Volker was back on the boat.

He didn’t remember how he got there, either. After his second horrific visit to the tattooing room, he’d been dragged out into the main square. He knew the Captain had been waiting for him. The blonde guard had shaken hands with the Captain, and Volker’s wrists were freed from the chains. Too stunned to do anything else, Volker followed the man who’d rescued him twice.

The rest was a blur.

Volker plucked at the light purple shirt he was wearing. The Captain must have helped him change into new clothes, and at some point, Volker must have fallen asleep. His ID and wallet hung heavy in his pocket, the familiar items grounding him enough to drift to sleep while waiting on a bench for the older man. He woke snug in the Captain’s bunk, as if his time on land was all a dream. Volker flushed at the thought of being carried onto to the ship like a toddler, but it was better than being dragged screaming like a little kid.

When he stepped on deck, the reality of everything sunk in like trying to run through mud. Something had changed from last time.

For starters, The two deck hands glared at Volker like an unwanted bug, giving him a wide berth wherever he went. Volker was willing to bet it had to do with the added tattoo around his neck. Mr. Second no longer even remotely tried to cover his animosity, often outright shoving him out of the way. The Captain was normal enough, but he had developed a tendency to loom, watching everything he did with an eagle eye.

It reminded Volker of his mom, actually.

It was exactly like the the hovering she’d adopted after he was returned from the police station the first time. Volker figured it was guilt. Though in the Captain’s case, it was more likely over what happened, and not feeling like a failure of a parent. There was no way the Captain had meant for all those horrible things to happen when he dropped Volker off with the Officer and Twitchy.

He was way too nice.

On the plus side, the guilt must have also been what fueled the Captain’s shopping spree for Volker’s clothes. The Captain had bought him three or four sets at the local market before picking up more supplies. He didn’t remember that happening, but it was hard to miss the new luggage.  Volker glanced at his new shirt. The sleeves had a neat embroidered pattern at the edges that resembled the lace pattern of the others’ tattoos. The Captain also sprung for a new pair of slip on shoes that matched the rest of the crew, two pair of slacks that stopped mid-calf with a belt buckle, and three other shirts. 

It was nice to have a change of clothes after work—which Volker now had.

Volker pushed the mop along the deck, whistling as he watched the thick strands of fabric push against the grain. He still couldn’t talk to anyone, but even he could understand what it meant when Mr. Second shoved a mop in his face with a bucket of water. Not only did he understand, but he was well skilled in the art of cleaning unruly floors. Compared to mopping out a hundred square foot warehouse, or cleaning splashes of vomit off someone’s kitchen floor, a fifty foot boat deck was nothing.

The work gave Volker time to concentrate on the people talking around him. Volker had figured out a couple of phrases already from sheer repetition, or at least tried to translate them into things he could say as best he was able. The Captain had gone to great lengths to drill in some single syllable sounds for the basics.

Volker felt like a dog learning “Speak!” and “Sit!”

So far, he had figured out that Wree meant “Yes” and Wraa meant “No.” Volker dunked the mop head in the bucket, before making use of the wringer. The water was greyed out with dirt and bits of crab shell that broke off wrangling the creatures into the bottom holding bit. Volker felt a pat on the back and smiled at the Captain as he walked by. The Captain’s name was something Volker still couldn’t pronounce, but it sort of sounded like Ketscherung. Volker had also picked up some little things like Betsch for “Eat” and Krikel for “Sleep,” but the worst was figuring out which word was his name.

Or Volker hoped it was a name.

For all he knew, they had been calling him some random noun, or title that meant ‘cabin boy.’ Either way, whenever Volker heard “Blugeiss” they were talking about him. The Captain had pointed at him and said that word like fifty times and occasionally just shouted it in his direction. It didn’t take long for Volker to put two and two together and realize it was a name or title. It was still annoying to hear your name followed by a string of unpronounceable grunts and growls that Volker had stopped trying to sound out. 

Volker glanced around the deck, seeing the wood shine, and dropped the mop back in the bucket. It was clean, and he was done.

---

Emerald smiled while he cracked open the large shell of one of their catch. He hummed as he picked the meat out from the inside as he prepared dinner. Sapphire had made amazing progress since he’d gotten back on the boat, and that was certainly something to celebrate. The kid dumped the mop back into the bucket and dragged it away by the wooden handle, the bucket scraping the ground. He’d already gotten the hang of a few basic chores like mopping or cleaning windows. Vin didn’t even have to explain or try and show Sapphire what to do: He’d just done it.

