The lower decks of the Righteous Wrath smelled like feet and forgotten ambition.
Elijah wrinkled his nose as they crept through another corridor, the wood beneath his boots groaning with every step. "You know what this ship needs? Windows. Ventilation. Maybe a scented candle or two. Would it kill the Marines to invest in some aromatherapy?"
"Would it kill you to shut up?" Duckworth moved like a ghost, his back pressed against the wall as he peered around a corner. "Patrol coming. Two men. Twenty seconds."
"I counted three."
"There's two."
"Bet you five hundred Beri there's three."
Duckworth's eye twitched. "Fine."
They waited. The footsteps grew louder. Two Marines appeared at the far end of the corridor, rifles slung over their shoulders, chatting about something mundane. Behind them, trailing by several feet, came a third man carrying a lantern.
"Ha." Elijah's grin could have lit up the darkness all on its own. "Pay up."
"We're escaping from a Marine vessel. I don't have five hundred Beri."
"Then you owe me. I accept payment in alcohol, favors, or undying loyalty." He paused. "Actually, scratch that last one. Undying loyalty sounds troublesome. Just buy me a drink when we hit shore."
The patrol passed. Their voices faded into the ship's belly.
Duckworth moved first, slipping into the corridor. Elijah followed, considerably less graceful, his feet thudding against the planks like a drummer with no sense of rhythm.
"You walk like a drunk elephant."
"Elephants are majestic creatures. I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't."
They reached a junction. Four corridors branched off in different directions, each one swallowed by shadow and the distant sound of the ship's heartbeat. Duckworth knelt, studying the wood grain, the wear patterns, the faint scratches left by heavy boots over time.
"Left passage leads to the crew quarters. Middle goes to the mess hall. Right is storage." His finger traced an invisible line. "Based on foot traffic patterns, the stairs to the upper decks should be..."
"That one." Elijah pointed at the far corridor without hesitation.
"How do you know?"
"Because there's a sign."
Duckworth looked up. A small wooden placard hung from the ceiling, barely visible in the gloom. The words "UPPER DECKS" were carved into its surface, accompanied by an arrow pointing in exactly the direction Elijah had indicated.
"...That's cheating."
They moved through the shadows, ascending through the ship one deck at a time. Every corner brought new dangers. Every stairwell promised discovery. Marines patrolled in regular intervals, their lanterns cutting golden swaths through the darkness.
Duckworth tracked them all. The bounty hunter's mind worked like a clock, measuring distances and counting seconds, building a mental map of every guard's position and trajectory.
Elijah, on the other hand, seemed to operate on pure instinct.
When a Marine appeared unexpectedly around a corner, the pirate simply grabbed Duckworth's collar and yanked them both into a shadowed alcove, pressing them flat against the wall as the guard passed inches away.
"How did you know he was there?"
Elijah tapped his temple. "Sixth sense. Also, I heard him sneeze like thirty seconds ago. Guy's got allergies. Should probably see a doctor about that."
They continued upward.
The ship's interior changed as they climbed. The cramped lower decks gave way to wider corridors. The rough-hewn planks became polished wood. The smell of mildew faded, replaced by something cleaner. Something that spoke of money and authority.
"Officer territory," Duckworth murmured. "Watch yourself."
"Watching. Watching very carefully. Oh look, a painting of some old guy with a mustache."
"That's Admiral Sengoku."
"Never heard of him. Is he famous?"
Duckworth shot him a look that could have curdled milk. "The Fleet Admiral of the entire Marine organization?"
"Like I said. Never heard of him. I don't really keep up with Marine stuff."
They rounded another corner.
And then Duckworth stopped.
Elijah noticed immediately. "Hey, Quickdraw? You okay there, buddy? You look like you just saw a ghost."
Duckworth said nothing.
His grey eyes were fixed on a door at the end of the corridor. Heavy oak. Brass fittings. A nameplate mounted at eye level, the letters engraved in gold.
COMMODORE HAROLD WHITMORE
"Ah." Elijah read the name. "Friend of yours?"
"Something like that."
"Let me guess." Elijah leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "This is the guy who stiffed you? The one who refused to pay after you delivered the goods?"
"Delivered a pirate worth fifteen million Beri. Brought him in alive, like the contract said. Every condition met. Every term fulfilled." Duckworth's jaw tightened. "He laughed in my face. Said bounty hunters didn't deserve payment. Said we were parasites feeding off the Marines' hard work."
"Sounds like a real charmer."
"I broke three of his ribs and his left arm. Would've done more if his guards hadn't jumped me." A smile ghosted across Duckworth's features. Something dark lived in that smile.
"Your guns are probably behind that door."
"I know."
"Along with my compass."
"I know that too."
Elijah pushed off the wall. "So what are we waiting for? An invitation? I don't think they're going to send one."
Duckworth didn't move. His eyes stayed locked on that door. On that name.
"This changes things." His voice was quiet. "I came along because escape made sense. Because you needed my skills and I needed your fruit. A partnership of convenience."
"And now?"
"Now it's personal."
Elijah's grin widened. "So you're saying you're invested now? Emotionally committed to our little jailbreak?"
"I'm saying when we go through that door, I'm not leaving until I've settled this debt." Duckworth's hand flexed, muscle memory reaching for weapons that weren't there. "Contracts work both ways. He broke ours. And I always collect what I'm owed."
"That's the spirit!" Elijah clapped him on the shoulder. "See, this is why the compass led me to you. You've got that fire. That drive. Most people let things go. Accept their losses. Move on." He stepped toward the Commodore's door. "But you? You're like me. You don't let go. You don't forgive. You don't forget."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"
"It's supposed to be the truth." Elijah reached for the door handle. "Now let's go steal our stuff back and ruin this guy's entire evening."
The door wasn't locked.
Why would it be? This was the Commodore's personal cabin aboard a Marine vessel. Who would be stupid enough to break in?
The answer, apparently, was them.
The cabin was everything Elijah expected and more. Lavish furnishings. Expensive tapestries. A bed large enough to sleep six people comfortably. A desk carved from some kind of exotic wood, its surface covered with maps and documents and a half-empty bottle of what looked like very expensive wine.
But none of that mattered.
What mattered was the velvet cushion on that desk, sitting in a place of honor like some kind of religious artifact. And resting on that cushion, its needle spinning lazily in circles, was a compass.
His compass.
The Wayward Compass. The only navigational tool in the world that didn't point north. The only thing his father had ever given him that wasn't wrapped in pain.
"There you are." Elijah moved toward the desk, his eyes locked on the brass casing. "Miss me?"
The needle stopped. It pointed directly at him. At his heart. As if recognizing its owner after too long apart.
"That's sweet," he murmured. "Real sweet."
Behind him, Duckworth had gone silent.
Elijah turned.
The bounty hunter stood frozen in the middle of the cabin, staring at the far wall. His face had drained of color. His hands trembled at his sides.
Elijah followed his gaze.
Mounted on the wall, displayed on a velvet backing like museum pieces, were two revolvers. Long-barreled. Custom-made. The kind of weapons that cost more than most people earned in a lifetime. Their steel gleamed under the cabin's lamplight, polished to a mirror shine. Well-maintained. Cared for.
A small brass placard sat beneath them.
"PATIENCE & MERCY"
Confiscated from the criminal known as "Quickdraw"
A trophy commemorating the capture of the North Blue's most dangerous bounty hunter