Madame Sasha's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Rusty perched in the crow's nest, chittering at something Sasha couldn't see. She'd sent him up to check the new rigging—good canvas and rope didn't come cheap, and she needed the Scarlette Fyre ready before the next tide turned. But now he wouldn't come down, just kept staring at her with those black eyes gone all wrong. Sasha whistled the command for 'down.' Nothing. She tried the hand signal—palm flat, fingers wiggling like falling leaves. Rusty's ears twitched, but he stayed put, tail bushed out thick as a bottlebrush. Then she saw it: the rope ladder swaying when no wind blew. The shadows in the rigging shifted wrong, dark patches that moved against the grain of the light. Something was up there with him. Something that made her best pickpocket—the squirrel who'd faced down harbor cats and angry merchants without flinching—press himself flat against the mast. She grabbed the lowest rung of the ladder and started climbing. The Scarlette Fyre wouldn't sail anywhere if her crew was too scared to work the rigging, and that included the four-legged member. Halfway up, Sasha caught movement in the crow's nest. A boy sat curled against the mast, bare feet tucked under torn trousers, watching her climb. Maybe thirteen, maybe younger—hard to tell with the hollow look in his eyes. A stowaway. She'd checked the hold yesterday, but he must have slipped aboard during the night. Rusty chittered again, softer now, and the boy reached out one careful hand. The squirrel didn't run. Sasha hauled herself onto the platform and sat across from him, breathing hard. The boy's gaze dropped to her boots, to the deck far below, anywhere but her face. She knew that look. Hunted. Desperate. Exactly the kind of thing that made ships more than myth—they became refuge. She pulled a handful of nuts from her pocket and held them out. The boy took one. Rusty took three. The Scarlette Fyre had just found her first human crew member, whether he knew it yet or not. The boy spoke without looking up. "Crown guards burned my father's shop three days back. Wrong flag on the wrong day." His voice cracked on the last word. Sasha nodded. She didn't need the whole story—she could fill in the gaps herself. A tradesman caught between pirate ports and crown law, probably took coin from both sides until one side decided that was betrayal. The boy had nowhere else to go, so he'd picked the ship with the worst reputation in harbor. Smart, in a desperate sort of way. She stood and offered her hand. "You work the rigging, you eat. You steal from me, you swim." The boy took her hand, fingers rough with rope burns he'd gotten climbing aboard. Rusty leaped onto her shoulder, chittering approval. The Scarlette Fyre had a crew now—small, strange, and built from the pieces no one else wanted. Exactly the way she needed it.