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Chapter 5: Teeth and Laughter

  The Silver Girl carved through the waves, two days since Leago burned, the chase relentless under a sky thick with brooding clouds. The sea roiled gray, a restless beast gnashing at the hull, the wind sharp with salt and dread. William Dearborn stood on the main deck, his bare, tannish hide stark against the fur and scales bustling around him. His hands fumbled a coil of rope under Sslsistar’s sharp eye—two days since Leago, the brig still his bunk, unlocked now, a grudging freedom amid wary stares. Saving Titus had shifted their fear to curiosity, a tolerance earned in blood and stitches, but his clawless strangeness kept the crew’s tails twitching, their eyes darting when he passed. He roamed topside by day, proving himself knot by knot, but night sent him back below—Hanna’s compromise, trust half-given. Captain Hanna Calico and First Mate Titus Claw watched from the helm, their gazes shifting from suspicion to appraisal, a silent question in every flick of their ears or tails.

  Sslsistar prowled the foredeck, her chameleon scales glinting as she barked, “Heave, ye louts! Lines tight, sails trim—move yer sorry hides afore I flay ’em!” Her tone eased a notch for William, her tongue flicking as she eyed his tangled rope. “You, pinky—loop it, don’t choke it. Ain’t a noose, it’s a knot—get it right or I’ll tie ya up meself.”

  William grinned, fumbling again, hands raw from hemp. “Aw, Quartermaster, didn’t know you were into that. Don’t threaten me with a good time, now.”

  She hissed, a smirk tugging her snout, her voice dry as desert sand but laced with amusement. “Keep dreamin’.” She leaned close, sly and soft so only he could hear, “Ya couldn’t handle my kind o’ punishment, softskin.”

  William stopped with the ropes, looked up at her, and returned in a matching tone with a flirty smile, “I think you’d be surprised what humans can handle, Sslsistar,” then gave her a wink.

  She stood straight and let out a bellowing “HA!” with a wide smile. “Tie that knot, smartass. Get it right by the time I come back around, or we’ll find out how much punishment a human can take.” She turned and stalked away, whip swaying.

  William went back to the knot, a smile still on his lips as Maggie Peco darted past, her squirrel tail flicking as she climbed the rigging, paws outstretched with a chirpy hum.

  “Let’s go faster,” Maggie yelled, turning to Hanna to make sure she was watching. “Captain, watch this!” She summoned her Castor magic—gusts of wind swirled from her hands, snapping the sails taut, pushing The Silver Girl forward with a lurch that made the deck groan.

  Hanna glanced up at the full sails, green eyes approving, her voice a low purr, “Good work, Mags.” She looked over at Titus, who gripped the large wooden wheel. “Keep it steady, First Mate. If you need me, I’ll be in my cabin.”

  Titus nodded down to Hanna as she left the helm and went below decks, his grizzly bulk steady despite the bandages wrapping his side, dark eyes tracking the crew’s bustle even as he held the wheel tight. Pain lingered in his stance, blood seeping faintly through the cloth from Leago’s wound, but he’d snarled off any notion of resting below. His voice rumbled as he watched William wrestle the rope, “Pink thing’s tryin’, still a damn mess, though.” Titus grunted to himself, not quite approval, but not scorn—a flicker of respect for the stitches holding him together. “Lots to learn, but that could be said for all o’ us, I reckon.”

  Below, the crew hauled and cursed—cats tightening lines, dogs coiling ropes, reptiles hauling gear. Gunnie stood by the aft banister, the capybara’s pipe smoldering, his cannon crew poised, vermin powder monkeys darting about busy with cannon upkeep.

  Gunnie puffed smoke, then grunted low, squinting aft, his claw pointing at the horizon—a dark shape cresting the waves.

  Titus turned, grizzly ears twitching as he looked over to the quiet capybara. “What’s up, Gunnie?”

  Gunnie nodded toward the shapes—three now, shadows gaining—his grunt sharper, urgent.

  Sslsistar, whose rounds had brought her near the helm, snatched up her monocular telescope. Her scales shifted to tense gray as she peered through, her tongue flicking the wind. She lowered it, voice tight, “I better get the Captain.”

  Inside her cabin, Hanna hunched over a table strewn with charts and logs, her quill scratching ink into the ship’s records—the leather-bound book scarred by salt and time. Leago’s fall, the stranger’s surgery, the course to Pride waters etched in her neat script. Her cat ears flicked at a knock, and she growled, “Enter.”

