"Well, well," I drawled, studying the boy in front of me. "Someone grew up."
Shanks grinned and tugged the straw hat lower over his eyes, as if that could hide anything. It did not. Not from me.
He had changed in the last few years. He was taller now, his face sharper, his shoulders broader. Still too young, still too reckless, but no longer the child who used to trip over coiled ropes and pretend it was part of the plan.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"To gather a crew," he said without hesitation.
I let out a soft, disbelieving laugh.
"A crew?"
"And then I'm going to sea."
I raised an eyebrow. "To become Pirate King?"
He shook his head at once and sat beside me on the warm sand when I patted the ground.
"Sit down, Shrimp. Have a drink with an old captainess."
I pulled a bottle of rum from the crate at my side and handed it to him. He took it with both hands, smiling in that easy, shameless way of his.
"Me? Pirate King?" he said after a sip. "No. I don't think that's for me."
I lit a cigarette and watched the smoke rise into the orange light of the setting sun.
"Strange," I murmured. "I'd believe it from you sooner than from Buggy."
That made him laugh.
"Buggy would like to hear that."
"Buggy would turn red, scream for an hour, and then demand a crown."
Shanks laughed harder, and for a moment I almost forgot the weight sitting in my chest. The sea was calm. Atlantis glowed gold behind us. Somewhere in the harbor, masts creaked in the wind.
For one brief, dangerous moment, it almost felt like the old days.
Then Shanks turned to me, quieter now.
"I'll become an Emperor."
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. There was no joke in his voice.
"You aim high, Shrimp."
He only smiled.
"I always did."
I exhaled slowly. "Good. I hate small dreams."
He took another drink, then held the bottle out to me. I waved it away.
"Keep it. You'll need courage if you plan on ruling anything."
He leaned back on his hands and looked at the horizon.
"You really think I can do it?"
I looked at him properly then. At the boy Roger had trusted. At the hat resting against his red hair. At the fire in his eyes.
"Yes," I said. "I do."
He fell quiet at that.
The waves rolled in and broke softly against the shore. For a while, neither of us spoke. Then, because he was still a brat no matter how much he had grown, he ruined the moment.
"So what about you, Captainess?"
I narrowed my eyes.
"What about me?"
"What are you going to do now?"
There it was. The real question.
Not where I lived. Not whether I would stay on Atlantis. Not whether I would ever sail again.
What are you going to do now that Roger is dead?
I clicked my tongue and looked out to sea.
"Knitting," I said. "Charity work. Maybe I'll open a home for widows and orphans."
Shanks snorted.
"The Navy would love that."
"The Navy can kiss my hand."
He laughed, but I could feel him watching me, waiting to see if I would say something real.
That boy was getting far too perceptive.
"I'm serious," he said after a moment. "Rayleigh told me there are people made for great things. He said you and the captain were like that."
"Rayleigh talks too much."
"He said some people can't live ordinary lives."
"That old fool has been poisoning your mind."
Shanks smiled. "So it isn't true?"
I turned to him sharply enough that he went still.
"Quiet, Shrimp."
He obeyed at once.
Good. He was learning.
After a moment, I softened my tone.
"Sail your own path. Become an Emperor if that's what you want. You have my blessing."
His fingers tightened around the bottle.
"And you?"
I looked at the straw hat.
"He'd be proud of you," I said instead.
That stole the smile from his face. For a while, the only sound between us was the sea.
At last I spoke again.
"If the waves ever bring you back to Atlantis, you'll always find shelter here. Food. Rum. A roof over your head. And protection from the Navy."
Shanks looked down.
"That sounds like goodbye."
"It is goodbye."
He lifted his head slowly. "You're leaving."
Not a question. I stood, brushing sand from my coat. The evening wind caught the hem and tugged it behind me.
"Yes."
He rose too.
"Where?"
I smiled, but it did not reach my eyes.
"To pray."
That confused him exactly as much as I expected.
"For Roger?"
"For myself."
I picked up the crate and tucked it under one arm. With the other, I adjusted my hat.
Shanks stared at me for a long second, and I saw the moment he understood something was wrong. Not what. Not where I was going. But wrong enough to matter.
"Captainess," he said carefully, "what are you planning?"
I looked toward the blackening sea, toward the place where the horizon vanished into storm.
The Cursed Islands waited beyond it. And somewhere below the world of men, the Locker held the dead.
"What I should have done sooner," I said.
Then I turned away from him and started toward the harbor.
Behind me, I heard his footsteps stop in the sand.
"Pebble!"
I paused, but I did not look back.
"If I become an Emperor," he called, voice rougher now, "you'd better still be alive to see it."
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
That boy...
I raised one hand without turning.
"Then don't take too long."
I walked on. By the time night swallowed Atlantis, I was aboard the Harpy, drunk on grief and steering straight into a coming storm.
Three days after Roger's death, I set sail for the Cursed Islands.
And for the devil waiting there.