Chapter 16
Tink
With gold in her pocket and the freedom to walk around town, Tink’s wings twitched with the urge to fly.
She’d be able to today, and well, even her footsteps were lighter.
Whatever that bitter scent had been in the witch’s shop that sent her sneezing, it’d passed without any ill effects as soon as they stepped outside. Thank Holy Flora for that.
“Come, look and see these pieces crafted with love and care, sure to brighten any lady’s day,” Smee called in his best salesman’s voice.
Tink smiled at the passing customers and held out her hand, decked out in bracelets and rings Smee’s sisters had made from carved shells and asked them to sell in town.
Okay, so she wasn’t totally free, but she didn’t mind helping out—for a while.
Not to mention that with the strapping sailor nearby, no wise person would bother her.
Plus, it gave her time to get accustomed to this… city.
Many a sailor had clamored about the beauties of Rochland, but the facades of homes and storefronts looming over the cobblestones rankled against her very nature.
The constructs of stone and wood were painted garishly bright colors and crammed one on top of another, with tiny alleys between their neat and orderly squares.
Rare window boxes provided the only breath of nature, and even the flowers in those were often wilted and pitiful.
Pixies were one with nature, and their homes personified that deep connection—built in and around great trees, taking advantage of all the forest had to offer.
The treehouse she’d acquired had been a perfect example.
The closest to home she could find. Here, humans had scraped the land clean, destroying the beauty and wonder of the island in favor of their horrendous craftsmanship.
Her stomach turned over, and it was a battle to keep her grin in place.
At least the cove had been better, with its homes at one with the life around them—mostly.
Still, they were nothing like her home in the Sylvanna Vale.
Her mind whirled with possibilities as she stood in the sun, wings bound.
Ideas for improving the homes in the cove presented themselves one after another.
But she wouldn’t be with these pirates long enough to craft the designs, even if they wanted her tinkering. Her smile faltered for the briefest moment. Perhaps she could leave designs for them to put to use after she’d gone.
A gaggle of well-dressed ladies rushed toward her and Smee, chatting with one another and waving lace fans.
Their dresses sported as many colors as the nearby shops.
No doubt the grinning Smee blowing them kisses caught their attention as much as the jewelry.
Tink forced her smile wider as she showed off the last of the goods—well, for a minute, until Smee instructed her to let the women try them on themselves.
“You made these yourself?” The dark-haired woman, clearly the leader of the pack, admired the new rings on her hand.
“No, my sisters did. But I like to help them out, you know.” Smee winked.
“You have such talent,” the woman exclaimed, turning to Tink. Smee was about to speak when she said, “I’ll take the lot of these.”
“Ah…all of them? Yes, oh, that’s perfect, and they fit you so well.” He took payment from the woman and kissed the back of her hand.
“If your sister doesn’t mind, perhaps you can escort me home? I’d love to commission a piece to match a dress…” She trailed off, glancing down the street with a wry grin.
“I…as my lady wishes.” Smee didn’t spare so much as a backward glance at Tink, who waved and promised to see him at home.
Ridiculous flirt. A solid gold piece said there was no commission waiting for him, but a different sort of special request—one he’d happily oblige. Either way, at least she was free of him and her obligation to his sisters.
Now to backtrack to the tailor she’d spotted a few blocks ago.
Or…make a run for it. This was her chance, probably her only one. The coin Hook had given her was enough to buy passage. She could hop on a ship and go…
A humorless laugh rose up in her chest. Where, exactly?
On to the Shrouded Isles to hunt for a hidden treasure in a place known to swallow people up without so much as a footprint left behind?
She’d inquired about passage there after her visit to the merfolk.
Only took two short conversations to know that no sane sailor would take her near there without a whole sack of gold for payment.
Where else could she go? Back to Tortuga and the kids who’d taken over her home?
They’d probably wrecked it by now. Little scamps.
Tink stumbled as someone knocked into her.
“Sorry, miss!” the boy called, waving behind him as he rushed down the street.
She felt frantically at her pockets, then sighed. Not a pickpocket. Just a clumsy little—
That red hair. His voice. Tink took off after the boy. What was the brat’s name? Peter? His skinny form wove between bodies on the street, then turned left. When she rounded the corner herself, he was nowhere to be found—lost in the mess of horse carts, merchant stalls, and noisy humans.
