13. Lost and Found

The museum wasnear the edge of Hekate's Eye, a stone building with steps up to a rock with the inscription All is not lost, it is merely waiting to be found. That was funny, because there were certainly things that were lost that wouldn't be found, but humans were vain and optimistic creatures who didn't like to admit things might be gone forever instead of temporarily misplaced.

Arwyn paid the two copper admittance fee for both him and Dex, and smiled blandly at the bored teenager who waved them into the exhibit. It was cool inside, a relief from the summer tropical heatwave, but the museum was mostly empty given that it was nearly closing time when they decided to visit.

It was a typical sort of museum, put together by the treasure hunter who'd found the ship and a scholar from Gerakia, as museums were all the rage recently and every town in Iperios had at least two or three, if not more. There were the staid, boring ones devoted to history in every capital in Iperios, with some having more a specific bent—the royal treasury in Duciel, musical instruments in Kallistos, even a museum for demons in Mislia.

Diabolos, being an island full of former and current pirates, had quite a few devoted to ships and, more specifically, shipwrecks. This museum was for the wreckage of the Maelstrom, discovered by the enterprising young treasure hunter in the waters off the southern coast of Staria a few years earlier.

This wasn't a surprise to Arwyn, who'd known where it was all along. Iola had sailed her until she'd retired, and without anyone worthy enough to command her, Leviathan had obligingly ripped a hole in the hull with his claws so that it would sink. He'd done it partly for Arwyn and partly because it made a good home for fish, which he liked more than most people. That had to explain Levi's choice of companion, who was about as dull as a lecture on the importance of providing a shelter from marine predators and the benefits of diversifying plant and organic matter for sea life to feed on.

The ship had sunk in the quiet waters of a tranquil sea under a moonless sky, and Arwyn and Iola had stood in quiet contemplation in a dingy as they'd watched her go under.

Arwyn hadn't been upset—if he or Iola couldn't have the Maelstrom, no one should, but he had always loved the old flag he'd sailed under, the skull with the rictus grin and paste-ruby eyes, with its crown of rust. His true face, lovingly rendered in silk and thread, really should have had a place in his hoard. Iola had sailed under it, and there'd been something poetic about seeing it go down with the ship.

He'd been reminded again after hearing a delightful tale about a ghost ship that flew a flag with a skull and was manned by a crew of specters who'd made a deal with the God of Death but failed to be specific enough about the conditions. It was all a lie, but the next morning, he'd sent an anonymous tip to a treasure hunter about the location of the Maelstrom.

Really, Azaiah was too boring to go about making deals with the living and tricking them into eternal, ghostly servitude on a spectral ship. That was something Arwyn would have done, but since he couldn't, he decided to put the rumors to rest so that people didn't think his baby brother was more interesting than he was. Levi thought he was ridiculous when Arwyn asked, but he'd gone and found the wreckage on an afternoon swim and reported back, and Arwyn had Dex send a mysteriously-worded letter with a series of clues to Gerakia.

No point in making it too easy.

The ship had been found, someone had written a tiresome and dull treatise on masts and gunner compartments of all things, and nary a word of Captain Arwyn and his exploits survived. Arwyn had given a copy of the book to Nyx, who liked history books as long as his former empire wasn't in them, and had been about it until they'd heard about the museum.

When they decided to visit, he'd assumed it would be the same as the book, pieces of the mast with a boring little plaque talking about shipyards in the old Age of Princes or whatever they called that period of Iperian history. He hadn't expected to see much but rotted wood and maybe a few tarnished flagons behind glass.

Except that when they walked into the exhibit, The Lost Treasure of the Pirate Ship Maelstrom, the first thing they had seen was the flag. It was tattered and stained with plenty of pieces missing, but there was a mostly accurate artist's recreation lovingly rendered on a plaque beside it.

Scholars theorize the skull design was meant to convey danger to other ships, while the jewels and crown signified this particular vessel might have belonged to a high-ranking captain or "pirate king."

"They got the design right," Arwyn said, glancing back and forth between the replica and the original. It was behind glass, which made Arwyn frown in consternation when he reached out to touch it. "This explanation is all wrong, though. It's just my face, and I've never wanted to be king of anything."

"Please tell me you're not getting mad at the informational plaques I didn't expect you to read, Shadow," Declan murmured fondly. "You did act like you were king of your domain on that ship, I remember it well."

