The next morning, the Sunset departed from the shadow of the Griffin’s Claw, citing needed repairs and re-stocking. This hadn’t been uncommon in their dual journey—magic-reliant ships required extra care, after all—but ever since Dawn had brought up the shadow of Pearce, Ambrose had felt particularly grateful for the ally ship’s presence.

So when he watched it sail away, he had no method to stave off the anxiety.

“Eli, may I ask,” he said as he caught the captain at the helm later that day, “what does the route to the treasure look like? Anything particularly treacherous?”

“Not at all,” Eli said cheerfully. “Dawn and I made sure to keep the route away from the sirens and the reefs in these parts. Should be smooth sailing until we get to the island.”

“Oh.” Ambrose clasped his hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting with them. “So…no narrow straits that Navy ships can’t fit through? Pirate-ridden areas that might chase away Navy ships? Mermaids that like to eat Navy ships?”

Eli bit back a smile. “I see. You’re worried about Pearce.”

Ambrose looked at the planks. “Yes, sir.”

“Does it help if I say I’m not worried?”

“Not particularly, as I’m more inclined to self-preservation than you.”

Eli tilted his head. “Bold statement coming from the man who threw a live grenade into the mouth of a kraken.”

Ambrose bit back a smile. “Counterpoint accepted, but my concern still stands.”

Eli laughed, then turned to him and leaned against the helm. “If it’s Pearce and his fleet, we run. If it’s Pearce alone, we can take him. Apart from that, there’s not much else I can do.” He briefly squeezed Ambrose’s wrist. “Other than assure you that I remember my promise to shoot him in the face.”

Ambrose grimaced. Eli certainly knew how to be a romantic. “Thank you, captain.”

#

A week later, the time came for Eli to make good on that promise.

“Sails ho!” Banneker shouted from the crow’s nest. Ambrose poked his head out of his quarters, seeking the colorful sails of the Sunset on the horizon.

“Is Dawn back already?” he called—but Banneker’s cursing from the rigging drowned the hope in his question.

“I should really stop being the lookout,” he muttered as his feet struck the deck, “I think I’m bad luck—“

Eli already had his spyglass out when Banneker and Ambrose reached him. “Just the one?”

“Just the one, as far as I could see,” Banneker said. “You think it’s him?”

“Him?” The color drained from Ambrose’s face. “Pearce?”

“Can’t tell from this far away, but…” Eli turned to Ambrose. “Ready the infirmary to be safe.”

At least readying the infirmary gave him something to do other than vomit over the side of the ship. That stupid island with that stupid treasure couldn’t come soon enough, he thought as he gathered vials. When he bought his potion shop, it was going to be as far inland as humanly possible, in a place that never rained, so he’d never have to look at so much as a puddle ever again as long as he lived—

“Bring her around and ready the guns!” Eli yelled, almost gleeful. “We’re getting the first shot if I have anything to say about it!”

Ambrose cursed and gathered every health potion he had. “I hate this!” he shouted to no one in particular, knowing they wouldn’t hear him above the noise. “I hate everything, I’m jumping off this ship myself!”

The sound of shouting and, finally, the shuddering boom of cannons set his teeth on edge for what felt like hours as the ship caught up to them. Deep in the infirmary, Ambrose had no idea what the ship was or in which direction they were even facing—only that blood had started to be spilled.

“It’s not me this time!” Zoe called as she burst into the infirmary, supporting a gunner with a bloodied hand. “Pistol shot from the enemy ship.”

“They’re that close?” Ambrose was suddenly grateful the infirmary had no windows. “Did you see the name of the ship?”

“Um,” Zoe screwed her eyes shut in thought as Ambrose helped the gunner to the floor and handed him a vial, “started with an I, I think. Interceptor, Ignitor…”

Ambrose swallowed. “The Intrepid?”

“Yes, that’s the one!” She pointed and grinned. “You’re so clever.”

