It seemed like only moments after his head hit the pillow, the screaming started.

  “I don’t want to die!”

  Deskin was up in an instant, grabbing his jacket and rushing out the door. It had come from the spare bunkroom.

  Her room.

  He flew down the hall, his fingers brushing at the handle of his daggers.

  “No! No! Nooo!”

  Thunder roared, and the boat rocked violently, throwing him off balance and slamming into a wall. What the hells is going on? Deskin flew around the corner and crashed into the wooden door. “Verna! Is everything okay?”

  “Deskin?” Her voice was muffled and followed by a loud groan.

  “Verna! I’m coming!” He ripped at the door handle, rushing inside. The room was a mess, boxes strewn about, the floor peppered with black burns. “What happened in here?”

  She was standing beside a bed, terror on her face. “It’s Lapat! I can’t get him to stop!”

  The ship swung again, and Deskin crawled across the floor to reach her. Atop the sheets, the old tortle was slick with sweat, thrashing about, gripping the blankets like a cliff’s edge. His fingers sparked flames, sizzling against the cloth. His face was bunched in pain and fear, his eyes closed but flicking about wildly.

  “Lapat!” Deskin screamed and shook him to no avail.

  “Don’t hurt him!” Verna gripped Lapat’s thrashing arms. “Help me pin him to the bed! We can’t let the fire spread!”

  Deskin took hold of his legs. He was an old man, but he heaved and twitched with strength. “What the hells did he do?”

  “I don’t know!” Verna shouted, her face red with exertion.

  “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” Lapat cried, the desperation in his voice matched the rumble of thunder outside, sending shivers down Deskin’s spine.

  Verna flinched as a spark flew past her. “He was asleep, and I was praying, and then he started mumbling and muttering.”

  “I’m too late! It’s too late!” Lapat cried.

  “When I went to check on him, he grabbed me and the ring, and the storm it suddenly…”

  Deskin’s eyes dropped to the emerald glow emitting from her robe. A nervous itch ran across his neck at the sight. “We need to wake him up now. Before he tears the whole boat apart.” The storm slammed into the ship again. “Just hold on!”

  At the doorway, more of the crew arrived, their faces twisted in irritation. “Putan!” Cook cursed. “It is hour of the sleep. No scream.”

  “Come help me, dammit,” Deskin ordered. “Get me water! A bucket, a pale, anything! The rest of you stomp out those sparks before the whole place is ablaze!”

  Cook rushed out of sight while the rest of the crew patted at the flames, eyeing Lapat angrily. “Dirty witch,” one man muttered.

  Deskin saw Verna flinch and grip Lapat tight.

  “Just focus on the flames,” Deskin growled. The crew turned to him, scowling, but did as he ordered. After minutes that felt like hours, Cook returned with the bucket, its contents spilling across the floor.

  “I’m sorry!” Lapat howled, his body bucking and twisting against Deskin’s grip. “I’m so sorry!”

  “Splash it on him now before he gets us all killed!” Deskin barked, sparks singeing his skin.

  Cook stood frozen in terror. He was Death’s Row, but a wizard’s magic was beyond blood and blades.

  “Dammit it, man!” Deskin ripped the pail from his hands, splashing the cold water across the bed.

  Lapat shot up in a gasp, eyes wide in shock.

  Verna gripped his shoulders. “It is okay. It was just a dream. You are okay. You are safe.”

  Lapat stared back at her, shivering like he saw a ghost, or had just suffered an involuntary artic plunge. “I…” Lapat trembled as he spoke. “I saw it.”

  “Everything is alright,” Verna rubbed his arms, shushing him, but Deskin stepped forward.

  “Saw what? What did you see?” Deskin demanded. “You said it’s too late. What’s going on?”

  Verna shot him a warning glance, “Nothing, it was just a dream.”

  Deskin looked to the green glow and back to Lapat. His eyes were wide, terrified. The crew grumbled and muttered. Calling him crazy and damming him for waking them up at this hour, but Lapat did not seem to hear them. His breathing slowed, but the terror did not leave his face. “I don’t know. It…it felt so real. The magic. The Rot, it…”

  The twins shoved their way into the room, their clothes sopping wet. “Drown us all, wouldn’t you?” Eayrne growled. “You crazy old man! Call off this storm now, or I’ll gut you open and stop it myself!”

  Lapat scrunched his brow. “Storm? I didn’t cast anything. I didn’t...”

  Verna whipped her head back at them, “Don’t you dare! He didn’t mean to do anything wrong! He just needs to calm down a little!”

  “Silence, little bird! I’ll deal with you later!” Eayrne barked.

  Beirt put a heavy hand on the floor, steadying himself as another crash roared and the ship tilted. “A calm, a psalm, embalm, gripped tight in his palm.”

  Eayrne nodded. “He is right. That turtle is going to crash and kill us all unless we do something about it.”

  Verna looked around frantically, her confidence crumbling as the crew closed in.

  “Wait!” Deskin stepped forward, putting himself between her and the crew. “This ain’t right. We need to think this through.”

  “Not, right?” Eayrne’s voice rose in cruel curiosity. “Does the little demon call the shots now?”

