The revenant led them through the meandering alleys of the warehouse district. His steps were unhurried, and he walked without checking that his two captives followed. Elisabeth made note of landmarks as they went, a red door here, a fruit-bearing plant there, anything to help her find her way back if she needed to escape. The storehouses became more unkempt. They turned another corner, and their destination stood before them: a derelict building at the outskirts of the town. Trees grew through the structure’s failing roof, and one of its wooden walls was shattered, its remnants collapsed against a boulder. Blackened beams and ashy floors told of a fire at some point in its past.

  The door was long gone, one partial board clung to a broken hinge. Elisabeth paused at the threshold and checked for spells—she found a ward, but it wasn’t dangerous. With a small nod to Henry, she stepped inside. No interior partitions remained, it was all one large space, and it was empty other than a table with three chairs at its center, and a handful of standing torches that flared to life as they followed their captor towards the sparse furnishings. Rove ambled to the table, his guards fanning out around the room to keep watch. He moved to the single chair that faced back toward the door, and sat facing them. Elisabeth’s eyes tracked the mercenaries to note their positions around them. She hoped Mortimer did the same, but didn’t dare to look at him for confirmation.

  “Please, join me.” Rove gestured at the two remaining chairs that faced him, his politeness grated on Elisabeth. Henry’s hand was on the small of her back, she resented that its presence calmed her and kept her from growling at their captor. Its slight pressure moved her to follow along and sit. With the broken wall, the missing door, and a window she spied to their left, she knew that escape was possible. She knew Cressia was hidden in the shadows, either inside with them, or just beyond one of these entry points. Trusting that the former royal assassin was there allowed Elisabeth to sit with her back straight and her face full of disdain for the situation. Silence stretched between the three figures at the table.

  Rove ended the tense, quiet moment. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Wolf.” He grinned at her, showing blackened teeth between his chapped lips. Elisabeth nodded, unwilling to engage in polite banter, instead she remained reserved and studied his face—the magic that held him was strong, she could barely tell that he was dead from his appearance. A slight grey tint around his mouth, a hint of milkiness over his light grey irises, and a few patches of missing hair were the only obvious signs that he wasn’t among the living. The Skeleton King’s work was impressive.

  “Well then.” Unperturbed by her reticence, he turned his attention to Henry. Elisabeth felt the tension that rolled off the man who sat at her side, but still didn’t risk looking at him. “Tell me about the location of the Atlas Stone, Captain Mortimer of the Jester.” Rove paused, waiting for a response, gaze moving back and forth between the two pirates. “Perhaps I should be addressing the question to Captain Wolf.” His hands sat on the tabletop and he tapped his index finger on the wood for five beats, his eyes settling on Elisabeth. She glowered at him, crossed her arms over her chest, leaned back in her chair, and pressed her lips together.

  “Answering is not optional.” The revenant prompted, the first hint of impatience in his voice. Henry shifted in his chair, the rustle of clothes loud in the quiet room. He cleared his throat.

  “Captain Wolf believes the Atlas Stone is in Rowan’s Shroud.” Mortimer’s tone was cold now, the charm melted away, and his words precise. Elisabeth saw the muscles in his jaw jump from the corner of her eye. The temperature in the room dropped. Henry’s breath fogged. The torches flickered, shadows deepening as they struggled against the oppressive cold. Rove’s body became rigid. His eyes rolled into the back of his head so only the whites showed. The corpse groaned, its head rolling on its neck. When it centered again, the empty eyes faced Elisabeth.

  “How do you know the stone is in Rowan’s Shroud?” The Skeleton King’s voice came from the dead man’s mouth. Elisabeth flinched and regretted the reaction instantly. His presence now meant he’d been listening to the conversation from Skull Island. The display of power made her mouth dry with apprehension and her throat close with fear. The feelings reminded her of the helplessness she felt while under the influence of his curse after the short sojourn in his kingdom. A creeping doubt seeped into her thoughts—perhaps she wasn’t strong enough to kill him. She took a deep breath and pushed past the dread sitting heavy on her chest.

