Tabitha twisted and rammed her elbow back as hard as she could. But the hands closed tighter, and her body flooded with a strange exhaustion, weighing down her limbs until she was numb and paralyzed.

Magic.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed her captor—the hooded figure. To her surprise she saw that it was an old human woman. But her face was gray like a goblin’s and disfigured with deep lines, more than could possibly be natural. She was snarling, her eyes wide, burning, black as death.

Tabitha’s stomach pitched with fear.

“The Demon’s Watch,” said the woman, and her voice was a low, growling whisper. She sniffed the air, and her crooked mouth twitched. “Yes, of course. Such brave creatures. Ready and waiting—for me, perhaps?”

Hal suddenly went white, his eyes bulging out behind his glasses, gulping for air like a fish stranded on a beach. The light from his hand began to fade, and he staggered sideways, his face a mask of fear. The old woman smiled.

Newt sprang forward, swinging his staff so hard and fast that Tabitha was sure it would crack the woman’s skull. But instead she caught it in midair and, impossibly, pulled him toward her. She gave a strange, exultant shriek, and her arms began to expand, squeezing Tabitha and Newton in closer, absorbing and trapping them.

The light from Hal’s hand went out, and they were in darkness.

The old woman shot upward like a rocket. There was a juddering crash as they hit the deck above and went straight through it. Then another crash, and another, and a table of drinks went flying as they shot up into the night sky. There were screams and angry shouts. Tabitha caught a glimpse of Old Jon and Paddy trying to calm people down, and blackcoats on the Behemoth rushing for the gangplank to the Wraith’s Revenge, hastily loading crossbows.

Their captor threw back her head and howled again. She dropped out of the sky and balanced on the mainmast’s highest yard, still grasping the two of them with inhuman strength, like a hawk with its prey. Tabitha squirmed, gasping for air and trying to escape her grip. But the old woman just laughed and thrust out her arms, dangling her captives in front of her, one in each hand. Out of the corner of her eye, Tabitha could see the deck, far, far below.

Yes. Going down to the hold had definitely been a mistake.

Musket shots rang out, and crossbow bolts whirred past. One tore into the furled sail below them. Another slammed into the mast.

“Where is it?” screamed the woman. “What have you done with it?”

The words came rushing out, buffeting them like an angry gale.

“Where is Captain Phineus Clagg? Tell me.”

Tabitha slipped down sharply and was caught again by the wrist. She gasped, panting with fear, trying not to think about what was happening.

“Tell me, or I drop the girl.”

“Do that,” grunted Newton, “and you’ll be sorry.”

Tabitha would probably have wanted to punch him, if she hadn’t been so utterly terrified.

The old woman’s eyes grew wider and wider, two swirling black pits, deeper than the ocean. She leaned in, her cloak flapping about her like a demon’s wings.

“It’s you who’ll be sorry, Captain Newton,” she hissed.

There was frantic movement down below on the poop deck. A blur of green—Frank, moving through the crowds around One-hand Wallis. Then Wallis was shouting and gesticulating, and Frank held him off with one arm as he tipped the gigantic firework to an angle, reached for a tinderbox …

“No!” yelped Tabitha. “Wait, Frank, no!”

The Flaming Nancy launched in a cloud of sparks, with a screeching, shrieking roar, and partygoers threw themselves to the deck in panic.

On the yard, the old woman’s eyes narrowed. She flung herself sideways at impossible speed, taking Tabitha and Newton with her, split seconds before the Flaming Nancy hit the mainmast.

There was a shatteringly loud BANG, and Tabitha was blinded by a rainbow of light. And then she was flung away like a rag doll, and at first she was almost floating in the air, and then she was falling, down and down, faster and faster, and Newton was turning in slow motion in the air beside her, and she opened her eyes half a second before she hit the water and immediately wished she hadn’t, and then there was nothing but a muffled roaring, and she flailed with her arms and legs, fighting her way upward, reaching for air …

Tabitha surfaced, spluttering and choking. Newton appeared at her side, spitting out seawater and rubbing salt from his eyes. They bobbed in the freezing water, too cold to say anything for a minute or so. The top yard of the Wraith’s Revenge was on fire, and the mainmast was studded with crossbow bolts and scorched black by the Flaming Nancy. But the old woman was gone.

A short swim later, and the pair of them were hauling themselves out of the water and scrambling up a rope ladder, back onto the ship. They stood, dripping and shivering, while Fayters crowded around them, all clamoring at once.

