Caleb’s consciousness returned with sharp, brutal shock.

  His lungs were burning, his vision fragment into a million bubbles. He realized that he’d awoken underwater just before he reflexively inhaled. The water was dark, but crystal clear.

  Glints of light reflected off the surface above. He kicked for it, straining every muscle before his lungs burst.

  A massive, wheezing PAH! sounded as he broke the surface.

  Caleb looked around. The ocean was still calm. Stars glittered in the night sky, and the three moons hung higher in the sky.

  He made out the rocky outline of the same large island nearby. The one he now knew as Irongrasp. Lanterns and torch lights gave the town of Deephold Port a deceptively cheery look.

  The bright triple set of moonlight illuminated the sandy beach he’d been on before. This time, he didn’t hesitate to swim toward the empty stretch of sand.

  Caleb dragged himself out of the water and then staggered up the beach towards a set of marks. The same marks he’d made the first time he’d arrived. He sat down heavily in the same spot, head spinning and trying to piece things together anew.

  Hesitantly, his fingers touched his chest. He found nothing but intact, smooth skin where Malum Kane had shot him. That was good.

  He also realized that he was naked once again. And that the same sense of hunger gnawed at him once again. Granted, the only nourishment he’d gotten had been a mug of alcohol, but his stomach felt as empty as ever.

  A faint glow came from the now-familiar rectangle that appeared off to his left. He glanced at the window once more.

  A set of three multicolored pegs remained to one side along with a trio of matching horizontal bars in blue, green, and yellow. The words Look Outward and Look Inward blinked at him. He touched Look Inward.

  The basics of what he now thought of as his ‘stat sheet’ remained unchanged.

  “Back to square one, then?” he asked himself, just as more words scrolled down the screen.

  Once again, he made out a set of three multicolored pegs below and to the left of the text. Caleb watched as one of the pegs blipped into nothingness.

  A red rage began to grow within him as what happened finally registered.

  Malum Kane murdered me, he thought. With as much concern as snuffing out a candle or swatting a mosquito.

  “That son of a bitch,” Caleb gritted. “You don’t know who you messed with.”

  The rage built into a hotter and hotter flame as yet more words scrolled into place.

  A wave of a hand, and the text dissipated. He began trudging up the beach. More text appeared as he headed for the tree line.

  He waved away the words again, but one of the lines returned, blinking in emphasis.

  Caleb swatted the words away with the back of his hand.

  His stomach growled its displeasure at being so empty. His feet set up twinges as he clambered over rocks or stepped through thorny brush. He ignored the pain and focused like a bloodhound on the scent he’d come across before: the scent of a freshly baked pie.

  Finally, the gravel gave way to the lines of a freshly plowed field. The far end of the field sloped up to where clothing hung on lines set outside a cottage built from leftover pieces of timber. The glow of a lantern shone from inside an open window, illuminating a chest-high ramshackle stone wall beyond the drying clothes.

  He made his way over to the clotheslines, picking out an identical pants-and-tunic set. The thin clothes still felt like sail canvas, and once again, the pants were short in the leg. If anything, this set was damper than the first.

  But none of that mattered compared to the pie sitting in the window.

  Begging wasn’t in the plan this time. Malum Kane had woken something dark and ruthless within him. Caleb noted in passing how comfortably the feelings felt.

  “Two scores to settle,” he muttered to himself. “One with my appetite, the next with Kane.”

  He went up to the open windowsill. The pie sat next to the lantern on the wide, flat sill. Without thinking twice about it, he gave the lantern a hard shove with both hands.

  He heard a crash and a tinkle of broken glass. That was followed by a whump! as the spilled oil caught on something inside and began to burn. A shout, followed by the hurrying tread of boots. Then a string of curses and the barking of a dog as smoke began to billow out through the open window.

  Caleb paid no heed. He swiped the pie, walked calmly over to the stone wall, and boosted himself over. He made his way into the more thickly wooded area beyond. Then he found a suitable stump to sit on and consume his prize.

