, and Effia.

“We have news,” Stasia said.

“So do we,” Alys answered.

“A ship for me has been found,” Olachi said, her eyes bright with purpose.

“A naval ship,” Stasia added. “A forty-gun, fourth rate frigate in the Royal Navy.”

Beside her, Ben went still. Alys didn’t look in his direction.

“It’d have all the necessary weapons to attack enslavers’ ships,” Alys said.

“And the size to accommodate all those we’ll free,” Olachi noted.

“The ship was spotted on its way to investigate what happened back at Kinnear’s,” Stasia went on. “We can intercept it.”

“Which ship?” Ben asked, his voice low.

Before Stasia could answer him, Alys said quickly, “Is it far from us?”

“Half a day’s sailing,” Luna explained.

“Set a heading,” Alys said. “We’ll come up with a plan, and then the crew needs to be made ready.”

“Which. Ship,” Ben pressed.

Alys didn’t answer him. Instead, she grabbed the pistol tucked into Stasia’s belt—and pointed it at him.

“The hell?” he demanded.

“To the brig.”

“Alys—”

“Now.”

When he didn’t move, Stasia unsheathed her cutlass, then Polly brandished a dagger, and Luna aimed her own firearm at him.

Olachi and Effia watched, their expressions guarded.

Slowly, Ben raised his hands. With Alys behind him, the muzzle of her pistol trained on his back, he climbed down the companionway.

“You know the way,” Alys said flatly.

“You think this is necessary.” His back was to her as he descended lower into the ship. “What we did... at the inn...”

“Not the first time I’ve made an error in judgment.”

He spun around, and she pressed the muzzle of her gun against his chest.

His expression was disbelieving, then hardened. “An error.”

Heat rushed to her face and through her body. “I needed balancing. You provided a service. Willingly. I thank you for it.”

Pushing the words from her mouth, wounding him like this... her chest ached.

“Giving you the touch and pleasure you needed isn’t an offense that requires throwing me in the brig,” he said tightly.

“The risk’s too high. Having you roaming free when we attack the naval ship.”

“Then manacle me.”

“You could still sabotage us. Or join them. A hundred possibilities. Keep walking.”

He turned and continued to make his way toward the brig. “As if you couldn’t know what I think, what I feel.”

“We can lie to ourselves as much as anyone else. You could be halfway to the magazine, not even knowing you intended to blow

up my ship, before either of us realized what was happening.”

“It’s my treachery that worries you. You’re the one with a pistol aimed at my back.”

“The safety of my crew and ship come first.”

They had reached the brig. Alys grabbed the key from the hook and unlocked the bars. With a jerk of her head, she motioned for him to step inside. He backed in, his gaze never leaving hers, his eyes cutting. She ignored the frost between them as she closed the door to the cage and locked it.

Lowly, he asked, “Is that all you’re keeping safe?”

She stepped away. “You’re in this cage, but in truth, I’m setting you free.”

“This doesn’t look like freedom.” He gripped the bars.

“Locked in here, you’re free from having to make a choice. Them, or me.”

Without another word, she walked from the brig, all the time fighting the need to look back.