Oliver thought that reading all night was a very hard thing to do when you’re a cat. Not because it was especially difficult, cats have excellent vision. But because there are so many better ways to spend your time when you can jump floor to ceiling with no real fear of injury.

  And so, just to try it, he jumped on top of a bookcase. It was right there after all. A little fun, and then he could go right back to reading.

  From up there the library seemed like an entirely different room. All that space he never thought to use as a human, all that open air. Such a waste. So again, just to try it, he leapt across from one bookcase to the next and the next.

  Glancing back, Oliver cringed at the fresh trail of scratch marks he’d left along their tops; although, given how thick the dust up there was, he doubted Ms. Scaggs ever checked. Still, he would have to tell her eventually.

  He sighed, as much as a cat can, and dropped back down.

  The staircase with its stone banister was right outside the door. He wondered… could he even scratch that?

  Gripping its sides to aid his balance, his claws left only faint lines, barely noticeable at all really, and the vibration of the stone against them felt so… invigorating.

  That is, until he lost his footing and slid down the banister on his fluffy belly. Flying off the end and spinning across the floor, his journey ended headfirst into a sofa. Of course, he tried this twelve more times.

  Oliver, or ‘Throat Ripper’ as he tried calling himself, caught the cool scent of outside air, the stench of humans mixed with fresh oxygen. It was coming from the window Scaggs had left open in case he needed to do his ‘business’ in the garden. And though he didn’t feel that need right then, he did feel an insatiable desire to stalk back and forth along the garden wall.

  So he dropped down, out of the window, and entered the night.

  Standing atop the wall, the city was just a short hop away. To his feline eyes, everything was well lit, and the few people he could see from this vantage point seemed to be wandering around half blind.

  Doubting Ms. Scaggs would approve of him roaming the streets, he let out a huff, resigned to amusing himself on her property.

  He tested his claws on the brick of the townhouse, and they more than just gripped it. They connected to it. Climbing up the side, he scrambled over to the tile awning above the back porch. From there it was a short leap to the top of the second-floor bay window, and then onto the roof.

  ‘Throat Ripper’ gazed wistfully at the surrounding blocks. All those rooftops at the same level, all within a leap from one to the next, almost as if someone had lined them up just for him…

  He really should go back inside and do his reading, shouldn’t he?

  The rush of air, the feeling of weightlessness. At the apex of his jump, he spotted a pigeon and shifted his weight.

  He landed with his front paws on either side of it, so as not to crush it, and the poor thing let out a startled squawk, taking to the air in a flurry.

  You are so lucky I’m not really a cat, thought Oliver, and then he wondered, for a moment, what pigeon tasted like.

  One block up and over, spark light illuminated the street below while murmurs of a crowd carried on the wind. Curious, he got a running start and leapt across the row.

  Perhaps thirty people were gathered outside a building, its front doors open wide, spilling light onto the street. They milled about with wine glasses, chatting politely as a lone bobby stood at a distance, lazily spinning a billy club round his wrist.

  Oliver still couldn’t tell what was going on, and the road seemed narrow enough…

  No one looked up to see a snow leopard sailing through the air above them.

  The roof he landed on encircled an open courtyard, and creeping to the edge, he peered down to where workers dressed in black carried set pieces: large cardboard trees and a gold-painted sun to a stage below.

  A bell rang, and the crowd filtered into the courtyard. Players in masks came out dressed as animals and danced to the drumbeat of a lone musician.

  Had Ms. Scaggs been living a few blocks from a playhouse all this time? Did she ever go? Would she take him someday? Of course, for now he could just hop the rooftops and see it for free.

  On the stage below, a silver ‘fox’ set upon three ‘chickens,’ one yellow, one white, and one pink. They jumped around singing a song composed entirely of clucks that went on entirely too long…

  ‘Throat Ripper’ had had enough of this silliness and headed home.

  Expecting to curl up and go to sleep, he pulled himself through the window—

  But footsteps were coming from Ms. Scaggs’ room, and they did not sound like hers.

  A boy, an older teen, barefoot in dingy canvas pants and a blue wool coat, appeared in her doorway. Oliver recognized him immediately.

  Rafe was scanning his surroundings, taking note of the doors in the dark hallway, and yet somehow, managed to miss the snow leopard staring at him from a few feet away. He was trying to be sneaky, stepping lightly for a human, but to a cat’s ears, it sounded like he was stomping around on dinner plates.

