DESPITE ITS NAME, THE Golden Goose is one of the only things in Midas that is not painted to match the pyramid. The walls are crusted brown and the drinks follow in the same hue. The clientele is nothing short of brutish, and most nights, glass crunches underfoot, with blood patching the beer-soaked tables.
It’s one of my favorite places.
The owner is Sakura and she has always just been Sakura. No last name that anyone knows of. She’s pretty and plump, with white-blond hair cut above her ears and thin, angled eyes that are the same brown as the walls. She wears red lipstick dark enough to cover her secrets, and her skin is paler than anything I’ve ever seen. Most people have guessed that she’s from Págos, which sees constant snow and little sun. A land so cold that only natives are able to survive it. It’s rumored, even, that the Págese rarely migrate to other kingdoms because they find the heat to be suffocating. Yet I can’t remember a time when Sakura didn’t own the Golden Goose. She seemed to always be there, or at least, she has been there since I started visiting. And though she’s beautiful, she’s also cruel enough that not even the thieves and felons try to get past her.
Luckily, Sakura likes me. Whenever I’m in Midas, it’s common knowledge that I’ll visit the Golden Goose, and even criminals can’t resist a chance to meet the famous pirate prince, whether it’s to shake my hand or try to con me at cards. And so when I visit, Sakura gives me a smile that shows her straight, milky teeth and lets me drink for free. A thanks for bringing in more customers. It also means that my crew is allowed to stay long after closing to discuss sensitive matters in the dead of night with people I don’t dare bring to the palace.
I suspect half of this is because Sakura enjoys being privy to my secrets. But that doesn’t bother me. As many secrets as Sakura knows about me, I know far more about her. Far worse. And while she may choose to sell the best of mine to the highest bidder, I’ve kept her most valuable mysteries close. Waiting for just the right price.
Tonight my inner circle sits around the crooked table in the center of the Golden Goose and watches as the strange man in front of us fiddles with his cufflinks.
“The stories don’t lie,” he says.
“That’s what a story is,” Madrid says. “A bunch of lies by no-good gossips with too much time on their hands. Right, Captain?”
I shrug and pull the pocket watch from my jacket to check the time. It’s the one present from my father that isn’t gold or new or even princely. It’s plain and black, with no ornate swirls or sparkling stones, and on the inside of the lid, opposite the clock face, is a compass.
I knew it wasn’t an heirloom when my father gifted it to me – all Midasan heirlooms are gold that never lose their shine – but when I asked my father where the watch came from, he simply said that it would help me find my way. And it does just that. Because the compass doesn’t have four points, but two, and neither represents the cardinal points. North is for truth and South is for lies, with a resting place between that indicates either may be possible.
It’s a compass to split the liars from the loyal.
“My information is solid,” the man says.
He’s one of the many who approached me near closing, guaranteeing information to hunt down the mighty Princes’ Bane. I put the word out after the ball that I won’t stop until I’ve found her, and any clues leading to that will be met with a heavy reward. Most of the information was useless. Descriptions of the siren’s burning hair, talk of her eyes or seas she apparently frequents. Some even claim to know the location of the underwater kingdom of Keto, which my compass was quick to see through. Besides, I already know where the kingdom is: the Diávolos Sea. The only problem is that I don’t know where the Diávolos Sea is. And neither does anyone else, apparently.
But this man piqued my interest. Enough so that come midnight, when Sakura announced she was closing and motioned for everyone to leave, I gave her a nod and she proceeded to lock the doors with me and my crew – and this strange man – inside, before heading to the back room, for whatever it was she did when princes commandeered her bar.
The man turns to me. “I’m telling you, Lord Prince,” he says. “The crystal is as real as I am.”
I stare at him. He’s different from the usual caliber I see in the Golden Goose, refined in a way that is forcibly precise. His coat is made of black velvet and his hair is combed into a tidy ponytail, with his shoes polished to gleam against the crusty floorboards. But he’s also uncommonly thin – the lavish coat swallows his pinched shoulders – and his dark skin is quilted red by the sun, like my crew when they’ve spent too long on the deck after a hard day’s sail.
When the man taps his fingers on the table impatiently, the ends of his bitten-down nails catch in the cracks of the wood.
“Tell me more.”
Torik throws his hands up. “You want more rubbish to line your ears with?”
Kye produces a small knife from his belt. “If it’s really rubbish,” he says, thumbing the blade, “then he’ll get what’s coming to him.”
I turn to Kye. “Put it away.”
“We want to be safe.”
“Which is why I’m telling you to put it away and not throw it away.”
