The woman slept, until she didn't.

One moment her form was sagging into the ropes that covered her from head to foot, eyes shut and mouth open. The next she was sitting upright, eyes wide, darting around the tent until they met Threadbare's black-buttoned gaze.

“The bear,” she breathed. “This might just work after all.”

Threadbare whispered as low as he could. “Do you understand me?”

“I don't. Your place in the grand scheme is still obscured.”

“But you can hear me?”

“Oh. That. Yes.” Her long, pointed ears twitched.

“I very much need you to pretend that I'm a doll with red hair and a white dress,” Threadbare said. “I think you can see through my illusion somehow, and it's important that you don't give it away. Can I ask you to do that?”

The woman wiggled her ears, and smiled. “The tower broke me. Breaks me. Holds me still. I underestimated its power. The desert isn't a desert, and the sand isn't sand.”

Threadbare looked to Renny. Renny shrugged. The rather concerned teddy bear padded past the growing pile of engine parts, and up to the bound woman. She'd been tossed in the back of the tent like a sack of potatoes, but they'd been considerate enough to put a small brazier next to her, to ward off the chill of the mountain slope.

The woman watched him approach.

“You said Midian, when Anne asked you your name,” Threadbare said. “Is that it? Midian?”

“Yes. No. It's close enough. Here it is, anyway. It's something different where I come from.”

“All right,” said Threadbare. “Would you like some food? I can't unbind you, but they left some hardtack and water.” He indicated a tin plate stacked with biscuits, and a cracked but serviceable cup. “I can feed you, if you like.”

The woman's eyes flicked up. Then from side to side. Then they narrowed, as they studied the hardtack. “Yes,” she decided. “It's been... hm... Wotsatime? Oh. That long? Yes. It's been almost eighteen years since I've eaten. Not hungry yet, but I probably should.”

“Eighteen years?” Threadbare hoisted up a biscuit and the cup, and hopped up to her, managing to avoid spilling the water. “How did you survive that?”

“That be me question,” Anne spoke, from the direction of the tent flap. “Ye were in the dungeon for eighteen years? From what I be seeing, only two things comes from that place; tentacles and madness. And ye don't look squirmy so what does that leave ye now?”

“The towers aren't towers,” Midian said, plaintively. “We didn't research them or even know what we were getting into, and the world will shatter itself to pieces, caught between them. We're stuck, stuck, stuck, stuck, stuck...”

“Mad it is then,” Anne said, cheerfully. She pulled out a ring that up until an hour ago had been on Midian's finger, and flipped it, catching it on her gloved palm. “But ye've paid the transportation fee with yer valuables, so we'll treat ye as an honored guest and drop ye off at the next settlement.”

“Is that how this works?” Threadbare asked Anne. “I'm glad I wasn't wearing any jewelry worth taking.”

“Nay, ye be a job, not a sidequest. Besides, tis bad luck to kill the mad,” Anne shrugged. “Or anyone the gods have touched, really. Besides, it might make things more interesting later on. And if she tries treachery, well...” she patted her cutlass. “She wouldn't be the first, won't be the last.”

There was just a hint of excitement in her voice, in that last bit. And Threadbare thought he was understanding her a little better now.

“Is the wood golem I made you working out?” Threadbare asked, glancing back toward the loose tent flap, and the rays of the setting sun creeping in from the west.

“The little thing be tending camp just fine,” Anne said, peeling the flap open and glancing toward the firem where Glub was standing stiffly and being very, very quiet. “Pity it can't fight worth a damn, or I'd send it in the dungeon as backup. The dungeon's getting annoyed now, and it's hiding the treasure deeper. How be our count so far?”

“Well...” Threadbare gave Midian a quick sip of water, then put the plate and cup aside as he jumped down and scrambled back to his notebook. He counted twice, just to make sure he had the numbers right. “We have enough for three engines. We're only a few pieces short of four.”

“And we've got two sort-of-workin' engines back at the Cotton Tale?”

“Yes,” Threadbare nodded.

“So if we called 'er quits now, we'd have enough to limp away, once the three were built.” Anne gnawed on her lower lip with her golden buckteeth. “Or we risks goin' deeper, and losin' crew.”

“Do you have that many crew left to lose?” Threadbare asked.

“That be the stickin' point,” Anne admitted. “But once we get to a settlement, we can go recruitin'.” She turned, and hauled out a creased and stained map, opening it up as she muttered under her breath.

Threadbare shot a look at Renny, and breathed words as softly as he could. “Wind's Whisper Renny, please pretend to feed Midian and get a look at that map.”

Anne's ear twitched. She shot him a glance, he said “It is okay if I use my golem to feed the prisoner, isn't it?”

“Sure, sure,” Anne said, returning to her perusal, oblivious to the fox doll who was now standing on Midian's head, bending down to feed her more hardtack and glancing at the map every time he straightened up.

Finally Anne nodded. “If it be not far to engine number four, we'll stick it out. Worst comes to worst I can go in there meself.”

“I am curious,” Threadbare asked. “Do you usually find that many rabbit beastkin at random settlements?”