  “The sisters on Hag’s Rock scried for it and saw it in the Shroud,” she answered, allowing the truth to settle between them.

  “You didn’t find it yourself.” It was a statement that dripped with disappointment in her lack of ability.

  “No.” She ground out the word, irritated that he made her say it. “I saw it, but not its location.”

  “Do you know where the Shroud is?”

  “Aye.” The room’s temperature dropped again, the torches nearly extinguished in the wave of cold that emanated from the revenant.

  “Then why aren’t you there?!” The corpse shouted the last word and a gust of frigid air rolled across the table, stinging her skin with its icy touch. This time, she didn’t flinch, but remained impassive.

  “We’re on our way,” Henry interjected when she allowed the question to sit unanswered while the temperature continued to drop around them. “We needed to re-supply before making the trip.”

  “I didn’t ask you, Mortimer,” the Skeleton King hissed, gaze fixed on Elisabeth. “You failed as a guardian. You’re fraternizing with the enemy. Stupid man. You don’t understand what she is.” The disdain in his voice was heavy. An onslaught of frozen air accompanied it. The corpse growled “Now, Captain Wolf, tell me what you know of Rowan’s Shroud.”

  “I know only what everyone knows.” She shrugged, arms still crossed over her chest, eyes meeting the revenant’s milky ones with an unflinching glare. A miasma of dread swam through the room, carried on the cold drafts of his necromancy, but she ignored his attempt to control her emotions.

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  “Then how will you penetrate its defenses?”

  “I found the Stone’s location. I’ll find a way to enter the Shroud.” The corpse laughed, and it came out as a long, wheezing sound from its dry throat. The air shifted in the space, the temperature began to rise, the torches recovered and burned brighter. Rove went rigid and then shook in his chair, the trembling rattling the table with its vehemence. The tremors ended, and his eyes rolled back, their milky grey orbs focused on Elisabeth. The Skeleton King was gone, his essence returned to his own body inside the Wreck. She didn’t know if he reached the limit of his power and was forced to retreat, or if he grew tired of the conversation and withdrew. The only certainty was that even at a distance, he was listening through the revenant’s ears.

  “To conclude our business, Captain Wolf, you will take this token of your king’s esteem.” He gestured to one of the men standing watch in the shadows. The guard stepped forward, a sack in his hand, held away from his body. Disgust written on his face in deep scowl lines. He shoved the bag at Rove. As he retreated back to the perimeter of the interrogation, he surreptitiously wiped his hand against the fabric of his worn trousers, and his shoulders hunched as he slunk into the murk.

  The corpse on the other side of the table grinned and opened the bag with deft fingers. Elisabeth felt a jab of envy at the power it took to create and control a dead man that remained so life-like and from such a distance. Her own creations usually faltered after a week, faster if they were not in her immediate proximity. Her musing ended when a mummified rat emerged from the satchel, its eyes were still black beads, its ears were enlarged and pointed.

  “No.” The word left her mouth before she was able to contain it. A reaction to the cloying magic that emanated from the thing, its malign nature touched her awareness with sticky tendrils. She studied it with distaste, seeing a tracking spell in its spine, a listening spell in its perked ears, and a barely contained hex waiting to be let loose. The rodent turned its head to glare at her—the malice in its shining eyes was palpable, every inch of its shrunken body corrupted with the curse it carried.

  “Oh, you will,” Rove assured her. “Our King can no longer trust his envoy. It’s clear that he’s become enamored with you. A mission like yours requires oversight, and the token will provide that. It will journey with you to Rowan’s Shroud, and you will return it to Skull Island when you bring the Atlas Stone.”

  The thing scrabbled across the table to sit in front of Elisabeth, its dry nose attempting to twitch, the motion hindered by its desiccated skin. Instinct put a shield between her and the creature. Rove’s laughter was a rough sound, scraping through his throat like a rockslide. Elisabeth didn’t take her eyes off the mummy. “If it displeases you so much, I could take its place.” The emissary’s offer was an icy finger along her spine. Better to take the dead rat.