  Creeping into Oliver’s room, Rafe began going through the bookshelf. He pulled the Wordsworth Dictionary out and ran his hand over the cover, then put it back, turned around, and approached the bed. Picking up Oliver’s pillow, Rafe shuddered as he flicked at a bit of dried blood.

  Oliver shifted his weight to step forward, and the floor creaked beneath him.

  “Ollie?” Rafe asked the darkness. He’d never spoken the name so gently. “Ollie?” he asked again. Turning his full attention to the doorway, the boy bolted upright, finally realizing something was watching.

  “Get back, I’m armed!” Rafe drew a hunting knife from his belt.

  Closing his eyes, Oliver reached for the knife with his spark. Blue electricity snapped from its handle.

  “Uhh!” Rafe winced as the knife clattered to the floor. “Who’s there?”

  By way of answer, Oliver sparked the candle on the nightstand to life and took a step forward. He tried to growl, but never having done that before, it came out as a raspy purr.

  “Wha—what the freak!?” Rafe hopped up on the bed.

  Oliver blinked at him, unsure what to do. This would be so much easier if only he could talk, though, speaking to Rafe had seldom helped in the past.

  “Um… nice kitty.” Eying the knife, Rafe leaned down to grab it, but flinched away as Oliver flicked his paw, sending the weapon spinning under the bed.

  Somehow, he’d have to keep Rafe trapped until Scaggs got back. He tried growling again, and this time it came out deeper, guttural, but more like he wanted to be let out than a threat.

  Rafe danced back and forth on the bed, positioning himself like he was going to make a break for it. In response, Oliver jumped into the air, snapping at him. Rafe froze.

  When the boy tried to run again, Oliver repeated the jump and snap.

  On the third time, Rafe smacked Oliver in the face with something hard and heavy, sending the cat spinning to the other side of the room. Oliver shook it off and got back to his feet just in time to see Rafe sprint out the door.

  He caught a glimpse of what his brother had hit him with, the Sylvan book, which the boy now clutched like a shield.

  Paws scraping the floor, Oliver scrambled to catch up, but Rafe was already at the open window, backing out of it, and by the time Oliver leapt through, Rafe was ready and struck with the book again, sending the cat spiraling down into the courtyard.

  Pain rattled through him as he crashed into the pile of loose obsidian leftover from Scaggs’ experiments. Oliver tried to get up, but the smooth stones shot out like marbles, flopping him onto his belly. Moments later, he jumped atop the wall and saw Rafe, clear as day, running down the street toward the docks, still clutching the Sylvan book.

  His mind raced. Rafe had no idea what was in that book, he couldn’t read, not very well. Most likely he’d taken it because it was in Scaggs’ workshop. He’d fence it by sunrise, trading Oliver’s return to humanity for a few coins…

  In half a heartbeat, Oliver was charging down the road, closing in on Rafe. He vaulted at the boy, biting and clawing at the book before Rafe had time to react.

  His fangs sank into the cover.

  “Bad Kitty! Down!” Rafe kept a death grip on the book as he fell, using his weight to grind the cat into the cobblestone.

  A tearing noise sent a shiver down Oliver’s spine as the cover loosened in his jaw, and he let go, relieved to see the book still in one piece. Then Rafe’s foot connected with his muzzle, flipping him onto his back, before the older boy scrambled away.

  Chest pounding, Oliver backed off to think. He couldn’t use his spark on the book, not the way he had with the knife, not without it catching fire. But Rafe was clearly headed for the docks, so he had time and took to the rooftops, stalking his brother from above.

  Below, Rafe was checking over his shoulder, searching the darkness as he ran. His breath laboring, his steps unsteadying, his pace slowed.

  Oliver raced ahead, dropped down to street level, and waited behind a broken barrel. When Rafe’s legs appeared, he grabbed on with all his might.

  “Bastard’s cat,” Rafe spat as he went down, pounding Oliver’s belly with his free foot, connecting again and again. Cat or not, Rafe had thirty pounds on him.

  “Back off, will ya?”

  Stumbling to his feet, Rafe rifled through his bag and pulled out a dried herring, his favorite snack. “Here kitty kitty, want this?” He dangled it in front of Oliver, then tossed it down an alleyway.

  Oliver rolled upright and stared at the boy, ignoring the fish. He tried to growl again, but winced at the sharp pain in his side, and it came out as a guttural whine.