Arwyn tossed his hair and scowled. "That's not the same thing and you know it, Dex." He tapped the glass again. "Personally, I find defying a king and taking away his kingdom far more dashing than sailing about pretending I am one."

"Everyone thinks that story is a myth, remember?"

"Sir," the teenager called, sighing, "please don't touch the glass."

Arwyn's eyes narrowed, but before he could chide the impudent service worker for their disrespect, Dex said quickly, "Let's go see if one of these other informational plaques will soothe your ego."

"Doubtful," Arwyn muttered, and followed him along to the next. He was slightly mollified by the sign leading into the main exhibit hall, which read:

The Maelstrom is unique among pirate ships of its age for its increased number of cannons and the opulence of its captain's quarters.

"You never could do anything by halves, could you, demon?" Dex said, grinning at him.

Arwyn shrugged. "I don't see the point, no. Let's move on." He gave another considering look at the flag behind the glass, and tugged Declan through to a large exhibit room full of glass cases, plaques, and another teenager, this one leaning against the wall and reading a book that they hastily shoved into their coat when they approached.

"Please let me know if you have any questions," they said.

"Thank you," Declan said.

"We won't," Arwyn said, and smiled when he heard Dex's quiet laugh.

The exhibit was broken up into several sections, with the first being Daily Life, and focused mainly on the practical aspects of living aboard a ship. Most of the artifacts were for the regular sailors, and included slightly-dinged tin cups and bowls, a mostly-rotted wooden table, and one of the rope hammocks where the sailors had slept.

Next to that was a roped-off area where a recreation had been constructed. It was, all in all, a decent representation. There were wooden people sitting around the wooden table, holding cups or leaning forward as if playing a game, with others standing about and watching. There were marbles on the table, but in a strange configuration, and of course while the sailors would have been playing Winter, only the marbles would have survived that long under saltwater.

Sailors playing an unknown game with glass marbles.

Dex smiled a bit. "Losing, if they were playing against Iola. She was even better than you."

Affronted, Arwyn crossed his arms over his chest. "She wasn't the best. That is my brother."

"Well, yes, but no one wins against him."

"Nyx has," Arwyn said, but his voice sounded a bit mulish. It was still unthinkable to him that someone could beat Death at his own game.

"Come on, Shadow. I'll let you win a game when we get home."

"You've never let me win a game of anything," Arwyn glanced over at the teenager, who was surreptitiously reading their book again. Arwyn reached over, quick as a cat, and nimbly plucked one of the marbles from the table and slipped it into his pocket.

"It's probably just glass," Declan said, as they moved toward the next portion of the exhibit.

"Obviously," Arwyn drawled. "That's what all marbles are made of, Declan."

"I'm surprised you know that, given how long ago you lost yours," Dex said, and laughed at his own joke.

Another case had buttons from uniforms, a sewing kit, and an old water filtration system that was erroneously referred to by the plaque as a fermenter for beer.

In the Age of Princes, water was a precious commodity. Sailors would have consumed beer with water to cut down bacteria.

"We knew how to filter water," Dex said, frowning. "It's the same way they've been doing it for— Where are you going?"

"Somewhere more interesting," Arwyn called, heading past the boring, mundane relics of a life too tedious to care about. He had never been a common anything, human, sailor, or pirate. Cups and tables and trinkets were fine, but he wanted to see something more personal.

The next room delivered exactly that, and Arwyn clapped as he saw the depiction of a wyvern in a pen, the words Wyvern-Riders in the Age of Princes above a very long, informational sign that had mostly incorrect information about wyverns and those who used to fly them. They weren't common on pirate ships, but the plaque seemed to think that they were.

In a roped-off section near the entrance of the room was the wyvern pen, recreated from what had been found in the wreckage. In the corner was a pile of hay and rocks, and the sign proclaimed, ship wyverns traditionally hoarded pebbles and sea glass, as recreated here.

"Not our girl," Arwyn said fondly. "She liked paste jewels."

"And me," Declan said, and shook his head. "You bastard. It was hundreds of years ago, and I still remember how mad I was when I realized you'd left and taken Stella with you."

"Are you waiting for me to apologize?" Arwyn asked, curious.

"Of course not," Dex scoffed. "You never have."

"I am nothing if not predictable," Arwyn said, which was true, in its way, even if it made Dex scoff and roll his eyes. "Besides, you stole her from me when you went gallivanting off to try and prove me wrong and ended up whipped down to the spine in an orange grove."