  The crust had been carelessly slapped on. Gravy had been allowed to bubble and burn over the edges. Inside, the filling was mostly cubed potato, chunks of onion, and a handful of grisly, overcooked ground meat.

  Right now, the flavor of the filling easily trumped any pot pie he’d had. The crust tasted better than the finest French pastry. He found himself licking his fingers and the bottom of the tin even as the now-familiar window winked to life again.

  His appetite sated to a dull murmur, Caleb got up and followed the now-familiar path that sloped up to the summit of the ridge. Once there, he looked over the town of Deephold Port once more. He chewed his lip as he made his decision.

  Caleb turned left and followed the ridgeline that paralleled the southern edge of the town until he made out the outline of The Quiet Sailor. Only then did he head further down the slope. He ended up crouched inside a loose hedge of bushes at the side of the tavern, where the light from the torches began to filter into shadow.

  The sounds cheering and a continued tromp-tromp-tromp came from within. That was punctuated by the bang of a door. Malum Kane emerged, the sliver trim of his black uniform glinting in the torchlight.

  The man turned the corner around the side of the building, almost within arm’s length of Caleb’s hiding place. He continued around back to a little wooden shed set behind the tavern. He opened the crescent-moon shaped door, went inside, and closed it behind him.

  Caleb never thought that hearing the tinkle of urine would make him smile.

  He slipped out from the underbrush and headed over to the outhouse. He caught a whiff of the rank odor that came from within. His fury bubbled inside, but he forced himself to remain calm and think back to earlier.

  His quarry wore the Guardsmen’s standard armament. Two flintlock pistols hung on one hip, a cutlass on the other. He squinted as he thought back to the moment of his death, his last death.

  Malum Kane had pulled the lower of the two pistols. That meant the upper one was the pistol most likely to have its single shot loaded. Decision made, Caleb waited until the sound of passing urine slowed to drops, and then stopped.

  The door opened with a creak. Kane stepped out, halting in surprise as he spotted Caleb standing before him. His eyes went wide.

  “You!” he gasped. “But – how did?”

  Caleb lunged forward. Whip-fast, he grabbed the upper pistol and yanked it from where it had been clipped to Kane’s belt. He jammed the weapon up under the man’s jaw as he cocked it.

  “Ask Myr yourself,” Caleb snarled, as he pulled the trigger.

  A sproink as the mainspring flicked the flint forward, but nothing else.

  “Misfire!” Kane shouted. “You’re mine now!”

  Malum Kane’s hand went to his sword’s hilt. The slick sound of steel drawing free of its scabbard sounded in the air.

  Caleb had at best a second to get back out of range. But he’d be damned before he did that.

  He lunged forward once more and swung the pistol barrel against Kane’s skull. A crack! as the steel met the bone over the temple. Kane stumbled back with a cry. In an instant, Caleb was on him.

  Blood boiling, he showed no mercy. With one hand, he grabbed Kane’s wrist, twisting it until the sword fell to the ground with a clang. The other brought the pistol down on the man’s head again and again with a series of meaty, blood-spattering thuds, until Kane sprawled out before him.

  A vast swirl of light lit up Caleb’s vision. The smells of blood and dirt faded away, to be replaced with the aroma of exotic woods, hot spices. The breathtaking feel of euphoria, of mainlining oxygen, filled his body with a series of jolting electric tingles.

  The screen to his left lit up again, the numbers scrolled up, flashing as if he’d won the big prize at a slot machine. One line stood out to him.

  He heard voices coming from behind him.

  “There he is!”

  “He killed our Komtur!”

  “Get him!”

  Something heavy slammed into him from behind. It drove the wind out of him, knocked the feeling off all-encompassing achievement out of his body.

  Another blow, and everything went black.

  Pirate Wizard, one on Monday and one on Thursday afternoon after 3pm EST.