  “Guess not.” Rafe backed away, breaking into a run.

  With a limp in his gait and fatigue taking its toll, Oliver didn’t trust his legs for a leap to the rooftops. So he ran one block up and over, and came out in front of Rafe while the boy was glancing back.

  This time, Oliver dove at his chest.

  Without breaking stride, Rafe batted him away. “Damn it cat, what is it with you?!”

  Fine, that’s how it is then, thought Oliver, and he reached out with his spark and set the seat of Rafe’s pants on fire.

  “Wha—” Rafe twisted, gaping at his butt as he ran, a trail of smoke billowing behind him.

  As they neared the docks, Oliver knew where Rafe was heading. With light spilling from the upper deck and a rowdy sea shanty carrying from its doorway, the Spitting Dolphin came into view.

  Oliver darted past his brother, positioning himself on the path to the door, but Rafe didn’t go for it. Instead, he ran farther down the pier, pants still pouring smoke.

  Summoning the last of his strength, Oliver pounced.

  “Bad kitty!” Rafe wound up and planted the book in Oliver’s side, sending him sprawling over the edge.

  A splash, and the overhead spark light dimmed with the cold rush of water. All around, the river closed in, smothering Oliver as he flailed, trying to find ‘up.’

  The frigid water worked its way in, biting at his throat, creeping toward his lungs until…

  In a flailing panic, his head bobbed above the surface. After coughing up a lung full of water, he paddled over to a wooden post, and clawed his way up, onto the pier. But it was too late. Rafe and the book were gone.

  Damn it Rafe, why?

  Oliver shook himself off, acutely aware of the moment. Everything seemed real, too real, the night air, the water soaking his fur. This whole notion of becoming a girl seemed foolhardy, silly. Where had it gotten him? He might never even be human again… He’d probably end up as some odd pet of Ms. Scaggs, and Thelemule would come by to take him on walks.

  Damn it, Rafe.

  No. He couldn’t think like that. If he was going to get out of this, he had to find his brother. So why not start at the obvious place?

  He padded down the pier, toward the Spitting Dolphin.

  Out front, the bouncer was passed out, resting against the closed door, blocking it, so Oliver used his claws and pulled himself up to the windows on the second floor. There was no sign of Rafe, but sitting at the end of the bar, looking very annoyed, was a tall woman with a gray streak in her long dark hair.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Ms. Scaggs was doing her best to ignore a bald sailor who, in-turn, was doing his best to chat her up. There was something odd about her. She looked… Well, ‘pretty’ wasn’t quite the right word. With red-painted lips and a revealing dress, also red… Maybe it, the word, was ‘sultry’?

  Oliver pawed at the glass, trying for her attention, but she didn’t even glance. He stalked back and forth along the windows, staying as visible as he could. Then, before he knew it, a red-haired woman came out of one of the second-story rooms and stood there, gaping at him.

  He tried to appear as non-threatening as possible, but the woman’s eyes went wide. And, to his absolute amazement, she rushed down the stairs, went directly to Scaggs, nudged her on the shoulder, and pointed up at him.

  Scaggs made a scrunch face, perfectly imitating his. He pawed at the glass again and, as she rushed out the door, dropped down to meet her.

  “Oliver? What’s wrong?”

  ‘My brother Rafe stole the Sylvan book. We have to find him,’ he tried very hard to say, but it came out as incomprehensible growls.

  “What?”

  Oliver dashed a few yards down the pier and then back again.

  “Did something happen?”

  He tapped once for yes.

  “Was it Thelemule?”

  He tapped twice as the red-haired woman stuck her head out the door.

  “Is it… life and death? That sort of thing?”

  He tapped once and jumped into the air.

  “Did something blow up?”

  Then in a very confused voice, the red-haired woman asked, “Why are you talking to a cat?” He recognized her. It was his stepfather’s woman, Miranda.

  Oliver tapped twice.

  “Are you okay?” asked Scaggs.

  He tapped twice, jumped into the air, and spun around.

  “Can he understand you?!” Miranda gaped.

  “Yes, he speaks perfect Norian.”

  “Really?”

  Oliver attempted to say, ‘Yes and we need to find Rafe,’ but you know, growls.

  “Well, he understands it anyway,” said Scaggs. “And he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Throat Ripper,” she answered curtly.

  “Is he… dangerous?” Miranda asked in a hush.