  Sslsistar opened the door and poked her head in. “Captain, we’ve got company. Three ships closin’ fast. Lead’s that floatin’ death hulk we fought, but the other two? Leago’s rot, risen fresh—town’s dead, chasin’ us, I’m afraid.”

  Hanna’s quill dropped, ink splattering across the log, her claws flexing as she shoved it aside. “Three?” she spat. “Order damn ’em all! How’d they find us?” She turned and yelled to a side door, “Cornell!”

  After a moment, the parakeet burst through, feathers ruffled, spectacles askew, clutching maps, his voice a shrill rush, “What’s happening, Captain? What’s the ruckus?”

  Hanna grabbed her hat, her tail lashing, green eyes blazing. “Three Draco-Lich ships on our tail,” she explained, “not one—three. Lead’s the death ship we tangled with, but the others? Leago wrecks, bloated with the town’s walkin’ dead, gainin’ fast despite the wind. We shook one afore, but this? We’re outta open sea—options, now!”

  Cornell laid out a map, scaly claws pinning it as he traced their route, his beak clicking as he spoke, scholarly calm warring with urgency. “Okay, let’s see.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “We’re here, two days from Leago, Pride waters ahead.” He scanned, then tapped a jagged cluster, his voice dropping. “Here. The Lion’s Teeth—shallows, cliffs, rocks that’ll shred a hull if you blink. Dangerous as a cornered vermin’s blade, but it could stall ’em, maybe shake ’em loose.”

  Hanna’s ears flattened, her voice a hiss, “That’s Laughing Jack’s turf—damn it.”

  Sslsistar hissed with annoyance, her claws flexing. “That mad hyena—trouble either way.”

  Cornell’s feathers twitched, but he nodded, his tone measured. “Yes, Captain, that is indeed Laughing Jack’s haunt. Unpredictable as a storm. He could aid us, he could gut us, might cackle and do both. But three dead ships, relentless as they are? We’ve no real choice unless you fancy a stand-up brawl with rot and bone.”

  Hanna spat into a corner, her claws tapping the table, mind racing as she weighed the odds. “Ain’t got the stomach for a brawl with the dead—not with three o’ them hulks.” She studied the map and sighed. “We thread the Teeth, Sslsistar—full sail ‘til we hit ’em, then half sail, careful hands. We lose ’em in there or we sink.” She turned to Cornell. “Agreed?”

  Cornell adjusted his spectacles, his voice firm. “Teeth’s our play, Captain. Only way I can see to outrun ’em.”

  Hanna nodded, her tail stiffening. “Then it’s set. Get topside, relay it. We’re dodgin’ death today or runnin’ to its doorstep, but on our terms.”

  Sslsistar left, barking orders to her crew. Hanna followed, Cornell close behind.

  “How far be the Teeth?” she asked Cornell.

  He thought for a moment. “Two bells,” he answered thinking. “Should be within sight by two bells.”

  Hanna nodded with understanding as she stormed to the helm. Titus stepped aside, her cat paws gripping the wheel as The Silver Girl veered toward the Lion’s Teeth, the crew taut as bowstrings under her barked orders, “Full sail, ye louts—tighten up! We’re racin’ death!”

  Titus relayed, his grizzly roar booming over the wind, “Trim ’em sharp—move or drown!”

  The race was on.

  * * *

  Jagged rocks loomed like fangs through the mist, cliffs towering on either side, waves crashing white against shallows that could shred timber to splinters. Sslsistar prowled the deck, her whip cracking a lagging cat’s flank, her voice a hiss, “Eyes up, ye bilge rats—watch them rocks or we’re fish food!” Titus gripped the rail, bandages seeping red from Leago’s wound, his growl strained as he barked, “Trim sails, ye curs—tighten or we’re smashed!” Blood trickled down, staining the deck, his fur matted where the Lich’s claw had torn him two days back. He snarled at Hanna’s sharp glance, “Ain’t restin’—not ’til we’re clear,” but his paw held the area, the hammer at his hip untouched, strength bleeding out with every sway.