  “No. The…token is acceptable.” She barely got the words past her clenched teeth. She didn’t want either creature onboard the Silence, but the rat seemed like the lesser threat, even with the curse it carried. Rove’s presence would be disruptive to the crew. And the mummy might just fall overboard once they were far enough from land that the sea would claim it and its hex. When she raised her eyes from the rat to face the revenant, he was grinning at her discomfort.

  “I know enough about you, Captain Wolf, to know that you’re a tricksy one. Let me demonstrate the consequence of rejecting the token once you leave Driftwood Bay.” Rove turned to Mortimer and lifted his hand toward the other captain, palm up and slightly cupped. A thin tendril of magic stretched between the two. Elisabeth raised an eyebrow at the way the spell became visible, a green sheen in the air. Henry didn’t react, just sat there with a slightly puzzled expression on his face, blue eyes trying to see the threat in the raised hand. Rove closed his fist, the ropes of power flowed around Henry, and his body went rigid as the magic tightened its grip. He fought for breath, and clutched his chest. Slowly, his lips turned blue.

  Elisabeth ground her teeth. She didn’t want to react to the attack on Henry—this was not the time to show emotion. She also wasn’t willing to watch him die, not yet. She needed Henry to find the Atlas Stone, and she needed him to enact the plan to kill the Skeleton King.

  “You can stop. I understand.” Tension hummed between them. Henry toppled to the ground, his chair clattering out from under him. Rove’s expression was impassive as the captain of the Jester lay gasping on the rough wooden floor of the abandoned warehouse.

  “Enough!” Elisabeth growled and released the shield that still held her necromancy contained. The temperature dropped again, her eyes grew milky, her veins darkened to black, and her pale skin became pallid, its hue that of a corpse. She didn’t try to sever the green rope of magic that suffocated Henry. Instead, she reached into Rove, her power fashioned into a spear, and once inside the Skeleton King’s construct, she began to cut the strings of necromancy that bound the corpse. Rove laughed again, throwing his head back in a guffaw, even as his plump cheeks sunk, and his skin turned ashen. A wave of power forced her out, but wasn’t able to undo the damage she left in her wake. The construct was less lifelike. In the same moment, the emissary released Henry, leaving the pirate gasping for breath on the ground, his body shaking in the aftermath of the attack.

  “I trust we have an accord,” the corpse said, a confident smile on his face.

  “Aye.” Elisabeth agreed.

  “Good. That concludes our business. You may go, Captain Wolf.” He placed his hands flat on the table top and leaned forward. “The token will accompany you. Captain Mortimer remains with me. I have further issues to discuss with him.”

  Elisabeth hesitated, glancing at Henry still prone on the ground, his breathing returning to its normal, steady rhythm, his lips no longer blue.

  “Go, Liz. I’ll find you in the morning,” he rasped and pushed himself up to sit on the floor.

  Leaving him behind was a double-edged sword: she worried that he might strike other bargains with the revenanat without her there to keep him in check, and she worried for his safety. Rove made it clear that his romantic entanglement with her was problematic in the Skeleton King’s eyes. It irked her to think that even now he was the king’s man, that the pact to kill the self-proclaimed ruler may still be a trap, his loyalty secured before they came to an accord and shared a bed. Regardless, she needed him to claim the Atlas Stone. Killing the Skeleton King was no longer a result of their agreement on her part, but a necessity. She hated the man and was determined to have her revenge.

  Elisabeth stood without another word and walked away from the table. Rove’s laughter followed her as she made her way into the shadows, but she kept her shoulders squared and her back straight. She walked out of the derelict warehouse without a backward glance, leaving Henry to his fate. The scratch of rat paws on wood followed her into the dark street.

  ? Consumer of the Fourth Anchor ?

  by Miko Melina

  A little monster with a big heart and an even bigger appetite.