Mandrake’s Revenge docked off the shores of Karahtan just a day later. After Kami managed to fake some ownership documents, him, Ribeye and Gita showed up in the most elaborate disguises that Momo had ever seen. Ribeye looked like a full on minuteman, with the bent leather hat and the ruffled blue shirt. Gita looked the part of his colonial pirate wife. Kami, in typical Kami fashion, was worn around her neck like a taxidermied scarf.

“Did you enjoy the city, buttercup?” Gita asked, greeting Momo warmly by the docks. The marina sat just outside the massive city walls, a gleaming oasis in the sandy dunes. “The palaklava here is deadly good. Can’t get anything like it outside of the Dunes. Have you tried it?”

“Palaklava? You mean baklava?” Momo asked, bewildered. “And no, I haven’t had the chance to try any of the, um, local cuisine. We’ve been really busy…” getting our asses beat, Momo wanted to add, but she refrained.

“Baklava?” Gita scoffed. “Don’t insult me. You can get baklava anywhere. Palaklava is a whole ‘nother thing entirely. Spinach and cheese and honey and berries all stuffed into the finest filo dough. I’d sell one of these kids for a fresh batch of it, easy. Wouldn’t even have to ask me twice.”

“Oh, great, she’s on about it again,” Ribeye groaned, grunting as he secured the last knot attaching the boat to the dock. “Just get on with it, Gita. And instead of selling the kids, get them a heaping batch of it, too. They deserve it after all the work they put in cleaning off them Barium sea snails.”

Momo examined the hull of the ship. It was patched together with bandages and bandaids, as if repaired by a toddler-mechanic. Momo frowned. Looking at the median age of the crew, that metaphor wasn’t too far off from reality.

“When will it be ready to sail back to Morganium?” Momo asked.

“Soon,” Ribeye grunted. From his expression, that could mean anywhere from fifteen minutes to several weeks. “Kas already got what we came for, so we have no reason to keep these grublets on an extended summer vacation.” He eyed the children. “But the boat’s going to need a little bit of work tonight, some of those snails got into the toilets…”

“I can help,” Momo volunteered. She wanted to get back to Aloysius as soon as possible. Before she made any rash decisions about what she needed to do with the Wraith Box – or rather, with herself – she wanted to see Sumire. She had to make sure she was okay.

“No way. You’re going to the market, too,” Ribeye said, scowling. “You look downright depressed. I can’t have that energy on my ship. It’ll ruin the kids’ morale. Plus, Gita needs an escort. If I let her free in those markets, she’ll never come back. It’s happened before.”

Gita glared at him.

“But –”

“No buts,” Ribeye growled. “Escort her, get me two blueberry muffins, and get your ass back here before dusk. That’s an order. Can you follow it?”

Momo swallowed, sighed, and gave him an obedient salute.

“Yes, sir.”

—

Karahtan’s central market was an attention economy. Every seller was in constant competition for the change in your pocket, yelling unbelievable deal after unbelievable deal. The stands were organized in a circle, under a giant dome, surrounded by smaller archways. The whole place smelled of sand-kissed lamb and goat meat, strung up on lines and hung from the arches.

The market reminded Momo nostalgically of Kalendale, only on a far grander scale. And with less people complaining about how badly she smelled.

“Oooh, ho ho, here we go,” Gita squeaked excitedly, jumping from foot to foot as they approached the Palaklava stand. The delicacy was piled high in small tin boxes, steam wafting off the freshly baked dough. The stand was run by a man who was wearing a Zephyra fan-shirt.

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“Customers!” he said, throwing his hands upwards. “Before you order, why don’t you first try a complimentary treat? Mini-palaklavas. Travel-sized.”

He unscrewed the top of a glass jar, wrapped candies sitting inside. He offered them two. Momo took one quickly, never one to say no to free stuff. Gita did the same. His grin widened as they chewed, and Momo noted that he looked almost… diabolical. But then again, she was probably reading into it. She had just been talking to too many diabolical people lately. It was skewing her perception.

“How does it taste?”