  Cornell called depths from the bow, his parakeet voice shrill over the gale, “Eight fathoms, steady, Captain!” The chase had stretched into a relentless, bone-jarring gauntlet—eight hours since Leago’s smoke faded, the crew fraying at the edges. Three Draco-Lich ships bore down: the lead, a skeletal hulk with black sails tattered but full, its eyeless crew silent; two Leago wrecks flanking, groaning with the town’s living dead, decayed paws clawing the air. The cliffs kept their cannons quiet, but Gunnie had three hauled to the poop deck, his pipe smoldering as he grunted, “Fire!” A cannon boomed, splintering the lead’s bow, stalling it as shards flew—yet they pressed on, rotted hulls cutting the swell like specters.

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  Maggie clung to the rigging, paws trembling from hours of magic, her chirpy shout ragged, “Take this, ya rotters!” Another volley of missiles streaked, slamming the lead’s deck, planks shattering, but her tail drooped, her breath heaving. She swayed, nearly slipping, catching a rope with a gasp. “Can’t… keep it up forever, Captain!” Hanna yanked the wheel, snarling, “Hard to starboard! Order damn the shallows!” as a rock grazed the hull, wood groaning under the scrape. A cat sailor stumbled, exhaustion slowing his claws, and Sslsistar’s whip snapped again, hauling him upright with a hiss, “Move, ye cur, or I’ll lash ya to the mast!”

  The lead Draco-Lich ship veered too close to a fang, its hull crunching against stone, slowing as timbers splintered, yet the Leago pair wove through, closing the gap, their groaning dead clawing at nothing. Gunnie grunted again, another cannon let loose—a chain shot ripped through a Leago sail, canvas tearing loose, stalling it—but the chase dragged on, hours bleeding into desperation. A hidden shoal scraped the hull, the ship shuddering, planks creaking under the strain. Hanna snarled, “Tighten up, damn it—keep her steady!”

  Titus roared, “Hold fast, ye louts!”

  A narrow channel squeezed tight, cliffs pressing in. The lead ship lunged, nearly alongside, its skeletal claws reaching across the gap. Maggie fired another volley, her missiles cracking its mast, wood splintering as it stalled in the shallows, her voice a triumphant squeak, “Gotcha!” The Leago ships faltered, damaged and slowed, their undead crews staggering as sails hung limp. They faded into the haze, the Teeth’s twists swallowing them as Hanna threaded the final stretch, her breath ragged, paws aching on the wheel.

  A new shadow burst from a side crevasse, cutting them off—a galleon, a flag with a jester’s hat in a hangman’s noose flown high, its hull painted with grinning skulls, sails ragged but full, surging beside them with predatory grace. The Joker’s Hang Noose loomed, its crew—all canines, wiry terriers to hulking mastiffs, even a wolf or two—lined the rail, blades and teeth glinting in the storm’s dim light, a pack of snarling raiders.

  “Parley!” a voice cackled, high and unhinged, cutting through the wind like a cracked bell.

  A gangplank slammed down, bridging the ships, and Laughing Jack strode across leisurely—a hyena in a tattered coat, his fur patchy, his grin wide with yellowed fangs that gleamed like a madman’s promise. His crew followed—a snarling tide of dogs bristling with steel and hunger, their eyes feral, tails twitching with anticipation.

  “Battle stations!” Hanna yelled as she met him mid-deck, her cutlass drawn, tail lashing, her voice a roar over the gale. “Cannons hot, blades out—we’re ready, Jack! Take this as a warnin’: twitch wrong, and we sink yer mangy hide!”

  Jack twirled a dagger, hopping from paw to paw, his cackle a wild burst echoing off the cliffs, his coat flaring as he spun, his voice lilting like a song gone sour. “Oh, Calico, ya fierce kitty! What a romp! Watched it, I did—dodgin’ dead hulks through me Teeth, eh? Didja kiss the rocks, or did they kiss you? Tell me, tell me—I’m dyin’ to know!”

  Hanna’s ears flattened, her claws flexing on her cutlass, her voice hard as iron. “Jack, ya mad cur—three undead ships chasin’ us through yer damn maze. Ain’t here for yer games—step aside or bleed.”

  Jack threw his head back, his laugh a jagged peal, his dagger spinning faster as he leaned in, breath reeking of rum and rot, his eyes glinting with manic glee. “Games? Oh, I’m the king o’ games, kitty! Undead hulks, ya say? Crunchy snacks for me pups—bet they taste like regret and old boots! Want me to nibble ’em for ya? I’d do it singin’—slashy-slashy, blood and giggles!”

