The sun had set about an hour ago. The oil lamp on Bronze’s desk was barely flickering bright enough to share its light with a tattered old book in front of the captain who was studying it attentively. The handwriting inside was curvy and hard to read. It was supposed to be an ancient study on the Spirits and their origin, but by page twenty Bronze had begun to understand that this was just another delusional diary. He knew insanity when he saw it. He had looked through at least thirty of those. These diaries were either full of very obvious facts or written on a more spiritual than scientific level which was, ironically, not the kind of information he needed.

At least everyone agreed on the obvious and you never saw any deviations on these facts: The Spirits used to be living humans who were now dead, but still held some kind of power over the mortal world. They had gained that power through social status, good deeds or an unjustified, perhaps violent death; or as some might phrase it more romantically: They still had some business left in this world. Their power was greater than one could fathom and no one knew how exactly this power had come to be. They were in charge of the individual fates of the living. The greatest justice system anyone could have invented. Certainly better than whatever the peace guards were trying to execute. People that had done bad, got punished practically immediately by a change of their fate, some were even stripped off of their humanity. In return, good people were rewarded for their exceptional kindness. They were granted impossible talents or supernatural abilities.

Except that some Spirits did not give their targets the benefit of the doubt. Murder victims were allowed to put any curse on their murderer, even if they had acted in self-defense. The children of criminals often had to meet the same fate as their parents. Not everyone who was Cursed deserved the title…or the kind of life that came with it.

On the other hand, royalty and wealth were often more important than kindness and good deeds in order to be favored by the Spirits.

And this was how society was divided. It was as simple as that. A story older than time, it seemed. The Spirits were the singular pillar holding this world up and together. Their doing was always for the greater good, no exceptions. No one dared to stand up against their judgment. No one was able to. Because there was one limit to the Spirit’s power: They did not seem to be able to actually communicate with the living and vice versa. Sure, over time there had been vague reports about Blessed who claimed to be able to speak to their ancestors but nothing had ever been confirmed and if such people existed, Bronze had not been able to find any of them…yet. They would likely be living a dangerous life and their ability would be desired by many. There was always a possibility that they were merely hiding.

He leaned back in his chair and massaged the bridge of his nose. Almost five years of research. Today, he was none the wiser.

Behind closed eyelids he concentrated on the mechanics of his robotic eye. The sight was unfolding in front of him like he was entering another dimension. There was always the golden glimmer of his prosthesis framing his vision, reminding him that it was nothing more than that. The place he saw was unspectacularly similar to his own cabin: a wooden floor and walls and a bed in the center of an empty room. The silence was loud and heavy. It always scared him at first, until he remembered that it was only his sight traveling the distance, not his ability to hear. What he saw felt real enough to grasp and often he could not refrain from reaching his hand out, only to realize that it was impossible to touch the young woman lying inside of the bed.

When it came to it, she looked so little like him. They shared the same unique hair color but their similarities stopped right there. Even the peacefulness of sleep could not take the edge off of her sharp features, high cheekbones and thin lips.

Bronze did not relax until he saw her fluttering chest pushing up and down underneath a thin blanket. She was alive. For a while he sat there, just watching his sister sleep, conforming his own breath to hers. He did not want to miss any of her faint breaths, because there would come a day when they would stop forever.

“How is she doing?” The voice startled him but he covered that up and opened his eye calmly. He did not look at Ozma who must have been standing right behind him. It was always obvious when he was checking for his sister’s well-being. There was rarely another reason for him to daydream like that.

“She’s alive” There was nothing else hidden behind the simplicity of that answer. She had been in a coma for about 9 years now. Alive was everything he could hope for. Alive was okay.

He turned in his chair. Ozma was standing there, arms crossed, nodding slowly.

“That’s good to hear” She did not pause for long. This heavy atmosphere was exhausting. “When were you going to introduce our new friends to me?”

Bronze smiled faintly, like he was still busy pulling his thoughts off of his sister.

“You’re a grown woman, just approach them and be nice. Maybe they won’t be scared of you”

She laughed and pushed her sunglasses back onto her nose.

“Just kidding, I think Neon is already getting them drunk or something and that monk offered me some weird herbs to smoke” There was no way of telling how much of that was exactly true, but Bronze was almost afraid to ask. As long as they felt at home, he had no business interfering. He had disappeared into his cabin quite fast after fleeing from Principia. His crew had been given the order to show their guests around.

“Fair enough. Just be nice to the kids, especially”

Ozma huffed but her face was difficult to read. “Seriously, though, Bronze…why exactly did you take them with you?”

He shrugged. “We needed them to get away. The peace guards wouldn’t shoot them. They came along voluntarily. I told them we’ll return them to their homes as soon as possible”

That was somehow not what Ozma wanted to hear, he could tell. “And do they know that we won’t be going back to Principia for a good while?”

In return, Bronze would hear nothing of that question. He shook his head. “How do you know that?”