  “No, that’s just what I call him. It’s a joke. He’s a big softy. Aren’t you Ripper?”

  He tapped once.

  “It’s once for yes, twice for no, by the way,” Scaggs added.

  “Oh, I love those games.” Miranda gave a goofy grin. “I have a client I play with. He’s kind of—well, it’s confidential,” she whispered.

  “Any suggestions, then?” Scaggs threw her arms up.

  “What, really?” Miranda took a step toward Oliver. “Are you running from something?”

  Two taps.

  She crouched down to Oliver’s eye level. “To something?”

  One tap.

  “Is it here?”

  Oliver tapped once, then darted down the pier and back again.

  “On the pier?”

  He tapped once, praying Rafe hadn’t doubled back.

  Miranda smirked. “See, I told you I was good.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” said Scaggs, but Oliver tapped twice hard, pounding the wood.

  If Rafe was still on the pier, the last thing Oliver wanted to do was go past him and leave an open avenue of escape. But if they waited too long, whatever ship he was on would simply sail away.

  He had to think. This pier was used for larger cargo vessels. Six were docked right now, and those were too large for any one man to sail alone. There weren’t any smaller craft, but Rafe might be able to get away in a dinghy if he could manage to lower one.

  “Wait,” Miranda said, “Is it a person? Are you chasing a person?”

  Oliver tapped once and jumped straight up.

  “Okay,” said Scaggs, “You two, wait here. I’ll go check it out.”

  He wasn’t sure she’d recognize Rafe, but he couldn’t explain that to her, so he watched, optimistically, as Scaggs jogged down the pier.

  She was in the process of examining each ship carefully when Miranda sat down next to him.

  “So, how goes cat stuff?” she asked, holding her hand under his nose the way people do with house cats.

  Oliver didn’t know how to explain the situation, so he sniffed it politely and tapped once.

  A while later, Ms. Scaggs came back. “I didn’t see anyone, but I found these.” She held up a pair of smoldering trousers, and poked her hand through the missing bottom. “Look familiar?”

  Oliver got up, excited, and tapped once.

  “Good, I put wards on all the ships. We’ll know if anyone leaves.”

  For a second, he wondered if Rafe would swim for it, but he doubted even his brother would be stupid enough to risk waterlogging a book he was so intent on stealing… he hoped so anyway.

  “Well, what now?” asked Scaggs.

  Oliver honestly didn’t know. If he went to search the ships, Rafe could just slip by the others, and if he got Scaggs to do it, she wouldn’t know who to look for.

  He was still trying to think of a plan, the two women staring at him expectantly, when a carriage rolled up and two men got out. One was wearing a feathered bird costume; it was ridiculous, fluffy, and pink. The other wore the exact same thing only in white—the costumes from the play, sans the masks.

  “Hello Eliza, fancy meeting you here.” Thelemule smiled, twirling a pink feathered cane. “A funny thing happened. Stephan and I were at a ‘party’ when a little birdie came by and told us about a boy being chased by a tiger with his pants on fire.”

  “A birdie?” Scaggs scowled.

  “Fine, a spy. I have someone spying on your house. Everyone does it.” Thelemule raised a pink gloved finger. “Well, not your house specifically, but you know what I mean… I hired him to make sure you didn’t move your books before my visit, and then kept him on a few days more, just to make sure.”

  “Why are you here?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  Thelemule cleared his throat. “Not on your account, I assure you, but I like your cat, and thought he might require assistance…”

  Before Scaggs could tell Thelemule to go off and die in a ditch and then blame him for the theft while Rafe got away, Oliver tapped once in front of the old wizard.

  “See, he agrees.” Thelemule motioned to Oliver.

  “He’s been trying to tell us something.” Miranda shrugged. “He chased someone here but…”

  “He’s a cat?” asked Thelemule. “And cats can’t talk. I have just the thing. It was going to be all the rage at the party but… I suppose a good party is wherever you find one.”

  ? ? ?

  Oliver batted a heart-shaped puck, a planchette, across a wooden board laid out with all the letters, all the numbers, a ‘yes’, and a ‘no’, a spirit board.

  “A…” Scaggs called out, “or C?” Oliver had overshot.

  He tried again. “B… O… O… K…”

  “Book what book?” asked Thelemule.

  “Wait there’s more.” She smacked the back of his head.