“Nay, we settle for other crew when we has to. But this be a bunnykin ship, so either they can't keep up and die, or collect their wages and move on when we get to bigger ports,” Anne said, distracted. “Or swing back to one of me hideaways for some proper breedin'.”

“Excuse me?” Threadbare tilted his head.

“Well, the cornerstone of the Pirate job be banditry, aye? And one of the key skills for Bandits be the Band o' Bastards. Turns out it's a lot more effective if ye use actual bastards.”

Threadbare thought through the implications of that. “They're all your children?” he asked, horrified.

“Not all. Some are bastards from elsewhere. Or grandkids, or great-grandkids.” Anne grimaced. Then she stopped, and stared a foot above Threadbare's head. “Have I gone and offended yer sensibilities, princess? Perhaps ye need some pearls to clutch?”

“You are putting your children in harm's way,” he said, feeling shaken to the very bottom of his padded feet. “And threatening to kill them over very small things. Why?”

Anne considered him for a moment, then folded the map. “Because they chose this life. They chose to be like me, Lady Cecelia. Because at any port, they could up and walk away. But they don't.” Anne smiled, and there was no mirth in her golden grin. “Because they want to be greater than me. And they know that the only path to that lies with me. Lies in survivin' both this here cruel world, and whatever hardship I can throw their way.” Then the smile dropped. “Mind you, given how many enemies I'm havin' back home, the ones that don't ship with me usually end up dead from random malice anyways. Been a real problem these last few years. I warrant I'll have to do some bloody vengeance once I get back from this trip, and have what I need to—” Anne snapped her mouth shut. “Ah, ye got me monologuing. Clever.”

“That really wasn't my intent,” Threadbare murmured.

“Aye. Well, we've got business to tend to, and I've got another run to organize. For now just accept that we come from two different worlds, Lady.”

“I suppose I'll have to,” Threadbare said, glancing over to Renny. “Oh. Oh dear, you can stop now.”

Renny had obviously been distracted, for Midian's jaws were nearly distended around the four crackers of hardtack shoved in her face. She “Mmmfff'd” a few times, then spat them out as Anne shook her head and left.

Threadbare went to the tent flap, gazed out for a second to make sure Anne was good and busy haranguing her crew, then drew the flaps shut before he turned to Midian again.

“They're generally pretty good to their guests,” he said. “Sorry about your things. They took everything they could.”

“Items are replaceable. We're all replaceable. Dreamstuff bodies or displaced souls? Unknown. Did we murder to achieve the transit? Gruesome thought. But the dragons wouldn't care,” Midian said, eyes fixed on the tent floor, crumbs spilling from her lips.

Renny used the opportunity to sidle closer to Threadbare. “I got a look at the map,” he whispered. “Not a very clear one, but it looks like she was staring at someplace northeast of Cylvania.”

“Belltollia is northeast of Cylvania,” Threadbare said. “And most of its people are rabbit beastkin.”

“Are they? I've never heard of it.”

“It was discovered before you went missing, I think,” Threadbare glanced back toward the tent flap. The noise outside was dying down. “Did you make out any details?”

“There were three or four dots in the northeast. I think they were settlements of some sort,” Renny said, hugging his tail to him. “And a lot of forest. And something like a dragon.”

“Dragons!” Midian yelled. “It's all about dragons! This is their world! We're playing their game, and we didn't even know it. Didn't... even... know. It.”

The two golems froze, but Midian's head drooped, and after a moment, she started snoring. Anne peered in the tent a moment later, but left after Threadbare shrugged and spread his arms.

The next few hours passed quietly, as the curtain of night fell and the stars rose high in the black curtain of the northern sky. Thrice more, the crew returned from the dungeon with engine parts, sporting new injuries, shaking from sanity loss, and with eyes that grew more and more haunted with every trip. The deeper they went, the more the old ones gnawed at their minds.

And on the third trip, someone was missing.

“Where's Plumbarista?” Threadbare asked. And when no one would meet his eyes, the unspoken answer hung in the air like a cold spot in a haunted room.

Threadbare finished the count and noted everything down.

Then he went out and found Anne. She was sitting by the fire, holding a purple bandanna in her hand.

“Be that enough?” Anne asked, studying the bandanna that up until recently, had been on Plumbarista's head. It was bloodstained, Threadbare noted. Fresh stains that spread onto Anne's fingers as she turned it over and over.

“I think so,” Threadbare said. “We have enough for four engines with some parts left over. Quite a lot left over, it's just that many of them are the same.”

“They learn, ye know. Dungeons. Farm them for too long and they get stroppy. Get to the point where they want blood. And they finds a way to get it.” Anne said, and Threadbare couldn't tell if it was sorrow in her voice or exhaustion.

And then she stood, and threw the bandanna into the fire. “A pirate's life for me, and a pirate never regrets,” she said, and that cocky grin was back. “We're done here, me hearties! Get packing, and let's quit this place!”

But Threadbare stood by the fire for a moment longer, and watched the bandanna burn away until no trace of the tall, somewhat-awkward crewbunny was left in this world.