“By the dozens of peace guards chasing us away and the 3 million Coppers that are on your head”

“Fair” Bronze had to admit. “I didn’t tell them about that, no. But they’ll make themselves known if they want to go home. And we can simply go from there”

He leaned back in his chair and regarded Ozma with a look that was waiting for more questions to block and counter. She knew that she could not always trust him to know what he was doing…but she could trust his luck to always turn out good in the end.

“Are you going to join us for the rest of the night?” She asked, briefly regarding the books on his desk with a dismissive glance. “Before you say no, I’m going to warn you again about Neon sharing his rum surprisingly generously with these children. I mean, not that I care. But I thought you might”

Bronze pretended to be unfazed. “Tell him, I don’t want anyone throwing up on my deck”

~

Fiddler had barely been able to close his mouth ever since they had successfully escaped from Principia. And even now, as he was sitting between scarcely placed oil lamps on boxes and barrels underneath a sky full of stars, it was hard to recall how exactly he had gotten here. He had never set a single foot out of Principia. And now he was here, an unfathomable number of feet above the ground. Spirits knew what was behind, before or underneath them.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The pirates – the single word as a thought in his head made his heart squeal in delight – had been very kind to them. Much kinder than any of the pirates from the stories his nurses had read to him as a child. Back then, he would have never thought that pirates would be a thing to worry about in the future. Good thing, he was not worried now. He felt quite safe up here.

It was a big plus that his friends were here as well. And a whole bunch of potential new best friends on top of them. There was Neon who had offered him a glass of an awful smelling liquid that had burned his entire throat. Fiddler admired Neon because he had managed to chug down a whole glass of that fiery liquid in less than three seconds. He was also funny, even if a bit rude. Back in the orphanage, the sisters would have made him wash his mouth with soap. Fiddler felt like washing his ears just listening to him speak.

Ozma had been really nice as well. She had shown them all around the ship. There was a kitchen and a cozy little dining room. Nima got her own cabin which was lucky but Fiddler was even luckier than that because he would get to share his cabin with Noah. Ozma and Neon were especially funny and rude when they were together and they both shared a love for that nasty liquid. Yet, it was hard to tell if they were actual friends or not. Fiddler would never speak to a friend like they spoke to each other.

He had not actually seen much of Bronze yet. The captain had disappeared quite fast after their escape. They did not even have time to thank him. But Fiddler knew that he would not have the guts to actually walk up to that man. Everyone up here kept calling him Captain. He looked like all the generals and royalty Fiddler had only ever seen from afar. You did not speak to a man like this unless you were spoken to. If you were a homeless orphan like Fiddler, anyway.

“How is your cheek doing?” Nima’s voice was quiet against the roaring laughter of the pirates.

He hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to her since the attack, really. It was weird because he had seen her throw a knife at a man’s throat. That was not something he would have expected to see Nima do. “I don’t think it’s even bleeding anymore” He briefly grazed the white plaster that was covering the surface wound.

Nima nodded like she had expected that kind of answer. “I’m glad no one got hurt”

“None of us got hurt” He corrected her, swallowing hard. Nima barely flinched next to him. She was so much tougher than she looked.

“Hey, can you read what’s on my mind right now?” He tried to swiftly change the topic. He meant to ask her about all of that anyway.

And sure enough, that made her chuckle. “It doesn’t work like that”

For a moment it seemed like that was all she was going to say.

“Thoughts are more…complicated than just words. It’s…feelings and incomprehensive sentences as well. You can’t just read a single part of someone’s thoughts. It’s always an entire string of words and feelings. And if you lose track of that string, if you miss a single piece of it, that just makes it harder to read and understand the entity of someone’s mind”

Fiddler nodded like he understood a single word of that. It was hard to get Nima to say this many words in one sitting. He could appreciate at least that.

“Look” Nima smiled a little uncomfortably. “I know, for example, that you didn’t understand what I just said…but that you’re trying very hard to” Her expression changed when she noticed Fiddler’s anxiety, like he had been caught in the act. There was a reason she did not want anyone to find out about her Blessing. It scared people away.

“I’m sorry…I can’t really help it. But if it’s any consolation…your thoughts are the hardest to read”

Fiddler did not question that reveal. He simply laughed it off. “Can you read animal thoughts as well?”

Knowing very well that he was referring to one specific animal in particular, Nima shook her head.

“I don’t speak monkey, sorry. I think you’re better at understanding him”

That was a relief, Fiddler thought. “He’ll be glad to hear that”

For a moment he wondered if she knew all the things he had been trying to hide from her. That he was homeless and could not even read or write his own name. Thinking about it now would probably only make it worse. He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes as if to catch any reaction but she seemed content watching the others drinking and laughing. Her skin was glowing in the orange light of the oil lamps. He knew so little about her whereas she must always have known everything about him.

“Are you going to miss Principia?”