“Not clever.” Ambrose grabbed his coat, his heart lodged in his windpipe. “Just very unlucky. Stay here, I need to get more potions.”

The path back to his quarters was more fraught than Ambrose had expected, even for a fight such as this. Though the ships swung close, Pearce had clearly seen the powder chests hanging from the sides of the Claw, and had wisely chosen not to pursue boarding. Instead, they traded shots over the gunwale, forcing Ambrose to hide behind whatever was available on his journey across deck.

“Stay down!” Eli called to him as he hid behind the mast. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him soon!”

Ambrose dared one peek around the pillar. There was Pearce—steely wig, ramrod posture, severe frown. Ambrose quickly closed his eyes, took a ragged breath, and sprinted the rest of the way to the workroom.

Broken glass greeted him as soon as he stepped in. Shots had penetrated the windows, striking jars and scattering debris about the room. Ambrose ducked low and scrabbled for whatever potions he had left, filling his bandolier from shoulder to hip. His fingers found the shield potion—freshly brewed, not yet tested—and he shoved it in his coat pocket.

He opened the door right as the crew raised their guns towards the Intrepid. Eli caught sight of him a moment before pulling the trigger. “Ames, get down—“

Gunfire thundered in both directions, and Ambrose threw himself back behind the door. The wood slammed forward as bullets riddled the upper corner, but the door otherwise held. Ambrose squinted through the smoke to see how the crew fared.

On the far side of the deck, a red coat dropped to the planks.

Ambrose must have screamed for him—the panicked air escaped his lips, his mouth formed his name—but he didn’t hear anything. He barely even registered the deck under his feet as he pounded over, skidding across pools of gunpowder and blood. For a brief instant, he looked right, to whoever had fired in his direction.

Pearce pulled up his smoking pistol and smirked.

Then Ambrose crashed down next to Eli, dragged him behind a crate, and propped him up on the wood.

“Ames,” Eli gasped, one hand clutching his ribs, the other latching onto Ambrose’s coat. His shirt was darkening fast, entirely too fast, while his face grew pale. “I—“

“Save your breath.” Ambrose tipped a vial to his lips while his shaking fingers fumbled with the metallic glove. Ignore the blood, trust the potion. Ignore the blood, trust the potion—“Drink this, then I have to pull the bullet out. It will hurt, but I’ll knock you out as soon as I can.”

The vial emptied into his throat. Eli shouted in pain and yanked on Ambrose’s coat, his knuckles going white—but this wasn’t the worst of it, not yet. As Ambrose covered the wound with his glove and pulled, Eli buried his face in Ambrose’s shoulder and screamed.

“That’s it,” Ambrose said quickly, letting the shell drop to the floor. “The wound is healing, I can knock you out now—“

“No—“

“Eli, it’s safest if you don’t move while it heals.”

Eli tried to pull away from him, his breaths still coming in heavy gasps. Ambrose shoved him against the crate, keeping him pinned with all his strength. “Captain, what are your orders for the crew?”

Another round of gunfire—more pirates fell across the deck. Eli’s gaze widened, and he grabbed Ambrose’s wrist in a painful grip. “Get them out of here alive.”

“Aye.” Ambrose lifted a pipette and let one drop land on Eli’s forehead. Eli’s arm fell, and he slumped against the crate. “Grim!”

He turned to find Grim already staggering up to him, Sherry and Banneker close behind. He raised his blood-stained hands in reassurance. “He’ll be fine, but he wants us out of here. What can we do to retreat?”

An explosion shattered the air—the Intrepid was aiming at the powder boxes meant to keep them from boarding. They all jumped and looked at each other.

“Speed wand and a wind staff on the sails,” Banneker blurted. “Dawn’ll kill me for using it all up at once, but I can set it up if you buy me time.”

“What time?” Sherry pointed. “We’re taking too much damage and not giving enough as it is.”

