When Sammy awoke, the first thing she felt was a sharp pain in her neck. The rain had stopped, but its echo still throbbed in her head. She was lying on the cold floor of a room dimly lit by the glow of an oil lamp. Her wrists were tied.
In front of her, seated in a worn velvet armchair, was the witch. She held the journal in her hands, a mix of triumph and greed in her expression.
"Well, well… the little adventurer thought she could outsmart Aunt Betty," she said without looking up. "Too bad you came. But I'd be a fool not to seize this blessed opportunity."
Sammy tried to move, but the bindings were tight. Betty leafed through the journal slowly, murmuring as if afraid the words might vanish if spoken too loudly. Finally, she looked up with a mocking smile.
"Your grandfather was a fool… but a brilliant one. Writing a novel based on a mysterious journal… damned narcissistic old man!" She slammed the book shut and stood up. "It got him captured by the Holy Inquisition for publishing something forbidden… something he didn't even fully understand."
"My grandfather wrote fantasy. It's all fiction," Sammy said.
"If we follow the plot of his novel, this book is the key to decoding the navigation charts that Hawk stole straight from the Spaniards' archive. Now everything makes sense— even the attack on Tiburón Bay. And now they're mine… You brought them right to my doorstep."
"And how do you know it was the Holy Inquisition who ordered his capture?"
The witch approached Sammy, leaning on her staff with one hand and clutching the book with the other.
"Because they hired me to find him… and in the end, I kept what they were looking for. Life's full of ironies, don't you think?" she said with a smile.
"Then you know where he is."
"No. Unfortunately, we never found out where they took him. He could be in New Spain… or back in Europe. Who knows."
"But you have magic. You could find out."
"And why would I? I already have the book. Your grandfather knows nothing. And by the time the Holy Office gets to him, they'll burn him for heresy in the Plaza Mayor."
Sammy knew the Holy Office was the most feared institution in the world for its grim methods—even among Catholics. She whimpered in sorrow and began to cry, despite having promised herself she wouldn't show weakness.
While she wept, Betty walked to a wall where a Venetian mirror in a gilded frame hung. She removed it with a swift motion, revealing a built-in safe. She inserted a key that hung around her neck, turned it, and placed the journal inside with reverent care. Then she locked the safe and replaced the mirror.
She rang a small bell, and the albino entered.
"Geist, make yourself useful for once and take this brat to the dungeons," she ordered.
"What do you plan to do with her?"
"I'll sell her into slavery on some distant island at the first opportunity. I have what I need… Just make sure no clients see her."
Two men entered and grabbed Sammy without a word, dragging her out of the room as she cried in despair. Unable to contain herself, she screamed:
"You crazy old hag! Witch! You'll get what's coming to you!"
The albino pulled out a handkerchief and shoved it into her mouth.
Meanwhile, Betty smiled. She approached the Venetian mirror, adjusted her headdress with care, and walked out into the parlor to greet her guests, fanning herself with satisfaction at her good fortune.
Meanwhile, aboard The Infamous, Wilbur arrived soaked and breathless. He burst into the captain's cabin, where the Carioca was smoking his wooden pipe, eyes fixed on a map spread across the table.
"Captain... captain!" the elf cried, as the boatswain tried to stop him. "I saw her… I saw her!"
"Mr. Briggs," said the Carioca without looking up from the map, "how do you let this chubby elf burst into my cabin without knocking?"
"Sorry, Captain," replied the boatswain. "He stormed in like an overweight boar, and I couldn't stop him."
"First of all, I'm not fat. I just have a low thorax," Wilbur protested. "And second," he added, turning to the captain, "I saw them!" His eyes widened and his arms flailed dramatically.
"Who the hell did you see?" asked the captain.
"The granddaughter of Balin—along with one of those scoundrels who stole the navigation charts and the journal from me… and they had them with them!"
The Carioca rose with a determined stride and approached Wilbur.
"Are you sure about what you saw?"
"Dead sure. I saw both of them at the harbor tavern, The Pegleg. I saw them going through the journal and the maps. But when they left, they were attacked by some Germans. The same ones I saw in Tiburón Bay! I recognized them. One looks like a ghost… and they took the girl."
"And where did they take her?"
"I didn't see."
The captain stood up furiously. The smoke from his pipe seemed to vanish in fear.
"What do you mean, you didn't see where they took her!?"
"I saw them carrying her off… and the boy was left unconscious in the street."
"But do you remember where?" asked Briggs.
"I think so. Somewhere near the blacksmith's shop."
The captain slammed his fist on the table, making the glasses tremble. His eyes, dark as the storm brewing over the sea, flashed with fury.
"Mr. Briggs," he said as he stepped out of the cabin, "rally the men. We're going after that journal, even if we have to burn Kingsport to the ground!"
"Don't forget the boy… Good luck, gentlemen. I'll pray to the druids' valley gods that you find them," added Wilbur.
"You're coming with us, Mr. Wilbur," the captain declared. "Or did you plan on watching from the deck? Move!"
The boatswain gave Wilbur a shove.
"You heard the captain, tubby," he said with a sneer, much to the elf's annoyance.
The crew of The Infamous prepared to disembark, armed to the teeth, marching toward the city with firm steps—determined to find Sammy, even if they had to set half of Kingsport ablaze to do it.