Sapphire, wherever he was from, was no stranger to manual labor.

Emerald wasn’t sure what to think of that. It either meant he was used to working for a living, or he was a servant in whatever household he came from. Emerald snuck a bite of crab and chewed the raw meat as he watched the boy work. At least his work ethic was making things easier for Vin and the others to accept. Dio and Jen were warming up to him, even if they avoided the kid now due to the markings.

He ripped a large chunk of the crab meat out from the shell. It was amazing what power that mark had. The kid had been perfectly fine and well behaved for days, gaining nothing but annoyance at most from his deck hands, but now that he had that mark—they were convinced he was a hardened criminal. 

Sapphire sunk to his knees and used a rag to scrub at a particularly rough spot in his mopping. Emerald shook his head. It was ridiculous. How could anyone possibly think that kid deserved the mark around his neck? Emerald cut his finger on a sharp bit of shell, hissing. He looked through the crab, and tossed the empty shell aside and reached for another. Sapphire was a good kid. He deserved better.

And Emerald was going to make sure he got it.

Emerald was responsible for that boy and nothing had ever rung so true in his chest before. He’d take care of Sapphire and make sure that he had a good life, despite that damned mark. Maybe Emerald could even train him to pass an apprenticeship test. A few trade markings might lesson the blow of a slave mark. Sapphire could prove that he’d changed since his “incarceration.”

Finished cleaning the second crab, Emerald dumped the shell in the bin. He lifted his bowl of crab meat and headed down to the kitchen to pass it off to Vin for final preparation. 

Emerald looked at the crew bunks as he passed, and rubbed the back of his neck. That was another matter he needed to address: Where Sapphire was going to sleep.

Did he set the kid a bunk with the rest of the crew? Or should he try and set up a private area for the kid? It’s true he wasn’t actually a criminal, but he was still technically a slave and he was setting the others on edge. The last thing he needed was to cause strive with Vin, Dio or Jen over having to share room with the kid.

Sharing a room.

Emerald grinned to himself, a plan plotting in his mind. He knew exactly what he could do to try and make the boy feel more welcome.

And after all, he’d been working so hard—why not give him a treat? Emerald had always loved the idea of a roommate anyway.

---

Volker sat on top of a barrel, tapping his heel against the bottom metal ring. It was a miracle how used he’d gotten to staying put when told. If he were at home, Volker would have ditched the second his uncle got too demanding, no matter how much he had needed the job to avoid the old gang. But then again, there was no where for him to go but the water.

Being obedient was the lesser of two evils.

Following the Captain’s orders to stay put, by literally picking him up by the ribs and sitting him on this barrel, was a small price to pay. Besides, running hadn’t done him much good in the past either, and it wasn’t like the ship was big enough that he could hide from anyone.

Well, that and Volker would have to come out eventually to eat.

Boats did that rationing thing, and Volker was a little terrified of the what the other crew members might do if he got caught stealing food. His options weren’t exactly sparkling. Volker touched a hand to the ring around his neck, remembering the agonizing pain of the needle jabbing into his skin repeatedly. 

Volker wasn’t going to forget the blackened bruises under his shirt any time soon, either.

A loud black bird cawed over head, the sound shrill and as piercing as an air horn. Volker covered his ears, vowing never to complain about the birds that flocked outside his bedroom window in the mornings again. Mr. Second scowled at him from across the deck as he tied ropes into knots. Volker looked down and rubbed the hem of his sleeve between his fingers. The glare was too close to the Officer’s for comfort.

The Captain leaned out the ship’s navigation room door and waved Volker over with a soft “Bluegeiss.” Volker hopped off the barrel, walking a good three feet around Mr. Second to get to the cabin. Bedtime, Volker thought, seeing the sun disappear beneath the boat’s side railings. He rubbed his arm under the sleeve, thumb brushing against the goose bumps.

Volker was still sleeping in the Captain’s bed. After getting work and a name, he figured next he’d get shoved down into the quarters with the other deck hands. It would have been a tight squeeze getting four into the small room, but what sort of captain let the cabin boy stay in his quarters?

More surprising, had been the sense of guilt that creeped into Volker’s conscious over the whole thing. The Captain wasn’t a small guy, and seeing him sleep in his chair, leaning over the small side table night after night had to be uncomfortable. Volker wondered if there was a way to get across that the floor wouldn’t be too bad if he got a blanket. It’d be like camping out, or sleeping on his Grandfather’s cabin floor during the summer when he was younger.