Declan was quiet for a moment, and then he said, softly, "Your eyes, Shadow."

In the glint of the glass case, Arwyn could see his eyes glowing a pale red.

"It was a long time ago," Declan said, which was both trite and placating, two things Arwyn hated. "And he's dead, remembered as a folk legend about failure and greed. We couldn't have asked for a better ending."

"I suppose that's true," Arwyn said begrudgingly. His eyes gradually lost their reddish glow. "Oh, look, here's that golden phallus I liked to fuck you with, remember? How funny, they call it a pestle with a missing mortar."

Declan blushed and leaned in. He snickered. "It was certainly used by a pest."

"I'm choosing to ignore that," Arwyn informed him. He considered stealing it, but he liked having it on display too much to want to remove, even if they had the use all wrong. Besides, he had any number of them at home. "How do they not know what this is? There are plenty of shops on this very island that sell phalluses like this, and no one is stupid enough to think they're for crushing up herbs."

"People forget the past isn't only made up of practical things, I think," Declan said. "They forget real people were on this ship, and that people back then weren't so different from people now. People fucked on the ship just like people fuck now."

"What an astute observation. You should consider a career as a historian. At least you'd write far more entertaining plaques." Arwyn considered this as they continued to peruse the exhibit. Declan was right. There was a collection of toys used entirely for submissives and dominants, but they were referenced as tools for keeping order on board. While there was some truth to that—ensuring sailors could indulge their biological urges to submit or dominate was important for morale—it was decidedly odd that no one considered that maybe they were simply used for fun.

"Imagine what they'll say about that fucking machine we have at home in Kallistos," Arwyn said. "Probably that it's some sort of elaborate contraption used by a valet to press clothes."

"That's entirely possible, given how many times you use it as a glorified hanger when you don't have me strapped into it," Declan agreed.

All in all, the exhibit was mostly as dull as Arwyn expected—correct when it came to the technical aspects of the ship itself, mostly correct when it came to the day-to-day life on board, and wrong about literally everything else.

The recreation of his old captain's quarters was mostly wrong, but then again, he'd taken what he wanted from the ship before giving it to Iola. There was very little of Arwyn or Declan there, though he did note the silver basin where he used to pour water and summon his hoard from his Well, or toss a shell to summon Leviathan. He considered stealing that, too, as there was only a simple rope keeping them out, but where on earth would he hide a silver bowl?

He consoled himself by stealing a jeweled hat pin that had been his, which wasn't stealing so much as finding something he'd lost a few hundred years ago. Maybe that sign outside the museum wasn't all that wrong, after all.

Then he remembered King Cadoc, dead in the waters of his Well, fingers clenched around a rusted, worthless crown that had cost him his life. His legacy was a cautionary tale against greed, and no one knew the name of his ships or his wives or that he'd ever been a real person, much less a king. All the children he'd had and murdered for power, all for a kingdom and a legacy that most regarded as a myth. He thought of Nyx's former empire, slumbering beneath Arktos, the perfidious emperor who'd betrayed Nyx turned to whitened bones in the sand.

Maybe a better sign would be, All is not lost, merely waiting to be found…and if it isn't, maybe it just doesn't deserve to be.

He'd have to leave that on the suggestion card, along with a very simple explanation of why that wasn't a pestle, perhaps with a diagram. He was no God of Art, but he could render the basics easily enough.

"Let's see what else they've gotten wrong about our ship, Dex," Arwyn said, cheerfully, and hooked his arm in Declan's. "Maybe we'll find those nipple clamps you liked so much in an exhibit of ways to hang laundry to dry in the sun."

* * *

It was odd, seeing his own life behind glass.

Declan sometimes wondered if the other companions to the gods remembered their early lives so vividly. He knew mortal minds couldn't hold onto details, letting them go vague and indistinct, but perhaps being part of Arwyn's hoard meant he remembered everything. He could even recall the way the air smelled at night, when the smoke from cookfires on the islands made the sky hazy. It had looked like the islands were wreathed in smoke sometimes, which, according to one of the plaques, was a possible reason for the name Diabolos.

"I'll get you something from the shop," Declan said, before Arwyn could distract the poor teenager at the till and steal half the figurines on the counter. Arwyn gave him a dry look.

"The pirate captain doll doesn't even look like me," he said, slipping one up his sleeve. Declan sighed. "Did you see what they said about us turning to piracy for food? They'd shit themselves if they knew about the farms."