  “R… A… F… E…”

  “Oh Songs.” Scaggs raked a hand through her hair. “Rafe has the book?”

  Oliver tapped once and rolled onto his back, exhausted. Finally, after five minutes of pawing, jumping, and tapping, he managed to communicate what would have taken three seconds to say.

  “Is that bad?” Miranda asked, suddenly aghast. “I’ve heard stories about books. Is it like… end of the world bad?”

  “Only if you’re Oliver.” Thelemule shot Scaggs a glance.

  She nodded. “He’s my apprentice. He needs that book or…” She put her arm around the cat. “He might never… stand again.”

  “Wait… you mean Rafe’s brother, Ollie?” Miranda looked horrified. “…What did Messer do?”

  “Well, he did throw him off a ship, quite literally. But there’s more to it than that, you can ask Oliver about it once we get that book back.”

  “Messer…” Miranda touched her front teeth, one of them just a little whiter than the others. “So, what do we do?”

  Thelemule twirled a pink-feathered cane. “We have options, so many options… We’ve got a flame witch, the city’s leading arms dealer, albeit a bit drunk… a wonderful ballroom dancer.” He motioned to Stephan. “A large well-mannered cat, and—most importantly you.”

  “Me?”

  “You, Miranda, are the only one here who can both speak, and who knows what Rafe looks like.”

  “You have something that can flush him out?” asked Scaggs.

  “Sure, shop’s just down the road. What would you like?”

  “You pick, but nothing that’ll burn a book.” She shook her head. “Or kill anyone. We’ll wait until you get back.”

  “Fine then, back in a jiff—”

  “Go! Go!” Scaggs shooed him off.

  ? ? ?

  “Your cat… err, ‘Throat Ripper,’ looks worried.” Miranda sat down next to them. Oliver wasn’t sure what to make of her. Yes, she’d laughed at one of Messer's ‘fairy’ jokes, but maybe she hadn’t really understood what he was saying, or maybe she’d just been too drunk.

  Ms. Scaggs lifted her head, looking tired. “I suppose he’s quite protective of Oliver.”

  “Ahh, that’s sweet,” said Miranda and, without asking, reached over and started rubbing Oliver’s head. He let it slide; it did feel comforting. Then she pulled off her scarf, sky blue silk, tied it around his neck, and whispered, “So everyone can tell you’re friendly.”

  Oliver sighed, resting his head on Scaggs’ lap. He found Miranda’s treatment, the way she talked to him softly, like he was an animal, condescending. Still, her heart was in the right place.

  “But could we come up with a better name than Throat Ripper?” Miranda asked. “He’s such a sweetie.”

  “No,” Scaggs said firmly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because he’s not going to need one.”

  Maranda looked back, confused. “I am grateful for what you did for me and all, and I don’t mean to pry, but…”

  “You’re going to anyway?” Scaggs asked.

  “I just wish people wouldn’t treat me like an idiot… even if I am one.”

  Oliver knew that feeling. His stepfather treated him that way all the time. He lifted his head and tapped once on Ms. Scaggs’ leg.

  “Are you sure?” She scratched his head.

  He tapped again.

  “What is it?” Miranda asked.

  “He wants me to tell you something…?”

  He tapped again, then rested his head back down on Scaggs’ lap.

  “Can you keep a secret?” Scaggs asked. “I mean really.”

  “I do it for clients all the time.”

  “All right… Well, this is Oliver. We used magic from the book to transform him into a cat. And now he needs it to turn back. Thelemule knows, but…” She tapped Oliver on the head. “Does Rafe know?”

  He tapped twice.

  Miranda furrowed her brow. “Why did you turn him into a cat?”

  “It seemed like fun at the time, for him I mean. It never occurred to me that someone might steal the book.”

  There was a long silence while Oliver looked away: The memory of the book’s silver text, of the words blurring into pictures, and of the disbelief when he finally held it. All gone.

  “When Messer broke my tooth…” Miranda trembled. “He laughed at me. Made me feel like nothing to no one. He doesn’t care who he hurts. That Rafe’s a real chip off the old block.”

  Oliver felt Miranda’s hand go to his head, scratching his ears. It felt good, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

  “I found out about that ship, the one that blew up,” Scaggs said, sounding numb. “It was Shivari, a merchant vessel that carried mail and a few passengers. It was empty when it happened… save for the crew.”

