After escaping from Port Sapphire, the party traveled through the woods for several days. A few nights’ rest did Jamie good, and he was soon enough fully recovered.

  Montague seemed at home in the woods. It was quite different from being at sea, of course, but Ian supposed that as a traveler and an explorer that her attitude was suited to it. She was used to challenging terrain and potential dangers.

  Jamie was not at all at home in the woods. He was under equipped, having only the clothing he brought with him. His white robe was not well suited to the task. He tripped, he stumbled. It was dirty and frayed after only a few hours. But he held up well, in high spirits. Some of that may have been an act, or just relief after escaping from the Hell-bound basement and the undead, but he did seem to enjoy being outside.

  Ian was more used to long treks than the Boy was, although he was also poorly equipped and wearing a long robe while stumbling along over roots and undergrowth. “Couldn’t have gotten me a change of clothes when you went shopping?”

  “Hardly my job, Mr. Blackwing,” the Captain retorted, “and why don’t you try to be more like the Boy?”

  “He’s tripped and fallen on his face three times in the last twenty minutes.”

  “And yet, it is only the grown man who has spent those twenty minutes, and the three days before that, whining incessantly. This was your idea. We’re doing this to help you. Stop griping or we’ll leave you alone.”

  It was a fair point, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t complain about it. “I didn’t ask him to come along!”

  “And yet he did, and good for us he did.” The Captain pointed her sword at a tear in Ian’s sleeve. “Jamie slows us down walkin’, but if we’d had to stop because y’sliced yer dang arm open we’d have lost much more time. Havin’ a healer along has already helped immensely, and if y’keep injurin’ yourself he’ll keep being handy t’have.”

  “Well… he should pick up the pace.” He heard Jamie trip and over again, and Ian barked at him, “Hurry up!”

  “What?” asked Jamie. He was nowhere near the noise.

  “Get back!” said Montague, yanking Jamie behind her by the sleeve. His foot caught on a root, and he really did fall over this time. She stepped forward, holding her sword out defensively. “Who goes there?”

  A woman clawed at a tree to drag herself up. She wore a tattered black dress, and her hair was a matted mess under a pointed, black hat. “A traveler,” she said weakly, holding up her empty hands.

  Montague looked her up and down, an eyebrow raised. “A traveler, in this forest, in that dress?”

  “Your friends are in robes,” she pointed out, “that’s not much better.”

  “Where’s yer camp?”

  “I don’t have a camp, I was hiking. I just stopped here to rest.”

  “...then where’s yer pack? Yer supplies?”

  The woman smiled weakly. “I’m afraid I’m ill prepared. Can you spare some water and food? I can help you.”

  “Y’don’t know what we’re doin’."

  “I’m Esme,” the woman bowed, a little awkwardly with her torn skirt, “a witch of some skill. Whatever you’re doing, I can help.”

  Ian placed a hand on Montague’s shoulder. “And what is it that you’re doing here, Esme?”

  “I’m looking for an old house I’ve inherited.”

  “Y’don’t seem the sort to live in an old house in the woods.”

  “No,” agreed Esme, “I don’t care about the house. But there’s something there my grandfather has left for me.”

  Ian was interested. “Where is this house?”

  “Deep in the woods, near a pool of water. With a waterfall.”

  “You know how to get there?”

  “I thought I did.” Esme’s shoulder’s slumped. “But I think I’ve been going in circles. It’s been almost twenty years since I was in these woods.”

  “Ah.”

  “Give us a moment to consult,” said Montague.

  “Take your time.”

  Montague sheathed her sword, but drew her pistol and kept it pointed in Esme’s direction. “What say we?” she asked.

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  “The house she describes is the one I’m looking for, too.” Ian shrugged. “It’s disappointing she doesn’t know how to get there.”

  “Wait,” said Jamie, “don’t you know how?”

  “Eh,” said Ian, “we’re hardly lost. We’re going in the right general direction, but I’ve only been here once and I don’t have my map. We’ll get there, but it would be better if we had someone who really knew the way. But that’s beside the point, since she doesn’t.”

  “Well, I say she should come along, then,” said Montague, holstering her other weapon. “We’re goin’ to the same place, and there’s safety in numbers. And if we’re more a help to her than she to us, maybe we can expect a reward.”

  “She doesn’t even have a pack.”

  “Nor do you.”

  “I’m traveling with someone who does, though.”

  “Maybe y’should take a turn with the pack.”

  “I can take it for a while, Captain,” Jamie offered.

  Montague gave it to him. Jamie dropped it.