"Or the witches."

"We still have those. There's a coven not far from here. Remember those three old women who banned me from their garden?"

"I can't imagine why they would," Declan said, watching Arwyn steal a vial of "authentic wyvern tears" from a shelf. He towed him out before they could be apprehended by a pair of hapless teenagers, and winced as they emerged into the light. The street outside was bustling with people heading for the bars and restaurants for the evening, and as soon as Declan ushered Arwyn out, the door clicked shut behind them.

"Banned from our own ship," Arwyn said, "again."

"We aren't banned," Declan said. "They just…" He spotted one of the teenagers glaring at them and gesturing at the shelves through the window. "We should walk quickly."

"Oh, they can try to arrest us," Arwyn said, with a smile that wasn't altogether human. Declan shivered, but he suppressed the thrill running through him and grabbed Arwyn by the elbow instead.

"I wasn't aware there would be so much manhandling when we made this agreement," Arwyn said, with the hint of, and you'll pay for it later.

"Sometimes you're like a feral cat, Shadow," Declan said, and that did the trick. Suddenly, Arwyn was far less interested in robbing tourist traps and entirely focused on Declan. He took Declan by the arm instead, dragging him behind a closed stall selling glass jewelry. The whole stall jingled as Arwyn shoved Declan against it.

"You only call me that when you want me," Arwyn said, but it wasn't Arwyn, exactly. It was what he really was, the thing in the Well, rising with the scent of salt and lending a rattle to Arwyn's silky voice. Arwyn ran his hand up Declan's chest and trailed his nails over his neck, watching him closely.

"Thought it might make you restless." Declan felt like he was speaking to two people, sometimes, when Arwyn got like this. "Seeing what we used to be."

"What we are." Arwyn smiled. "Our trappings change, but we remain. Do we not?"

"Seems like." The stall jingled with glass again as Arwyn shoved his thigh between Declan's legs.

For a moment, it seemed as though Arwyn was going to take Declan apart right there in the street, in full view of everyone. But the sound of laughter and singing and carousing grew louder, and Arwyn contented himself with a lingering kiss, a bite on Declan's lower lip and a quick rub of his thigh against Declan's hardening cock, just to make sure he was uncomfortable and a little too turned on to be in public. It reminded him of being paraded around Port Abyssian, and maybe Arwyn was right—maybe it was only the trappings that were different. Not that he'd tell Arwyn that. His Shadow was insufferable enough as it was.

Hekate's Eye had turned into quite the entertainment district over the years, with shops, inns, brothels and pubs lining the well-lit streets. Arwyn was in his element in this place devoted entirely to humanity's vices and excess, and Declan wasn't surprised to find himself occasionally dragged behind buildings or into empty alleyways. He didn't mind, even if he pretended he did because that wound Arwyn up even more, convincing Declan to want what Declan had wanted from the very first. Arwyn knew desire and Arwyn knew him, but Declan didn't mind playing along as if it were some monumental task to make him want to kneel on uneven cobblestone and suck his cock.

He would have done it—Arwyn could hide them if it were a problem, though he rarely bothered to—but Arwyn was too much in his element, reveling in his power the same way his brother Astra did in the dreamworld. Arwyn was as flighty and selfish as ever, wanting to both show Declan off like some expensive courtesan and then snarl and draw a dagger on anyonewho dared to appreciate the sight.

He was half-under from all the teasing when he realized where Arwyn was heading—Madame Mori's Emporium of Delicious Desirous Delights. He raised his brows as Arwyn pushed open the door, whistling out of tune, dragging Declan by the hand toward the back where a variety of phalluses were showcased on little silk pillows.

"No," he said. "Shadow. No."

Arwyn, as usual, acted as if that word did not exist and studied two different toys with rapt attention. "Which of these looks more realistic, do you think?"

"They're both shaped like a cock," Declan said. He had a terrible idea he knew where Arwyn was going with this.

"Yes, thank you, I know. But which one would you never in a million years mistake for a pestle?"

Declan stared at him. "You said you were going to leave it there."

"Yes, but Dex, it was mine." A hint of the Shadow's growl escaped, and Declan tried and failed to hide a shiver. Arwyn's smile was too wide, his eyes not quite red, but not quite human, either. "I want it back. If they're going to get it wrong, they might as well get it wrong with someone else's fake cock."