  Oliver had been to Shivar once on his stepfather’s ship. This was right before he got kicked off for being ‘useless.’ He hadn’t been allowed to leave port, and they’d left before nightfall. But he had gazed out on that city skyline all day, mesmerized by the spiraling towers and brightly-colored tile roofs.

  Before that, he never thought about why some people in Noria had dark skin. Now he knew, they, or their ancestors, had all come from Shivar. After that, he started paying attention. The Shivari generally kept to themselves. Some people, usually drunkards, didn’t like them very much, and Messer never had one on his crew.

  And the only time Rafe had ever gotten on Messer’s bad side, was when he ‘bought’ flowers for a Shivari girl. Which is to say, he stole them… from her mother’s shop.

  He had noted that Stephan was Shivari. And Ms. Scaggs’ hair, the black part anyway, seemed a bit too dark to be all Norian, her skin just a touch too olive. He’d never thought about her heritage, but would have liked to ask about it now, if he wasn’t a cat.

  As the clip-clop of horse hooves approached from behind, Oliver shook off Miranda’s ear scratching to see a pink-feathered man jump down from an ivory carriage.

  “I couldn’t make up my mind, so I brought it all.”

  Stephan pulled the back hatch open, revealing an assortment of brass tubes and polished hardwood stocks, all shaped with wicked intent.

  “Let’s see,” said Thelemule, “I’ve got lightning guns, in case we need to knock out sails, spark grenade launchers, just for fun, and some of those fantastic fire bolts you designed ‘for me’ last year…”

  Scaggs frowned. “Anything not so… murdery?”

  “Right, we wouldn’t want to hurt the book, now would we? I do have these…” Thelemule opened a dark wood case containing what looked like six perfectly spherical eggshells.

  “What the Verse are those?” Scaggs asked.

  “Charm bombs. You put a charm on one, you throw it, and it puts that charm on everyone within the blast radius. One per ship will do, but you’ll have to get it in the middle of the deck. Luckily, I only charge fifty sovereigns per sphere.”

  Ms. Scaggs’ face went stone blank, completely unreadable. It was the scariest thing Oliver had ever seen.

  “Just kidding. That’s what I charge when I’m not helping a friend.” Smirking, Thelemule put an arm around Scaggs shoulders.

  “Thanks,” she ducked out of it. “Alright, who wants to throw?”

  Oliver knew he could race up and down the pier faster than any of them, but he didn’t have opposable thumbs and couldn’t hold a smooth sphere in his mouth.

  “No one?” Scaggs asked, staring at Stephan—intensely—until his hand raised. Then, as she pulled one out, Oliver noticed a strap attached to its underside. He snatched the bomb out of her hand by the strap and gently bobbed his head to test holding it. It seemed fine.

  “Can he do it?” she asked Thelemule.

  “Sure, it goes off on impact so long as it isn’t being held by the strap. But, if he just drops it, he’ll be caught in the effect, so you’ll have to be careful with your charms.”

  “Oliver, give it back… I’ll do it.”

  He doubted she knew the first thing about ships, and it sounded like it would work best if it went directly down the hatch. He tapped twice, keeping a firm hold on it, and held the bomb up to Scaggs.

  “All right, if you insist… let’s start with the plague.” Her hand flickered with blue spark as she touched the bomb.

  Digging his claws into the pier, Oliver launched like a rocket. He reached the first gangplank in seconds where a lone sailor, sitting watch, fell off his stool and gaped up at Oliver as he vaulted over and dropped the bomb down the hatch.

  It didn’t pop or explode with a bang. There wasn’t a bright flash. The sphere simply crumbled.

  And then, an uncomfortable notion overcame Oliver: There were plague rats on this ship. He knew it, and though he couldn’t see any, at any second they would pour forth from the shadows and bite him, and he’d die a horrid, putrid death.

  He catapulted off the side, scampering back to Ms. Scaggs.

  “Okay, next bomb… the ship is sinking!” she announced as he bit down on the strap.

  Oliver tore off and deposited the sphere down the next ship’s hatch.

  Was the deck shaking? He felt the chill of water rising all around, could almost hear it rushing below decks. Each breath became more and more desperate as, at any moment, he might be dragged under.

  Sailors were clambering off the first ‘plague’ ship as he passed it on his way back.

  “The ship is going to… eat you,” Scaggs blurted out as he bit down on the next bomb.