As another powder chest exploded and flames leapt into the air, Ambrose turned to Eli’s limp form at their feet. That should be Pearce, not Eli. That should be the Intrepid burning, not the Claw.

He ground his teeth. He could at least manage one of the two.

“That fire staff from Dawn, do we still have it?” he asked. Banneker nodded. “Let me use it to buy you time. Zoe!”

The woman poked her head up from the scuttle. Ambrose plucked three vials out of his bandolier, patted his pocket for the fourth, then handed both his bandolier and glove to her. “Congratulations, you’re junior potioneer for the day. Attend to those who have been shot. Round vial, glove, pipette. Down the hatch, bullet up, out they go.”

“Down the hatch, bullet up, out they go,” she repeated, pulling on the bandolier. “Down, up, out—“

As Banneker hurried back with several staffs in hand, Sherry shook her head. “You won’t be able to fire it from this distance, that staff is short-range only.”

“I’ll manage it,” he said, then turned to Grim. “As soon as the Intrepid fires, I’ll start.”

As the officers rushed off, Ambrose hid behind the mast and downed the first two potions—true-aim and long-shot, their incompatible flavors mixing once more down his throat. He slipped the reversal into his waistcoat pocket and waited for the sound of the cannon.

“Fire!”

Thunder crashed all around. A chain shot sailed inches past the mast, whipping through the air and off the far side of the ship.

“Loading!” Grim called. Ambrose slipped out and spun the staff to charge it. He would have under two minutes until the cannons were loaded, less than that if he wanted to avoid smaller gunfire.

So while the smoke was still clearing, he jumped up on the gunwale, grabbed hold of the rigging, and pointed the weapon at the sails of the Intrepid.

The staff cracked and splintered as the potions’ charges leapt from his hand to the wood, sending the flames far further than they were ever meant to reach. Before anyone aboard the Intrepid could react, the canvas on the mainmast was ablaze—then the mizzen, then the fore. Within seconds, the ship wore a searing crown of fire.

“Get him!” Pearce shouted above the billowing smoke. Ambrose whipped the staff in one more line, sending coils of furious flame onto the deck—then he dropped down, shots ringing over his head. He didn’t need to hear the next command to know what would come next. Pearce would order the crew to fire early, violently, in retribution.

His fingers wrapped around the shield potion in his pocket, and though his vision was flickering and his arms creaking, it didn’t matter. He dropped the staff, knocked back the shimmering white liquid, and stood.

“Fire!”

Ambrose held out a hand.

The cannons fired and recoiled, just as they were meant to, but their shots never reached their target. Grape shot and chain shot exploded against an invisible wall between the ships, the shield bursting white at every strike. Bullets tapped out a frenetic pattern with their impact, as harmless as raindrops. With every hit, bruises bloomed across Ambrose’s arms, yellow, then green, then deep purple. He clenched his jaw against the pain and stayed still.

Then the Intrepid, for once, went silent, and behind Ambrose, Banneker jumped to the deck.

“Go!” he yelled, and the ship lurched forward. The crew began to cheer, and across the smoke-filled space, Pearce’s sallow face reddened.

“Fire!” he yelled. “Fire, damn you!”

The attacks came in sporadic bursts, no longer the well-timed display of an organized regiment. Ambrose’s vision was half out, his free arm paralyzed, his good eye streaming from the smoke—but he stared straight at Pearce and held the shield, not daring to let go until the Intrepid’s guns were out of range, firing uselessly at the waves.

“Ambrose,” Sherry’s voice wavered somewhere behind him as the crew yelled in victory. She must have stepped into his blind spot, for her arm appeared out of nowhere to grab his wrist, then pull back with a gasp. “God, Ambrose, what have you done?”

He couldn’t blame her, he must have looked horrendous. One eye gone entirely black, hands glowing, his body nothing but purple. He wasn’t even sure how he managed to pull out the reversal and drop it into her palm.

“If you’d be so kind,” he mumbled, then collapsed onto the deck.