  Hanna stepped closer, her cutlass gleaming, her tail swishing with fury. “Stow it. We’re runnin’ for Pride waters, and I’ll gut ya afore ya slow us. Move, or I’ll carve that grin off yer mangy snout.”

  Jack’s smile left his face as he grew serious. “Rude, ya be to me, kitty cat,” he warned. “Me crew don’t like when others come callin’ and rude they be to their pack leader.”

  Hanna hesitated. She’d hoped force might clear the mad hyena, but she might’ve pushed too hard. She was outnumbered, outgunned—they both knew it.

  A wide smile blossomed on Jack’s face as he giggled, tilting his head like a broken toy, his voice a taunting singsong. “Pride waters? Oh, fancy-pants! Goin’ to sip tea with them kitty lords, eh? I’d join, but I’d rather dance—cannons boomin’, blades flashin’! Tell me, Calico, how’s it feel fleein’ corpses through me playground? Bet yer heart’s poundin’—makes me wanna jig!”

  Hanna switched tactics—force wasn’t working. “Dance all ye want, Jack,” she said, sheathing her cutlass. “We’ve stalled ’em, and now we just need to make time and away.”

  Jack’s grin stretched wider, his dagger pausing mid-spin as he sniffed the air, his voice dropping to a gleeful rasp. “Stalled ’em? Oh, yer a clever kitty—dodged me dead pals with flair! But I’m bored now, need a prize for me trouble—” he turned serious for a split moment, “and insults—” then smiled again, “somethin’ shiny, somethin’ new…” He froze, spotting William, his eyes widening with delight. “What’s THIS hairless delight? A shaved kitty? A plucked chickie?”

  Hanna snarled—damn me for not sendin’ William below, she thought—stepping forward, blocking Jack, her tail a rigid line. “He’s mine, Jack—saved me first mate, worth more than yer mangy hide and yer whole flea-bit crew.”

  Jack’s cackle rose, a wild burst, his dagger twirling again as he hopped closer, his voice a manic chant. “Yours, eh? Oh, I WANT it! Hairless’s mine—gimme, Calico, or I’ll gut ye and yer crew slow—string ’em up, wear ’em as a cape, dance in their blood ’til the sea’s red!”

  William’s gut twisted—Jack’s threat at Hanna lit a fire he couldn’t name, a hot surge of dread and defiance. He couldn’t let this lunatic touch her—not her, not after she’d hauled him through hell—nor let this reject from a madhouse hurt the crew. He had to try something fast, maybe as crazy as the hyena. Stepping forward, nerves jangling, he puffed his chest, voice loud and sharp, cutting through the storm. “Hey, you mangy mutt!” Everyone turned as William stepped aside, pointing at the mad captain and storming toward him. “Back off my ship!” Jack looked confused. “Yeah, mine!” William explained. “This crew’s under my complete control. They do as I command and only as I command.”

  Jack’s grin faltered, his eyes narrowing, but William glanced at Titus, Sslsistar, and Hanna. They blinked, confused, faces scrunching, but caught the glint in his eye. He snapped his fingers. “Titus! Sslsistar! Hanna!” The three stepped up beside William. Titus, on William’s right, growled with a rumble deep, a guttural snarl shaking his chest, bringing out his powerful hammer; Sslsistar, on William’s left, hissed sharp, her tongue flicking like a blade as she pulled out her saber and its sister dirk; Hanna drew her cutlass and draped herself over William’s shoulders, possessively and almost seductively, letting her sword hang by her side. Jack’s dogs flinched, ears flattening, their snarls faltering.

  William sneered, arms crossed, his voice dripping with mock superiority. “This…?” He waved a hand around the deck at Jack’s crew dismissively. “Whatever this pissin’ contest is, it’s beneath me. I run this show, mutt. Didn’t wanna flash my hand, but you’ve threatened my favorite girl—” he reached around and pulled Hanna close; she played along, clutching him tighter, her bordello days kicking in, “and my crew. A man’s gotta draw a line somewhere, and you’ve crossed it.” He raised his voice. “CREW READY!” Titus and Sslsistar stepped up, poised to fight; the rest of the crew quickly drew weapons, turning toward Jack’s pack. “Leave, Jack, or I’ll take your ship and your crew as a spare.”