  When he dropped it in, he was suddenly aware that, despite its ordinary appearance, the hatch was, in fact, a giant maw. Oliver screeched, jumping straight up to avoid being bitten in half. He knew it wasn’t real, but it sure felt like it was, and had the effect of being at once, completely terrifying and utterly hilarious.

  “First one to the Spitting Dolphin gets to be king!”

  When he raced back from that one, Oliver couldn’t help but pass the group and tag the Dolphin’s door before returning.

  “Your… ‘dick’ is going to fall off if you don’t get to land.”

  He gave her a funny look, but grabbed the bomb anyway, and as he dodged past the next wave of sailors, Scaggs called after him, “That one was Thelemule’s!”

  And finally…

  “Jumping piranha!”

  They watched and waited as sailors scrambled this way and that. There weren’t a lot on each ship, perhaps only a half dozen, but if anyone could take advantage of even a modicum of chaos, it was Rafe.

  “Ward! Someone’s in the water,” Scaggs called out, pointing toward the second ship. “There!”

  Out on the river, a pair of legs were kicking, splashing behind a barrel.

  “I told you a sinking ship was no good.” Thelemule strode forward, lightning rifle in hand. Then blowing pink feathers away from the scope, he took careful aim, leveling the gun…

  —He was going to kill Rafe—

  Jumping up, Oliver batted the gun down.

  “I do realize the book is in that barrel. Don’t worry, boy. I won’t hit it.”

  “I think…” Scaggs caught up to them, wheezing. “He’s afraid… you’ll hit his brother.”

  “What, really?” Thelemule eyed Oliver.

  Yes, he needed the book, and he’d probably just doomed himself, but his panic was for Rafe. Even so, he couldn’t help but remember the last time his brother had called him a ‘useless fairy,’ staring him straight in the eye, smiling with that dung eating grin of his.

  Oliver tapped once.

  “Well, that’s going to make this more difficult,” Thelemule said as Rafe’s splashes disappeared into the midnight fog.

  Scaggs sighed. “And my fire isn’t much use on water.”

  So, while Thelemule and Stephan raced up and down the levee wall looking for anywhere Rafe may have come ashore, Oliver and Scaggs boarded the ship he had jumped from, desperately hoping that the book was not, in fact, in that barrel, and that he’d had to leave it aboard.

  Whatever cargo the ship had been carrying was gone, so there wasn’t much to search. They tossed everything that looked large enough to hold a book, using spark light to see in the shadows. Scaggs even melted off a few locks, but after half an hour of searching, they came up empty.

  When the sailors came back, Ms. Scaggs charmed the captain, making him think she was a confessor, a low-ranking officer of the Inquisition, but they didn’t know anything about Rafe. It seemed he’d picked that ship at random.

  The two hopped down and met the group back outside the Dolphin.

  “No luck. Sorry, boy,” Thelemule said solemnly.

  Oliver hadn’t really expected them to find Rafe. After all, his brother had always been an amazingly, annoyingly strong swimmer.

  “You’re not going to just give up, are you?” Miranda stared wide-eyed, looking around the group.

  “No,” said Scaggs, “but we’ll have to figure something else out. Miranda, would you keep an eye out for him at the docks? Let me know the instant he comes back?”

  “Yes, of course.” Miranda looked at Oliver with a face so full of pity, it made him feel doomed.

  “There’s always a chance… maybe it will wear off,” said Scaggs, but the way she glanced away when she said that, it didn’t give him much hope.

  “Oliver,” said Thelemule, “You still have us. If you can think of anywhere Rafe might be headed, let’s go check, now.”

  Taking the pink-plumed wizard up on his offer, Stephan drove the carriage while Oliver used the spirit board to spell out every shady spot and hideout Rafe had ever taken him to. But after searching all night, the Sun came up, and the horses were exhausted.

  Thelemule sighed as he dropped them off. “I’ll check around, borrow some books, and see if I can find a counter spell. But… last year, I tried like mad to get ahold of old Whatshiznam’s journals. I spent months searching every shop, calling in favors, and couldn’t find a thing. So best to keep searching for your book, and call on me if you need anything. You can, of course, have this.” He handed Scaggs the spirit board. “Don’t worry, boy. We’ll come up with something.”

  (Thelemule and Stephan gearing up at home. Art by Kirkas K.)

  https://discord.gg/fQtFt2sYdf (There is some exclusive content on Discord, but it's best to read the entire book first)