(Dylan)

  Dylan blinked, raising a hand to cover his eyes from the harsh light. It took him a few moments to adjust. Now it was time to return the stupid hat and get some sleep. The deckhand was still stationed just outside the brig.

  Dylan walked up to him and asked, “Do you know where I can find First Mate Echo?”

  The deckhand shook his head. “Sorry, captain, he’s harder to peg down than a springline in a storm—could be anywhere.”

  Dylan didn’t know what a springline was and needed to get rid of the hat before he got too distracted.

  “I see. Thank you. Also, A’liyah isn’t going anywhere, so—”

  “A’liyah?” the deckhand asked before Dylan could finish his thought.

  Dylan pointed to the brig. “That’s what she’d like to be called.”

  The deckhand nodded. “I’ll let the crew know. What would you have me do instead of guarding the brig, sir?” That was a good question, one Dylan didn’t have an immediate answer to.

  “Uh, go relax? Wait, do you guys relax?” He’d assumed lamprians slept, but A’liyah corrected him on that assumption. This was another example of why he shouldn’t be the one to wear the hat.

  The deckhand relaxed his stance, turning to face Dylan again. “Aye, captain, we work in shifts. But mine’s not done yet. Would you like me to find someone who needs a hand?”

  “That… sounds good to me,” Dylan said, taking off the hat. “Honestly, I don’t know the first thing about running a ship, which is why I need to find First Mate Echo. The captain said to give him the hat when I was done with it.”

  The deckhand suddenly grew tense, his skull focused on Dylan as he asked a pointed question. “Not back to her?”

  “Right?! Seemed odd to me, too.”

  The deckhand quickly glanced down the hall toward the rest of the ship, and then said, “I could fetch the first mate for you. If you’d like?”

  “That would be really helpful. I’ll be in my cabin.”

  “Which cabin, sir?” the deckhand asked, tilting his skull slightly.

  It took Dylan a second to catch his meaning. The Captain’s Suite was probably meant for him, but he had no interest in the hat or the suite. His rinky-dinky room suited him just fine.

  “The small one in the passenger section,” he said. “The old captain and the first mate can fight over who gets the big one.”

  “Right away, sir.” The deckhand gave him a curt nod and took off jogging down the hallway.

  Dylan watched him go and figured he should get back to his room right away. No reason to keep the future captain waiting on him. He slipped on the hat and started toward the passenger quarters.

  He’d almost made it to his room without running into anyone. The crew’s impressive work ethic preoccupied him. Then he wondered how much they were getting paid, since the deckhand mentioned it was the highest in the world. They’d earned every penny too, as far as Dylan was concerned.

  “I wonder if they’re hiring?” he asked himself, pursing his lips to the side. “This sounds like the craziest charter the Everafter’s been on. And, I mean, if I can survive this one… The rest would just be a walk in the park.” He furrowed his brows. “One of those European parks, not the American kind—those are terrifying at night…” He sighed. Too bad he wasn’t a lamprian.

  His pace came to a halt in the middle of the hallway as he rubbed the back of his neck. It felt warm to the touch, probably sunburnt like the rest of him.

  “Do I even need a job if I get in with the guild?” He frowned, having so many unanswered questions. “Are guilds like college where you graduate when training is over? Or are they like Boy Scouts, where you usually stay on to take a mentorship role?”

  Then he groaned, “Ugh, maybe it’s just another ‘job’ where you get treated like ‘family’.” He hated those the most. It was just an excuse to step all over your personal boundaries and ask you to do things you shouldn’t.

  “Oh gosh,” he gasped. “What if it’s just a cult? Like one of those religions where you join and can’t leave—”

  Dylan noticed one of the Tome & Key members as they came around the corner. He absently waved at P’reslen, easily forgetting about his latest accessory.

  The confident draconi slowed his approach. “Dylan?”

  The mention of his name snapped him out of his doom spiral. He looked up. “Yeah?”

  P’reslen squinted down at him, pointing to his head. “Why are you…?”

  Dylan’s eyes rolled up toward his head before he realized what he was wearing. “Oh, that…” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s just temporary.”

  “You should probably give that back before—”

  P’reslen’s mouth snapped shut with a clomp. He stopped talking and walked past Dylan as if their conversation had never happened.

  “Dylan?”

  He heard Runemist’s voice behind him, her words laced with surprise and accusation.

  He slowly spun around, swallowing hard when he saw her. “Oh shit,” he said, holding up his hands. “I—I can explain…”

  She raised an eyebrow, and when he didn’t respond fast enough, she added, “I’m waiting.”

  He didn’t want to tell her the truth—that he’d made the captain quit. But lying wasn’t an option either. Instead, he went with something that was true.