  Jack was silent, watching William for a moment, studying The Silver Girl’s crew. Then an insane cackle erupted, a manic peal bouncing off the cliffs, his dagger spinning wild, eyes keen despite the madness. “Oh, Hairless, yer a riot, ya are! King o’ the deck, eh? Not buyin’ it, ya cheeky bastard, but what a show—worthy o’ me own stage!” He clapped, dagger flashing, his dogs shifting uneasily, growls low. A terrier lunged, teeth bared—Jack snapped a paw, yanking it back with a giggle. “Down, pups! Hairless gets an encore—next time!” He winked at Hanna. “Keep yer toy, Calico, for now.” Then to William, “I’ll see ya again, Hairless—sharp blades, red waves, a proper jig!” He spun, coat flaring, strutted back to The Joker’s Hang Noose, cackling as his crew trailed, the galleon’s sails snapping as it vanished into the mist, his laugh a storm’s echo.

  William turned, face flushed, hands trembling as he stammered, “Hanna, shit—” He let her go, embarrassed, raising his hands. “I’m sorry. That ‘I’m Captain’ bit was all I could think of! Used my weirdness to throw him off. I swear it won’t happen again—I just, he was gonna hurt you, and the others because of me, and I couldn’t let that…”

  Hanna nodded with understanding. “Couldn’t let that happen,” she finished for him.

  William nodded. Hanna sheathed her cutlass, hands on hips, studying this weird human. “Don’t know much ’bout ye, William, but I can tell yer a good one.” She smiled and leaned in, whispering for him alone, “Besides, it wasn’t all bad.” She pulled back, sharing a smile, then clasped his shoulder and raised her fist.

  The crew erupted in cheers. Titus grunted, a grizzly nod, his voice a low rumble, “Gutsy move—damn near mad, but gutsy.”

  William nodded at his bandage, “See me in the brig after this,” he said, “I want to take a look at that wound and get that bleeding stopped.” Titus nodded with apparition.

  Sslsistar snorted, her tongue flicking. “Not bad, softskin,” she nodded in approval. “Yer spine’s showin’. Don’t expect a cuddle, but I ain’t whippin’ ya… yet.”

  William pointed at her with jest. “You’d have to take me on a date first—I’m not that easy.”

  Sslsistar slapped him on the back, nearly causing him to stumble, and let out an enormous “HA!”

  Maggie clapped, her squirrel tail bouncing, her voice a chirpy cheer, “That was amazin’, Pinky! Ya scared ’em good—made ’em jump like nuts off a tree!”

  “I wouldn’t say that, Mags,” William admitted. “I think I just made him laugh, which seemed to be enough, luckily.”

  Gunnie puffed smoke, nodding once, a grunt of approval rumbling from his capybara chest. William nodded back with a thanks.

  Hanna’s gaze lingered, green eyes tracing William’s bare frame, his quick grin flickering through the nerves as he talked to the crew. He’d been a stranger, a freak, a burden—now he’d saved her closest mate and bluffed a mad hyena, shielding her in his odd, reckless way, his strangeness a shield for her crew too. She could see—no, feel—the good in him, almost radiating off him like heat from a fire. Something shifted in her chest, a warmth beyond gratitude, a pull she didn’t dare name—not now, maybe not ever—but hers to reckon with, a spark she buried under her bark for now to sort out later. She turned to the crew, “Alright!” she barked, and everyone stiffened, quieting down. “Set course for Gard,” she ordered, “supplies, trade, breather—move, ye lot!” The crew got busy.

  William stepped up. “After I get Titus fixed up, what should I do, Captain?”

  Hanna studied him. “Go rest for now,” she said. “Yer nerves must be at wit’s end.”

  “With all due respect, ma’am, that’s why I need to get busy. I need to work out this adrenaline pumpin’ through me.”

  Hanna looked at William, confused—adrenaline? Must be some weird human thing, she thought, but she could respect wanting to work out jitters. “Go see Sslsistar,” she said. “I’m sure she’d have work for ye.”

  William let out a salute. “Aye, aye, Captain,” he said, smiling, and dashed off. Hanna smiled as she watched him go.

  The Silver Girl sailed on, the Lion’s Teeth fading astern, the port city of Gard—a Pride stronghold—their next haven. Freedom drove her, but William was carving a new path in her mind, one she couldn’t unsee, maybe one she didn’t want to unsee.

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