  Deskin stared Eayrne down. “We need him. The boss will want both of them and the ring. Toss anyone overboard, and none of us gets paid. This is how we’ve always done things. Deadmen all.”

  The crew hesitated, looking back to Eayrne uncertainly.

  “Oh?” Eayrne cooed. “You think you know our ways better than me?”

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  Deskin gritted his teeth. “Don’t do this. Not now.”

  Verna threw Lapat’s arm across her shoulder and helped the old man to his feet. “Let’s get you some air.” She glanced at the door and then back to Deskin urgently. “Deskin, please? He just needs a moment to calm down. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

  Deskin’s mind raced. Just need to get us out of this corner. Everyone can step away and cool down some. He saw the violence in the eyes of each crewman. A tension set to snap if he made one wrong move. His heart pounded steadily, fingers itching to grab the daggers at his sides. “We just need a moment. Let the old man breathe, and we’ll get back on track to finish this and get paid. That’s all we want.” He stepped forward gingerly, the crew falling back as Verna and Lapat followed behind.

  He was nearly at the door when Eayrne spoke. “You misunderstand, little demon.”

  Deskin froze, refusing to look back at those pale white eyes.

  “There is no reward at the end of this. No pay. Not for you.”

  Deskin clenched his fists, trying to fight the rising anger in his chest. “The hells do you mean, ‘No pay’?”

  “I mean...” Eayrne’s boots clicked on the wood floor as he snaked forward. “No work. No reward.”

  Deskin spun back to face him. “No work? I carried this job from the start. I earned my coin.”

  The crew looked at each other uncertainly. No one’s piece got taken by anyone but the Hangman. But the night was sharp; the air too hot, too loud, someone needed to bleed.

  “Working men earn their coin.” Eayrne raised his arms wide to the crew around him. “These men earned their pay. Deadmen all. But you...” Eayrne pointed a crooked finger at Deskin. “You’re no Deadman, little lostman. For your fuck up in Meerside I’d wager you owe the Death’s Row. After I tell the Hangman what happened, you’ll be lucky if it’s only ten years more he takes from you.”

  Ten years? No pay? Blood roared in Deskin’s head, deafening him. “That’s bullshit. I did my due. I paid my way. You ain’t taking shit from me.”

  “Oh, but I am, little demon. And you were so close to getting out.” He leaned in, whispering so only Deskin could hear. “I’ll take good care of your little songbird for you. Don’t you worry, I play nice sometimes. And when I’m done, you can have the scraps.’”

  A dark growl filled Deskin’s throat. “You even think about touching her-”

  “And you’ll do what?” Earyne smiled sickly. “She’s mine to play with. My flesh to pinch. My body to ruin.”

  Deskin’s fist should have cracked against Earyne’s throat. But the spider knew it was coming. He ducked, lunged forward, and sent them both crashing out the door and into the hall. Shouts erupted around them, and Deskin saw only a flash of white as Verna fled with Lapat onto the deck.

  Knots of pain tightened in his gut as he was thrown to the side, the stairs slamming into his back. He had only a moment before Earyne lunged forward again, forcing Deskin back.

  “Run, little demon!” Earyne cried. “Run, run, run away!”

  Deskin dodged another swing but felt the air leave his lungs as Earnye tackled him forward, sending them both crashing through the door and onto the slick deck. In a tangle of limbs and rage, they tore out at each other as the rain pelted their skin. Deskin struck out wildly, a satisfying crunch popping across his knuckles.

  Eayrne fell back, grasping his shattered nose, blood dripping from his hands, staining his teeth as he smiled. “I always knew you’d betray us! From the day I watched you cower over your worm of a father, I knew you lacked the spine!"

  “Shut your mouth!” Deskin lunged forward, missing Eayrne by inches as the ship rocked again. Above them, dark clouds circled like crows before the dead. Scarlet lightning flashed across the sky in impossible arcs, splitting into gnarled fingers. More waves crashed against the hull, tugging at the wood with a desperate grip, keen to tear it apart.

  Deskin watched as the crew followed them out, urging them on, demanding more. The sky roared in response, a resounding crash of a bloodthirsty crowd.

  “After I’m rid of you, I’ll take good care of the girl. Let everyone have a piece.”

  Deskin growled and swung again, his fist crashing against Earyne’s ribs before the deck lifted and threw them apart.

  “Deadmen,” Earyne howled. “We have a traitor in our midst. A lostman who dares to defy our creed! One that would abandon his debt!”

  Deskin shivered as the crew closed in around him. “I didn’t abandon anything. I’m still one of you-

  “He stands beside the girl! He turns against his task! He defies the Hangman! He will lead us all to death! And him,” Eayrne thrust out a bloodied finger to Lapat, “This storm is his fault! Kill the witch before he kills us!”

  “It is not me!” The old tortle was pale as a sheet and slick with rain. “The storm…it’s something else!”

  Deskin looked up again, and for a hideous heartbeat, the clouds parted to reveal eyes piercing down on him. Carved from the sky, torn by lightning, the giant face was gone in a moment, thunder roaring in its place.

  Hells below, what have we done?