“Really good,” Momo moaned. And it did. It tasted like heaven. Like a hundred melted bars of chocolate and fruit and brie cheese. She didn’t even taste the spinach. In fact, she didn’t really taste… anything, the more she focused on the flavor. It was almost like the treat had bypassed her tongue entirely, shooting serotonin straight into her brain stem.

Momo’s eyes widened. She received a new message from her audio courier.

[Sweet Deal] failed! Your Charisma score is too high.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Gita gurgled, looking at the man with a completely inappropriate amount of lust. “I need more. More. More free samples.”

“Sorry, dear, only the first one is free,” he said. “But I can give you a great deal, how about that? Five hundred gold for the whole jar of samples. Now that’s a bargain.”

Momo balked. The jar held no more than a handful of the mini-pastries. She looked at the actual price list stapled to the side of the shack. Six full servings of Palaklava cost only twenty gold. Twenty full servings was eighty.

Momo gritted her teeth. Gita was getting grifted.

That was Momo’s job. Not some weird Zephyra stan.

“Five hundred gold?” Gita said, fishing from her pockets. “I only got two hundred… damn Ribeye… he put me on a budget again, I’ll have his neck—”

“Here,” Momo shelled out a few gold pieces. “I want another of the small ones. But I’d like to buy it for you.” She gave him a winning smile. “And I want you to eat it.”

He frowned. “W–what? You want me to eat it?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Because you’re so kind for giving us such a good deal.”

“Oh, well that’s… that’s so sweet of you,” he laughed. “Buying me my own goods. Sure, I can oblige you, dear.”

He took out a piece of candy and nearly popped it in his mouth, but Momo reached out and stopped him. The spell only works a certain way.

“Wait, give it to me first,” she said. She batted her eyelashes to the best of her ability, which was not much, so he looked a bit disturbed. “So I can have the honor of giving it back to you.”

“Oh, er, sure.”

Momo plucked the candy from his hand, tossed it around her palms to make sure the magic would work as intended, then placed it back in his hand.

“Great,” she said, giving a thumbs up. “Now it’s all yours. You enjoy it, then we’ll make the deal, okay?”

He looked at her as if she was a zoo animal.

“Of course, dear…” he murmured, beginning to chew. As he did so, Momo whispered [Sweet Deal] under her breath. As soon as she did, the man froze. Momo got another notification from her courier. She supposed he got the same.

[Sweet Deal] failed! Target’s Charisma score is too high.

She grinned. She didn’t need it to actually work. She just wanted to see the expression on his face when he put the pieces together.

“You…” he said, blinking slowly. Recognition, then anger, slowly etched itself into his features. “Damn it. What kind of Con Artist wears a pirate hat?”

“That’s a whole can of worms I don’t have time to open,” Momo said. She pointed towards the biggest container of Palaklava in the back. “Now, with that out of the way, we’ll take fifty of the big ones. And at an actual discount.”

—

As the child sailors noisily ate pound upon pound of Palaklava, which turned out to be actually quite good, even without the mental gaslighting, Momo noticed a twinkle in the sky. It wasn’t a star, but a bird. A raven, swooping through the sky with the dexterity of an olympic gymnast.

“Squawk!” it called out, before settling in the sand by Momo’s feet. It dropped a letter at her ankles, then coughed. “S–squawk! Gods, my throat. It’s so dry. I hate deserts. And I hate oceans, oh, I’m never doing that again, not for anyone, or any cause, or any queen or godling–”

“Hi, Vicar,” Momo laughed. “Nice to see you, too.”

Vicar sniffed the air, his tirade abruptly ending. “Is that Palaklava I smell?”

“Jeez. You too?” Momo said. “It’s good, but I’m not sure I get it—”

“Move, woman!” he commanded, all his usual royal pleasantries discarded. He waved his wings wildly, shooting into the crowd of children and pecking at their food. “I haven’t eaten in days, Gods, months! Move away, piglets—”

The child sailors' screams dulled to nothing once Momo laid her eyes on the letter.

To; (Queen) Momo

Subject; Small talk, a bit of overdue flirting, and, of course, everything else

From; That Pirate Girl (Who Else?)

Momo froze, her pulse going rapidfire. Sumire.