Samantha sat alone at a table sequestered in a dark corner of The Rusty Spoon’s common area. It was well into the dinner rush. Cheap ale flowed, thin stew slopped, and dry bread crunched.

  An out-of-tune and out-of-time shanty kicked off at one table. Others soon joined in, drowning out most other sounds of the packed room. Barmaids with rictus smiles frozen to their faces below dead eyes wove through the room, enduring many an unwelcome grope and catcall.

  Samantha forced her jaw to relax enough that she could take a long pull of her ale. She remembered those days in years long gone. While she was certainly no eyesore now, she didn’t mind the way men's gazes drifted past her these days. The odd tavern drunkard who did oggle her and shot off a crass Inspect soon moved on when her level and class became apparent.

  A smile twitched her lips for a moment. She would just love to have an item to hide her level and have someone try something…

  But it was not to be. And speaking of men, where was the kid and his coconut? Where in Davy Jones’ name had he gotten to? She’d already greased the owner’s hand with coins and discovered that a filthy man in rags with a coconut riding on his shoulder had visited a few hours earlier and rented a room for the night. Apparently he’d been shopping because according to the owner, Darren had left a short time later having cleaned up and doned quality clothes.

  So by that measure, he hadn’t scarpered—if he was going to do that, she was sure he’d have removed her from the party first. But both names floated in the top left of her vision.

  Their health bars hadn’t budged, so they hadn’t run into serious trouble.

  Had he gotten himself locked away? Or maybe he’d found a girl to bed… Samantha shook her head. Either way, he wasn’t here, and she was running out of patience.

  If he didn’t turn up soon, she was going to finish her ale and hit the sack. A night of sleep in something other than a hammock or sand was certainly enticing. Though she always found the lack of motion unsettling.

  Worst case, she’d take the sloop they commandeered and go back to raiding the empire. Though… she was reluctant to abandon Darren just yet. She’d come across many dangerous people in her career, and every instinct in her told her that the waves he would make in this world would change it forever. Better to be beside the wave than in front of it.

  While right now his combat skills were… sufficient, he was holding his own in combat encounters better suited to Classed. The amount of damage his Summoned Swivel Gun skill did was more akin to a cannon than a weapon designed for close quarters ship combat.

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  And so far as she knew, he hadn’t even invested any points in the skill yet. The damage he’d be outputting from a charged shot with that weapon once he got a class would be devestating beyond words.

  A shiver ran up Samantha spine. She could understand why Themis had tried to put an end to him. Only to have Poseidon intervene?

  His enemies didn’t just include mortals, the gods were weighing in and actively going against each other on his behalf—not that gods fighting was new. She tensed and looked up, half expecting to be struck down for such a thought. Nothing happened.

  Samantha forced her shoulders to relax. If she was going to try to ride the waves Darren would cause, she was going to have to focus on her class far more than she had in years. She’d been content to let her progress languish in recent years, having fallen into a familiar rhythm as a captain.

  That rhythm was one that ultimately cost her her ship and crew. If she’d pushed herself harder, she’d have had the strength to take on riskier raids and keep her crew fed and content. If she’d pushed herself harder, she’d have stayed ahead of her crews’ levels and Jackson wouldn’t have had the power to challenge her.

  But what was done, was done. She needed to let go of the Sea Witch, she would likely never see her beloved ship again, and she had no desire to spend the next few years going to Davey Jones’ Locker and back trying to get it back like some washed up pirate. She’d prefer to think that her worth came from within, not from being the captain of the Sea Witch.

  The sudden boost in experience from Darren’s quests had rekindled her thirst for power. It’d pushed her over the line to level 18, which had given her another 72 health after investing a point in Constitution. She’d also gained another three skill points to spend, and she was extremely tempted to invest in a new skill and bring that up a few levels. She needed to take the time to go through her options…

  Her thoughts drifted back to Darren. While she was pragmatic about the loss of her ship, she also didn’t want to be trading vessels as fast as Darren. He was going through them faster than a French corvette running before the wind.

  At least he was a Shipwright. She was curious to see how he was going to break that skill, too.

  But there was a darkness buried in him. He was unstable. It went beyond whatever happened to him when he came here. That seemed to be feeding into the darkness, but wasn’t the root of it.

  She took a sip of her ale. She’d seen it plenty of times, hell, even done it herself, burying the past to face the future.

  It never worked.

  Many people convinced themselves it did, repeated the lie that they were fine so many times they almost, almost convinced the world they were fine.

  Except that the darkness they buried always leaked out, infecting others in the same way they’d been infected. Unless the darkness was dealt with, it would continue to spread like the disease it was, wounding countless more until someone had the balls to stand up and face it.

  Few did, though. Amputating a gangrenous leg hurt. But it was a damn sight better than letting the rot consume you and turn you into a zombie and murder everyone around you.

  Samanatha sighed. She was going to have to find the kid, she knew. At least she had a trail to follow. He’d been shopping, and there weren’t many quality clothing stores on island, which meant he most likely had convinced Tarlia to sell to him. Which was bloody impressive considering her hatred of pirates.

  She downed the rest of her ale in one long pull and slammed the mug down on the table. Well, time to sleep, then go see Tarlia in the morning and see if she could sniff out Darren’s trail.