She shook her head with an intensity that made her answer immediately believable. “There isn’t really anything or anyone waiting for me. Not even a job. I guess the café is going to stay closed for a while”

“Same here” Fiddler agreed. The streets of Principia could do without his music. “Do you think the pirates are really going to bring us back?”

There was a little pause this time, before Nima shook her head again.

“No. I haven’t gotten close enough to read any of their thoughts yet. I’m not even sure I want to” She had a habit of singling out the darkest of anyone’s thoughts. That made it hard to trust people. She suspected the pirates to be capable of some very dark thoughts that she would rather avoid sharing. She needed to trust them. Fiddler trusted them too. Sitting next to him and letting his thoughts wash over her mind made her feel more at ease. Like this could actually be the beginning of something. She did not really believe that, but it was a nice thought anyway.

“Hey buddy” It felt like Noah had practically emerged from the shadows. He placed a hand on Fiddler’s shoulder after he had greeted Nima with a nod as well. “Our new friends have been asking if you could play a little tune for them”

Even just the mention of music made his fingertips tingle, longing to feel the silky softness of his violin’s strings underneath. He had not played a single note in over 24 hours but his instrument was always nearby, leaning in its case against the wooden box he was sitting on.

“Sure I can” He nearly fell over the box when he reached behind himself to grab his violin. And the moment his fingers clutched around the case, he knew that he would be putting it to good use tonight. He would make everyone feel calm and content, including himself. It was okay because he did not expect anything back from the pirates. He just wanted to thank them for saving their lives. And his music was all he had to offer.

~

When Bronze eventually left his cabin, he was lured out onto the deck by the fast-paced melody of a violin tune. It was a song he had never heard before, yet it was familiar in the way every note was pieced together, like he somehow already knew every little theme woven into the whole of the piece. The false sense of recognition made his heart feel at home, without even realizing it.

He was all the more surprised to find Fiddler standing in the middle of the deck, eyes closed, his swaying movements aligning with his music. His whole crew was surrounding the boy. Some were dancing, others just smiling, humming quietly to the song they were all hearing for the very first time. Even the toughest ones, who would have never been caught singing a single note, were left standing in awe and the closer Bronze got, the more he understood why.

The tune sounded like every song his mother had ever sung to him while brushing his hair or putting him to bed. It sounded like his sister’s laughter before the Curse had gotten the best of her. It sounded like every street musician he had ever passed, begging his mother for a Copper to drop into their cans and hats. It sounded like every life he had ever saved. It sounded like…

“You know, Captain, I was wondering why you decided to keep a bunch of losers on the ship. Can you believe not one of them wanted a glass of rum? Not even the monk. But this…is actually kind of nice” Neon had come to casually lean his elbow on Bronze’s shoulder.

“It is” Bronze furrowed his brows, like he could not believe he was actually saying this. “It’s not permanent anyway, you know. I don’t want to put these kids into any danger…” He was interrupted when Neon clicked is tongue excessively.

“Blah, blah. Didn’t ask. Care for a dance, Captain?”

A ridiculous question like that almost managed to pull him out of his trance but the music was still dominating his thoughts. He could feel his heartbeat perfectly aligning to the rhythm.

“I didn’t know you liked to dance”

“Ah…” Neon waved the concern off, shifting his weight but not dropping his elbow. “Only when I’m drunk”

Bronze raises his eyebrows taxingly. “You’re always drunk”

“Exactly!”

The weirdest part was not Neon’s proposal, to be fair. It was that Bronze was actually…considering the idea. “I…no. I don’t dance”

The pause between the words and the small step he had taken forward had not gone unnoticed by Neon.

“So what you’re saying is…you’re not drunk enough to dance. Care for a drink then?”

Bronze’s lips parted, his hand half raised to protest when he quite physically changed his mind. Like it had never been his decision in the first place. The music was still resonating through his every thought. “You know what? I just might”

A big grin spread across Neon’s face. “That’s what I wanted to hear, Captain. Here, you can have mine” He finally put his elbow down, only to hand Bronze a drink out of what seemed like nowhere. Like he somehow always had one up his sleeve.

“I’ll get a new one for myself. Don’t worry, I won’t take too long. But I wanna see at least half of that rum gone when I come back” He left without leaving any room or time for an answer.

Bronze crinkled his nose just smelling the liquid. But after two forced sips, it went down easier than he would’ve expected. It was instantly adding to the warm feeling in his chest and stomach and the careless lightness of head that he would have loathed and rejected on any other day or night. But the music had already done that damage and he had not minded that at all. It was weird, really. He almost did not want that kid to stop playing. Even the stars above seemed to be twinkling to his rhythm and sound.

He shook his head and took another sip of rum. It sent a shiver down his spine and he was unconsciously looking out for Neon to return while his foot had begun tapping along to the music. This is how it started, huh? Being drunk on happiness, music and soon also on rum. It was a nice feeling for a change. It really was.