Gareth Gold-tooth came to Undercut Island for buried treasure, but tonight he had to kill a man first. The thief stood on the wet sand at low tide, sabre drawn, a stolen coin still clenched in his fist. He had skimmed gold from the crew's share for weeks. Gareth had counted the losses himself. A captain who lets a thief live loses his ship. So he drew his own navy sabre and stepped onto the beach. The sun sat low and red over the water. Behind Gareth, a weathered old pirate limped down from the tree line and stopped to watch. This was Fast Willy, who had sailed under three captains and buried all three. He kept a locked iron chest bolted to the deck and sat on it every sundown. He said nothing. He only folded his scarred hands and waited to see which man he would bury next. "Give back the coin and I'll make it quick," Gareth said. The thief spat. "You'd gut me either way." He was right. He lunged. Gareth caught the blade on his own and shoved it wide. Steel scraped steel. The thief was fast, but panic made him wild. He swung twice at Gareth's head. Gareth ducked both, boots sliding in the surf. Cold water soaked his knees. Gareth feinted low. The thief dropped his guard to block. That was the mistake. Gareth drove his sabre up under the man's ribs. The thief gasped and stumbled back into the shallows. The stolen coin slipped from his hand and sank. He fell face down in the red water and did not move. Gareth stood over the body, breathing hard. His gold tooth caught the last light as he wiped his blade clean on his sleeve. One thief dead. A lesson the crew would remember. Fast Willy limped closer. He looked at the corpse, then at Gareth. "He wasn't alone," the old pirate said. "Two others helped him hide the gold. They ran for the inn an hour ago." Gareth went still. "You knew this and said nothing?" "I'm telling you now." Fast Willy nodded toward the dark ridge, where a rough pirate inn crouched among the trees, lamps burning in its windows. "They'll take a boat off this island before dawn. And they know where you buried your maps." Gareth's stomach turned to ice. The maps to the treasure hoard were his one true prize. Without them, Undercut Island was just rock and sand. He looked at the dead man, then at the burning windows on the ridge. He had killed the thief to protect his crew. Now two of them were running toward the one thing he could not lose. Gareth sheathed his sabre and started up the beach at a hard walk. "Willy," he said. "Get me a boat and a pistol. We finish this tonight."

Down on the sand, Gareth's blade rang against the thief's steel. The duel drew every eye on the ridge. That was exactly what the twins wanted. Delvin Renderick pulled his brother behind a stack of nets and watched the captain fight. Delvin was the thinking one, slim, spectacles fogged with sea air, always three steps ahead. Wystan crouched beside him, wide as a barrel, breathing like a bull. These were the two crew members who had helped hide the stolen gold. Both knew where Gareth buried his treasure maps. If Gareth caught them, he would gut them the way he was gutting the thief now. "The captain's busy," Delvin whispered. "Move. Now." They slipped up the slope while Gareth's back was turned. Lamplight spilled from a small fish shop tucked among the trees. Delvin shoved the door open. Inside, an old woman stood at her counter, gutting a mackerel with a worn knife. Faye Puddle did not look up. "We need to hide," Delvin said. He dropped three gold coins on the wet wood. "Just for the night. There's more when we sail." Faye set down her knife. She looked at the coins, then at the two men dripping on her floor. Her sun-cracked hands did not shake. "I don't like trouble in my shop," she said. "You'll like this gold," Wystan growled. He stepped close, filling the doorway. Faye held his stare a long moment. Then she swept the coins into her apron. "Back room. Behind the barrels. Don't touch my fish." The twins ducked through a low curtain and went still. Faye picked up her knife and returned to the mackerel. Fists pounded the door. Gareth pushed inside, sabre still wet, pistol on his belt. His gold tooth flashed as he breathed hard. "Two men. One tall with glasses. One built like a wall. They came this way." Faye did not stop cutting. "I've seen no such men, Captain." Gareth stepped closer. His eyes moved over the shop, the counter, the curtain. "You're sure." "I know my own doorway." She flipped a fresh fillet onto the counter. "Try the Salty Wench. Strangers drink there. Or buy some fish while you're standing in my shop. Fresh cod, good price, just for you." Gareth stared at her. Behind the barrels, Wystan's breath caught. Faye pressed her knife harder into the board, loud enough to cover it. Gareth held her gaze, then looked away. "The Wench," he muttered. He tossed a coin on the counter, grabbed a fillet, and turned for the door. "If you lied, old woman, I'll come back." "I'd expect nothing less." The door banged shut. Gareth strode down the ridge toward the inn, chasing men who were not there. The twins were safe. His maps stayed one night further from his hands, and the thieves who knew where they lay slept warm behind a fishwife's barrels.