Kye smirks and places the knife back into his belt.
I tip my glass toward the man. “Tell me more.”
“The Crystal of Keto will bring peace and justice to our world.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Will it now?”
“It’ll save us all from the fire.”
I lick the liquor from my lips. “How does that work?” I ask. “Do we clutch it tight and wish upon a star? Or perhaps tuck it under our pillows and exchange it to the fairies for good luck.”
Kye pours some liquor into a shot glass. “Dip it in wax and light it up to burn away the flames of war,” he says, sliding the glass over to Madrid.
She laughs and brings the glass to her lips. “Kiss it and maybe it’ll turn into a prince who doesn’t speak such drivel,” she says.
“Or throw it into the pile of shit that it was made from.” This is from Torik, whose perfectly neutral face only makes me laugh harder, until the only sounds that can be heard are our snickers and the sharp bangs as my crew slaps their hands against the tables.
Then, amid it all, a deathly quiet voice: “By killing the Sea Queen.”
I stop laughing.
My gaze snaps back to the man, and I pull my knife from my belt loop, feeling its thirst for a kill. Slowly, I bring it to the man’s throat. “Say that again.”
He swallows as the tip of my blade presses against his jugular. He should be scared. He looks scared; his eyes squint the right way and his hands even quake as he picks up his glass. But it seems rehearsed, because when he speaks, his voice is smooth. No sign of fear. It’s as though he’s used to having a knife at his throat.
“The crystal was crafted to bring justice to our world by destroying the Sea Queen,” he explains.
“Crafted by who?” I ask.
“By the original families,” he says. “They were the greatest magicians of the age, and together they agreed the territories of the world, each taking a corner for themselves so that they could have peace and never be victims of the old border wars.”
“Yes,” I say, impatient. “We’re all aware of the original families. It’s a fairy tale every child in the hundred kingdoms knows.” I pocket my knife with a sigh. “Even these racketeers.”
“It is not a fairy tale!” The man slams his fists on the table. “What those stories never told you is that the original families created peace on land, but below a battle waged on. A goddess ruled the ocean, spreading her evil throughout the waters. Soon she bore children who became devils. Monstrous creatures whose voices brought the death of men.”
“Sirens.”
The man nods. “They could transform, existing on land and under it. Under the goddess Keto’s rule they terrorized humanity, and so the one hundred magicians combined their power and declared war on the ocean. After a decade of death they were finally able to destroy Keto and weaken the monsters she’d created. From her remains, they conjured a keepsake that could destroy the sirens forever.”
“If that’s true,” I say, “then why didn’t they use it?”
“Because the sirens fashioned a stone from her remains too. It gave their new queen the power to control her kind, and she promised to keep them at bay. She even took away the sirens’ ability to walk on land as a show of good faith. Without that, they weren’t a large enough threat to warrant the original families committing genocide. So they took mercy and formed a treaty. The land belonged to the humans, and the seas belonged to the devils. If either of them crossed into each other’s territories, then they were fair game. The crystal was hidden for a day when the hundred kingdoms could no longer honor the bargain.”
Around me, my crew breaks into mocking laughter, but I can barely hear them over the sound of my own pulse as I look down at the compass face.
North.
Resolutely, the arrow neither moving nor swaying. I shake it in disbelief and when it doesn’t tremble, I tap it against the table. The arrow stays where it is.
North.
Truth.
By now my crew has resumed their jeering, poking holes at the myth and chastising the stranger for daring to bring fairy tales to their captain. Something in me, right there on the surface, thinks they’re right. That it’s nothing but children’s tales and a waste of my time. It tells me to listen to my crew and ignore the madness. But the compass has never been wrong, and beneath the surface, right down in my gut, I know it can’t be. This is my chance to finally slay the beast.
“Where is it?” I ask.
My voice cuts through the laughter of my crew, and they stare at me as though I’ve finally lost my mind.
The man gulps down a drink and meets my eyes with a smile. “You mentioned a reward.”
I arch an eyebrow at Kye. Without the need for any convincing, he plunges his knife into the table. The man flinches, staring in horror at the blade nestled neatly in the space between his thumb and forefinger. The look of fear on his face isn’t so practiced now.
“You’ll get your reward,” Kye tells him. “One way or the other.”
“It’s in the only place they were sure the Sea Queen could never reach it,” the man says quickly. “As far from the ocean as possible. The highest point in the world.”
My heart sinks. The highest point in the world. Too cold for any to venture and live to tell the tale.
“The Cloud Mountain of Págos,” the man says.
And with that, hope slips away.