  “How are you so strong?” he gasped.

  Montague snorted, and shouldered the pack once more. “I don’t spend all my time in basements reading scrolls,” she answered.

  “She’s also an adult,” Ian said, poking Jamie on the side of the head, “shrimp.”

  “And why, then, am I stronger than you, Mr. Blackwing?”

  “Oh, that part’s definitely the scroll thing.” Ian did not want a turn carrying the pack. It was heavy.

  Montague looked back at where Esme was waiting, with patience that was so well feigned that Ian could barely tell the difference. “So we’re bringing her along, then? We’ll be needin’ more food if we do.”

  “She’s slower than Jamie.”

  “Ah, but that’ll buy us some more time to forage and hunt, then.”

  “Esme did say she’s a witch,” said Jamie apprehensively, biting his lip as he stole a glance back at her, “Do we want her help?”

  “What is a witch, exactly?” asked Montague.

  Ian and Jamie looked at each other. “Well, there’s no strict rules. I call myself a mystic, but the terms aren’t terribly well-defined.”

  “They called you a diabolist,” said Montague, “at the temple.”

  Ian shrugged. “That means I’ve studied demons and their magic, which is true but it’s not the only type of magic I’ve studied. And even then, ‘diabolist’ still doesn’t tell you that much. Demonic cultists are diabolists, but so are exorcists who work for the church.” Ian pointed at Jamie. “Working for an organization gives them a little more structure. Jamie is an acolyte, which is a title he was given, meaning he’s a low-ranking holy mage in training. Witch is…” Ian waved a hand noncommittally.

  “An evil dark mage!” whispered Jamie.

  “Or a nature mage,” said Ian dismissively.

  “She’s not very nature-y.” They all watched as Esme swatted away an insect that was really just a leaf that had fallen on her.

  “...or some female mages like it.”

  “So dark magic, nature magic, or any magic performed by a woman?”

  “It really doesn’t tell us very much,” said Ian, “a lot of cultures have defined ‘witch’ differently, and a lot of mages have called themselves ‘witches’ for different reasons.”

  Jamie huffed.

  “Your objection is noted, Jamie,” said Montague.

  “But overruled,” said Ian with a smirk.

  The two of them turned back to Esme.

  “My name,” said Ian, “is Ian Blackwing, and I am the Master of Blackwing Manor.”

  “I don’t know what that is,” said Esme apologetically.

  “Creepy Keep,” said Montague and Jamie together. Ian scowled.

  “Oh, that place!” Esme brightened, “I’ve always wanted to visit. It seems delightful.”

  “It is!” Ian swept towards her with open arms, “And perhaps you’ll get your chance. You see, my dear, it seems we’re looking for the same house.”

  Esme drew back a bit. “It was my grandparents’ house,” she said, “Why would you be looking for it?”

  “I came across it while traveling through here a few years back,” said Ian, “and I confess I thought it abandoned.”

  “Well.. that’s not entirely wrong,” admitted Esme, “They haven’t been there in decades.” Her mouth fell open, and she looked at Ian nervously. “You didn’t take anything from there, did you?”

  “The opposite. I stashed something there for safekeeping, but now I need it back. You won’t stop me from claiming what’s mine, I hope, just because it’s in your house?”

  “I’m only really interested in my gift,” answered Esme, “I don’t think there’s much else of value there.”

  “Not that I saw, though I didn’t look much.”

  “Unless one of you is lyin’ to th’other,” interrupted Montague, “there’s no way you’re talkin’ about the same item. Esme’s gift was left decades ago, and your possession was left a few years ago. Y’can both get what ye’re after.”

  “I concur,” said Esme with a sharp nod.

  “I as well,” said Ian, “so we welcome you to travel with us, then.”

  “Wonderful!” Esme smiled and clapped her hands together, “I’m afraid I’m useless in the forest. Oh, but, um… I don’t mean literally useless, just that I’m bad at this, I mean, I-I’ll be useful to your party, I promise!”

  Montague chuckled. “No need fer that, now, we understand. I’m Captain Bethany Montague, at your service, of the Pearl’s Mistress.” The Captain swept off her hat and bowed low, a much more impressive bow than Esme’s. “And this here is Jamie. He’s an acolyte of Her Glorious Radiance or whatever they call her these days.”

  “Really.” Esme seemed unimpressed by that, her eyes on the Boy.

  “He’s just our healer,” said Ian.

  “Mm,” said Esme, “Um, so what about that food, then?”

  “Later,” said Jamie harshly, hunkering down behind a tree and looking in the other direction, “something’s coming!”