Declan shook his head. He knew there was no talking Arwyn out of this phallus heist. "Why did you tell anyone where the ship was if you didn't want it to be found?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Dex. I'm merely offended and want to make sure everyone knows," said Arwyn, and Dex snorted with the irony. "Fine, I saw the phallus and remembered fucking you with it, and now I want it. That's the only reason I need."

"If we're caught committing larceny, you'll need more than that," Declan tried, but he knew from experience it was useless. "This is going to be Katoikos all over again."

"Oh, don't be like that. Prison wasn't that bad, we were out in what, two, three years?"

"It was two hours," Declan reminded him. "You fucked me and then were horrified at the idea of sleeping on the floor, so you bribed the guard with whatever it was he wanted and we were out before the sun set."

"Well, it felt a bit like years, and I would know," Arwyn said, having chosen between two of the phalluses, which looked nearly identical. "I spent quite a lot of time locked up, you know."

"Yes, which is why I don't really understand why you thought it would be fun to fuck in a Katoikos jail."

"I thought it would be a bit more inspired? Some implements. Perhaps sexy chains for you. Come along." Arwyn at the very least paid for the phallus, a sign that he'd remembered how inconvenient it had been to get what the guard wanted in order to release them.

Maybe reminding Arwyn of that would help. "Remember the figurine?"

"Hmm?" Arwyn wasn't looking at him, merely heading with terrifying purpose back toward the museum. "What figurine?"

"Don't pretend you don't remember it. The only thing the guard wanted for a bribe in Katoikos, remember?" Declan knocked his shoulder, chuckling despite himself. "The little porcelain figurine that belonged in the guard's mother's set, the one glorifying farmwork. It was the little, chubby baby figurine, with the beady eyes."

Arwyn stopped and shuddered. "If that had been thrown in my Well, I would have thrown it right back. Humanity has wanted strange things, but that dead-eyed baby statue is up there with the most unsettling."

"Which is why we shouldn't do this," Declan said. "It could always be worse."

"Yes, of course, but that's why we're not going to get caught." Arwyn pulled him over to a window on the side of the now-closed museum, which he wasn't quite tall enough to reach. Just as Declan thought perhaps they could take their new toy and go back to the inn without the artifact larceny, Arwyn turned to him and let his human form fade, so that it was the Shadow standing before him, resplendent in his crown of rust and his ruby eyes glowing in the dark.

Declan put all his submissive's power into his voice, making it plaintive and aching. "Shadow. No."

"My Knight," the Shadow purred, making all the hairs on Declan's body stand up, heat coursing through him, cock hardening so much that it would rival the phallus in the silk bag held tight in the Shadow's bony fingers. "Kneel."

Declan swayed, but he shook his head. He knew where this was going. "You are not using me as a stepping stool to–"

For a skeletal creature wreathed in leathery skin and rags, Arwyn moved fast in this form. He was suddenly right there, pushing Declan against the wall and sliding fingers into his mouth. Declan moaned, eyes half closing as Arwyn's fingers fucked his mouth and he turned the full force of his power on Declan.

"I said kneel," the Shadow commanded, and when he took his fingers away, Declan couldn't keep himself from going to his knees.

Declan saw the shadows shift and there stood Arwyn in his mortal form, smiling in pleasure before he climbed up Declan's back and settled on his shoulders. "Up you go, Dex, let's get me to that window."

"You could do this literally six other ways. It's a museum, not a palace," Declan groused, but he stood, slowly, with Arwyn's heels kicking his chest.

"But those ways don't annoy you as much, so it's not as fun. Put your hands out. I know you're strong enough to lift me up."

Normally, Declan might make a comment about Arwyn's stature—in his mortal form, he was short and slight enough that he didn't look nearly enough like the menace he was—but Declan had the majority of the self-control in this particular relationship and the sense when to use it. He was also a former soldier, enough to know when a battle was lost.

So he put his hands out, lifting Arwyn so his feet were on Declan's shoulders and he could push the window open. "Seems foolish not to lock it."

"Yes, you'd think the museum would absolutely consider the god of desire might stand on his companion's shoulders to break in and steal a mislabeled phallus while replacing it with a sex toy bought down the street. Why wouldn't they make sure every entrance was barred to you, no matter how high off the ground it is?"

"I'm not stealing it, it's mine," Arwyn said, stepping on Declan's head as he shimmied into the open window.

Declan watched him disappear, then hissed, "Shadow! How am I supposed to get in?"

