Captain Black Tom James wanted to be pirate king of Islandia. To buy that crown, he needed coin. Instead he stood on the beach and watched his coin burn. The catnip he had stolen to sell now smoked in a cluster of charred sacks. Flame licked through the torn seams. He had meant to guard the cargo. He had spilled a lantern instead. Now the smell of scorched leaves filled his black fur, and his purse hung empty at his belt. He kicked sand over the fire until the last flame died. Ash was worth nothing. A dead cargo could not fund a bid against every captain in these waters. He touched the compass at his belt out of habit. It pointed nowhere true. He trusted no luck, only his ship and his own two paws. Right now both paws were empty. Buccaneer Bob climbed down from the ship to the sand. Bob was his crewman, and the only cat aboard who knew where cargo could be turned to coin fast. He wore his red headscarf tight and carried a rolled scrap of parchment under one arm. He looked at the smoking sacks and said nothing for a long moment. "Burned it," Bob said. "An accident." "Costly one." Bob crouched by the ash. He poked it once. "There's more." Black Tom leaned in. "More cargo?" "A stash. Under the beach." Bob nodded toward a wooden hatch half buried in palm fronds not twenty paces off. "Full bales. Untouched. I hid them myself." Black Tom bared his teeth in something close to a smile. A hidden cellar of clean catnip could fund the whole bid. He crossed to the hatch and dragged the fronds away. He hauled the door open. Cool air rose from the dark. Below sat rows of canvas bales, each stamped with a plain catnip label. "Load them," he said. "Every one." Bob did not move to help. He stood at the lip of the pit, watching Black Tom count the haul. "You cheated me at cards last week," Bob said. "Called me a gutter cat in front of the crew." "So? You want a cut. Take one." "I don't want a cut." Bob's voice stayed flat. "I want you gone." He planted a boot against the open hatch and shoved. Black Tom stumbled down among the bales. Before he could climb out, the door slammed shut above him. Wood scraped as Bob dragged the bar across. "Bob!" Black Tom threw himself at the hatch. It held. Above, muffled, came Bob's answer. "Blackpaw pays well for a man who crossed you. He's alive, Tom. And he's coming." Footsteps crossed the sand and faded. Black Tom stood in the dark among the coin he could no longer reach, trapped beneath his own stash, with his enemy sailing toward the shore.

Black Tom clawed at the hatch until his pads bled. The bar held. He needed another way out. He found a gap where two planks had rotted apart and worked his knife into the seam. Wood splintered. He tore a hole and squeezed through into the cold air. Bob was gone. So was Bob's loyalty. And Blackpaw was still coming. He ran to his ship. The deck was empty. No crew stood at the rail. No hands waited at the ropes. He was one cat against a warship, and one cat could not raise a sail before Blackpaw's cannons found him. He needed a crew he could trust, and every cat on this island knew he cheated at cards. He gripped the wheel and stared at the empty water. He went ashore for the only person who traded in secrets instead of grudges. Madame Mimi LeMeow ran the finest house on the island. Captains drank there and let things slip, and Mimi sold what they said. She had barred worse men than Bob. Black Tom pushed through her door into low red light. Mimi sat behind her counter, trimming a lamp wick with a small blade. She did not look up. "You smell of smoke and rotted wood, chérie." "My crewman sold me to Blackpaw. I need hands I can trust before that ship arrives." "Trust is expensive." She set the blade down. "Bob drank here two nights past. He talked." Black Tom leaned on the counter. "Where did he go?" Mimi slid a rolled parchment across the wood. He opened it. A coastline. A route inked in bold. A red cross marked a craggy sea mountain crowned with palms. "Bob keeps a hideaway," she said. "A cave stuffed with casks. And men who owe him nothing yet." Black Tom studied the cross. "Men for hire." "Men who hate Bob more than they fear you. He cheated them too." Mimi's tail curled. "That is worth something." "What do you want for it?" "When you are king, chérie, you remember who lit your way." She smiled and said no more. He took the chart and left. He sailed alone through the night, one paw on the wheel, and found the mountain at dawn. Palms leaned over a black cave mouth. He climbed a rope ladder to the ledge and stepped into the dark. Six cats sat among the casks. They wore hard faces and reached for their blades when his shadow filled the entrance. "Bob buried you here and forgot you," Black Tom said. "He robbed me too. I sail against him and Blackpaw both. Sail with me and share the plunder." The biggest of them stood. He looked at the others, then at Black Tom. "Bob left us with empty casks and a full grudge," he said. "We'll take the deal." Black Tom had a crew again. But this one served coin, not him, and they still knew where Bob's cave lay hidden.