Volker yawned into the back of his hand, thinking of ways to get that across. Maybe he’d just drag the blanket to a corner and—Volker stopped dead entering the back bedroom.

The Captain had hung a thick-cloth hammock above his built-in bed. It hung close to the ceiling, but there was enough room for Volker to sit up a few inches without hitting the low ceiling. The Captain waved Volker over to climb up using the bookshelf on the opposite wall. Volker pulled himself up on the first shelf and waited a moment to test its strength, before scrambling up the wooden shelves. He squeezed between the roof and fabric until he collapsed onto the hammock, letting it rock softly back and forth. Volker exhaled slowly, smell the aged canvas weaving, and pulled the thin blanket up over his chest.

That was change Volker could live with.

Volker fell asleep almost instantly listening to the sounds of the Captain readying for bed, and his soft breathing beneath him. 

The hammock was much better than the floor.

---

The eyes had been the easiest to locate. 

Oils flipped a page in his spell book, reading in the dim red lights of the ship’s lanterns. Master Nile slept soundly, the sound of his breathing a soothing comfort. All of Nile’s worries drained away as he rested peacefully. Oils sat by his Master’s bedside, fingers tapping the top of the box holding the spoils of their efforts. Ever since the Horus Witch had decided to foil their plans so long ago, the items had never been out of either Nile or Oils’ sight. 

Speaking of, the eyes had been embedded on a statue in Ma’at that had been smuggled from Anubis 1200 cycles ago. After hunting down its location, it was easy enough to procure the item with a hefty sum paid to its current owner. Money did wonders for trades of any kind, no matter the merchandise.

If only they were all so easy.

Oils flipped the page. His tracking spells were proving rather futile in hunting down their last missing item. He’d probably have to conjure up a new one soon, probably something along the lines of what they used to find the tongue. He had started with the slightest trace of a scraping from the tongue, a chip the size of a needlepoint still on the statue, and used that to develop a powerful spell. They located it, but knowing where something was doesn’t help when you can’t get there.

It took over two cycles to get the appropriate paperwork needed to access the Horus Palace, and then another three cycles of faked camaraderie with the royals to sneak it out. Or rather, Nile attempted for three days. In the end, Oils retrieved it with ease once he was alone and Nile was asleep. As much as he loved his Master, the man tended to fumble all over himself. Between his short temper and his lack of common sense, most of his endeavors ended in failure. It wasn’t all Nile’s fault, though, and Oils took his share of the blame. He did spoil the man so…

The tongue had been acquired, but that was also the time that garnered the attentions of the Horus Witch.

She knew immediately what they wanted it for, and opposed it venomously. She warned them, all fire and temper in her blazing white hair, but Oils brushed her off as a non-threat.

He still regretted that.

The Heart was the one item that had never been removed from Anubis. When he and his master returned to the Statue to Awaken the Beast, their spoils of effort in hand, they found the centerpiece missing. Oils and Nile searched the area for it, looking and pleading with all they could find, but it was pointless.

The Horus Witch appeared before them then, the Heart in hand. Just taking it had not been good enough. That Witch insisted on rubbing into their faces as well.

“You two are looking for this, yes?” The woman had mocked, cradling the precious gem close to her chest. Her hair flipped wildly behind her as the witch floated in the air. She had sneered, “I don’t think you deserve it.”

“Return that, immediately,” Nile said. The fury on his face was palpable, etched and ugly.  Oils glared, cursing the Horus woman’s existence. How dare the Witch put such an expression on his master’s face. “You’re standing in the way of a great moment for all of Anubis!”

“As I said, neither you, nor Anubis deserves this.” She held the stone out, and lifted it with a levitation spell. It hovered in the air high above all of their heads, Oils and Nile’s eyes locked on it. She smiled a coy, crooked smile. “You can’t have it.”

Oils nearly gutted her on the spot when she used the teleportation spell, sending the object to who knew where. Instead, he memorized every hand movement and word that came from her tongue, so that he could recreate it later. He could rip out her entrails any time. There were always opportunities for that.

The woman had teleported away the second she finished, her laughter ringing in their ears as Nile cursed, and Oils vowed death upon that woman after they gathered the final item.

The cycles were not kind.

Oils closed his book and looked out the window. The Heart was finally back in Duat, and that was all that mattered. He would find it. He would return it to Nile, and he would see his master see his dreams come true.

May Duat have mercy on whoever stood in Oils way.