  He frowned, dropping his hands to his side. “I—I can’t explain…”

  She sighed, a sound that made her thinning patience clear, and clarified her question as she narrowed her eyes. “How’d you get the bloody hat, Dylan?” The inflection she put on his name told him he was in trouble.

  His eyes went wide as she placed a hand on her hip—a clear sign he was running out of time.

  “She… gave it to me?” he replied, an octave higher than usual. To be fair, he’d been asking himself that question since he’d left her… his… the Captain’s Suite.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Give it back,” she said flatly. “We’re about to leave, and I don’t want you messing around. We need a real captain.”

  “I know, I know. I just needed to borrow it for a little bit. But I’m on my way to give it back right now,” he said, which was all true.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and gave him a final warning. “You better not be wearing that hat the next time I see you.” She’d gone easy on him this time, but he wasn’t about to point that out—for her sake, more than his. While he could use the strongest boon, she didn’t need any more stress right now.

  “I understand, ma’am.”

  Having more important things to deal with, she continued past him down the hallway.

  “Why are you wearing that hat?” Hay’len’s voice came from behind him.

  Dylan turned back around, exhaling sharply, to greet yet another of his fellow passengers in the middle of the hallway.

  “I’m giving it back,” he said defensively. If he could just get back to his cabin…

  They gave him an appraising glance, head to toe. “Looks rather fetching on you. The feather matches your skin tone,” Hay’len said, paying him a compliment.

  “Thanks?” Dylan replied awkwardly. Usually, it was the other twin hitting on him.

  “Yeah…” he said, glancing down at his sunburn. “I’ve been outside every day since I got here. Forgot my sunscreen back on Earth.” He chuckled at his own joke, holding up his hands. “And now I’ve got lobster arms.”

  Quinten quietly peered over Dylan’s shoulder and asked, “What’s a lobster?”

  Dylan jumped at the closeness of his voice. “Jesus, you scared me!” he said, placing a hand over his racing heart. “Lobsters are a delicious crustacean we’ve got back on Earth, goes really well with butter.”

  “Don’t tell that to Ostello. Blokes got a thing for seafood. Nice hat, by the way.” Quinten flashed him an easy smile.

  “I’m giving it back…” Dylan sighed as he tried to explain again.

  “Maybe not so fast,” Quinten said, raising an eyebrow. “Might be just the thing to impress a princess…” He let the suggestion hang in the air.

  Hay’len turned to him excitedly and smiled. “So you do like Eury!”

  Quinten laughed until something caught his eye. He covered his mouth, mock-coughing, then quickly ducked his head and pushed past them both.

  Dylan started to ask after the easygoing elf. “Are you—”

  “What about me?” Eury asked, having heard the tail end of their conversation. Then she was distracted by something else. She walked over to them, pointing at Dylan, and asked, “Why are you wearing—”

  Dylan countered with a question of his own before she could finish. “Why is everyone trying to use this hallway right now?”

  W’itney appeared from behind Hay’len as if they’d just performed mitosis, and said, “Because it’s the only way in and out of the passenger section…”

  Dylan shut his eyes at his obvious oversight. He took a deep breath to center himself, opened them again, and pushed past the group toward his cabin.

  “Wait, is that the captain’s hat?” W’itney asked, as they moved out of the way for Dylan. Their confusion curled into a grin. “Because that’s kinda hot.”

  Dylan didn’t stop, rushing to get around the corner before someone else could slow him down.

  “I can’t help it,” W’itney said with a shrug. “I like a man in uniform…” They jogged after Dylan.

  Dylan could finally see his cabin door, but stopped when he heard the outgoing draconi chasing after him. He spun around and said, “W’itney.”

  “Oh yes, my captain,” they said in a sultry voice, waggling their eyebrows.

  Dylan’s hand flexed into a fist, his knuckles cracking with the motion. He didn’t want to hurt the young draconi’s feelings, but he needed to set some boundaries.

  “W’itney, I’m not going to sleep with you.” Dylan spoke firmly, his voice tempered with as much kindness as he could manage.

  W’itney frowned, clicked their tongue, and then asked, “Is it because I’m not a princess?”

  “What is it with everyone and princesses?”

  “I wonder if Eury would let me borrow her tiara…” W’itney muttered to themself.

  He opened his mouth to tell them not to bring Eury into this. “No—”

  “Captain?” First Mate Echo’s voice came from behind W’itney, a welcome interruption.

  The outgoing draconi gave the first mate a side-eyed glance but stepped back, content to watch the ‘captain’ in action.

  “Yes. I mean no.” Dylan quickly pulled off the hat and held it out to the first mate.