It couldn’t have been him, though, could it?
She squinted at the people nearby. He looked so similar, and just for a brief moment she was sure, impossible as it was.
It wasn’t far to Tortuga. But what would an orphan boy be doing hopping from port to port, especially since he’d robbed her of a perfectly nice home?
Robbed her with Hook’s help. She scowled.
That man drove her mad. As often as she thought of their kisses—and Durin’s beard, that was often—she couldn’t forget that he’d adult-napped her too.
Though now that he was helping her get the scale of Leviathan, albeit for his own purposes, his past transgressions didn’t sting so badly.
The token he wore didn’t belong to someone here, or it didn’t seem so.
Would it be so wrong to indulge in whatever pleasure he had to offer?
“Excuse me, miss?”
Tink gasped and whirled around at the voice just over her shoulder. She’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t heard anyone approach. Curiosity twinkled in eyes painted with green and gold over their lids. Breath caught in her throat.
The witch’s shopkeep.
“You...” she gasped.
He wore a hood pulled tight over his head and clothes. Hiding his appearance, but from whom?
“Executus,” he accentuated his name, as if he were a great king reigning over all the people of Rochland. “The witch would meet with you, Miss…?” He canted his head.
“Tink will do,” she replied.
“Tink.” He tasted her name and pursed his lips in distaste. “Well, Miss Tink, the witch will meet with you. Now, if you please.”
Now? Her nose wrinkled. Something didn’t smell right. “I’ll have to find the others. It may take some time.”
A soft shake of his head accompanied a tight smile. “Only you.”
Meet the witch on her own? She swallowed.
Okay, yes, she knew vaguely what Hook planned to ask: how to find the scale of Leviathan or its exact location in the Shrouded Isles.
Supposedly, the witch could divine such things with whatever twisted power she possessed.
But was there a trick to it? Something else he hadn’t told her?
“I’m not sure I can afford it,” she hedged. Hook had given her some gold, but not near what he’d offered the witch.
“This meeting is free. If you come now. Alone.” He tipped his open palms up. “Her request, not mine.”
Tink glanced up and down the street, hoping, praying to spot a member of the crew, but none were to be found. Her bound wings twitched as a shiver slid down her spine. Blast it all.
“Fine, take me to her.”
Not even the slightest grin or hint of surprise touched his face as he replied, “Very good. This way.”
The short blocks to the witch’s shop passed in no time at all.
She could have sworn the market was farther away, but no matter how deliberately slow her steps, Executus never left her side.
Nor did she spot any familiar faces along the way.
By all the revered elders, she must be desperate, hoping to see Hook’s face.
So many days she’d longed to leave him in the past, but right now, he was all she wanted.
The shop was dark and cramped as before, though not so hot, and the horrid, bitter smell that caused her sneezing was blessedly absent—or masked by one of the other myriad pungent scents that suffocated the room. Some were familiar: vinegar, sage, dried spore root. Others, not so much.
“This way. Don’t keep her waiting,” Executus said, a splash of annoyance coloring his words, as he led her through the heavy curtains behind the counter and up a set of creaking, musty stairs.
Dark-paneled walls closed in around her like a coffin as she ascended to the second floor.
Why, oh why, did humans prefer such cloistered homes?
Everything in this place was dead, wrong.
Even the bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling in the main shop were dried and crumbling.
All that changed when Executus pushed back another set of heavy, crimson curtains.
Plant life filled this room, climbing along the walls, pressing up against the ceiling, overflowing clay pots, and spilling off tabletops barely visible beneath the mass of greens and browns, some spotted with colorful flowers or with leaves tinted unusual shades like violet or pale blue.
Tink’s body hummed with the thrum of life echoing here, so different than the rest of the place.
For a moment, she could delude herself that she’d stepped back into a glen in the Sylvanna Vale.
Even a few birds called out in squawks and chirps where they perched among the tropical indoor forest.
A room so full of life, and yet the sun didn’t touch it. Only well-placed oil lamps lit the shadowed greenery. How in the name of—
“Thank you, Executus.”