“You’ve ruined the party!” screeched One-hand Wallis.

“How in the name of the Ebony Ocean did you get up on that yard?”

“Watchmen indeed,” huffed a troll woman. “Wastes of space, more like.”

Tabitha was about to step forward and give them a piece of her mind when Newton laid a hand on her shoulder, holding her back. She looked up at him, and her heart sank. She knew that expression. Disappointment. Newt obviously thought this was her fault, somehow. They’d be having a chat later, she could just tell.

There was a commotion among the crowd as blackcoats shoved people aside, and a tall, pale elf shouldered his way through. His uniform was pristine, and silver glinted on his shoulder and lapels. Tabitha knew him but would have been much happier if she didn’t.

The militiaman snapped open a heavy pocket watch and made a show of inspecting it.

“Evening, Mr. Newton. It’s a little late for a swim, don’t you think?”

A voice called out from the crowd.

“What a party, eh, Cyrus? Night to remember or what?”

Tabitha spotted Paddy’s head above the crowd, a big grin plastered on his face. The troll could never resist a chance to wind up militiamen.

Colonel Cyrus Derringer just smiled.

“A night to remember? Well, it certainly is now. And it’s Colonel Derringer, if you please.” He turned his cold blue eyes to Newton. “Care to explain yourself before my men blow you to pieces?”

Newton met his gaze and said nothing. Cyrus’s smile grew wider.

“Very well then, let’s see. Aside from disturbing the peace, vandalizing three tables of food, and ruining the firework display, you have somehow managed to smash a gaping hole right through one of the town’s most valuable warships. And in case you hadn’t noticed, the mast is on fire.”

“Really?” said Newton.

Derringer’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re in big trouble. You and your whole bilge-brained crew.” In one smooth motion, his saber flashed from its scabbard and came to rest, the blade pressed against Newton’s cheek.

It was a neat trick, but Newton didn’t flinch. In spite of herself, Tabitha felt a flush of pride at his bravery.

“It’s the blackcoats who are supposed to keep the peace in Port Fayt,” Derringer hissed. “The Dockside Militia. Just remember that.” He stepped back and smiled again. “Tomorrow morning, the governor will be expecting you at Wyrmwood Manor, and I can’t imagine he’ll be very happy. The Cockatrice Company has spent a fortune on this party. If it were up to me, I’d throw the lot of you into a shark pit.

“Now get off this ship. Before I lose my temper.”

It was a little after midnight by the time the watchmen left the Wraith’s Revenge.

Tabitha looked back from the longboat, toward the ship and its scarred mast. She’d had a taste of action at last, but she didn’t seem to feel good about it. As a matter of fact, she felt scared and sick, and she was glad to be going home.

Newton shifted seats to sit next to her.

“Tabs,” he said.

“I know, I know, but listen, I saw her go down below, and I wanted to warn you. It almost worked as well, if I’d been a few seconds later I—”

“Enough.” There was real anger in his voice, and it shut her up at once. “Tabs, you have to do what I say, understand? I know it’s hard. You’ve lived with me for a long time. And maybe I’ve let you get away with too much in the past. But things are different now that you’re a watchman.”

Well, at least he was admitting that.

“People could die, Tabs. Actually die. You saw that old woman. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Tabitha opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Instead, she just bit her lip and nodded, silent. The old woman’s face loomed at the back of her mind, like a spider in a cupboard that she didn’t dare look at. She had never seen magic like that before. Hal had learned some impressive tricks from the Azurmouth Magical Academy. On a good day he could even lift up a chair, using just his mind. But the old woman was something else. Something far more terrifying. Those strange black eyes … Tabitha shuddered.

“Who is she, Newt?”

Newton shook his head.

“I don’t know. But we’re going to find out.”

He was staring back at the ship, and Tabitha noticed that his knuckles were white, gripping on to his staff where it lay across his lap, safely retrieved from the Wraith’s Revenge. Paddy had told her once that the staff was a gift from an old hobgoblin, a traveler from the lands beyond the New World. It was plain—three gleaming, black lengths of wood, slotted together—but for close combat, Newton never used any other weapon. “The Banshee,” he called it.

“I’m sorry, Newt,” she said quietly. “About going down below.”

“Aye.”

He wasn’t listening though. There was something in his eyes—some emotion that Tabitha had never seen before.

With a jolt, she realized what it was.

Fear.