Arwyn leaned out of the window like a damsel in a play greeting her lover from a bower, and he held a hand out to him.

"No," Declan said. "Absolutely not."

"I'll go open the door," Arwyn said. "There's no one here. Honestly, I would prefer better security for my former ship's treasures."

"Why? You're stealing them!"

"It's the point of the thing." Arwyn stared down at him, long, blond hair in his face. "I'll be right back. You stay there."

Declan sighed, arms over his chest. He waited until he was sure Arwyn was slinking about in his shadow-form to start laughing. He wondered if Azaiah and Nyx did this sort of thing, or Cillian and Astra. Maybe not. Maybe they were the only disasters.

Arwyn returned in mere minutes, shoving his head out of the window and whistling sharply. "Catch." He tossed something out of the window and Declan caught it, thinking again of a maiden on a balcony tossing a flower to show her favor to a lover. Instead, it was a messy-haired god of desire throwing down a phallus he'd once used to fuck Declan on a balcony, a phallus that had spent the better part of two hundred years on the sea floor.

He had barely any time to ponder the absurdity before it was Arwyn himself jumping down for Declan to catch, and Declan caught him easily. Arwyn was so pleased he was faintly vibrating with it, and when he kissed Declan, Declan tasted a hint of a brine, smelled the rust of a crown and felt bones sharper than they should be under his hands.

Arwyn was entirely his human form when he pulled away. "Well, let's see it."

Declan held out the not-a-pestle without comment. Arwyn took it and studied it thoughtfully. "When I fucked you with this before, this island didn't even exist, I don't think." His eyes gleamed. "Our room at the inn has a balcony. You know what that means."

Declan did, indeed. "You're going to wash that off, first."

"Why? It's been underwater for centuries. Oh, don't look at me like that. Yes, fine, I'll clean it off for you first."

"What was that you said, before? It's the point of the thing." Declan wasn't surprised when Arwyn shoved the phallus at him. "Why aren't you carrying it? This was your idea!"

"My pockets are full," Arwyn said, shifty-eyed. "I picked up a few other things while I was in there."

Declan groaned. "Arwyn! What exactly—mmph."

Arwyn kissed him, mouth warm, hands on the sides of his face. "You'll see, my knight. You'll see."

As they headed back to the inn, Declan tried to imagine what else Arwyn had carried off and what he'd left in its place. He didn't think Arwyn would have taken any of the floggers—too damaged, and they had plenty—but one never could tell. He was probably in for quite a long night, if the glint in Arwyn's eyes was anything to go by, and he couldn't say he wasn't looking forward to it. He'd enjoy himself, as much as he protested, and they both knew it.

"They probably won't even notice," Arwyn was saying, as they climbed the steps to their room in the inn.

"You could sound less disappointed about that," Declan said, and finally started to laugh. "Here I thought you'd left piracy behind with the Maelstrom when you scuttled her."

"It said it right on the sign in front of the museum, my knight. Nothing's lost forever, it's just waiting to be found. Now let's wash this off so it doesn't offend your sensibilities, and see how loud you can be when you come for me on that balcony."

Declan might have protested, but it sounded a lot more fun than larceny. He reached for his shirt laces, but he did say, "Just make sure you use some soap," before he started to strip.

"Bold of you to think I'm going to be doing the washing when I did the stealing, Dex."

Declan could have pointed out that Arwyn wouldn't have gotten to the window to steal anything without his help, but he knew from experience that was pointless. At least this way, he could be sure the thing was properly cleaned before Arwyn fucked him with it.

* * *

In the morning, the museum staff arrived to an inexplicably open window, a missing pestle some joker had replaced with a dildo, and a comment card tacked onto the plaque with chewing gum that showed a simplistic yet crude drawing of a stick figure bending over and being ravished by the missing pestle.

"What do you think it means?" asked Tiernan O'Malley, who worked the morning shift in the gift shop.

Ren, who would rather be reading the newest Scout of Thalassa adventure novel than working, shrugged. "Either someone has a sick sense of humor, or people on this ship used pestles for uh, something else."

"Maybe that's why they never found the mortar that went with it," Tiernan suggested, gingerly removing the comment card to clean the gum off the proper plaque. She frowned. "There's something here, it says…people fucked."

They stared at each other, at a loss, until finally Ren pulled out their book and said, "I don't get paid enough for this."

"Me neither," said Tiernan, and threw the note in the trash.