“That’s sweet of her.”

“That’s Friday, silly and sentimental. After the evil king was dead and the dust cleared, Trix and Peter and Monday gave me bits of their hair to add to it. Yours was the only one of the siblings’ I didn’t have.”

“Besides Jack and Tuesday.”

Saturday gave her pirate sister a sideways glance. Had the sun bleached her brain along with her hair? “Right,” she said. “Besides Jack and Tuesday.” Not that she meant to go digging up graves.

Thursday had to shade her eyes to look up at Saturday. How had she ever won a fight being so short?

“You’ve certainly grown quite a bit bigger since I last saw you,” said her tiny sister.

“Her mouth has grown proportionately. So has yours.”

Erik’s presence delighted Thursday—as did almost everything else, it seemed. The seaman’s garb he wore now still covered as much of him as possible, but the material was lighter and blew like the sails in the wind. Saturday would have thought it strange to see Erik without livery and armor, but the relaxed look suited him.

“It’s been too long, Erik,” said Thursday.

“You were but a girl when Jack was cursed, and little more than that when you eloped with your Pirate King. I’m not sure I’ve forgiven you for not saying goodbye.”

“You cared about me too much,” said Thursday. “You would have talked me out of it.”

“Damned right, I would have.” There was a hint of that serious, disapproving look on Erik’s face with which Saturday was all too familiar. She was pleased to not be the only recipient.

“So, considering a life on the sea yet? I could do with a Red Simon.”

Erik chuckled, and the seriousness vanished. “I’ve missed you, lass, but I’m not sure I could. I’ll give it some thought.”

“You’ve got time,” said Thursday. “The sea is patient. Unless it’s called up by one of my sisters.”

Saturday changed the subject. “Your skin seems to be faring better.” On the skiff it had been close to blistering; a pale pink blush was all that tinted Erik now.

“Simon Cook gave me a pot of salve to use to ward off the sun. Said he stole it from a witch on a troll ship.” He looked to Thursday for confirmation, but the Pirate Queen only shrugged. “He also told me you bested a kraken on the way here.”

“A kraken? Really?” asked Saturday.

“Really,” said Thursday, as if fighting giant sea monsters was something she did every day. “All sorts of things got churned up when your ocean decided to visit.”

“Do you think we’ll get to see anything like that?” Saturday asked. Knowing her luck, they never would.

“With permission, milady,” hissed a soft voice above her.

High Simon alit on the deck from the rigging above. He landed gently on bare toes as yellow-green as the rest of his compact, muscular body. His eyes were slits above a long nose with a bit of a hook to it. His waist-length black hair was wrapped in a leather tail. He wasn’t wearing a hat at the moment, but Saturday could see bumps in the hair along his crown where one had sat.

Saturday guessed that one of High Simon’s parents had been a goblin, not that she’d ever seen one. She sensed that her usual brusque attitude might cause him to disappear back into the crow’s-nest just as quickly as he’d arrived, so she tread lightly.

“Yes,” Saturday said politely. “What is it?”

A strong green arm pointed steadily out to sea beyond them, toward the back of the ship, where the giant-winged mollymawks still dove for treats in the wake. “Look there, along the horizon. Can you see the strip of indigo?”

Saturday squinted hard into the bright sun, not sure if she was actually seeing something or forcing herself to believe it was there.

“Here,” said Thursday. Saturday turned and realized that Thursday was offering her magical spyglass. She hesitated, but her pirate sister dropped the heavy glass in her hand anyway. The gold was warm in her palm. “Go on. Take a look.”

Saturday lifted the glass to the spot where High Simon had pointed and gave her eyes a moment to adjust. Then she twisted the focus ring and the indigo line sprang into crisp view. She swayed a bit and steadied her elbow against a thick, coiled rope hanging from the nearest mast. “I see . . . are those spikes or spines? And are those two heads? What is that thing?”

“A lingworm,” Thursday answered. “A legendary creature few have ever seen. It has three heads: one for truth, one for compassion, and one for wisdom. I’m guessing one of the heads was damaged in the storm. But not to worry,” she said at the furrow in Saturday’s brow, “it will grow back.”

“Will it attack us?” asked Saturday.

“I feel it safe to say that no Woodcutter is in danger from that particular lingworm.” There was something else Thursday wasn’t telling her. Instead of intriguing Saturday, the mystery only rankled.

She slapped the spyglass back into Thursday’s hand. “I’m not a fan of secrets.”

“Some secrets aren’t ours to tell, Saturday.”

“Nor are they ours to keep!” She was beginning to feel as trapped on this ship as she’d been at the towerhouse.

Thursday collapsed the spyglass and fit it back into her belt, next to the sheath where she kept a thin rapier with a cupped basket hilt. “Shall we settle this properly, then?”

Saturday’s hand fell to her own sword. “Oh yes, please.”

The two sisters drew their weapons and the crew cheered and gathered round. Erik leaned back against the rail to watch his student apply his teachings.

Saturday’s sword was longer and wider than Thursday’s rapier, but its weight put Saturday at a disadvantage, as did her balance. The constant shifting of the deck was second nature to the Pirate Queen. They were not evenly matched, but what Saturday lacked in experience, she made up for with exuberance. And a magical sword.

“Here, Captain, use mine.” One of the Simons offered Thursday his strangely curved scimitar. “You might break that piskie stick against her hand-and-a-half.”

“No, use mine!” Crow offered up the mop with which he’d been swabbing the deck.

Saturday’s sword could be used in either a one- or two-handed attack; the soldiers on the practice grounds called it a hand-and-a-half. At the moment she held the sword in both hands, squaring her shoulders, while the lower half of her body stubbornly concentrated on keeping as much of the soles of her boots as possible on the swaying deck. Saturday also knew, from practicing with Erik, that in order to have any sort of upper hand in this fight, she needed to make a preemptive strike. She lunged at Thursday, forcing her sister to jump back in surprise.

“Ten bones on the Giantess,” called Erik.

“Twenty on the Captain,” yelled one Simon.

“Fifty on the Harpy,” shouted another Simon.

“Which one’s that?” asked a third.

Thursday hopped up on the rail and walked down the length of it far enough to jump onto a collection of barrels that had been lashed to the deck. Saturday was forced to pick her feet up and follow her scampering bilge rat of a sister, shifting her weight and throwing her strikes off. Thursday attacked from each new position and Saturday parried. Thursday was all nimbleness and upper body strength. Saturday tried getting in past Thursday’s defenses and forcing her to lose her grip, but the larger blade only slid across the metal basket hilt of the rapier and left Saturday open for Thursday’s attack.

Thursday winked, pulled Saturday’s braid, and skipped up to higher ground.

Sweat got in Saturday’s eyes, as well as the sun, and she began to see why men around the world both hated and admired her sister at the same time. Thursday wasn’t a pretty figurehead on a ship—she was a captain. Saturday knew what it was like for a woman to be measured as a man. Thursday couldn’t just win some fights; she had to win every one until she’d earned the respect of her crew. Even then, she’d always have to fight just as long and hard as the best of them.