  The first mate’s skull tilted down to regard the hat, but he didn’t make a move. Instead, he lifted his skull to focus back on Dylan and asked, “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Yes, please take the hat.” Dylan shook it at the first mate.

  “No thank you.” The first mate respectfully pushed it back toward Dylan.

  “What do you mean, ‘No thank you?’” He looked down at the damn feathered hat still sitting in his hand.

  The first mate shook his head. “I don’t want the command, sir.”

  “Well,” Dylan said, glancing down at the hat and then back to the first mate. “I’m not fit to wear this thing.”

  “And yet you do,” the first mate said with a nod.

  “Not anymore,” he said, shoving it back toward the draconi skeleton. “Take it.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I refuse.” The first mate stood there with a crimson feather poking into his ribcage.

  Dylan pursed his lips, thinking. He lifted his gaze, narrowing his eyes at the bleached skeleton, and asked, “Would you take it if I made it an order?”

  “No, sir. I’d see myself to the brig for insubordination.”

  Dylan dropped his arms to his side, removing the hat from what he assumed was the lamprian’s personal space. “But why not?”

  “Because I’ve no desire to command this ship, but I am a loyal servant.” The first mate clasped his hands behind his back and stood at attention.

  “I don’t think you understand how bad of an idea this is. I shouldn’t be in charge of anything. I couldn’t even keep a succulent alive, and I don’t want to talk about Goldilocks…”

  “Goldilocks?” W’itney leaned in to ask. They were just as curious as Dylan, but usually about other people’s past, present, and future romantic experiences.

  “She’s my pet goldfish. Well, was…” he answered, but then caught himself on the first sniffle. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.” He dabbed at the corner of his eye, quickly changing the subject.

  “Fine.” Dylan stared at the stupid hat in his hand. “I’ll just give it back to Captain Echo. It’s hers anyway.”

  The first mate’s frame shrank, his skull lowering under the weight of an unspoken burden.

  “That…” The first mate hesitated. He straightened himself and said, “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir.”

  “Why not?”

  “May we have a word, sir?” He turned his skull toward W’itney. “In private.”

  W’itney clutched a clawed hand to their heart, feigning a dramatic, personal affront, and then laughed, “Oh, it’s fine. Go do your little captain chores, or whatever it is captains and first mates do.”

  “If you’ll follow me,” the first mate said as he took the lead down the hallway.

  Dylan kept the hat off, holding it in his hands while he followed the first mate to the Captain’s Quarters—the inaccurately named meeting room.

  First Mate Echo held the door open for Dylan, who stepped into the barren room. The crew had removed everything, only the discolored spots on the floor and walls hinted at the furniture that had once filled the space. With nowhere to sit, they both remained standing to continue their earlier conversation.

  “Why can’t she take the hat back?” Dylan asked. “Is this like a magic no-take-backsies rule or something?”

  “No, sir,” the first mate said, shaking his head slowly.

  “She’s been the captain this whole time, and it didn’t look like she had any troubles bossing people around. I don’t care if she wants to quit. She can do that after we’re back. Until then she’ll just have—” Dylan was getting into it when the first mate interrupted him.

  “She’s gone.” His words were soft, and Dylan almost missed them.

  He narrowed his eyes at the first mate. “What do you mean, ‘She’s gone?’ Where the hell did she go?”

  “Here.” First Mate Echo lifted his hat and handed Dylan an opened envelope.

  Dylan eyed the sepia-colored paper suspiciously. He was still dealing with the fallout from the last two times he blindly accepted things handed to him.

  The first mate wouldn’t even look at the unsealed envelope as he waited for Dylan to take it. Reluctantly, Dylan did and found a letter inside. It was written in a language he didn’t understand.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t read this.” Dylan held the note out to the first mate.

  “I don’t want to read it again.” The first mate’s words were thick with desperation. “Please, don’t order me to. I’d…” His voice trailed off, avoiding what Dylan could only guess was a painful experience.

  “Permission to be dismissed, sir,” he said, pointing a clawed, bony finger at the letter. “That’s written in Criterion. It’s a universal language—anyone in Nightshade can read it to you.” His skeletal frame convulsed with tiny bursts as he held back sobs, waiting to be dismissed.

  Dylan saw how overwhelmed the lamprian was. He knew grief when he saw it. “It’s okay, go on,” he said, watching the draconi skeleton quickly leave the room and shut the door behind him.

  He looked down at the folded paper in his hand and cursed.

  “Fuck.”

  Judging by the first mate’s reaction, the contents of the note shouldn’t be shared with just anyone. Supposedly, it would tell him where their former captain was. He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Then he made his way back down to the passengers’ quarters to show the note to someone he trusted.

  Dylan stood in front of the door, hesitated, then knocked, the captain’s hat heavy in one hand and the folded note in the other.