  Deskin looked to Verna, awash in a bright green glow. “The ring. This is the ring. Not Lapat. He’s right!” Deskin shouted. “This isn’t his fault! We need to anchor and wait out the storm-”

  Pain rocked his head, and he saw stars as he tumbled back. His ribs flared as a kick drove deep into his gut, tossing him to the ground, knocking the air from his lungs.

  In a red haze Deskin saw Beirt standing over him, foot raised. Eayrne sneered beside him, “I don’t take orders from lostmen. Beirt, keep him down.”

  Beirt grunted and drove a large boot onto Deskin’s head, crushing his skull. Deskin screamed against the pressure, but Beirt held him stuck.

  Eayrne smiled, drew a knife, and turned to the crew, “Do you see what happens when you disobey my orders? Do you see the cost of turning against me?”

  The crew cowered as one, looking to the ruinous sky in fear.

  Eayrne threw Gale at the mast, “Get us out of here! Now, I am not merciless. I understand a young man is bound to have some pent-up emotions.” The storm raged around him, ripping and roaring. “However, I cannot abide traitors in my ranks. The Death’s Row cannot sustain mistrust and dishonest men. There must be a cost.”

  Eayrne advanced on Deskin slowly, cool rain dripping from the dagger’s tip. Deskin thrashed out helplessly, but Beirt held him down. Eayrne cackled, yanked Deskin’s scalp back. He leaned in close, his breath hot, his pale eyes aglow in the darkness. “Time for you to pay, little demon.”

  Deskin wanted to scream. He saw his own face reflected in the metal as it glided into his cheek, ripping towards his brow.

  Suddenly, the pressure on his skull loosened, and Beirt fell past as Eayrne tumbled with him. Deskin spun to his knees to see Lapat beside him, panting.

  Deskin drew two daggers from his jacket and looked to Lapat. The old man glanced at the blades and shook his head. “Protect the girl.” Deskin watched as the tortle breathed in deep and quick; his breath turning to flame on his lips, the smell of pine filled the air.

  Eayrne staggered to his feet, dagger raised. Red lighting cracked the sky as he screamed. "Kill them!”

  They were outnumbered by a dozen, and Deskin’s head pounded as blood poured from beneath his eye, but he had no choice. The crew charged, eager for blood, and his would not be the first to paint the deck.

  Cries of pain filled the air as his blades flashed out. Boots and blows slipped by as the storm rocked the ship around him. His dagger cut across one man’s ribs, then punched through a wrist, splattering the rain-slick deck with blood.

  A blizzard of cold air washed past his shoulders, and he swore he heard the roar of fire. But the seconds were too quick.

  Moments of darkness were splashed alight as the lightning only grew in strength, raging against the sky itself.

  “Kill them! Kill them all!” Eayrne screamed.

  Deskin felt the heavy stomps across the deck and ducked just as Beirt swung out with a thick, bloody bat. It missed Deskin’s head by inches, ripping apart beads of rain as it flew.

  Beirt lashed out again wildly. Deskin just barely blunted the blow, sending shockwaves up his arms. Again, the tattooed man swung, and again Deskin was forced back, every second filled with panic and fear.

  He risked a look to see Verna and Lapat, but Beirt was too quick. He was shoved halfway across the deck, hammered down step by step.

  Each pounding drove Deskin’s guard lower and lower, the pain tearing at his shoulders. Deskin stumbled back just out of reach as the ship rocked to the side, his back slamming into the railing.

  “Trapped little rat, feast for the cat, close your eyes now, here comes my bat!”

  Splinters peppered Deskin’s cheek as the railing shattered beside him.

  Deskin grasped at the deck desperately, driven to the edge, ice-cold water crashing across his back and the open air, inches away.

  Beirt cackled manically. “All alone, the wind has blown, little demon reaps what he has sown!”

  “I always hated your stupid rhymes,” Deskin spat.

  Beirt giggled and raised the bat high, the wind screaming around him, tattoos swirling in the storm. But just as the bat came down, the ship tugged up, throwing the bow into the air.

  Gravity lifted out beneath them, and in one instant, Deskin’s hands were around the bat, and the next, all of Beirt’s momentum was gone.

  Past the shattered railing and into the open air, the tattooed man fell, devoured by the dark waves.

  Deskin clambered away from the edge, his boots slipping against the rain, expecting an attack at any moment. But nothing remained of the man or his bloody bat.

  “BEIRT!” Deskin turned to see Eayrne’s face twisted in rage.

  Deskin looked from him to the railing. “It didn’t have to be like this! We can still stop-”

  “YOU!” Eayrne screeched and tore towards him. He raised his dagger high against the black sky.

  Deskin peeled himself from the deck, his body screaming in pain. At the stern, Lapat and Verna were surrounded. The old man drove licks of flames at the crew while Verna swung wildly with a makeshift club. Her panicked gaze was lit by a sudden pulse of emerald light from her robes.

  Earyne swung down on him at the same time red lightning struck the mast. In a heartbeat, it cracked through the ship, tearing into the Knave’s belly.

  Weightless, Deskin watched as the deck exploded beneath him, and the cold river took his mind.