The Southern Isles didn't smell like tea and ancient paper. They smelled like salt, overripe fruit, and the distinct, metallic tang of gunpowder.
I stood on the deck of the SS Audit, a merchant brigantine Kaelen had "requisitioned" (I called it a long-term lease) for our voyage. I was wearing linen trousers and a sun hat, but I still had my ledger tucked under my arm.
"The Captain of the 'Black Flag' fleet is named Silas Vane," Kaelen said, squinting against the tropical sun. He had abandoned his royal tunic for a simple white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. "And no, he isn't related to the Chancellor you put in prison. He's much worse. He doesn't bribe people; he feeds them to the sharks."
"Everyone has a price, Kaelen," I said, watching a group of colorful parrots fly over the turquoise water. "And pirates are the most capitalist people on earth. They live and die by 'The Share.'"
"Silas doesn't use shares. He uses fear."
"Fear is a high-interest loan," I countered. "Eventually, the debt becomes too high to pay, and the crew revolts. If my father really lost his fortune to this man, it wasn't through a card game. It was through a bad investment."
We dropped anchor at Tortuga's Reach, a port city that made the Lower Docks of Oakhaven look like a Sunday school. Men with eyepatches and women with more daggers than buttons crowded the piers.
In the center of the town square, my father, the Count of Lexen, was tied to a literal palm tree. He looked remarkably well-fed for a prisoner.
"Elara! My darling!" he shouted as we approached. "Did you bring the gold? Captain Silas is quite firm about the 'Late Fees'!"
A man stepped out from the shade of a nearby tavern. He had sun-bleached hair and a smile that was far too white for someone who lived on rum. He wasn't the scarred monster I expected; he looked like a high-end beach bum.
"Lady Lexen," Silas said, bowing with mock grace. "Your father told me you were the best accountant in the world. He said you could make a pile of rocks look like a dividend."
"I can," I said, stepping past Kaelen's protective arm. "But I don't work for free. You're holding my father for a debt of fifty thousand dragons. I've looked at the trade routes, Captain. Your fleet has been losing money for six months. You're being out-maneuvered by the East-Sea Syndicate."
Silas's smile faltered. "The Syndicate has more ships."
"The Syndicate has better logistics," I corrected. "They aren't faster; they're just more efficient. Give me my father, and I'll give you a way to sink the Syndicate without firing a single cannon."
Silas leaned in, the scent of sea salt and cedarwood hitting me. "And how does a girl with a book sink a fleet?"
"By auditing their suppliers," I whispered. "I'll cut off their credit. In a week, their sailors won't be able to afford oranges. By the time they reach your waters, they'll be too weak with scurvy to hold a sword."
Kaelen sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I knew it. We're not here for a rescue. We're here for a hostile maritime takeover."